Harry Flammable

by Frank O'Keeffe

  “Sorry about Ralph,” I mumbled.

  Celia gave me a puzzled look. “How did you know the electrician’s name?”

  “I don’t. That’s the name of my iguana.”

  Celia burst out laughing. “How appropriate. I can even see the resemblance. Sorry, I’m insulting your lizard. I know you’re really into films and, for a minute there, I thought maybe you not only knew the names of all the stars, but the names of the film crew as well.” She continued laughing.

  “So, apart from the electrician, Ralph, how’s it going on the film set?”

  “Actually, it’s really boring. Working at the reception will be a nice change. Most of the time they have me running around delivering stuff or making coffee, but tomorrow I have to finish hanging up more bits of tinfoil. I’ve already spent the last few days hanging up hundreds of bits of the stuff. It’s to simulate waves twinkling on the ocean.”

  “The ocean? But we’re nowhere near the ocean,” I said.

  “I know that. That’s why there’s so much tinfoil. It hangs on bits of fishing line in front of a big photographic blue backdrop.”

  I couldn’t believe I was having such a long conversation with Celia, but I must have sounded like a real whiner when I heard myself saying, “You’re lucky. It can’t be nearly as boring as turning carrots.”

  “Well, the set does look really neat. I think they’re hoping to start shooting sometime next week. But things are behind a bit, so everyone is scrambling. They asked me to work this Saturday.”

  “Oh.” I was envious about Celia’s job, and I guess she noticed.

  “Look,” Celia said. “I know you wanted the job with the film company, but believe me, so far it hasn’t been very exciting. You’ll have a far better time at the reception tonight at city hall. Look,” she hesitated, “if you’re interested I could get you a pass and show you around the set tomorrow if you like. That is, if you’re not doing anything.”

  “Great!” I said. “I’d love to see it. Thanks!”

  “It’s a long way out of the city. I’m supposed to start work at eleven. Everyone working on the film who’s staying at The Ritz rides out in limos. Usually I get picked up in a small bus but tomorrow I have to catch a local bus. Want to meet me at the corner of Hurst and Gibson tomorrow at nine, and I’ll have a couple of hours to show you around?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “See you, then. Oh, and see you tonight.” She smiled and hurried off to her first class.

  I was excited. I couldn’t believe my luck. Not only had I practically got a date with Celia, but I was going to be given a tour of the set. That was much better than just seeing her at the reception, where no doubt we’d be so busy we probably wouldn’t even have a chance to talk. And she’d said that at the reception I’d get to rub shoulders with some of the stars. Things were looking up. This could be my golden opportunity.

  I was glad I’d got up early and shaved the fuzz off my head this morning. It was beginning to look a bit weird. Dad had been up early too, to beat Aunt Phyllis to the shower. When he’d noticed my freshly shaved head he’d said, “And how’s Confucius this morning?”

  I think Confucius is the only Chinese person Dad has ever heard of. I didn’t have a clue what Confucius might have looked like, but if Dad thought I looked somehow Chinese, it couldn’t hurt my prospects for getting a bit part in the movie. It was, after all, a movie about a Chinese peasant uprising. Still, I thought, not many Chinese my age were bald. Maybe my long, dark hair would have given me a better chance. But it was too late now.

  11

  AT THE RITZ I was still helping to prepare for Mother’s Day. This time it was zucchini. A mountain of the stuff. I’d hate to take my mother out for a Mother’s Day dinner at The Ritz.

  Just before quitting time, the outside catering crew arrived, led by a small dapper man. He carried a checklist and scurried around checking on dishes and desserts that had been prepared previously, making sure there was the right number of everything.

  I was turning the last zucchini of the day when he came over with a red-haired guy in his twenties. “You’re Harry? You’re helping us out tonight. I’m Henry Nicholson and this is Bruce. He’ll help you out. Follow what he does and you won’t go wrong. If he’s busy, ask one of the girls.” He nodded towards three young women, who looked to be in their twenties, and Celia, who came in just then and gave me a wave. “You have a white shirt?” Mr. Nicholson asked.

  I nodded.

