“Know-it-All:” a flash fiction story
He’s never wrong. Ever.
Who was this security guard to give Roland crap about arriving to the show late? He was one of Pinewood Academy’s largest donors. Roland reminded this rent-a-cop he could have him flipping burgers by the end of the week if he didn’t let Roland inside immediately.
The guard grimaced, then stepped aside. Roland entered the auditorium. Ah, the aquamarine walls and marble floor tiles hadn’t changed.
When he attended Pinewood, more years ago than he cared to admit, he and his buddies gave the guards grief all the time. One had the nerve to be from Cincinnati and not Thurber. They always gave him grief. The neighboring cities were rivals. Thurber was smaller, but that didn’t make them inferior. No sir.
That was why Pop based his menswear chain here, in his hometown. That was why he worked hard to get Roland into Pinewood, if only on a scholarship. Pop had to show those Queen City snobs he saw at the golf club he was as good as them.
Roland proved him right. He graduated from Pinewood, took over the business, became a civic leader, married and started a family—and hell, Cincinnatans did act superior to their sister city. Everyone knew that.
Well, Thurber had Pinewood and they didn’t. They had that much over those guys.
The ass-clown who managed the Swain Street store had a crisis with the distributor he insisted Roland address. Hence his tardiness.
He looked for Holly. She wanted Ken to take up acting. She made the boy enroll in Pinewood’s theater program. Ms. Sosnowski still taught it, after all these years. Tonight they premiered The Producers. Ken wanted to be Bloom, the Gene Wilder character (Roland forgot who played him on Broadway; he only remembered the movie). He had to settle for being a dancing Nazi in the “Springtime for Hitler” number.
Sheesh. Thirteen and fourteen-year-olds, attempting the jewel that was this Mel Brooks musical. Ms. S should’ve given this to her senior class.
Liebkind, the Kenneth Mars character, sang with Bialystock and Bloom. Ms. S had cast a girl in the role. Someone Roland didn’t recognize played on the baby grand piano.
Holly was in an aisle near the front. He squeezed toward his seat. The song finished. The dialogue returned.
“Seven o’clock means seven o’clock,” whispered Holly.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Shh!” The fat bastard squatting to the right shot Roland a look.
He ignored him and looked around. Now that he noticed, the burgundy curtains had begun to fade. The piano sounded better than what he remembered; it must’ve been tuned. The American flag and state of Ohio flag on the side wall looked the same.
Ms. S sat in the front row, by the aisle, her blond hair grayer. Perhaps he’d say hi during intermission.
She fed a line to her Bialystock sotto voce, but Roland heard her. He grunted. The kid’s knees wobbled. He recited his lines like a robot. Bialystock was a domineering character, pushy and brash. The kid played him more like Bloom.
“He’s no Zero Mostel, that’s for sure,” Roland muttered to himself.
“Hey, c’mon, man, put a sock in it,” whispered Fatso.
A retort formed on the edge of Roland’s tongue. That guy, though, had to be three hundred pounds at least. It was one thing to get in the security guard’s face in the empty hall. Here, in a full auditorium, Roland bit his lip.
“Can you at least try to behave?” Now Holly had to get on his case.
“I’m behaving.” Was intermission coming soon?
Someone behind Roland shushed him too, so he tried to enjoy the show.
Matthew Broderick. That was who played Bloom on Broadway.
Fatso guffawed at a line from the girl playing Liebkind. She owned the stage. Her German accent wasn’t bad. She made Roland want to watch her. Maybe she should’ve played Bialystock instead.
Fatso’s meathook took up the entire armrest. Roland wiggled for elbow room, to no avail.
He chuckled at a different line from Liebkind, not only because he remembered it from the movie, but because the girl delivered it well. Still, the rest of the cast couldn’t touch her. Roland wouldn’t see Ken until Act Two.
Liebkind exited. The show moved on to a new scene. Fatso’s bulging elbow poked at his arm. Roland slid down in his seat. He dug out his cell phone and perused a finance website.
“Goddammit,” whispered Fatso, “you come here late, you talk, and now this?”
“Stream the movie if you wanna see this so bad.” Roland no longer cared about this guy’s size. “I guarantee you’ll enjoy it more.”
“You are embarrassing me.” Holly again.
“This performance should embarrass you.”
More shushing from behind.
“Hey, watch what you say about these kids, man,” whispered Fatso. “They worked hard on this.”
“Well, except for the girl playing Liebkind, they suck.”
“That’s my daughter.”
Roland put down his cell and sat up straight.
“Really? She’s terrific.”
Fatso smiled.
“Ain’t she, though? That’s my Debbie.”
“Roland.” Holly jabbed him in his ribs. “I am this close to having you thrown out.”
“Let’s talk more during intermission,” whispered Roland to Fatso. “I’d love to hear about her.”
“Definitely.”
Roland held out his hand. “Roland.”
“Mike.” They shook. “Nice to meet you.”
At least he had something else to look forward to besides Ken’s appearance in Act Two. Another song started.
Roland turned to Fat—to Mike.
“You think you could give my arm a little more room…?”
“Sure.” Mike removed it from the armrest. “Sorry.”
When the first act ended, Holly walked up the aisle to head for the bathroom. Mike discussed his daughter’s love of acting. Perhaps Roland misjudged the guy.
He asked about Mike.
“When I started my law practice, I moved here,” he said. “Better to be a big fish in a small pond, I thought.”
An entrepreneur. Nice.
“Where are you from?”
“Cincinnati.”
Oh, shit.
“Cincinnati?”