Some Like it Cold Chapter 9
SEMINOLE-RITZHOTEL-Lobby
Spats Kolya enters the lobby, surrounded by his four henchmen and followed by bellhops carrying their luggage. The henchmen are all dolled up for Florida - knickers, Panamas, two-toned shoes - and one of them is carrying a golf bag. Spats is somewhat more conservatively dressed in a light gray business suit. They all stop and look around. Draped across the rear wall is an impressive banner reading: WELCOME DELEGATES 10TH ANNUAL CONVENTION FRIENDS OF ITALIAN OPERA
“Friends of Eye-talian Opera - hey, that's us!” one of the henchmen says, reading the banner out loud.
A convention official, wearing a badge and ribbon identifying him as a committee member, comes up to Spats. “Register over there.”
Spats nods to his boys, and they move toward the registration desk, past other groups of delegates. You would hate to meet any of these mugs in a dark alley, but what makes it heartwarming is that they all have a cauliflower ear for good music or so they seem by the convention they are attending.
Sitting on a settee is a gentleman reading the Police Gazette. As he lowers the paper, we see it's our friend Caldwell, the Federal agent. He looks after Spats and his boys with a wry smile.
At the desk, Spats and his group are identifying themselves to the registrar. Leaning against a column, supervising the proceedings, is a dark, menacing young hoodlum, Johnny Paradise. He is insolently flipping a half dollar in the air.
Spats eases his way up to the table, “Acastus ‘Spats’ Kolya - delegate from Chicago -South Side chapter.
The registrar pins an identification tag on his lapel as Johnny Paradise walks up. “Hi, Spats. We was laying eight to one you wouldn't show.”
Kolya arches a brow, “Why wouldn't I?”
Paradise flips his coin, “We thought you was all broken up about Toothpick Charlie.”
Kolya looks unamused, “Well, we all got to go sometime.”
“Yeah, you never know who's going to be next.” Paradise jerks his thumb toward a screen. “Okay, Spats. Report to the Sergeant-at-Arms.”
“For what?” Spats asks, trying not to be annoyed by this hood.
Johnny grins a bit, “Orders from Little Bonaparte.”
Spats has now been joined by the four henchmen, who have also received their identification tags, and Paradise motions them behind the screen. Behind the screen, a couple of officials are waiting to search the men.
“Put 'em up, Spats,” one of the men orders, and reaches out and raises Kolya’s arms and begins to search, but Spats, slaps him off.
“What’s the idea?” Spats growls.
“Little Bonaparte don't want no hardware around,” the same man states.
Spats reluctantly complies and the official frisks him. “Okay - you’re clean.”
Kolya taps the pocket of the official that just searched him, “you’re not,” he says and then he pulls an automatic out of the official's shoulder holster, tosses it into a wire basket which already holds a large collection of hardware.
The official glares at him, then turns and runs his hands down the First Henchman. He feels something at the bottom of one of his knickers, pulls elastic cuff. A gun drops out.
“It ain't loaded,” the First Henchmen replies.
The official pulls the elastic of the other knickers, and several dozen bullets drop to the floor. The official kicks them away, faces the henchman with the golf bag. “What's in there?”
The Second Henchman looks at ease as he speaks, “My golf clubs. Putter, niblick, number three iron…”
The official pulls a submachine gun out of the bag. “What's this?”
The Second Henchmen doesn’t look contrite as he sees the weapon, “My mashie.”
Spats emerges from behind the screen and sees Johnny Paradise, still flipping his coin and looking cocky. “See you at the banquet, Spats.”
Spats looks at the young punk contemptuously, snatches the coin out of the air. “Where did you pick up that cheap trick?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, as he drops the coin into Paradise’s breast pocket. “Come on, boys.” He and his henchmen start across the lobby toward the reception counter. As they pass Caldwell, he rises.
“Well, Acastus ‘Spats’ Kolya - if I ever saw one,” Caldwell greets, looking smug as if he’s sure this time he’ll manage to keep the crook in jail.
“Hello, copper. What brings you down to Florida?” Kolya asks, though he does know why this Fed was tailing him, but wasn’t worried, the man didn’t have a thing on him.
“I heard you opera-lovers were having a little rally - so I thought I better be around in case anybody decides to sing,” Caldwell grins.