  “Good. Here’s a white jacket. I think it will fit okay. Take it with you. Okay everybody. We’re taking the food over to city hall, so it all has to be loaded in the van. When we get there, the food to be cooked can be taken straight into the kitchen. That’s the food in the aluminum containers. I’ll oversee the preparation of the hot food. The rest can be set out on tables — this is mostly a self-serve, buffet-style event. All of you will have to help serve canapés and city hall is, I believe, providing champagne. You won’t have to serve drinks. City hall is organizing the bar service and waiters. All the dishes, cutlery, and so on are already there. We have some low-calorie desserts already prepared, but we are also providing crêpes flambé for those who request it. The hot food has to be ready for 6:30 p.m., but the canapés and snacks will be served first, before the speeches and introductions. We’ve got a lot to do people, so let’s get on with it.”

  I hurried into the locker room and changed my shirt and pants and put on the white jacket. It fit. Then, with Bruce giving me instructions, I helped carry the containers of food out the back door of The Ritz into a large van parked in the alley. There seemed to be an awful lot of food. As soon as the van was loaded, Henry Nicholson jumped in behind the wheel and I followed Bruce and the others to a van further down the alley. Bruce drove.

  I was the last one in the van and I found myself sitting on a short bench seat beside a woman called Marcie. Joanne and Dawn sat behind me and Celia was sitting on a single seat by herself at the back. Bruce made the introductions.

  “So tonight, Joanne,” Marcie said, laughing, “we get to mingle with Hollywood’s finest.” I wasn’t sure if she was laughing at her remark or at my head, which I could sense she was staring at.

  “Yeah,” Joanne replied. “Hey, you know, Marcie, maybe I’ll be discovered. I wonder if Johnny Random will be there. I read in Tattle Tale that his big romance with Claudia Kasperitis is off.”

  “You can’t believe a thing you read in that rag,” Dawn said. “Is that why you wore your mini? A good thing Henry didn’t notice. You know how he is about proper dress.”

  “It is a proper dress,” Joanne retorted. “Anyway, I’ve always fancied myself in the movies. And you never know your luck. Wasn’t Bianca Bloodworth discovered sitting at a drug store soda fountain?”

  “I dunno,” Marcie said.

  “Actually, it was Lana Turner,” I said, turning my head to look back at Joanne.

  “Who?” Marcie asked. All three women stared at me and I felt myself blush.

  “Lana Turner,” I repeated. “In the drug store, except it wasn’t a drug store. It was in a café.”

  “Never heard of her,” Dawn said. “Must have been before my time.”

  “It was,” I said.

  “What was?”

  “Lana Turner. Before your time. It was in the 1940s.”

  “How old are you?” Marcie asked. She was staring at my head again. “I know you’re bald and all that, but you don’t look very old yourself. How do you know all this?”

  “I read a lot about movies,” I mumbled.

  “Hey, Celia should know. She’s working part-time for the movie company,” Marcie said. “Hey Celia, will Johnny Random be there?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’ve only seen him once.”

  “So what do you really do on that movie set, anyway?” Joanne asked. “Come on. Give us the scoop, Celia.”

  Joanne, Dawn, and Marcie broke into gales of laughter and I felt embarrassed for Celia. I guessed the three women
didn’t know that Celia and me knew each other.

  “Mostly I just make coffee and deliver stuff,” Celia said.

  “Hmmph. More catering,” Joanne said. “Well, if there are any producers, or whatever they’re called, I should meet, be sure to introduce me. I’m tired of outside catering. I need a bit more excitement in my life.”

  “Here we are, everyone,” Bruce called as he pulled the van to a stop.

  “Remember, Joanne,” Marcie said, laughing, “don’t believe everyone you meet in here is a Hollywood producer waiting to make you a star.”

  There was a lot of joking and giggling as they scrambled out of the van, but they settled down when Mr. Nicholson started handing out the food containers from the back of the other van.

  Inside city hall, a large room had been prepared with long tables covered in white tablecloths along the sides of the room. Plates and cutlery were stacked on the end of each table. The centre of the room was filled with round tables and chairs. A podium was set up at the front.

