Stuart Kaminsky - Tomorrow Is Another day

Koko the Clown came in the room. He had a big orange drum with the words "University of Illinois" printed on it in blue letters. He was banging the drum and singing, "Cincinnati, Cincinnati," over and over again in a voice I recognized but couldn't place.

"No," I muttered.

"Yes," said Koko, banging the drum so hard that it split. Little penguins began to leap out of the drum. They looked around the room, looked at me, and went for the refrigerator. One stood on another and then another and another till they could reach the handle. I tried to say no again but I couldn't move and Koko was banging on my stomach.

He was whispering something. I hoped it wasn't Cincinnati.

"When are the unborn born? When are the dead not dead?" he said. It was Spelling's voice.

"How the hell should I know?" I said, or thought I said. "Riddle me no damn riddles and get those damn penquins back in the drum and away from my last three Hydrox cookies."

Koko was a foot tall and standing on the floor looking up at me with hands on his hips. The little white ball of yarn on the peak of his pointed cap was rippling from a source-less wind.

"Penguin," he said.

"That's what I said."

"You said penquin," Koko corrected. "How can you catch me if you don't catch the little mistakes."

The penguins turned. I don't know how many of them. Each one had a Hydrox cookie in its beak. They were moving toward me and growing bigger. I tried to back away, scream, but I couldn't. Then I opened my eyes.

Shelly, Jeremy, and Gunther stood before me wearing tuxedos. Shelly's neck was pinched and his face was red. He held out his hand, palm-up, and handed me three white pills. I took them and put them in my mouth. He handed me a glass of water. I drank it and handed the glass back.

"No penquins in Cincinnati," I said.

Jeremy lifted me under the arms and turned me around. I was still clutching Mrs. Plaut's pillow and I was facing the wall. Jeremy said something and then I felt a sudden whaap just above my rear end. Jeremy sat me down again and I handed him the pillow. He gave it to Gunther.

"Sit quietly a minute or two," Jeremy said.

I blinked and sat quietly. Shelly handed me the glass of water again. I finished it. It was warm.

"I'm okay now," I said.

"See if you can stand," Jeremy said.

I was slow, careful, but I could stand and the pain was gone. I'd had results like this before from Shelly's pills and Jeremy's knee and arms. It might last for days or weeks. Then again, my back might be worse than before in a few hours.

"Time?" I asked, trying to focus on the Beech-Nut clock.

"A few minutes after six," Gunther said, looking at his big pocket watch.

"Got to get into my tux," I said.

"We put it on you," Shelly said, trying to breathe.

I looked down.

"How do I look?"

"Functional," said Jeremy.

"Then," I said, blowing out the bad air and brushing my hair back with my palms. "Let's go to a party."

Mame Stoltz was waiting for us in front of the Ambassador Hotel where the Academy and its guests were arriving. She was wearing a black lacy gown with pearls around her neck. When she saw us, she dropped the cigarette she had been working on, ground it out with the sole of her black high-heeled pump, and said, "You're late."

"Parking was difficult and Toby has been a bit beneath the weather," said Gunther, taking her hand. "You look lovely."

I give it to Mame. She didn't look around to see how the gathering crowd was reacting to the tender moment between the little man and the not-little woman.

"Gunther's right. You look awful, Toby," she said.

"You should have seen him twenty minutes ago," said Shelly, looking around for celebrities.

Mame led us past a Movietone crew interviewing Bing Crosby, who gave nods and waves to the fans gathering, calling, cheering. Photographers were taking pictures of everyone, including us.

Lieutenant Van Heflin, wearing his dress army uniform, walked in ahead of us with a dark serious woman on his arm.

"I tell you that's Billy Barty," a woman said.

"The other one," someone squealed. "That's Sydney Greenstreet. I didn't know he wore such thick glasses."

"That one. That one," came another female voice. "I'll bet that's Van Heflin's father."

I turned as we kept moving. The woman was pointing at me. Mame nodded and the two uniformed doormen backed by two uniformed security guards parted and we marched in. Shelly picked up the rear. He was grinning and waving to the crowd, who waved back.

"I could have been an actor," Shelly said as we followed Mame through the crowded lobby.

Many of the men were in uniform. In fact, the Academy had claimed that 27,677 members of the industry were in the military. A fact that accounted for Lionel Varney's triumphant return to Hollywood. I was looking for Lionel as we walked. I saw Tyrone Power in his marine private's dress uniform talking to Alan Ladd in his air-corps private's uniform. Power was about my height. Ladd barely reached his shoulders, but his eyes met mine and I was the one who turned away.

A young woman in a maid's uniform came past us with a tray of what looked like whipped eggs on Ritz crackers. Shelly grabbed three of them, almost knocking the woman over.

"Through here," Mame said over her shoulder.

"Why's the skinny guy here?" Shelly asked, nodding at a man in a corner talking to a tall, thin blonde with the reddest lips and whitest teeth I'd ever seen.

"That's Irving Berlin," Mame said. "Stop gawking and get in here."

Mame closed the door when we had all piled into a room with a white wooden conference table surrounded by white matching chairs with gold trim. The table was clean and clear except for four pairs of white gloves.

"Gable said to tell you that he was going to Georgia for a little while but then he'd be heading home to wait for your report on what happens."

"Right," I said.

"Through that door is the kitchen," Mame said, fishing a fresh cigarette from a pack in her purse.

Gunther reached up to light it for her with a match which had magically appeared in his small hand.

"Beyond the kitchen is the Coconut Grove," she said. "The Universal table is to the left of the door beyond the kitchen. Three tables over. When the program starts, you can go into the Grove. Miguel, the assistant head waiter, will give you something to carry and tell you where to put it down. Then you just stand against a wall with your hands folded in front of you trying to look above the whole damn thing. Here."

She handed each of us a pair of the white gloves. Mine fit fine, which made me think that Shelly's and Jeremy's would be too tight and Gunther's would be too large. Wrong. Everyone had the right-size gloves. Mame had been in the business for more than two decades. She could gauge a glove size with a glance.

"Backstage," I said. "One of us has to go backstage. Our friend Spelling, or whoever he is, may want to put on a little show. You know, jump out on the stage, shove Bob Hope aside, and take a few shots at Varney or Maureen O'Hara."

"There isn't much of a backstage area," said Mame. "Presenters come up from their tables and the receivers do the same, but…" She shrugged, taking a deep drag. "If that's what it takes. Who goes backstage?"

There was only one reasonable choice. I didn't look at him but Gunther and Shelly did. Jeremy nodded.

"Okay," said Mame. "Come with me."

Mame patted Gunther's cheek and they smiled at each other. Then she went back into the lobby with Jeremy behind her.

"I look nothing like Billy Barty," Gunther said with a sigh when they were gone. "Nothing? Am I correct?"

"Nothing," I said.

"You're both short," said Shelly, stuffing the last of the whipped-egg canapes in his mouth. A spot of yellow stuck to his nose.