“Big joke!” Spats replies, not liking this man at all.
“Say, Maestro - where were you at three o'clock on St. Valentine's Day?” Caldwell asks, knowing the answer and doubts he’ll get a straight answer from the man.
“Me? I was at Rigoletto,” Spats replies knowingly.
“What's his first name? And where does he live?” Caldwell demands, more than willing to get some of his team to check the person out.
“That’s an opera, you ignoramus,” Spats, snaps.
Caldwell narrows his eyes, not caring for the insult, “Where did they play it - in a garage on Clark Street?”
Kolya looks amused, “Clark Street? Never heard of it.”
Caldwell now looks amused and knowing, “Ever hear of the DeLuxe French Cleaners on Wabash Avenue?”
“Why?” Spats questions, as it shouldn’t be something this Fed should be asking about.
Caldwell looks smug, “Because the day after the shooting you sent in a pair of spats - they had blood on them.”
Spats Kolya looks unaffected by what Caldwell has said. “I cut myself shaving,” he relies calmly.
“You shave with your spats on?” Caldwell asks, not believing such nonsense.
Kolya grins, “I sleep with my spats on.”
Caldwell is done playing with the mobster. “Quit kidding. You did that vulcanizing job on Toothpick Charlie - and we know it.”
“You and who else?” Spats grins, knowing Caldwell has nothing on him.
“Me and those two witnesses whom your lawyers have been looking for all over Chicago,” Caldwell replies, and sees the twitch in Kolya’s eyes, which lets him know his information about there being witnesses was correct.
“You boys know anything about any garage - or any witnesses?” Kolya asks his men.
“Us? We was with you at Rigoletto's,” the First Henchmen replies, and gets a glare from Kolya.
“Don't worry, Spats. One of these days we'll dig up those two guys,” Caldwell tells Spats.
“That's what you'll have to do - dig 'em up!” Spats tells the Fed and decides he’s had enough. He leads his boys away from Caldwell toward the reception desk.
The elevator door opens, and among the passengers stepping out are John and Ford, in their summer dresses. John is carrying their room key.
Ford is looking upset as he looks at the diamond bracelet on his wrist, “I feel like such a tramp - taking jewelry from a man under false pretenses.”
John isn’t paying much attention to Ford as he’s looking for Rodney, wondering if he’ll be down here or if he’ll have to call him. “Get it while you're young. And you better fix your lips. You want to look nice for Osgood, don't you?”
Ford stops, takes a mirror and lipstick out of his handbag and starts to touch up his lips. “It's just going to break his heart when he finds out I can't marry him.”
“So? I was going to break Sugar’s heart when she found out I wasn’t a millionaire. That’s part of life. You can’t make an omelet without breaking an egg or two,” John tells Ford, hesitating a bit at the end, wondering if he really believes what he’s saying, now that things have changed for him.
“What are you giving me with the omelet? You don’t even have Sugar, which reminds me what exactly happened out there?” Realizing he got put off the track when they were speaking earlier and Sugar mentioned she had hooked up with someone else.
John more than not ready to speak on the matter, quickly interjects, “Nag, nag, nag. Look, we got a yacht, we got a bracelet, you got Osgood, I’ve got…well, never you mind what I got - We’re really cooking.”
Ford, still adjusting his make-up in the mirror sees something he had hoped to never see again. “John…”
“What?” John replies turning, a bit annoyed to not see Rodney anywhere.
Ford sees Acastus ‘Spats’ Kolya and his four henchmen by the reception desk, via his mirror. “Something tells me the omelet is about to hit the fan.” He nods in the direction of the reception desk.
John looks, sees what Ford has seen, then, “Come on, Teyla.” With as much grace as they can muster, they hurry back toward the elevator. The doors are just opening, and our Bellhop comes backing out, trundling an old man in a wheelchair. The old man wears a Panama hat, dark glasses, and is covered up to his chin with a plaid blanket. John and Ford almost fall over the invalid in their haste to get to the elevator.
“Going up,” John tells the operator and just as the doors are about the closed, he’s arrested by an all too familiar voice.
“Hold it.”
John and Ford freeze as Spats steps into the elevator, followed by the four henchmen. Spats takes an immediate notice of the guys and stares hard at them. “I don't mean to be forward - but ain't I had the pleasure of meeting you two broads before?”