  Only the barman and a couple of waiters were in the room, but we had barely got the cold food set out on the side tables when people began to arrive. I followed Bruce’s lead in setting out the food and the others did the same.

  Henry Nicholson appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and beckoned. When we were all in the kitchen, Mr. Nicholson said, “I see the room is already filling up and they’ve started serving drinks. A lot of them are reporters and they’re a hungry lot. Better get those canapés out and circulate before they start on the desserts. The hot food will be another half hour.”

  Each of us picked up a couple of plates filled with little crackers covered in all sorts of fancy stuff that I couldn’t recognize, and carried them into the reception room. I was surprised at how full the room was.

  I spent the next half hour scurrying back and forth with the others, between the kitchen and reception, with plate after plate of the stuff. The room kept filling up, but we were so busy I didn’t even know if there were any film stars in the crowd until there was a sudden lull, as someone introduced the mayor. It was during his speech welcoming Pocket Money Pictures to the city that Marcie hissed, “There he is, Joanne. Oh, doesn’t he look gorgeous?”

  “Who?” Joanne asked.

  “Johnny Random, of course, There, at that table, surrounded by all the reporters.”

  I glanced in the direction that Marcie indicated. Johnny Random was sitting with a bored look on his face as he nibbled on one of the canapés.

  “Oh look,” Marcie said. “Get a load of that dress.”

  “I wonder what a dress like that costs. It looks like silk,” Joanne said. “And would you look at the slit on the side. It goes almost to her hip. She’s showing off more leg than I am with my mini. I bet she’s one of the stars.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “That’s Zulan Maisoneuve. She’s the co-star.”

  “Her name sounds French, but she looks Chinese,” Joanne said.

  “She was born in Vietnam, actually, but her mother was Chinese and her father was French. But her real name is Michelle Tremblay.”

  “Okay. So tell us who’s that old lady with the blue hair. I bet you don’t know who that is,” Joanne said.

  I groaned. It was Aunt Phyllis.

  “No, I haven’t a clue who she is,” I mumbled.

  Just then I noticed that Celia had joined us and was giving me a quizzical look. I blushed.

  There was some polite applause as the mayor finished his speech and Robert Rudsnicker was asked if he would say a few words on behalf of Pocket Money Pictures.

  I didn’t get a chance to hear much of what he said because Mr. Nicholson called us all into the kitchen to get ready to serve the hot food.

  We scurried in and out of the kitchen for the next few minutes, putting the hot dishes of steaming food on the tables. Robert Rudsnicker’s speech was short and I noticed he wasn’t stammering too badly. I caught a glimpse of Aunt Phyllis sitting near the front. She seemed to be hanging on every word Robert Rudsnicker was saying and she had one hand poised in the air, as if she was in the middle of conducting an orchestra. I hoped I could get through the evening without bumping into her.

  Robert Rudsnicker finished his short speech by intro-ducing some of the actors and film crew, and then there was a mad rush for the food, led, it seemed, by the reporters.

  We got a few minutes in the kitchen to gulp down some food ourselves, while Mr. Nicholson and Bruce supervised out in the reception hall.

  “So, Celia,” Joanne was saying between mouthfuls, “when we go out there again, I want you to point out the man most likely to get me into films. What about that Robert Rudsnicker guy?”

  “He’s the director,” I said. “Someone else actually does the casting.”

  “Okay, Celia, point him out.”

  “Oh, knock it off, Joanne,” Marcie said. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  Mr. Nicholson rushed in with Bruce. “Okay everybody. Bruce and I are going to set up the crêpes out in the reception hall. I want all of you to come with me and Bruce. Grab one of those service carts. They’re all ready. As soon as Bruce and I have made up some crêpes, put some on the carts and circulate among the guests. You all know how to do the flambé part. The brandy and Gran Marnier are on the cart, and there are toppings of whipped cream and fresh raspberries. Oh Harry, I forgot about you. You’d better keep an eye on things on the tables, make sure the sugar bowls and cream jugs are kept filled for the coffee and so on. If the crêpes prove popular, we’ll press you into service somehow. Okay, everyone, let’s go.”

