INT. HARRY'S CAR - NIGHT
Harry and Pauline, both dressed to the nines, are on their way to her cousin's wedding. Pauline gives Harry a careful once-over and likes what she sees.
PAULINE
Feeling good, Harry? Ready to have a good time tonight?
HARRY
I'm okay, but I can't seem to shake this diarrhea.
PAULINE
Disgusting!
HARRY
You asked me how I am, so I told you the truth. I have diarrhea.
PAULINE
More like, you have a problem.
HARRY
Yes, and it's my tummy.
PAULINE
I knew this was a mistake. You treat me like crap,
when all I am is nice to you.
HARRY
True. You even blew me in my office.
PAULINE
I don't know if that's what I'd call it.
You hardly lasted a minute.
HARRY
I had diarrhea.
PAULINE
You're such a putz.
HARRY
I love it when you talk dirty to me in Yiddish.
PAULINE
Why am I taking a schmuck like you to my
cousin's wedding?
HARRY
This is what I've been telling you for weeks...
Pauline, I think I'm in love.
PAULINE
Well you certainly have a strange way of
showing it.
HARRY
(laughing)
With you? No way... I just started seeing
someone. Really.
PAULINE
Good for you! You know what? I want to
have a good time tonight. You can tell me
about your new big love another time...
and your diarrhea.
HARRY
Okay, okay. I'm still game for a quick
blow... And this time I vow to last the
full minute.
PAULINE
(winking)
Then maybe we can still have a good time?
HARRY
Maybe, maybe?
Pauline, who's not used to travelling in economy, examines with disgust the plebeian interior of Harry’s car. Newspapers, magazines, books and CDs are strewn about.
CLOSE UP OF Pauline rolling her eyes.
PAULINE
(laughing)
How could you drive around
in this shit-box?
HARRY
What do you care?
PAULINE
I have an image to maintain.
The car stops at a red light. A prototypical DOUCHE-BAG in a Porsche pulls up beside them and stares.
Harry opens Pauline’s window and points to her.
HARRY
(to the Douche-Bag in the Porsche)
Pauline Eduardo says, hello!
The light turns green. The Porsche Douche-Bag guy flips Harry the finger, then peels off leaving behind a wake of dust.
SFX: SQUEALING TIRES.
Pauline coughs.
Pauline rolls up her window so that more dust won’t get in. She pulls out a Kleenex from her purse and turns to Harry.
PAULINE
Putz.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. HOTEL RECEPTION ROOM - A LITTLE LATER
It’s a stunning reception room with a very long aisle. Yards and yards of white chiffon and thule adorn the aisle separating the men from the women. All heads turned are turned towards the dewy-eyed CANTOR with the pop idol good looks. He floats down the aisle singing a Hebrew prayer. Each note of his glorious voice ascends to the heavens above. The rotund blue-haired old biddies swoon and gasp, their hearts thump pitter-patter. They haven’t felt this way since the Tom Jones days.
CLOSE UP on the mother of the bride inhaling deeply, (p.s., She’s having an affair with the dewy-eyed cantor).
CANTOR
(singing passionately)
Mah tovu,
Mah tovu…
CLOSE UP on Harry who looks like he’s about to hurl. He's the only wedding guest not watching the procession. We follow Harry’s line of vision to an old man sitting a few rows ahead, off to the side. The old man’s finger is knuckle-deep in his right and now distended nostril. Who knew that nostrils were so elastic? The old man catches Harry studying him with great disgust. He shoots Harry a fuck-you-I’ll-pick-my-nose-if-I-want-to! look. Harry gestures back a you-make-me-hurl look.
BACK TO the cantor who is now standing under the chupah, the ceremonial canopy where the wedding vows will be exchanged. The wedding procession continues with the march of the BRIDESMAIDS and USHERS, each one looking goofier and more self-conscious than the other.
CANTOR
(singing passionately)
Mah tovu,
Ohalecha Ya'aacov…
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. SYNAGOGUE HALL – LATER
The joint is hoppin'. A crowd has formed around three wild hora-within-horas in full swing. In the center of the innermost hora circle are the bride and groom, both seated on chairs and holding on for dear life as they hoisted up and down by the sweat-drenched inebriated ushers.