John, trying not to look upset or meet Kolya’s gaze, replies as casually as he can, which isn’t very casual at all, in his female voice, “Oh, no!”
For gives a girlish smile, “You must be thinking of two other broads.” Also not really looking at the mobsters, silently praying this nightmare to be over with and they reach their floor alive.
The Second Henchmen grins at the boys, “You ever been in Chicago?”
Ford gives a nervous chuckle, “Us? We wouldn't be caught dead in Chicago.”
Spats, his interest aroused, is now also studying the two boys even harder. To their relief, the elevator stops and the operator opens the door. “Third floor.”
The First Henchmen has taken a liking to the ‘girls’, “What floor are you on?”
“Never you mind,” John tells him, forgetting he’s waving his room key at them when he waves for the man to back off. The henchman glances at the numbered tag.
“Room 413 - we'll be in touch,” the First Henchmen grins then follows his boss and the others out on the third floor.
“Don’t call us - we’ll call you,” Ford replies coyly.
As the elevator doors start to close, Spats glances over his shoulder toward the boys, frowning thoughtfully. In the elevator, John and Ford look at each other, swallow hard. As soon as they reach their floor, they make a mad dash to their room. John and Ford are frantically dumping their clothes into two open suitcases on the bed.
“I tell you, John, they're on to us. They're going to line us up against the wall and…” Ford imitates a machine gun, “Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh - and then the police are going to find two dead dames, and they're going to take us to the ladies' morgue, and when they undress us - I tell you, John, I'm just going to die of shame.”
John is tossing clothes into one of the bags as quickly as he can, “Shut up and keep packing.”
“Okay, John,” Ford replies and goes back to packing. He picks up an orchid corsage, in a transparent box, from the desk, starts to put it into the suitcase.
John grabs the corsage with disgust, “Not that, you idiot.”
Ford looks upset, “But they're from Osgood. He wanted me to wear them tonight.”
John tosses the corsage box into the waste basket. Ford starts to pack the maracas. “I'll never find another man who's so good to me.”
John fishes out Bienstock's yachting cap from under the bed, turns it over in his hand, lost in thought as Ford’s words mingle in his mind.
Ford continues, not seeing John has stopped packing. “John, if we get out of this hotel alive, you know what we're going to do? We're going to sell the bracelet, and grab a boat to South America and hide out in one of those banana republics…” Ford removes the bracelet and places it back in its jewel case, then in his bag. “The way I figure is, if we eat nothing but bananas, we can live there for fifty years - maybe a hundred years - that is, if we get out of the hotel alive.” Ford looks around, “Did we forget anything?”
John is still studying the cap and recalling the amazing night with Rodney and feels his own heart breaking. “There’s our shaving stuff - and there’s - I have to make a phone call,” John says and moves to the phone.
“What?” Ford asks puzzled.
“Top floor room four, please,” John says to the switchboard operator.
“What do you think you're doing?” Ford demands, not believing John is doing anything other than packing at the moment.
“Making a telephone call,” John said to him.
“Telephone call? Who’s got time for that?”
“Look, Aiden, I just can’t…walk away…” John tries to explain, but he’s never mentioned Rodney or their night together, not sure what Ford would think about ‘discovery’.
“Who are you calling? And since when do you care? Usually you leave ‘em with nothing but a kick in the teeth,” Ford replies, thinking how John’s been over the last year or so.
“That’s when I was a saxophone player. Now I’m a millionaire,” John retorts, wishing Rodney would hurry up and answer the damn phone.
“Drop them a postcard,” Ford grips, heading back into the bathroom. “Any minute now those gorillas may be up here…” he says over his shoulder.
John hears the connection being made, and moves as far away from the bathroom as the cord will allow. He hears Rodney’s voice and he swallows hard, for this is probably the hardest thing he’s done in a very long time. “Rodney,” he says quietly, not wanting Ford to overhear their conversation.
“John…is that you?” Rodney asks, sounding sleepy.
“Yes,” John smiles, the image of Rodney’s face all sleepy like a little boy pops in his head and he finds he rather likes that idea. Then he frowns when he recalls why he’s calling. “I…I’m calling to say goodbye.”
Rodney is no longer half asleep, the shock of what John is telling him more than enough to wake him. “Goodbye…why? I thought you were okay with what happened…”
“Oh, I am…more than you know,” John insists, for he loved last night. “It’s…just…”
“You can tell me, John. Whatever it is, I’ll help you,” Rodney promises.
