From the Coat Room

"So we're Hollywood movie producers making a Bill Murray picture. Anything we do or say is cool."

"Right, Harry. But first we have to leave the coat room, we've certainly been here long enough."

"You call ten minutes long?"

"Yeah, when you're in a coat room and all the action is happening in the club."

"Yeah, well, I like it here. It's comforting to be around coats. I like the way a room full of coats muffles the sounds. I feel warm and secure among coats...By the way, did you notice that the coat-check chick is wicked hot?"

"All right, Harry, the jig is up. Who are you dodging?"

"No one. I just gotta psyche myself up first."

Finkie scouted the club and nodded. "Of course...Stevie Dash! He must be in town for the holidays.You don't want to go in 'cause Stevie Dash is there."

"He is?"

"Like you don't know, Harry. You're afraid of Stevie Dash, you're afraid of Stevie Dash!"

"Fuck off. Like I give a shit about Stevie Dash."

"You do, Harry. His success is eating you up."

"Yeah, right."

"Relax, Harry. Have fun tonight. Dash won't even notice you're here. From what I can make out, he's too busy working that blonde in the corner...Correction: blondes."

"Good for him, it's the noise of this place is killing me. Everything is thumping. My head's about to explode."

"Follow me. We'll go to the other end of the club, away from the speakers, away from Dash."

"I'm panicking, dude. There's too many people here now."

"Because this club is hot."

"If there was a fire, we're finished. Where's the closest exit?"

"Get your shit together, Harry."

"The smoke in here is killing me. Everyone's smoking. A careless mistake and this place goes up in flames."

"Wrong. The sprinklers go off and you get wet."

"Yeah, well...I just got this shirt dry cleaned...You know what they charge for dry cleaning?"

"?"

"And you know how claustrophobic I get..."

"?"

"Say something, Finkie. Who are you staring at, Finkie?"

Finkie drew close to Harry and discreetly pointed at a long-haired hippy chick dancing alone.

"Don't point, don't point, Finkie! You'll blow our cover."

"What cover?"

"You always work a club under cover. If any girl finds out who you really really are, you're finished. Through."

"Why's that, Harry?"

"Because we are who we are."

"I thought we're movie producers from L.A.?"

"But we're not really, so don't blow our cover. So don't point, okay?"

"Harry, do you see the hippy-chick-with-the-hair-down-to-her-ass-dancing-like-a-fruit-loop?"

"No."

"Near the bald-guy-wearing-the-Ray Bans-dancing-like-a-dufus-with-the-chick-with-the-floppy-tits?"

"Man, you could make animal balloons out of those tits! She should be fined for not wearing a bra."

Finkie laughed. "Yeah, look behind him."

"Fucken Rapunzel, man! How'd you like a bush shot of her?"

"Fucken bush gardens under that skirt, man...But I think I know her."

"Fucken how?"

"I'm pretty sure she was in my sister's macrobiotic cooking class. And if I remember correctly, Rapunzel's Raelian."

"Sounds hot!...What's a Raelian?"

"It's this Star Trek kind of cult that believes that space aliens founded this world. Yeah, whatever, but they believe in free love. If I can get her into a conversation...sweet mama...we'll be doing horizontal calisthenics before I can snap my fingers. I'm going to tell her I saw a UFO last night."

"But what about our plan, Finkie, the producer story?"

"You think she gives a shit about that, Harry? She probably never even heard of Bill Murray."

"Then let's say we're doing a Speilberg movie. Close Encounters of the Bush Kind."

Finkie laughed. "I'd like to, man, but like I told you, I think Rapunzel knows my sister. You'll have to be the producer, Harry. She knows me."

"But I --"

"It's cool. She already knows I make movies. But you can still  play the L.A. movie producer part."

"But--"

"I'm going to talk to her, Harry. Try to have some fun tonight. Start by leaving this coat room." Harry stood motionless in the coat room while Finkie weaved his way through the gyrating dancers and approached the Raelian Rapunzel. He tapped her on her shoulder.

