that the bills get signed, or in this case, paid, and the talk stays positive after he’s come in to mark his territory, so to speak.”
Malcolm held up his glass and waggled it for a refill. Don reached under the bar for the whiskey and poured another shot while Malcolm took a quick peek at his phone, which was vibrating steadily. He shrugged off whatever message was buzzing in and turned his full attention on Jane.
“Tell me everything you don’t know about Lucky Miller, you gorgeous woman.”
Jane smiled, not at the gorgeous line, although those lines are almost always nice to hear, but rather at Malcolm’s obvious delight that someone in Kankakee wasn’t fawning over Lucky.
“I’m not a big television watcher,” said Jane, “but I keep my hand in. I used to work in advertising; I supervised the production of several commercial campaigns for a big agency and we looked at talent all the time. I knew TV lineups and names from casts, even if I didn’t exactly follow sit-com plot lines. And before my professional life, there was college life and I was a theater major. Even if we didn’t watch television, everyone knew someone who knew someone in the business and was hoping to get a leg up in New York or L.A. I know a ton of names of B- and C-list actors and comedians, even if I might not know everything about their work. I have a great memory for names. And, finally, I grew up in Kankakee where we try as hard as the next guy to claim celebrity connections.…”
“Fred MacMurray was born here,” said Francis.
“Do you kids know who Fred MacMurray is?” asked Don.
Jane smiled at her dad, thinking that Malcolm might not realize that anyone near his daughter’s age was a kid to Don.
She and Malcolm answered at the same time, respectively.
“ Double Indemnity !”
“ The Shaggy Dog! ”
“ Son of Flubber, ” they then shouted together.
“Yeah, Fred MacMurray was born in Kankakee, but his folks were just passing through,” yelled Nellie from the kitchen.
Jane turned back to Malcolm. “So you can see, I know my celebrity trivia, past and present, but I have never heard of Lucky Miller.”
“He’s a Las Vegas act,” said Bobby from across the bar.
“You’ve never been west of the VA hospital in Quincy,” shouted Nellie. “What do you know about Las Vegas?”
“I saw him on the Love Boat once,” said Don.
“Bingo!” said Malcolm. “A true Lucky fun fact!”
“I remember because there was an article in the paper about him being from Kankakee and having a guest-star part on the show.”
“I shall educate you,” said Malcolm. “I will tell you the Lucky Miller story in a nutshell. Lucky, born Herman Mullet, in Lima, Ohio, was the son of a salesman who moved around a great deal. The family never remained in any town more than two years and Herman, also known as Hermie, spent his sixth and seventh grade years in Kankakee, where he made few friends and, as far as I’ve been able to determine, left absolutely no lasting impression on anyone.”
“I could have sworn he lived here for—” began Don.
“Aha! Of course you could have!” said Malcolm. “That’s the whole idea.”
Malcolm stopped for air and when he had taken a breath, threw back another shot, replaced his glass on the bar, and signaled for another pour.
“Herman ended up in Los Angeles and went from bit part to bit part, occasionally doing stand-up in strip joints or opening for singers. The singers who went on to bigger and better things immediately got better opening acts. Then Lucky’s big break came along. He got cast as a has-been comic on the Love Boat . Lucky fed the publicist on the show a lot of guff about his once-promising career, the guy wrote it up, and Lucky started believing he really had been somebody and decided to stage a comeback.”
“From where?” asked Francis.
“Exactly,” said Malcolm. “He needed a biography that was just truthful enough to pass while he rebuilt his image as a
Malcolm held up his glass and waggled it for a refill. Don reached under the bar for the whiskey and poured another shot while Malcolm took a quick peek at his phone, which was vibrating steadily. He shrugged off whatever message was buzzing in and turned his full attention on Jane.
“Tell me everything you don’t know about Lucky Miller, you gorgeous woman.”
Jane smiled, not at the gorgeous line, although those lines are almost always nice to hear, but rather at Malcolm’s obvious delight that someone in Kankakee wasn’t fawning over Lucky.
“I’m not a big television watcher,” said Jane, “but I keep my hand in. I used to work in advertising; I supervised the production of several commercial campaigns for a big agency and we looked at talent all the time. I knew TV lineups and names from casts, even if I didn’t exactly follow sit-com plot lines. And before my professional life, there was college life and I was a theater major. Even if we didn’t watch television, everyone knew someone who knew someone in the business and was hoping to get a leg up in New York or L.A. I know a ton of names of B- and C-list actors and comedians, even if I might not know everything about their work. I have a great memory for names. And, finally, I grew up in Kankakee where we try as hard as the next guy to claim celebrity connections.…”
“Fred MacMurray was born here,” said Francis.
“Do you kids know who Fred MacMurray is?” asked Don.
Jane smiled at her dad, thinking that Malcolm might not realize that anyone near his daughter’s age was a kid to Don.
She and Malcolm answered at the same time, respectively.
“ Double Indemnity !”
“ The Shaggy Dog! ”
“ Son of Flubber, ” they then shouted together.
“Yeah, Fred MacMurray was born in Kankakee, but his folks were just passing through,” yelled Nellie from the kitchen.
Jane turned back to Malcolm. “So you can see, I know my celebrity trivia, past and present, but I have never heard of Lucky Miller.”
“He’s a Las Vegas act,” said Bobby from across the bar.
“You’ve never been west of the VA hospital in Quincy,” shouted Nellie. “What do you know about Las Vegas?”
“I saw him on the Love Boat once,” said Don.
“Bingo!” said Malcolm. “A true Lucky fun fact!”
“I remember because there was an article in the paper about him being from Kankakee and having a guest-star part on the show.”
“I shall educate you,” said Malcolm. “I will tell you the Lucky Miller story in a nutshell. Lucky, born Herman Mullet, in Lima, Ohio, was the son of a salesman who moved around a great deal. The family never remained in any town more than two years and Herman, also known as Hermie, spent his sixth and seventh grade years in Kankakee, where he made few friends and, as far as I’ve been able to determine, left absolutely no lasting impression on anyone.”
“I could have sworn he lived here for—” began Don.
“Aha! Of course you could have!” said Malcolm. “That’s the whole idea.”
Malcolm stopped for air and when he had taken a breath, threw back another shot, replaced his glass on the bar, and signaled for another pour.
“Herman ended up in Los Angeles and went from bit part to bit part, occasionally doing stand-up in strip joints or opening for singers. The singers who went on to bigger and better things immediately got better opening acts. Then Lucky’s big break came along. He got cast as a has-been comic on the Love Boat . Lucky fed the publicist on the show a lot of guff about his once-promising career, the guy wrote it up, and Lucky started believing he really had been somebody and decided to stage a comeback.”
“From where?” asked Francis.
“Exactly,” said Malcolm. “He needed a biography that was just truthful enough to pass while he rebuilt his image as a
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