John smiles, for he believes Rodney would do anything within his power to do so, but he doesn’t want to see the man he….John closes his eyes as he realizes for the first time in his life, he’s fallen in love, just like that! “I know you would, Rodney,” John replies, feeling a deep need to protect his lover. “But I can’t drag you into this…”
“You’re not dragging anyone, I want to help, John. But you have to tell me what’s going on,” Rodney insisted.
“It’s too dangerous,” John replies.
“I’m coming down there,” Rodney says, knowing exactly what room John and his friend are in.
“No!” John shouts, and then lowers his voice. “No, as I said it’s too dangerous and we’ll be gone by then. Please, Rodney, this is far harder than I imagined, please…” John tells him. “I’ve got to go.”
“John…I’ll stay an extra week, please…” Rodney is saying, but John doesn’t hear anymore as he hangs up the phone, feeling the moisture in his eyes.
Ford emerges from the bathroom, carrying their toilet articles and an armful of towels embroidered with the Seminole - Ritz Hotel. “You ready yet?” he asks, seeing John is done with his phone call.
John snaps out of his deep thought and nods, “Yeah - lets shove off,” he tells Ford.
Ford picks up his suitcase, starts toward the door. John grabs him and pulls him back. “Not that way,” he tells him and pulls Ford toward the window. “We don't want to run into Spats and his chums.” John steps through the open French window onto the balcony.
Ford starts to hand out the instruments and luggage to him.
******************
SPATS' SUITE
The four henchmen, in dinner clothes are playing cards in the lavishly appointed living room when Spats emerges from the bedroom. He is just slipping into his tuxedo coat, and his spats are unbuttoned.
“Your hands clean?” he asks the Second Henchman. The man extends his palms up, then turns them over showing they are. “Okay. Button my spats.” He drops into a chair, and the Second Henchman kneels, starts to button the spats over Kolya’s shoes.
“Say, boss - I been talking to some of the other delegates - and the word is that Little Bonaparte is real sore about what happened to Toothpick Charlie. Him and Charlie, they used to be choir boys together,” the First Henchman says while still playing with the cards.
“Stop or I’ll burst out crying,” Spats replies dryly, uncaring about Little Bonaparte’s feelings in the matter.
The First Henchman looks a bit concerned as he continues. “He even got Charlie's last toothpick - the one from the garage - and had it gold-plated.”
Kolya gives a fowl smirk, “Like I was telling you - Little Bonaparte is getting soft.” He tapes his chest, “He doesn't have it here any more. Used to be like a rock.” He shakes his head. “Too bad. I think it's time for him to retire.”
“Second the motion,” The Second Henchman adds.
The First Henchman looks more concerned, “How are we going to retire him?”
Spats gives a wicked smile, “We'll think of something cute. One of these days, Little Bonaparte and Toothpick Charlie will be singing in the same choir again.” He points up.
Outside the window, John appears, climbing down a post from the floor above. He lands on the balcony, reaches up for the instruments and suitcases which Ford is passing down to him.
“And this time, we'll make sure there are no witnesses,” Spats continues.
The First Henchman glances out the window, sees Ford climbing down the post to join John. “Look - it's those two broads from the elevator.”
Spats turns and looks. The Second Henchman, beaming, crosses to the window, calls out. “Hey - join us!”
John and Ford, panic-stricken, peer through the Venetian blinds at Spats and his mob. Then they scramble for their lives over the railing of the balcony and down, their hats and wigs knocked askew.
The Second Henchman looks puzzled, “What's the matter with those dames?”
Spats thinks he’s got it figured out suddenly. “Maybe those dames ain't dames!” He yanks up the Venetian blinds, steps quickly out onto the balcony, looks down over the railing. Then he picks up the bull-fiddle, drags it through the window into the room. “Same faces - same instruments…” opens the bull fiddle case and points to the bullet holes. “ - and here’s your Valentine’s card.”
The First Henchman catches on, “Those two musicians from the garage!”
Spats narrows his eyes recalling his meeting with them in the elevator, “They wouldn't be caught dead in Chicago - so we'll finish the job here. Come on.” Spats leads his gang out the door of his room.
