Dik-Dash with a Dash

Call #1

"Hello, Roosevelt Insurance. May I help you?"

"Hello, can I speak to..."

Gulp, do not say "Stiff."

"...Don?"

"May I ask who is calling please?"

Sure, an old friend who knew your boss before he became Don Roosevelt, when he was Sheldon "Stiff"  Rosenfeld, aka The Human Erection.

"Umm, Harry, Harry Starr."

"Thank you, Mr. Starr. I'll check if he's available."

Check if he's available...More like check if he's jerking off in his office or not. How do guys like this pull off these charades? May I ask who's calling? I'll check if he's available. Don Roosevelt.

Harry wrapped his hand around the mouth-piece of the phone and flushed the toilet.

"Hello, Mr. Starr!"

"Hello, Stiff!"

"Oh man, Harry. Those were the days. Camp was the best. So how are you doing, Harry old boy?"

Old boy. Like we knew each other from The Knickerbocker Club, not Camp --- where we ate gefilte fish and drank grape juice for Friday night supper. Old boy.

"Harry? Harry, are you still there? What's that sound? Did something just explode?"

O, the dangers of the bathroom call.

"...Oh yeah, sorry. A light bulb just blew."

Out of my ass.

" Hang on, let me turn off the switch."" Harry covered the mouth-piece of the phone with his hand and held back from cracking up. Calling from the crapper was epic.

"Sorry...I'm okay now...What do I call you now anyways?"

"Don. Don Roosevelt. Officially changed my name two years ago."

"Okay...D-d...Stiff...Fuck, can I still call you Stiff?"

"Fuck, why not? From one dick-head to another...So what's up, Starr?"

"Well, for one, I'm moving to L.A. next week. I'm writing sitcom scripts now and want to go down to L.A. and give it a shot there. I was wondering if you could give me Ricky Dash's number? I haven't spoken to him since he moved to L.A."

"Yeah, well, say hello to Dik-Dash with a dash for me if you see him."

"Dik-Dash with a Dash?"

"Yeah,  Ricky-boy's new and improved Hollywood name. He actually modified his name. Ricky - out, he's Dik now, that's D-I-K, no C, and he added a dash between Dik and Dash. So he's got like one name now, Dik-Dash with a dash. And to think the dick-head busted my balls for changing my name! That fucking hypocrite, that Dik-Dash."

"Dik-Dash? That's hysterical!...Umm...so I guess your still not talking since the Wedding Invitation dispute? Man, I thought that you guys would've made up by now. You were so close."

Harry ripped a long fart while dumping more from the previous night's midnight souvlaki run.

"Are you calling me from the crapper, Starr?"

"No, no, of course not," Harry said while involuntarily ripping another mighty blast.

That yogurt sauce was a killer.

"You fucker, this is a crapper call. You're calling me from the shit-house! I can practically smell it over the phone line."

Shit, I must seem like such a jerk.

"Relax, Harry, it's no biggie. I'm actually on the can too. I think there's something about hearing from an old camp friend that moves the bowels...So what were you saying?"

"About Ricky, man. I can't believe you lost contact with him."

"It's not like I didn't try, Harry.  I sent Ricky a card when his father died. Then I called him. Never heard back. Guess that Dik-head Dash is too big a Hollywood dude to bother with his old friends."

"Shit...You guys were like best friends. Didn't you give him his first blow job?"

"No, when I tried his cock was already up your ass, Harry Starr. After you've always been the dream boy, tall, dark and handsome...Say, weren't you doing some acting. I remember Ricky talking about you. He thought you were great, that you'd one day you'd make it as an actor--"

"Yeah, we'll, he thought wrong. Acting's not my thing anymore...I fucken choked, but that's another long and boring story. But now I'm writing."

"Yeah...writing? Cool...So you should still try to call Dik-Dash with a dash. He always thought you were a great guy, Harry. Look, I don't have his number anymore, but you should try his mother. She's in the phone book. Still lives in the same house on Tupper Drive."

"Ahhh...okay...Okay."

"..."

"Well, thanks, Stiff. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Yeah, keep me posted, Harry...Say, did you take out a health insurance policy for when you're in L.A.? Y'know Medicare doesn't cover you down there if something happens like getting your dick stuck in a drawer."

"Fuck off..."

"No seriously. I just so happen to have a plan that would be perfect for you, Harry...And quite reasonably priced too. Are you still cheap?"


Call #2


Awkward. "Hello, Mrs. Dash, it's Harry Starr. Old friend of Ricky's from camp."

"Oh yes, I remember you, Harry. You were over at our house a few times. Nice boy. Ricky likes to be called Dik now. It's more adult-sounding."

"That's me, very nice."

Crackling silence. Uncomfortable mother chat.