"Hi, I think I know you."

"Yes, you look familiar. Do I know you from another life? Mesopotamia, Babylon, Rome?"

"I think I used to wander in the desert with the Jews. That's why I'm so bad with directions. But in this life I know you from my sister Sharon's macrobiotic cooking class."

"Oh yes, Sharon! Sharon. She's remarkable with zucchini!"

"Mind if I dance with you...?"

"Celeste..."

"As in celestial...That's where we met before...somewhere in the heavens, although I couldn't tell you where. Big place this universe and poor signage. "

While Harry watched them dance from the coat room. He still couldn't bring himself to leave, not as long as Stevie Dash was there.

"I wonder what's the capacity for the fire code here?" Harry said to the coat-check chick. He wondered if she liked bowling. Probably not, he thought. She was way too hot. And how she controlled the coats, like she was born into it.

The coat-check chick pointed to a sign on the wall. "Three hundred and fifty-six. If twenty people leave, we'll be about right."

Harry gasped.

"Why? Are you a fire marshall or something?"

"Close, I'm a movie producer, I put out fires all day." Why not? If he wasn't leaving the coat-room, might as well play the L.A. movie producer.

"A movie producer, eh? What kind of movies do you make?"

"Comedies. Funny comedies."

"Like what?"

"Ummm...Independent edgy comedies, like, like... Have you heard of the movie, Myrna & Gord? A romantic comedy set in a bowling alley. He reconditions old bowling shoes, she mends socks. Together they find love."

"You should make a movie about this room. Every coat has a story."

"Like bowling shoes."

"?"

"So what's your name?"

"Gina."

"Gina...Nice name...Can I call you, baby?"

"Baby? And I don't even know your name?"

"Harry. Harry Starr, baby."

"No one says baby anymore."

"They do in the movie business. It's, baby this, baby that."

"Well I don't like it, it's degrading."

"I agree, it's one of those Hollywood things that I hate."

"Then why do you use it?"

"It just works...Gina."

"I see, I see."

"Aren't you going to ask me something about the movie business? Everyone does."

"No, I never watch movies. Who has the time?"

"I live in L.A. and I'm producing a comedy starring Bill Murray."

"My plumber's name is Murray."

"Murray Goldfarb?! From Goldfarb Brothers Plumbing?"

"...Yeah, he unblocked my kitchen sink yesterday."

"And he probably told you never to use Drano. He hates that product."

"Small world. How do you know Murray?"

"He sits next my father at synagogue during the high holidays. Made a fortune in plumbing fixtures."

"I thought you were from L.A.?"

"I am now, but I grew up in Montreal."

"Oookaaay..."

"And I moved to L.A. to get in the movie business and I bowl Wednesday night because it's the thing to do in L.A. and Bill Murray's on my team and he's doing my movie."

"Who's Bill Murray?"

"How could you not know who Bill Murray is? Saturday Night Live? Meatballs? Ghostbusters?"

"I don't even have a TV."

"My movie has a budget of forty million."

"If you're trying to impress me you could start by giving me your coat and a tip would be nice."

"I thought you don't have to tip until you get your coat back?"

"Some guys tip before. Usually the hot ones, like him," Gina said while pointing to Stevie Dash on the dance floor.

"Yeah, I know him."

"You seem to know a lot of people around here for a guy who lives in L.A."

"He's actually a film-maker. He won something at Cannes."

"He's so good looking!"

"Trust me, baby, he's a dick."

"At least he doesn't go around calling women he doesn't know, baby."

"No, he does. he's like Mr. Baby."

"Like you."

Harry took off his coat and handed it to her. He grudgingly stuffed a twenty in the tip jar. "But I tip better." If I'm trying to get laid.

"I'm starting to like you...Harry."

"So what are you doing later, when everybody gets their coats back?"

"Getting a ride home from you, baby."