Those wedding guests not aggressive enough to make it into any of the three horas, crowd around to watch - clapping, singing, swaying to the frenzied beat.
CLOSE UP on Harry, one of the few wedding guests not swept away in the revelry of the festivities. He is standing a few feet away from the last layer of the crowd. Our eyes follow Pauline, who is standing a couple of steps in front of Harry. She's clapping to the music, taking it all in and totally loving it.
CLOSE UP back on Harry, who is staring at a couple discretely tucked away in a corner across the hall. Pauline turns around intrigued by what has captured Harry’s attention. We follow Harry’s line if vision to:
Yikes! It’s the mother of the bride and the cantor furtively exchanging sweet-nothings. The mother of the bride discretely rubs the cantor's thigh. Even from across the hall it’s obvious that the holy man is packing heat down below.
CLOSE UP back on Harry and Pauline.
Harry, the intense voyeur, is still staring at the couple in the corner, is and Pauline has taken note. She wraps her arms around Harry's waste. Annoyed, he unwraps her arms.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. SYNAGOGUE HALL - A LITTLE LATER
Time to cruise after the wild horas. The band plays some soft jazz and the wedding guests mingle. Pauline and Harry are chatting with another youngish couple - JOY, who’s a li'l bit chubby and a li'l bit cute, chubbier than cute though. Joy's date, GOMEZ, is a lotta bit swishy and and a lotta bit fey. Is he or isn’t he?
PAULINE
So are you two going out?
JOY GOMEZ
(SIMULTANEOUSLY)
(EMPHATICALLY). (SLURRING)
No! Well...
Pauline and Harry look at each other, not quite sure what to make of this “couple.”
Joy and Gomez exchange knowing looks. Time to set the story straight. Well, sort of.
GOMEZ
That would be hard considering I live in
L.A. and Joybee lives here.
Joy giggles nervously. Harry’s interest is piqued.
HARRY
(to Gomez)
What do you do in L.A.?
GOMEZ
I'm producing a sitcom pilot.
HARRY
(impressed)
No shit! A pilot?! Really?!
JOY
(proudly)
Yeah, a sitcom for Fox.
HARRY
Are you fucking serious?
GOMEZ
Yeah, it's called, Leftovers. It's
like Friends but ten years later,
with just the leftovers...
HARRY
(excited)
I love the idea! How'd you do it?
PAULINE
(interrupting)
Harry's writing for Feldman-
HARRY
(interrupting)
No, I'm writing a Feldman spec script.
Big difference. But tell me about Leftovers.
How the fuck did you do it?
GOMEZ
I got kind of lucky. So I'm subletting an
apartment from this guy, Barry Luden,
who used to write on Feldman. One day I'm
moving some of my stuff
to the apartment and Duane Day, you know,
the fat guy who plays Chubba on Feldman,
is hanging out with Barry. So I grab a beer
and we start kibitzing. I tell Duane about this
pilot Leftovers script I wrote and he fucking
loves it. Loves it! He tells me that he’s been
looking to get his own series and wants
to read my script.
HARRY
Fucking amazing!
GOMEZ
Yeah. Then Duane tells me that
he's even put together an ensemble
cast for his project with Wenzday Wilson -
HARRY
(interrupting, excited)
Wenzday Wilson?! Kid Chaos?
I fucking love him!
GOMEZ
And Sonny Pinto-
HARRY
(interrupting, excited)
Moochi?! As in, Mandy Loves Moochi?!
GOMEZ
Yeah, that Moochi-
HARRY
(interrupting, excited)
Anyone else?
GOMEZ
Yeah. Duane Day's girlfriend,
Cindy Saffron-
HARRY
(interrupting, excited)
Fran from Homework Bugs?!
(pausing)
What about Tootie?!
GOMEZ
No Tootie.
HARRY
(disappointed)
No Tootie...
GOMEZ
Anyhow, cut to the next day. Duane comes
over. He fucking loves the script. He brings
it to Fox and they green-light a pilot a week
later. I'm in shock. It's the only script I ever
wrote!
