all powerful

“We’re definitely on the right trail, er, Jiggy.”

“Jackie!”

“Jackie, right right. But I don’t like the way he’s eyeing you.”

“He? How do you know he’s a he?”

“Because, er, he’s eyeing you.” He points over to his assistant. “*You*.” He points to himself. “Not me.”

She stares at it; it stares at her. “Could be a gay eye, you don’t know. *Jimmy*.”

“Johnny,” he corrected. “Um, Tony I meant.”

“You don’t know,” proclaims Jackie.

“I don’t know,” he admitted back. “Jerry,” he tries again. “‘J’ I’m pretty sure.”

“I think it’s Jimmy,” Jackie reinforced. “Like in Little. Jimmy Little. Jimmy Powell Little.”

“Just stop it.”

“Or he  — or she — just doesn’t find you attractive.” She looked over at him. “Nah, that’s not it. You’re handsome as f-ing hell. *Jimmy*”

“You’re one to talk,” he decides to say in the void. Did he mean it? Sometimes. On the darkest of azure nights while hanging out in the donut hole.