Success. I turned back to my sandwich, only to find that it wasn't there anymore. Maybe because it had been hijacked. 'Give me that!' I told the vamp, who was holding it firmly against his chest, a determined look on his face. 'What ees zat?' he demanded, eyeing my prize. 'Cheese.' I held it up. 'Zat ees not cheese.' 'How do you know?' 'Eet is orange.' 'A lot of cheese is orange.' 'Non! No cheese ees that color. Cheese comes from zee milk. Zee milk, eet ees white. When 'ave you seen milk that looks like zat?' I held up the square of little slices and pointed at the bold-faced label. 'Processed American Cheese.' He snatched the package, without letting go of his hostage. And eyed it warily. 'Eet says 'cheese food.'' He looked up, obviously perplexed. 'What ees thees? Zee cheese, it does not eat.
The one that sang, old Janine, was always whispering into the g microphone before she sang. She'd say, 'And now we like to geeve you our impression of Vooly Voo Fransay. Eet ees the story of leetle Fransh girl who comes to a beeg ceety, just like New York, and falls een love wees a leetle boy from Brookleen. We hope you like eet.' Then, when she was all done whispering and being cute as hell, she'd sing some dopey song, half in English and half in French, and drive all the phonies in the place mad with joy.