  I followed the others out into the reception hall. Mr. Nicholson and Bruce had two stations set up and were soon busy cooking up batches of crêpes on small burners. I checked the tables and took sugar bowls and cream jugs back and forth, filling them as needed, and keeping one eye out for Aunt Phyllis. But I needn’t have worried. In a far corner of the room Aunt Phyllis had somehow managed to surround herself with a mob of reporters. They were scribbling on their notepads like mad.

  “We need you.” It was Joanne. “Everyone and their dog wants these crêpes. They’ve eaten most of the prepared desserts already and they still want crêpes.”

  “What do I do?”

  “I’ll show you. Follow me. I’ll do one and then you can have this cart and I’ll get another from the kitchen.”

  I followed Joanne to a crowded table. “How many for crêpes flambé?” she asked. Three people raised their hands.

  I watched as Joanne carefully lifted a crêpe onto a small plate, then poured a small amount of brandy onto it, followed by a dash of Gran Marnier. Then quickly taking a long match-like stick, she touched it to a flickering alcohol burner on the cart. She ignited the crêpe, which flamed with a blue flame. She placed the flaming crêpe in front of one of the people seated at the table and then helped him with the raspberries and cream. She served two more people at the table in the same way.

  “Okay,” she said. “Think you can do that?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay kiddo. You’re on your own. Serve the next table. I’m off to get another cart to serve that guy over there. Celia tells me he’s my best bet for being discovered. She said if anyone can get me into a part, it’s him. His name is Ralph.”

  I would have laughed if I’d had time to think about it, but some people at the next table were waving me over to serve them crêpes.

  I glanced at the small stack of crêpes on my cart which were being kept warm by a hot box underneath. “How many for crêpes?” I asked. Of the seven people sitting around the table, five shot up their hands. I was nervous. I was going to have to serve flaming crêpes with an audience watching every move. Well, here goes, I thought. I did want a chance to act, and here was a chance to make like I knew exactly what I was doing. The people at the table were obviously reporters, as most of them were holding cameras and notepads. I glanced at the pile of crêpes that were left on my cart and knew I’d have to get some more.
I scooped up the first crêpe and followed the steps that Joanne had shown me. I was a lot slower, but everything worked out okay and I was quite pleased with myself when I set the first flaming crêpe in front of a reporter. Then I noticed that one of the people sitting at the table was Johnny Random.

  “Hey kid, give us a shot of that brandy.” I think he’d already been drinking, as his voice sounded slurred.

  I was in the middle of lighting my third crêpe but the two reporters who’d already been served were reaching onto the cart to help themselves to the toppings. I served the third crêpe when Johnny Random said, “Hey, kid, where’s mine?”

  I hadn’t noticed that he’d raised his hand earlier, but I had one crêpe left.

  “How about some raspberries?” a reporter asked.

  I was getting a bit flustered what with trying to hand out the toppings, serving the crêpe, and getting it lit. Nothing happened when I touched the flaming sliver of wood to the crêpe. I guess I’d taken too long to light it and some of the brandy had evaporated. I added a bit more and was preparing to try again, when Johnny Random grabbed the brandy bottle and took a large swig. I’d just got the crêpe lit, and was placing it in front of him, when he brought the bottle down onto the table with a thump. More brandy splashed onto the burning crêpe. There was a huge whoomp! A flame about two feet high leaped up from the crêpe just as Johnny Random leaned over it.

  He gasped and reared back in fright. Unfortunately he hadn’t swallowed the mouthful of brandy that he’d swigged from the bottle and he spewed it across the table over the flaming crêpe, and another long flame shot across the tablecloth. It was like a flame-thrower in one of those war movies. The reporters, who had already leaped to their feet when the first flame went up, now jumped backwards. Johnny Random had already reared back to escape the flames but he must have pushed hard against the table. His chair, with him still sitting in it, toppled back with a crash, but not before a series of flashes went off. I was dazed and thought there were more fires breaking out, but then I realized a few of the reporters had recovered enough to catch the whole thing on film.