Pauline wraps her arms around Harry's waist. Harry unwraps them. Pauline wraps her arms back around his waste again.
PAULINE
I think Harry should write about
me...
Harry rolls his eyes, trying to play it cool. Truth is, he’s loving Pauline's tactile attention.
A waitress carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres approaches the group. No- couldn't be...
GINA
(deadpan, at Harry)
Hors oeuvres?
Joy and Gomez each pluck an hors d’oeuvre off the tray and pop them in their mouths.
GOMEZ
(chewing)
Yum, yum. Pigs in blankets! My favourite.
GINA
(to Harry, coolly)
Aren't you supposed to be
back in L.A., with BILL MURRAY?
Pauline and Joy are befuddled. Where is this coming from?
GOMEZ
(to Harry)
You know Bill Murray?
Harry opens up his mouth but the words just won't come out.
GINA
Yeah, Harry’s producing a BILL MURRAY
movie. He didn't tell you?
The jig is up, Harry. Time for damage control.
HARRY
(to Gina)
C-can we talk about this later?
GINA
(to Harry)
Sure. After I throw this
platter in your face.
Harry flinches and recoils. Joy and Gomez are taken aback.
GINA
Just joking, I need this job.
Gina eyes a glass with red wine on the cocktail table that is next to the group. Gomez picks off another pig-in-a-blanket and pops it into his mouth. Gina steps towards the table to pick up the glass. Just as she is about to place it on her tray, she says,
GINA
On second thought, I can always work
as an extra in your BILL MURRAY movie.
GINA makes an abrupt turn towards Harry and throws the drink in Harry's face. The group freezes for a beat while Gina storms out.
CLOSE UP on Harry’s shocked face dripping with red wine.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
A Lizard's Tale
"The meds are working, Harry. Since I've been taking them, I haven't heard any voices since and it's been two weeks...almost."
"Good stuff."
"At least I'm thinking clearly...almost."
"Then maybe now we can finally get back to the script? We haven't done dick for weeks."
"Well I've been too busy being crazy and you've been wasting time with the coat-check chick."
"Gina...And she also waitresses catered events."
"A waitress! I always wanted to do one. Y'know the way they stand over you with their cleavages busting out, taking down your order? I'll have a 69-combo as an appetizer, a doggy-style bang-fest for my main course and nipples with whipped cream for desert. Man, are you lucky, Harry. I want me a waitress too!"
"Well I"m on hiatus now. She thinks I'm back in L.A...ha...So I have to lay low for a while. A good time to get back into the script. Let's start tonight."
Finkie pulled out a baggy with grass and started rolling a fat joint.
""Do you really think that's a good idea, Finkie? I mean, you're on medication."
"I need the grass, especially if we're gonna get back into the script. It brings me up. Otherwise this medication just numbs me out."
"I dunno..."
"I'm okay, Harry. I really am."
"Then let's work on the script...tonight. Why put it off any longer?"
"Tonight's no good. I've got Uncle Hershie's Christmas party with the guys at work and I'm not gonna miss that."
"Bad idea, Finkie. You go wild at those parties."
"One night, " Finkie lit the rolled joint and inhaled deeply. "What's the big deal?"
What's the big deal?
CUT TO :
A LITTLE LATER AT HERSHIE'S CHRISTMAS PARTY.
Hershie stands at the holding up a crisp $1000 bill.
"A G-note to anyone here to anyone who gets up on stage and does the stripper," Hershie announced.
The stripper turned her round butt towards the audience, bent down holding her ankles and jiggled and gyrated.
The men cheered her on, but no takers to join her on stage.
"What's the matter?" Hershie taunted. "No real men around here?"
Finkie sprang to life. "I'll do it," he selflessly volunteered and bounded up on stage. A thousands bucks and a chance to do a wicked hot stripper. A no-brainer. So the guys saw you with a hard-on. Not the end of the world.
Unless the guys see you nude on stage with the wicked hot stripper, but without the hard-on. Just about the end of the world. And he didn't even get Uncle Hershie's G-note.
