The Ghost of Jimmy Stewart

The ghost of Jimmy Stewart, dapperly dressed in a grey suit with a hat in hand, wanders about the headstones in a cemetery.
     “What in God’s name is happening?”
     Jimmy slowly puts his hat on. He studies his hands then brings them to his face.
“No more wrinkles.” He smiles. “And I feel pretty darn good, too.”
     He dusts himself off and takes a good look around. It’s a beautiful, bright sunny day. A cool breeze blows as Jimmy scans the town below the hill where the cemetery resides. Jimmy exits through a gate and heads towards the town.

     Jimmy enters a quaint diner where a few local patrons enjoy lunch. He goes unnoticed as he enters the restroom. He takes a good, long, hard look in the mirror.
     “My, my. Just as handsome as if I was in my thirties.”
He walks back in the diner and a couple customers do double-takes. The cashier leans over the counter.
     “Say, buddy…”
     Jimmy interrupts. “Let me guess. I look a lot like Jimmy Stewart.”
     “You must get that a lot, but I can see why. You really do look a lot like Jimmy Stewart.”
     “Well, thanks. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
     “And in his home town, nonetheless! You can’t be from around here, you’d be a local celebrity! Where you from?”
     Jimmy takes a look outside. “Well, I guess you could say I’m from Los Angeles.”
     “Woo-wee, a big Los Angeles type! Out here on business?”
     “Yeah…” he glances at the counter contemplatively. “…but I’m heading back.”

     Jimmy Stewart, standing at the corner of Hollywood and Highland, looks over the buildings and down the street.
     “I think it’s comeback time.”
     Hollywood Boulevard teems with cars and people. There are traffic jams along the sidewalks as tourists stop in their tracks, gawking at the stars’ names they recognize before their feet.

     The ghost of Jimmy Stewart walks into Fredrico’s, a hip Hollywood night club. The air is staunch with designer perfume and cologne. The walls expand and contract to the beats of the DJ. Young women, sculpted and dressed with nothing left to the imagination, gyrate and flail in the pulsating lights.
Jimmy stands stiff, with his mouth slightly agape from the shock of the scene. He’s startled when a young woman bumps up against him and starts grinding on his leg.
     “Nice threads!” the woman yells over the music. “You’re cute.”
     “Thanks, I guess. Say…” Jimmy can’t help but look at the supple, young woman perplexingly as she continues to rub up against his legs. “…you wouldn’t happen to know Alfred Hitchcock?”
     “Who?”
     “Hitchcock!”
     “Hitchcock? What is that, some kind of sexual position?” She play punches him in the chest and smiles.
     “For God’s sake, no!”
     Jimmy lifts his hat from his head and runs his hands through his hair in frustration.
     Jimmy gently pushes the girl aside and starts to head back out. As he takes a step, he slips in a small pool of sweat and tequila. He falls backward but throws his left arm back, and catches himself . At the same moment his left leg and right arm shoot up in the air and he bounces right back up.
     The young girl’s eyes bulge in amazement.
     “Wow! Is that the Hitchcock?”
Jimmy’s about to correct her when she turns to a group of people dancing.
     “Hey everybody! Do the Hitchcock!”
     She then proceeds to imitate the move that was Jimmy’s fall. Within minutes, everyone is repeating the move.
     “Do the Hitchcock!” groups of dancers yell.
     Jimmy can only look on in a shock of disgust. He heads towards the door.
     “Hey, who came up with this move?” and club-goer asks the girl.
     “It was him…” she points back to where Jimmy was standing but only sees the silhouette of his hat as he exits the door.

- posted by Gabe @ 9:35 AM 0 comments