"...So I'm going down to live in L.A. for a while and wanted to call up Dik. Would you be able to give me his number?"

"...Aha...yes...I don't mean to be impolite, Harry, but I'll have to speak Rich-err-Dik first. His rules. Dik gets so many calls now, you can imagine."

"...Yes, umm, I understand...so..."

"Why don't you call me back in a couple of days? I'll be speaking with Rr..Dik tomorrow."

"Sounds good, Mrs. Dash. I'll call you then."

Not really, needing clearance from Dik-Dash. Fuck, what am I? Some desperate stalker? But hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.

Two days later Harry got the number.

That was a Sunday night.


Call #3


Monday night: Mondays are always a bad day to call.

Tuesday night: Too tired. Killer day at work.

Wednesday night: Three aborted dials. Tried.

Thursday night:  They tape Dik-Dash's show that night, Dik-Dash unavailable. Would've tried.

Friday night: It's Friday night. Never call on a Friday night.

Saturday night: Only losers call on a Saturday night.

Sunday night: Fucking do it already! Everyone's home on a Sunday night dreading Monday.

Need a drink.

A shot of vodka...another one...and another.

Make the call already. What do I call him? Ricky or Dik? Or sir? It's not the same anymore.  How different things would've been if I would've played Ernesto, son of Hitler.

If only, if only.

Pacing, pacing.

Deep breaths.

Sit down, get a pad and pen.

Doodle caricature of Ricky, vacuumed hair, chiseled nose and chin, while a bird craps on his head.

Vodka shot.

Dial, man, dial.

Busy signal. Phew.

Pacing, pacing.

Look in the mirror. You're so handsome, Harry, so handsome. Better looking than Dik-Dash.

Dial...A ring. Fucking stomach in knots.

"Hello."

A woman's voice. Wonder who's the bimbo he's fucking.

"Hi, can I speak to...uhh...Dik, please?"

Yeah, Ricky.

"Let me see if he can come to the phone. Who's calling?"

The guy who used to play rafter-ball with me in Bunk 24.

Bang down, bang down! Blow off this doomed plan.

"Harry, his old friend from camp, Harry Starr."

You stupid dick, Harry Starr, you stupid dick.

"Hold on a sec,  he's on another call right now."

Oh shit, I'm bugging him. He doesn't want to talk to me. Bang down, bang down...Too late to bang down.

"I can call back at another time if he's busy."

Don't sound so fucking submissive, Harry.

"No, it's okay. Dik loves  hearing from old friends.

Even ones that hate him and just want a favor?

"Oh, okay."

The time freezes. What's taking so long? He doesn't want to speak to me and I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to speak with me.

"Hello...?"

"Ricky?"

"Dik."

"Dik?"

"Was Ricky."

"Hi D-Dik, it's Harry."

"...Hi Harry."

"Uhhh, hi. Dik. Can I call you Rick?"

"I'm Dik, Harry."

"Yeh, okay...Dik...How are you doing...Dik?"

"Crazy busy, man. Fox just green -lit my new show, The Dik Show. Working night an day, Harry. Night and day."

"Great, man, great."

"...Yeah...great."

"So what's up with you, Harry? It's been a while."

"Yeah,  it has...I've been working in sales..."

"Selling what?"


Stupid-fucking-pieces-of-leather-that hold-up-your-pants...or skirts.

"Uhhh, fashion...fashion."

"Okay...good, yeah...good."

"I'm not acting anymore..."

"Really?"

"Yeah...I lost the taste for it."

"Too bad. You were pretty good."

"Yeah, we'll. That's how it goes.  You try different things. Some work out, others don"t."

"Uh huh..."

"So now I"m writing.  Remember Ronnie Finkelstein?"

"Oh yeah, Ronnie...How's he doing?"

"Well, not so hot lately. But he got me into writing scripts. I'm actually finishing off a Feldman spec script now and planning on taking it down to L.A. with me."

"Okay..."

"I guess...That's kind of why I'm calling. I'm gonna see if I can get something going writing for sitcoms and was wondering if you wouldn't mind...taking a look at it?"

"...Sure,  Harry. I can read it and give you back some notes."

Oh, man, fucking great, amazing.

"That would be great...Dik--"

"So look, Harry. Send me your script and we'll take it from there. Might take me some time to get to it, things are crazy busy now."

"I can imagine..."

No I can't.

"...Yeah..."

"Anyhow, I won't keep you longer, D-Dik. I should be finished the script this week and then I'll send it to you..."

"Great."

"Yeah, great. I really appreciate this, Dik. Thanks a lot."

"My pleasure."

Really?

"Well, take care, we"ll be in touch. Bye."

"Bye, Harry."

Harry crashed out on the sofa and fell asleep.

Dik-Dash with a dash.