After a moment, John's and Ford's heads appear cautiously over the balcony railing. Seeing that the room is empty, they climb up, rush in through the open windows.
“All right - so what do we do now?” Ford asks John, the fear clear in his face.
“First thing we got to do is get out of these clothes,” John tells Ford. He moves to the door to the corridor and they both peer out. There is no sign of Spats and his boys. The elevator door is just opening, and the Bellhop emerges, pushing the old man in the wheelchair. John and Ford watch as the Bellhop wheels the old man into one of the rooms. They look at each other, as the same idea occurs to them both, nod their heads in agreement. Slipping out of Spats' room, they cross the corridor to the old man's room, and head inside.
***********
HOTEL LOBBY
The elevator doors open, and a Bellhop backs out with a man in a wheel chair. The bellhop is Ford - the uniform fitting him much too snugly and a bit short - and the blanket-covered figure in the wheel chair is John, dressed in the old man's suit, Panama hat, and dark glasses.
As Ford and John proceed with dignity toward the front door, we see Spats and his henchmen deployed in strategic positions around the lobby. Ford wheels John past Spats.
Spats glances at them casually, and then becomes aware of a strange clacking sound. He looks down. There is something decidedly odd about the bellhop - because his trouser-legs terminate in high-heeled shoes.
Spats, grinning smugly, signals the two henchmen who are guarding the front door. They start to close in on John and Ford. Ford abruptly spins the wheel chair around, trundles it toward the rear of the lobby. The other two henchmen take up the chase. Ford and John disappear into a corridor leading toward the rear of the hotel. As the pursuing henchmen start to turn into the corridor, the empty wheel chair comes whizzing toward them. The henchmen stumble over it, becoming momentarily entangled.
John and Ford, sprinting down the corridor, reach an open door, dart inside. The henchmen come racing up, and passing the door, round a bend in the corridor. John and Ford continue their way through the small kitchen, where several ‘delegates’ are decorating a huge cake, under the watchful eye of Johnny Paradise. He is leaning against the wall, tossing his coin in the air. One of the officials, wielding a confectioner’s cone, has almost finished lettering the inscription Happy Birthday, Spats.
John and Ford burst in from the corridor, and the three hoods look up, startled. Before they can recover, the boys have scooted across the room and out another door. They enter breathlessly the dinning room and stop to get their bearings. Dominating the room is a U-shaped table, covered with flowers and about thirty place-settings, with a half grapefruit on each plate. On the wall behind the head of the table is the banner welcoming the Friends of Italian Opera. The boys glance around the empty room, make a beeline for the main entrance. Just as they reach the door, it starts to open, and voices are heard from the corridor. They turn desperately toward a second door, but that too is opening. Trapped, they duck under the banquet table, disappearing behind the long white tablecloth just as the banqueters start to troop in chatting amiably among themselves, they move to their places at the table.
Under the table, John and Ford huddle together as the delegates start to seat themselves. Suddenly a pair of legs slide beneath the tablecloth directly in front of them - and the boys recoil when they see that the owner's shoes are encased in spats.
Acastus ‘Spats’ Kolya is settling himself at the table, while his four henchmen take the seats on either side of him. “What happened?”
The First Henchman has the decency to look sheepish, “Me and Tiny, we had them cornered - but we lost 'em in the shuffle.”
Spats looks at his other two henchmen, “Where were you guys?”
The Second Henchman replies automatically with a bright smile as if he knows the answer to this question. “Us? We was with you at Rigoletto's.”
“Why, you stupid…” Spats picks up the half-grapefruit in front of him, and is about to ram it in the henchman's face.
“It's all right, boss - we'll get 'em after the banquet. They can't be too far away,” the First Henchmen tells his boss.
Under the table, John and Ford exchange a panicky look.
There is a burst of applause from the delegates as through the door strides Little Bonaparte, accompanied by half a dozen convention officials. Little Bonaparte is short, bald, vicious, and wears a hearing aid. As he proceeds toward the head of the table, his pose is Napoleonic -head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. Spats and his henchmen pointedly abstain from applauding. Little Bonaparte remains standing at the place of honor while his associates seat themselves.
