Ed McBain: Puss in Boots

George Ticknor had said, “My name is Tick.”

The blonde girl had said, “What’s your friend’s name? Tock?”

“Mose,” Mose had said. His full name was Mosely Jones Jr.

His father was also in the movie business, in Atlanta where Mose was born, but he didn’t think it was wise to bring up the movie business again.

“What do you girls call yourselves?” Tick asked.

“ Women is what we call ourselves,” the blonde said, and bent over to pick up another dart, exhibiting her fine feminist ass and causing Tick to wet his lips.

For the past half hour, they’d been making a game of trying to wheedle the girls’ names from them. The girls kept playing darts and wiggling and giggling. Tick and Mose sat at the bar, watching them, trying to make conversation over the noise of the TV set blaring the late-night news.

“I’ll bet your name is Trudy,” Tick said to the blonde.

“Ick, Trudy,” she said, and pulled a face.

“But close, right? Judy?”

“No way.”

“I’ll bet you ten dollars your name has an ‘oooo’ sound in it.”

“My mother taught me never to gamble with strangers.”

“Who’s a stranger?” Tick said. “I already introduced myself.”

“Tick, right,” she said skeptically, and pulled another face.

“You’re ticking us off, Tick,” the redhead said. “Take a walk, okay?” But she wiggled her ass again.

“You must be Eileen,” Mose said to the redhead.

“Nope.”

“Or Maureen.”

“Nope.”

“Or Colleen. All redheaded girls have Irish names.”

“Wrong,” the redhead said.

“So what’s your name?”

“Revlon,” she said, and threw a dart.

The dart missed the board by a mile. It almost missed the wall .

“Revlon?” Mose said.

“Figure it out,” the redhead said.

Mose tried to figure it out.

“So you guys are in the movie business, huh?” the blonde said.

“That’s right,” Tick said. At last , he thought. A little fucking progress at last.

“Big movie producers, huh?” the redhead said.

“s,” the blonde corrected. “Looking for starlets. How come you don’t have your casting couches with you?”

“I’m a sound man,” Mose said. He was lying now. He was a grip.

The blonde picked up her beer mug and licked at the foam, unimpressed. There was a fine sheen of perspiration on her face and on the sloping tops of her breasts. Tick wet his lips again.

“I’m a gaffer,” he said. He was lying, too. They were both grips.

“Oh?” the redhead said. “And what’s a gaffer?”

“I do the lighting,” he said.

“Lights, camera, action !” the redhead shouted, and pointed her finger at the blonde, legs spread, ass jutting, one hand on her hip. Both girls giggled again.

“That’s not the way it works,” Tick said.

“That’s not the way what works?” the redhead asked.

“Lights, camera, action. That’s not what a director says.”

“I told you,” the blonde said. “He’s a director.”

“No, I’m a gaffer,” Tick said.

“Okay, so tell us what a director says,” the redhead said, and winked at the blonde.

“First tell us your names,” Tick said.

“Should we tell them our names?” the blonde said.

“I already told them mine,” the redhead said. “You figure it out yet?” she asked Mose.

“Sure. Revlon.”

“Sure what ?” the redhead said.

“Revlon,” Mose said, and shrugged.

“Come on,” Tick said. “How we gonna get to know each other if you won’t even tell us your names?”

“Who says we want to get to know you?” the blonde asked.

“Well, we’re talking here, that’s getting to know each other, isn’t it?” Tick said. “Come on, what’s your name? I’ll bet it has an ‘oooo’ sound in it.”

“No, it’s Rachel,” the blonde said, almost shyly.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Gwen.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Tick said, and got off the bar stool and walked to where the girls were standing near the dartboard, hands on their hips.

“Is your name really Tick?” Rachel asked.

“For Ticknor,” he said, and nodded.

“Actually, that’s kinda cute,” she said. “Tick.”

“So what does a director say, Tick?” Gwen asked.

Tick was trying to figure out which one he wanted. The blonde had bigger tits, but the redhead had legs that could make a grown man cry. She reminded him a lot of Connie. The red hair, those spectacular wheels. But no one in the world was like Connie.

“Well,” he said, “first your AD yells for quiet. He’ll say... ”

“What’s an AD?” Gwen asked.

“Assistant director,” Tick said.

“Okay, he yells for quiet.”

“ ‘Quiet, please,’ something like that.”

“Then what?”

“Then the director says, ‘Stand by... ’ ”

“Okay.”

“And then, ‘Roll camera... ’ ”

“Which is when your cameraman starts the film running,” Mose said.

“ ‘Rolling,’ is what he says,” Tick said.

“The cameraman,” Mose said.

“Then your director says, ‘Roll sound... ’ ”

“Which is when your sound man starts his recorder and says, ‘Speed.’ Me,” Mose said, “I’m a sound man.” Still lying.

“Then your AD says, ‘Mark it,’ ” Tick said.

“For the guy on the clapstick.”

“And that’s when the director yells, ‘Action,’ ” Tick said.

“So at least I was right about the action,” Gwen said, and looked them over with what Mose hoped was new respect. “So you’re really in the movie business, huh?” she said. “A sound man and a... what’d you say you were?”

“A gaffer,” Tick said.

“What the hell’s a gaffer?” Rachel said.

“I told you. A lighting director.”

“Well, at least you’re some kind of director, right?”

“I’m a whiz with lights,” Tick said. He had decided she was the one he wanted.

“Listen,” Mose said, “we’re gonna be perfectly honest with you.”

“Go hide the silver, Rach,” Gwen said.

“No, seriously,” Mose said.

“He’s being serious, Rach.”

“I am.”

“Weren’t you being serious before?”

“Well, yes, but... ”

“Or honest?”

“What he means... ,” Tick said.

“You figured out where the Revlon comes from?” Gwen asked Mose, playing to him. Good, Tick thought. No problems about who gets who.

“Of course I figured it out,” Mose said.

“So where’d it come from? The Revlon.”

“Where’d it come from?” Mose asked.

“A bottle,” Gwen said.

Mose looked at her.

“He still doesn’t get it,” Gwen said.

“I get it, I get it,” Mose said.

“You were talking about redheads, remember?”

“Sure. Listen, I get it.”

“So what is it?”

“Revlon,” he said, and shrugged. “Listen, I get it. Revlon.”

“I think I picked the dumb one,” Gwen said. “So let’s hear your big honesty pitch, okay?”

“Well, the minute you girls walked in, I said to Tick here... ”

“Wait, let me guess. You said we oughta be in pictures.”

“No. I said you were gorgeous. Both of you.”

“We are,” Gwen said. “So?”

“I know you are. That’s what I told Tick.”

“So?”

“Let me take it from here, okay?” Tick said.

“Here comes the whiz with lights,” Rachel said.

“I’m gonna give this our best shot, okay,” Tick said, “and if you tell us to walk, we’ll walk. But we’d like to get to know you better. I’ve got a nice place right nearby here, with a good stereo system and some very good pot, and if you’d like to come there with us, I think we can maybe have a good time together. If you say no, we’ll thank you for your kindness in listening to us and go our merry way, sadder but wiser. So that’s it, our best shot,” he said, and smiled in what he hoped was a boyish manner.