A WEEK LATER AT WORK
Finkie slipped out to the back alley during break-time to smoke a joint. A trashy Carol Burnett look-alike saw Finkie smoking the joint and approached him.
Hot tramp, I love you so.
She smacked her glossy lips and asked, "Can I have a smoke, baby?" Finkie held out the joint and offered it to her, but she shook her head.
"Not that kind of a smoke, baby," and then tugged at Finkie's crotch.
Finkie laughed nervously and nodded. A few minutes later Finkie was zipping up his pants.
"Now your turn," she said while wiggling out of her tight skirt.
But she was a he and Finkie went running wee wee wee all the way home.
After that Finkie stopped taking his meds and replacing them with grass. He quit working for Uncle Hershie. And writing, forget about writing, forget about L.A.. Weed was his new world and his dealers, Lenny the Lizard and Cross-Eyed Fred, his new best friends.
"They're good guys, Harry. You should meet them."
"I dunno, Finkie." Lenny the Lizard and Cross-Eyed Fred?
"You have to know the secret knock to get in," Finkie said while rapping on the door a clumsy version of the chorus of Beethoven's Fifth. Da da da da, da da da da. Harry tingled with anticipation.
Cross-Eyed Fred answered the door, each of his chameleon eyes independently sizing up Harry and Finkie as if they were potentially insects for dinner.
"Finkie man, you know that you just can't bring along anybody new like this.We need references first."
"What references Fred? This is Har-"
Harry kicked Finkie in the shin and said, "Harvey Potashner-"
"Yeah, my best friend, Harvey Potashner. He loves grass. Is crazy about it. Crazy, man."
Cross-Eyed Fred looked over Harry and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Come in," he shrugged and led them through a purple haze of smoke and into the grungy kitchen where Lenny the Lizard was rolling a joint.
"Gentlemen," Lenny the Lizard said after licking the rolling paper to finish the joint. "Care to partake in some primo Acapulco Gold?"
"Sure, but I have to take a dump first. It'll be quick." Finkie said and dashed to the bathroom.
"What's with this guy, man?" Lenny asked. "Every time he comes here, he takes a dump first."
"Yeah, well, that's Finkie. He likes to brag that he's so thin 'cause he craps six times a day," Harry answered.
"All I know man, is that I don't feel like passing a joint around with a guy who's just taken a crap. Let's smoke now before he gets back," Lenny said.
"It's not like I wanna bail on my best friend, but yeah, it grosses me out too," Harry said.
That and your awful case of facial psoriasis, Lenny the Lizard. What if a flake flutters into the joint? Oh fuck, now he's licking the joint.
"Where do you guys keep the plunger?!" Finkie yelled from the upstairs bathroom.
"Oh man!" Cross-Eyed Fred groaned and made a beeline to the kitchen closet. He opened the closet door and a bat flew out.
"Open the window, open the window!" Harry yelled.
Cross-Eyed Fred lunged towards the kitchen window and opened it wide. The bat which was flying herky-jerky circles around the kitchen table, flew straight out the window as if trained on command. Cross-Eyed Fred slammed the window shut and panted. "Good one, man," he said to Harry.
"Just joking !" Finkie hollered, as pleased as punch that his latest party-grabbing antic was a winner.
"Fucking guy," Lenny said while firing up a joint. "Let's smoke it fast before he gets back!" He took two long hits on the joint and passed it to Harry, who in turn took another two deep halls and then passed it to Cross-Eyed Fred who finished it.
"We'll leave him the roach," Lenny said.
The toilet flushed. Finkie leapt down the stairs into the cloud of purple smoke in the kitchen, chuckled to himself and grabbed the burning roach. All disapproving eyes were on him. Time for a party ice-breaker.
"I haven't tasted stuff like this since the old One-Ball Spiegel days," Harry said.
"Oh man, One-Ball!" Lenny said, happy to change the mood and slow things down. "I remember him well. We did a few deals with him. Fucked up dude."
Cross-Eyed Fred took a couple of tokes and then walked over to his cello propped up against the wall in the corner of the kitchen. He clutched the neck of the instrument sat down and began to play Bach's Cello Suite #1.