Bonaparte raises his hands to settle the applause, which seems to please him, but wants quiet so he can talk. “Thank you, fellow opera-lovers. It's been ten years since I elected myself president of this organization - and if I say so myself, you made the right choice. Let's look at the record. We have fought off the crackpots who want to repeal Prohibition and destroy the American home - by bringing the corner saloon. We have stamped out the fly-by-night operators who endangered public health by brewing gin in their own bathtubs, which is very unsanitary. We have made a real contribution to national prosperity - we are helping the automobile industry by buying all those trucks, the glass industry by using all those bottles, and the steel industry - you know - all those corkscrews. And what's good for the country is good for us. In the last fiscal year, our income was a hundred and twelve million dollars before taxes - only we ain't paying no taxes.”
The delegates applaud, but Bonaparte simply continues. “Of course, like in every business, we've had our little misunderstandings. Let us now rise and observe one minute of silence in memory of seven of our members from Chicago - North Side chapter - who are unable to be with us tonight on account of being rubbed out.”
All the delegates rise and bow their heads - except Spats and his henchmen, which angers Bonaparte. “You too, Spats. Up!”
Spats and his boys get up reluctantly; join the others in silent tribute. Soon, the minute of silence is over, and the delegates are seating themselves. Little Bonaparte remains on his feet. “Now, fellow delegates, there comes a time in the life of every business executive when he starts to think about retirement.”
There are ad lib cries of "No! No!" from the delegates, but Little Bonaparte holds up his hand for silence and continues. “In looking around for somebody to fill my shoes, I've been considering several candidates. For instance, there is a certain party from Chicago -
South Side Chapter…” He glances in the direction of Spats. Spats' henchmen turn and look at their boss as well. “Now some people say he's gotten a little too big for his spats - but I say he's a man who'll go far. Some people say he's gone too far - but I say you can't keep a good man down. Of course, he still has a lot to learn. That big noise he made on St. Valentine's Day - that wasn't very good for public relations. And letting those two witnesses get away - that sure was careless.”
Under the table, John and Ford try to make themselves as small as possible.
“Don't worry about those two guys - they're as good as dead - I almost caught up with them today,” Spats tells Bonaparte.
The big boss turns on his hearing aid, disbelief in his face, “You mean you let them get away twice?” He clicks his tongue as if in thought and isn’t too happy. “Some people would say that was real sloppy - but I say to err is human, to forgive divine. And you, Spats - the boys told me you was having a birthday - so we baked you a little cake.”
Spats looks concerned, “My birthday? It ain't for another four months.”
Little Bonaparte shrugs, “So we're a little early. So what's a few months between friends?” He turns to the others in the room, “All right, boys - now all together…” they all begin singing. “For he's a jolly good fellow....”
The other delegates, including Spats' henchmen, join in the song. The lights are extinguished, and from the pantry come the two officials, pushing a cart on which stands the cake, with candles blazing. They wheel the cake up directly in front of Spats, who eyes it uneasily. Little Bonaparte, meanwhile, is conducting the song with relish. As the singers reach the climactic line, the top of the cake tears open and out pops Johnny Paradise. Aiming his machine gun at Spats and his henchmen, he starts blazing away.
Under the table, John and Ford cringe, while Little Bonaparte winces, turns down the volume of his hearing aid as he can't stand loud noises. Soon Spats' four henchmen have slumped across the table. Spats is clutching his chest. “Big joke!” His eyes close, and he starts to slip out of his chair.
Under the table, John and Ford react as Spats' body comes sliding toward them, feet first. “Let's get out of here,” John whispers, and grabs Ford, pulling him out from under the table.
The delegates, who are watching Johnny Paradise scramble out of the cake, are momentarily off guard as John and Ford streak across the darkened banquet room toward the pantry door.
“Get those two guys!” Bonaparte orders.
Four of the officials rush into the pantry after John and Ford. At the same time, the main door opens, and Caldwell strides in. Standing in the corridor behind him are several frightened waiters. Caldwell switches on the lights, looks down at the five corpses.
“What happened here?” Caldwell asks, but he seems to have a good idea from what he’s seeing.
Little Bonaparte sounds very unbothered “There was something in that cake that didn't agree with them.”
Caldwell crosses to the cake, glances inside, and then turns to Little Bonaparte. “My compliments to the chef. And nobody's leaving this room till I get the recipe!”
Bonaparte looks annoyed, “You want to make a Federal case out of it?”
