Some Like It Hot-Buttered

by Cohen, Jeffrey

  “I am not,” Sophie mumbled.

  “Don’t be brave, honey,” her father said. His jaw was so tight you couldn’t pry it open with a crowbar. “You don’t have to impress us. We already love you.”

  Ilsa went on as if Ron hadn’t spoken. “You create an environment where all sorts of things happen, and you don’t think for a moment about what an impact that will have on an impressionable little girl, do you, Mr. Freed?”

  The four of us jammed into my office, where I’d been trying to write Sophie a check for $262.47, was uncomfortable enough, but being blamed for not taking Sophie into account when someone was trying to shoot me—especially since I had taken Sophie into account, and that’s why I almost got killed—was making things just a hair less enjoyable. But I didn’t want to get Sophie in more trouble by defending myself. If that’s what they wanted to believe . . .

  “I’m not a little girl, mother,” Sophie said, slightly more audibly than before.

  Ilsa, having built up a head of steam, kept rolling. “We’re considering legal action against you, for the pain and suffering you’ve caused our poor little . . .”

  My mouth dropped open, but I never got the chance to say a word. “You’re doing no such thing!” Sophie scolded, her eyes wide open and something approaching color actually showing in her cheeks. “It’s not Elliot’s fault that all this stuff happened, and I’m not even a little traumatized.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Ron attempted, his voice sounding suspiciously like air being let out of a balloon. “Now Sophie, you know Mom is just trying to . . .”

  “She’s trying to control everything, like she always does,” his daughter answered. “She’s trying to make this all about what a good mother she is, but I’m telling you no. I’m not quitting my job and I’m not traumatized. I’m not changing the way I dress,” (this was definitely aimed directly between Ilsa’s eyes) “and I’m not going to private school next year.”

  Ilsa, of course, looked away from her daughter, and her face took on a very Margaret Hamilton-in-full-makeup hue when she said, “What have you done to her?”

  It took me a moment to realize she meant me. “What have I . . . ?”

  “He treated me like a person,” Sophie answered on my behalf, which was fortunate, since I had no idea what to say after “What have I . . . ?” She went on: “He lets me call him Elliot, not Mr. Freed, and he asks me to do stuff that’s important, and he trusts me to do it right. He doesn’t stand over my shoulder and point out every little mistake I make before I have a chance to see it myself. And he doesn’t call me a silly little girl. I’m his employee, and he treats me like that. I wouldn’t give up this job for anything.”

  There was a silence that might have lasted ten seconds, or an hour and a half; I’m not sure. But while Ilsa’s mouth opened and closed without any sound coming out, I kept my hand on the checkbook, where Sophie’s paycheck was ripped halfway out. I couldn’t seem to summon enough muscle power to finish the motion. And Ron Beringer simply disappeared. I think he might have dissolved into a powder that I’d have to vacuum off the rug later.

  “Go wait for me outside,” Sophie said to her mother and the powder. They left wordlessly, with looks on both faces I’m sure neither had seen before. I woke myself up and pulled on the check, which tore in two.

  “Another one,” I said. Suddenly, I was capable of English only at the Tonto level.

  “You can give it to me when the theatre reopens,” she said. “Do you need me during the renovations?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing to do,” I said, slowly regaining the power of speech.

  “Okay. You’ll call me?”

  I nodded, and Sophie turned to leave. I called to her before she made it out the door. “Sophie. Thank you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, let’s not get all dramatic, okay?” she said.

  After they left, I walked back into the auditorium. The workmen were just beginning on the balcony, and that meant they were tearing most of it down right now. (I had prevailed—mainly by pleading and begging—in getting them to retain the existing projection booth, thus saving me and my insurance company a small fortune.) There was a lot of nothing where something once had been.

  On the other hand, I thought, this was also a place where something would once again be. I tried to picture Comedy Tonight the way it would look when all the work was done in a few weeks (hopefully): a new, sturdy balcony, new seats in much of the rear of the theatre, new snack bar, new carpet in many places.

  Still not perfect, but closer to perfect than it had been before. In fact, right now, it looked worse than when I’d first bought the place. But, eventually, when I could get the business running the way I had always dreamed, it would be perfect, I was sure.

  Like Ginger Rogers. In Swing Time.

  FURTHER FUNNY FILM FACTS FOR FANATICS

  Young Frankenstein (1974)

  Directed by Mel Brooks, screen story and screenplay by Gene Wilder and Mel Brooks. Starring Gene Wilder, Peter Boyle, Marty Feldman, Teri Garr, Kenneth Mars, Cloris Leachman, and Madeline Kahn. The sound of the cat hit by a dart, the howl of the werewolf, and the voice of Victor Frankenstein (in the quick sonic flashback) are provided by Mel Brooks. There were also scenes in which the voice of Beaufort von Frankenstein, Freddie’s grandfather, was provided by John Carradine, but sadly, they were cut.

  Gene Wilder and Mel Brooks were nominated for an Academy Award for the screenplay for Young Frankenstein . Instead, the Academy gave the award to Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo for The Godfather, Part II. Not nearly as funny.

  Horse Feathers (1932)

  Directed by Norman Z. McLeod, screenplay by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby, S.J. Perelman, and Will B. Johnstone. Starring the Marx Brothers (Groucho, Chico, Harpo, and Zeppo), Thelma Todd, and David Landau. When Horse Feathers was released, the Marx Brothers appeared on the cover of Time magazine for the only time, standing in a garbage can. The following year, when they made Duck Soup, considered by Marx purists to be their best movie, it was roundly panned. Go figure.

  The first American artist to tour the Soviet Union after the United States recognized the country in 1933 was Harpo Marx. He scored a resounding success, although he claimed not to understand anything about the production in which he appeared. Harpo also claimed to have smuggled secret papers out of the country in his socks. This is unconfirmed to date.

  The Thin Man (1934)

  Directed by W.S. Van Dyke, screenplay by Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich, from the novel by Dashiell Hammett. Starring William Powell, Myrna Loy, Maureen O’Sullivan, Nat Pendleton, and, of all people, Cesar Romero (playing a character named Chris Jorgenson). Actually, The Thin Man of the title refers to the victim, not Nick Charles. But Powell and Loy went on to star in five more Thin Man films, despite the victim never showing up again. It didn’t seem to bother anybody.

  The role of Asta, the wire-haired terrier (in the novel, a schnauzer), was apparently played by the same dog in all six Thin Man films (but not on the radio or television series of the same name). While the dog was credited as “Skippy” when he appeared in Topper Takes a Trip, his name was changed to “Asta” when he started appearing in the Thin Man movies. Source: www.iloveasta.com (no, I’m not kidding).

  Help! (1965)

  Directed by Richard Lester, screenplay by Charles Wood, story by Marc Behm. Starring the Beatles (John Lennon, Paul Mc-Cartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr), Leo McKern (later to play Rumpole of the Bailey), Eleanor Bron, Victor Spinetti, and Roy Kinnear. It was on the set of Help! that George Harrison first encountered Indian musicians playing sitars. Thus was the history of popular music created.

  Some Like It Hot (1959)

  Directed by Billy Wilder, screenplay by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond, story by Robert Thoeren and Michael Logan. Starring Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon, Marilyn Monroe, Joe E. Brown, and George Raft. In 2000, the American Film Institute voted Some Like It Hot the funniest American film ever mad
e. Among the other ninty-nine films in its top one hundred comedies: Young Frankenstein, Horse Feathers, and The Thin Man. Help! did not make the list. It is not an American film. In case you’re wondering, number one hundred is Good Morning, Vietnam.