"You know how Speigel lost his ball?" Finkie asked.
"Who doesn't know that story?" Lenny said. "One hot August night the dude was playing frisbee high and nude in Sunnydale Park. He over-throws the frisbee sailed into the backyard of this house that bordered the park. And like a real bozo, he hops the fence to get his fucking frisbee."
"Naked?" Harry asked to be sure.
"Fucking naked, man," Lenny confirmed. "Meanwhile there's this Doberman in the backyard that's been waiting all its life for that moment. GRRRRRR!"
Harry flinched. Lenny jumped from his seat and got down on his hands and knees acting like he was a dog.."RUFF RUFF RUFF!" he barked and jumped on his knees. "Jump-jump-jump!" He bit into Finkie's thigh. "Bite-bite-bite," and faked ripping out Finkie's balls. "Twist, rock and roll. Chomp-chomp-chomp." Lenny swallowed hard. "Gulp."
"Bravo, a fine performance," Harry said and applauded.
"Paw lickin' good," Lenny said. "And da da da da, dadadada, the creation of a new St. Claire legend: One-Ball Speigel. The moral of the story dear friends, is never play frisbee au natural and buzzed."
"Bummer," Finkie said.
"And to cap it off, that that happened to be the home of his principal, the fuck-face who flunked him at the end of the year."
"Another flunker bites the dust," Harry sighed.
"That's just part one of the story, dude. When Speigel recovered he took up kung fu, he was fucking crazy mad at the world."
Cross-Eyed Fred was still playing Bach on his cello.
"That's true, man," Finkie said. "I remember playing hockey against him. He got thrown out of the game for fighting before the first face-off. What a fucking total fuck up!"
"Tell me about it," Lenny said. "He murdered his mother."
"???" Shivers ran up and down Harry's spine. Finkie laughed.
"Whaaat?" Harry chattered.
"I shouldn't repeat it, but everyone knows," Lenny said. "One night Speigel smoked some Thai sticks I sold him. He was acting like a fucking moron with these numchucks he bought from some psycho. He almost killed Fred that night for playing the cello, so I kicked him out. So Speigel's pissed at the world, goes downtown, spends a few hours at a strip joint, smokes more Thai sticks and rolls into his house at like three in the morning. Meanwhile his mother's worried sick, alone, waiting up for him.So he's blitzed out of his mind, reeking of Thai sticks and then his mother starts yelling at him. 'Why are you taking drugs? Why are you doing this to me?" et cetera, et cetera. He just wants her to shut up, he can't take the yelling."
"Then Speigel snaps. He just fucking snaps. The dude whips out his numchucks from his coat and fucking whacks his mother over the head, killing her on the spot. He's freaked out, didn't mean it, but he knows one thing: that he doesn't want to go to prison for life. His mother had warned him before to stop with the drugs before he ends up in jail with all the scumbags. So even though he just killed her, Speigel rationalizes that his mother, rest her soul, would do anything to keep him out of jail, so he gets the idea to fake her suicide."
"He actually ties a scarf around her neck and hangs her from the chandelier. Then he realizes that she's got this numchuck wound across the head, which would do him in. And then to his good fortune, if that's what you want to call it, the scarf rips and his mother's body goes crashing to the floor, ultimately decapitating the head from the body, but saving his ass. He then leaves the scene of the crime, drives back to my place and asks me if he can crash here for the night claiming that he got locked out. He goes home the next morning with his alibi, calls the cops and again to his good fortune, if that's what you want to call it, the cops rule the death a suicide and close the case. A few days later, Speigel tells me the real story."
"And you never told the cops the truth?" Harry asked.
"What for? To make a tragic story worse? I figured his punishment was to live...at least for the short while he had left..."
"Oh right," Finkie said. "There was that kung fu demonstration at the St. Claire Mall."
"Right," Lenny said. "With his mother's inheritance, Speigel opened up a martial arts studio and to attract new students, he'd do these road shows where he'd crack bricks with his head. He was doing one of those demonstrations at the St. Claire Mall during a Canada Day celebration, but this time it didn't work out so well."