Caldwell walks up to him, grabs the mike of his hearing aid and yells into it, “Yeah!”
*************
HOTEL LOBBY - (Few minutes later)
John and Ford have managed to lose their pursuers and headed back to their old room long enough to change into their female counterparts and then head back down in the elevator quickly, as they added overcoats over their male clothing and donned their wigs and make-up. As the boys mince daintily toward the front door, they see the other two officials coming toward them. They change their course abruptly. The first two officials come hurrying down the stairs.
The First Official of the ‘delegation’ looks annoyed, “They slipped right through our hands.”
“Don't worry. We got our guys watching the railroad station, the roads, the airport - they can't get away,” the Second Official tells him.
Ford leans into John and whispers, “Did you hear that?”
John nods, “Yeah, but they're not watching yachts. Come on - you're going to call Osgood.” He steers Ford toward a row of telephone booths near the entrance to the ballroom. There is an easel sign outside announcing that Sweet Sue and her Society Syncopators are appearing nightly in the Peacock Room, and from inside comes the sound of music.
“What'll I tell him?” Ford asks, not sure what to do in this matter.
“Tell him you're going to elope with him,” John says, his mind drifting as the sound of the music makes him think of Sugar and how it turned into Rodney and the best night of his life.
“Elope? But there are laws - conventions…” Ford begins.
John jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “There's a convention, all right. There's also the ladies' morgue. Besides,” he pat’s Ford on the shoulder, “You said yourself, not in Canada.” He then shoves Ford toward a phone booth. Ford reaches under his coat for a coin, revealing the rolled up trousers of the Bellhop uniform underneath.
As Ford steps into the phone booth, John becomes aware of Sugar’s voice drifting in from the ballroom. He moves to go see and notices she looks happy as she’s singing to a slightly older guy than himself, with glasses and in a nice looking tuxedo, who looks at her with adoring eyes.
Feeling more himself than he had in ages, John knows he owes Sugar an apology in more ways than one. He moves to the top of the stairs near the back of the band and watches as Sugar finishes her song and heads back to her seat. John takes this time to move down and pulls her into an embrace and a quick kiss. “I’m really sorry, Sugar. You deserve to be happy and I’m glad you found someone,” he tells her sincerely.
Sweet Sue is shocked, “Bienstock!” she shouts.
The second Official catching the kiss points, “Hey - that's no dame!” He and his companion rush toward the bandstand.
“I’ve got to go, but you remain true to yourself, Sugar Kowalczyk, ‘cause you’re one hell of a lady,” he tells her. John then catches sight of the two officials bearing down on him, leaping from the bandstand, shoulders his way through the couples on the dance floor. With the two officials on his heels, John gallops up the stairs.
On the bandstand, all is confusion, as the girls stop playing and stand up. Sugar is staring after John in complete bewilderment. “Johanna ?”
Suddenly it dawns on her - that kiss! Her eyes widen, her hand flies to her mouth, just as Radek Zelenka joins her, his concern clear in his face. She turns to him and hugs him, and shares her insight to see what he makes of the situation.
Meanwhile, Ford is just stepping out of the phone booth when John bursts out of the ballroom entrance. “It's all fixed! Osgood is meeting us on the pier…”
“We're not on the pier yet…” John tells him and grabs Ford, and they take off across the lobby, as their pursuers appear behind them. The boys head for the front door, but finding their way blocked by the other two officials/mobsters, they reverse their field and hotfoot it toward the rear corridor. The four officials converge on their trail.
John and Ford charge down the rear corridor and go skidding around the corner. As the officials come tooling after them, two ambulance attendants round the turn in the corridor, pushing a wheeled stretcher. On the slab is a guy, covered with a sheet that hangs down the sides, and sticking out from the end of the sheet are a pair of spat-covered shoes. The four officials make way around this grisly cargo, then resume the chase.
As the ambulance attendants wheel the stretcher toward the lobby, the trailing sheet lifts up, and John and Ford, who have been clinging to the under-carriage, hop out. They tear across the lobby and scoot out the front door and run for the pier as fast as they can.
**********
PIER - Night
Osgood is waiting impatiently on the pier. He hears something, looks off toward the beach. He sees Ford and John, still wearing their wigs and girls' coats, as they come scrambling down the steps then race across the planking toward the pier.
