110 Hope for a child

The Frisco Ninja’s impulse was to leap out of his chair and shoot his arms into the air like a Super Bowl cheer. But he kept the cool mien of a secret agent and whisper-shouted into his cell phone.
“Tiger! Tiger! Tiger! Boss!  See to believe! Perfect shot by other baby! Has baby Drew’s back! Now to see next step by big bicycle boy!”
_____ _____ implored Ross Valley with the look that moved millions. “Can’t we go to San Anselmo right now? Instead of just hearing about it? Instead of watching your crass neighbors have their hissy fits and demolish their potato chips and ruin their children’s psyches? Ross?” A true child of the craft, she could hear cadences of June Allyson in her own voice.  Tutored by Olivia de Havilland.
Ross Valley hit the key, hit the clutch, hit the pedal, slammed the shifter. The Mustang roared. Bat Disease’s daughter looked longingly its way.
“Ross, you should see the expression on the little girl’s face. Maybe, after all, there’s hope.” A theatrical touch.  _____ _____ noticed expressions reflexively because she was raised in Los Angeles, where any expression is half an audition, at least.  She wanted northern California for relief.  “So near, yet so far away.” Musical theater.
Ross Valley rolled out of the Woodlands Market parking lot safely at three miles per hour. The big engine snarl was just to make Bat Disease believe he could play the menace game, too.
One of the upright viejos whose late morning joy was his decaffeinated soy latte survey of the neighbors coming and going through the market’s automatic doors gazed at Valley’s rear lights and the back of _____ _____’s head and remarked to his wife and tennis partner how much he liked that young man.
“And Ross Valley likes you, old timer,” said his mate sincerely, with kindness.

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