THE USHERETTE (flash fiction)

Lately, I've been inspired by artist Edward Hopper and after writing a Six for his "Automat" painting, I figured I would try my hand at this amazing painting as well.

The pictures were changing and the cigar-chomping studio chief told Sally she was yesterday's goods and they wouldn't be needing her on-screen anymore.

In a daze, she wandered down Hollywood Boulevard to Grauman's and after crying her eyes out, manager Sully Blizter offered her an ushering gig.

"Don't thank me, kid," he said chomping some Sen-Sen. "Thank the dead grunt who ain't comin' back..."

When Japan surrendered a day or so later, it dawned on her that the only job she could get was wearing a dead man's pants.

As she waited for each flicker to end, Sally found it agonizing to listen to the echoes of those starlets - many of whom she'd known - tango with the likes of Bogie, Clift and Raft.

After eight years of listening to hundreds if not thousands of pictures, her crackerjack ear for dialogue had been perfected and as a result, Sally got hired (by the same cigar-chomper) to write on a team for some new medium called television.