Spitting off tall buildings - By Dan Fante Page 0,5

change in twenty minutes. Go fine dat lazy fuckin’ old Vic. He’s my upstahs guy. Foist, get a fuckin’ flashlight from da box unda the rigista inside. Den fine fuckin’ Vic. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

He flipped his cigarette violently against a parked car. ‘Tell ‘im Eddy says ta show ya whaz what, okay? But I wan yaz by da exits woikin’ beforah da shows change soz the two of youz can help out. Got dat? Can ya handle dat?’

‘I see Vic upstairs.’

‘Right. Now, as fah az I’m concoined, yahs fuckin’ trained,’ he jeered. ‘Now ya da fuckin’ vice president of Low-eeze Thee-ate-ers.’

‘Okay,’ I said, grateful to walk away.

‘Eh, hey,’ he called, ‘whaz ya name…Bruno?’

‘Right. Bruno.’

He looked at his watch again. ‘How come yahs late?’

‘I became delayed.’

‘She’ll can ya ass if ya get delayed tumorrha. Better not be fuckin’ delayed again tumorrha.’

Inside, I located the flashlight, found Vic in the balcony, and became an usher.

My second week on the job the theater began playing an Anthony Quinn festival that ran in the afternoon before the regular first-run movie started in the evening. La strada came on every day an hour into my shift. I’d watched the film a few times over the years and admired it very much. The mood, the enchantment of the music. Most people thought Fellini to be a genius. I’d agreed.

Near the end of the five-day run I knew everybody’s dialogue by heart and I began to hate Zampano and resent Giulietta Masina’s hamminess. I found myself angered by the banality of the screenplay and the oversell in Fellini’s direction. Sometimes I’d get pissed off enough at parts of the film that I’d have to duck out of my post and stand in the upper lobby.

As it turned out, I got fired over a triviality.

Vic, my partner and immediate supervisor, was an old guy. Sixty or so. Not as old as Lupo, but old and arthritic. He kept to himself. Our one bad moment had come when he’d discovered me sneaking a cigarette. He insisted the act jeopardized his authority in the loge. I’d made a remark back and we hadn’t spoken since.

Vic and I were approximately the same build and suit size. He’d called in sick and I was alone upstairs searching my mind for things to do while La strada was on, nipping from a short dog, a Cisco Wine Cooler, in my pants’ pocket.

I had the bad idea to switch tuxedo jackets with Vic for the day. His was nicer than mine because mine had missing buttons on the sleeve and had a permanent sticky stain above the elbow.

The part of La strada was coming on where Zampano kills Richard Basehart and the musical scoring swells portentously. I’d come to hate the scene because of Masina’s cartoon performance and the blaring of the moronic music. To avoid watching it I decided to go downstairs to the dressing area and exchange jackets with Vic for the remainder of my shift.

In the changing area there was a standing open cabinet divided into sections where the male employees kept their tuxedos. Each section was marked off with a piece of tape above the slot with the employee’s name written in pencil. Vic’s slot was at the opposite end from mine.

I slipped on his tux jacket and was pleased to discover that it fit perfectly. Forty, short. I made the substitution of my coat for Vic’s on his hanger.

Leaving the room, I took a piss, then used up more minutes by going to the storage box at the candy counter to swap my flashlight batteries for new ones. When I returned to the balcony I’d timed it right because Quinn had murdered Basehart and the imbecile scene was coming to an end.

My problem happened an hour later when Vic unexpectedly arrived sick to go to work. He’d gone for the last five years without missing a day and showed up out of a sense of duty.

In the dressing room when he realized that I’d exchanged jackets, he became nuts and unglued. He limped up the stairs and flung the loge doors open with a thud. To find me in the back row he began waving his flashlight beam in the faces of the balcony customers.

I tried to calm him down, offering to go downstairs and change back into my own jacket to settle things, but Vic had the flu or another disorder and had decided to make a big deal in front of the customers. One lady got up and reported