On the pier, Osgood's face lights up. Ford comes puffing down the stairs, followed by John. “This is my friend Johanna - she's going to be a bridesmaid.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Osgood greets.
Ford grabs Osgood, “Come on!” He practically drags Osgood down the stairs leading to the motorboat.
Over his shoulder to John, “She's so eager!” Osgood gets settled in the boat, while John is getting into the rear seat just as the sound of a horn honking gets his attention. All three turn to see Rodney leaping off the bike he had ‘borrowed’ and dashes down the stairs and jumps into the motorboat in the back with John.
“What are you doing here?” John asks in his regular voice, but Osgood can’t hear as he’s started the engine.
“Did you really think I was going to let you get away,” Rodney pants, having exerted himself with the bike.
Since Osgood isn’t asking questions about their added ‘guest’, Ford decides not to push his luck. He claps Osgood on the back, “Let’s go!” he says, knowing he’ll have a dozen questions for John, as to who this stranger was.
The motorboat takes off with a roar. In the back seat, John is removing his wig and coat. “Come on, Rodney, you don’t want me. I’m a liar…a fake, a fraud. What could you possibly see in me?”
Rodney grins from ear to ear, “I see a smart, sexy, kind and loving man,” Rodney tells him truthfully. He grabs John and kisses him, then leans back just enough to look John in the eyes, “I told you, you’re mine and I’m not letting you get away John Sheppard, might want to get use to it,” he smiles.
John beams with love and kisses Rodney back with all he has, oblivious to those in front of the boat as his world right now consists of only Rodney.
Up front, Osgood is blithely steering the boat, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Ford is looking over his shoulder at the activities in the back seat and his eyes grow wide with disbelief seeing John being kissed within an inch of his life by a man!
“I called Mama - she was so happy she cried - she wants you to have her wedding gown - it's white lace.”
Ford is feeling a bit pale, but then steels himself, as he can’t keep lying to the man anymore. “Osgood - I can't get married in your mother's dress. She and I - we' not built the same way.”
“We can have it altered,” Osgood says easily.
Ford decides to get firm with Osgood. “Oh, no you don't! Look, Osgood - I'm going to level with you. We can't get married at all.”
“Why not?” Osgood asks, still keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“Well,” Ford tries to think of another reason other than the full truth, “I’m…this isn’t my natural hair color,” he pats his auburn wig.
“It doesn't matter,” Osgood says very tolerantly as if it really doesn’t matter.
“And…I smoke. I smoke all the time,” Ford adds, recalling how his mother hates such things.
“I don’t care,” Osgood tells him easily.
Ford rolls his eyes, and tries again. “And I have a terrible past. For years now, I've been living with a saxophone player.”
“I forgive you,” Osgood replies sweetly and sincerely.
Ford is really becoming desperate, “And I can NEVER have children,” he tells him, thinking that should do the trick.
“We’ll adopt some,” Osgood tells Teyla, again with much ease and sincerity.
Ford has had enough of this, “But you don’t understand!” He rips off his wig and speaks in his regular voice. “I’m a MAN!”
Osgood still looking oblivious smiles, “well - nobody’s perfect. Besides, it works for my cousin Rodney,” he gestures with his thumb to the backseat where Rodney and John are still kissing.
Hearing this, John pushes Rodney back a bit and looks at him, “Cousin?”
Rodney grins, “didn’t you wonder why I knew all the ins and outs of the yacht?”
John is a bit speechless at the moment to reply.
“We’re going to take my yacht to the private air field where Rodney has his private plane waiting to take us to Canada, just like you asked my dear,” Osgood adds.
John’s eyes grow even wider? “Private plan? What are you…rich or something?”
Rodney beams, “Didn’t I mention, I’m a multi-millionaire?” he says, knowing he never mentioned it.
“No…no you didn’t,” John replies, looking a bit annoyed.
“I’ll make it up to you by, buying you, your own plane as a wedding present,” Rodney tells John and kisses him again.
John suddenly pushes Rodney back and gapes at him, “My own plane?”
“Yes,” Rodney grins. He doesn’t get to say more as John grabs him and kisses him senseless.
Ford looks at John and Rodney then at Osgood, who is grinning from ear to ear, and claps his hand to his forehead as he’s got a migraine. How is he going to get himself out of this?
But that's another story .
THE END