"Standing in the front row of the crowd watching the demonstration was Resnick, his high school principal who flunked him out, you know, the guy whose dog bit off Speigel's ball. So when Speigel notices the fucker just before he's about to break the concrete brick with his head, he loses his concentration. And when Speigel tries to break the brick, his head cracked like an egg. And all of the nurses and all of the doctors couldn't put One-Ball Speigel back together again."
"The Curse of the Flunkers!" Harry shouted.
"Who's next?" Finkie shouldn't have said.
"Good stuff."
"At least I'm thinking clearly...almost."
"Then maybe now we can finally get back to the script? We haven't done dick for weeks."
"Well I've been too busy being crazy and you've been wasting time with the coat-check chick."
"Gina...And she also waitresses catered events."
"A waitress! I always wanted to do one. Y'know the way they stand over you with their cleavages busting out, taking down your order? I'll have a 69-combo as an appetizer, a doggy-style bang-fest for my main course and nipples with whipped cream for desert. Man, are you lucky, Harry. I want me a waitress too!"
"Well I"m on hiatus now. She thinks I'm back in L.A...ha...So I have to lay low for a while. A good time to get back into the script. Let's start tonight."
Finkie pulled out a baggy with grass and started rolling a fat joint.
""Do you really think that's a good idea, Finkie? I mean, you're on medication."
"I need the grass, especially if we're gonna get back into the script. It brings me up. Otherwise this medication just numbs me out."
"I dunno..."
"I'm okay, Harry. I really am."
"Then let's work on the script...tonight. Why put it off any longer?"
"Tonight's no good. I've got Uncle Hershie's Christmas party with the guys at work and I'm not gonna miss that."
"Bad idea, Finkie. You go wild at those parties."
"One night, " Finkie lit the rolled joint and inhaled deeply. "What's the big deal?"
What's the big deal?
CUT TO :
A LITTLE LATER AT HERSHIE'S CHRISTMAS PARTY.
Hershie stands at the holding up a crisp $1000 bill.
"A G-note to anyone here to anyone who gets up on stage and does the stripper," Hershie announced.
The stripper turned her round butt towards the audience, bent down holding her ankles and jiggled and gyrated.
The men cheered her on, but no takers to join her on stage.
"What's the matter?" Hershie taunted. "No real men around here?"
Finkie sprang to life. "I'll do it," he selflessly volunteered and bounded up on stage. A thousands bucks and a chance to do a wicked hot stripper. A no-brainer. So the guys saw you with a hard-on. Not the end of the world.
Unless the guys see you nude on stage with the wicked hot stripper, but without the hard-on. Just about the end of the world. And he didn't even get Uncle Hershie's G-note.
A WEEK LATER AT WORK
Finkie slipped out to the back alley during break-time to smoke a joint. A trashy Carol Burnett look-alike saw Finkie smoking the joint and approached him.
Hot tramp, I love you so.
She smacked her glossy lips and asked, "Can I have a smoke, baby?" Finkie held out the joint and offered it to her, but she shook her head.
"Not that kind of a smoke, baby," and then tugged at Finkie's crotch.
Finkie laughed nervously and nodded. A few minutes later Finkie was zipping up his pants.
"Now your turn," she said while wiggling out of her tight skirt.
But she was a he and Finkie went running wee wee wee all the way home.
After that Finkie stopped taking his meds and replacing them with grass. He quit working for Uncle Hershie. And writing, forget about writing, forget about L.A.. Weed was his new world and his dealers, Lenny the Lizard and Cross-Eyed Fred, his new best friends.
"They're good guys, Harry. You should meet them."
"I dunno, Finkie." Lenny the Lizard and Cross-Eyed Fred?
"You have to know the secret knock to get in," Finkie said while rapping on the door a clumsy version of the chorus of Beethoven's Fifth. Da da da da, da da da da. Harry tingled with anticipation.
Cross-Eyed Fred answered the door, each of his chameleon eyes independently sizing up Harry and Finkie as if they were potentially insects for dinner.
"Finkie man, you know that you just can't bring along anybody new like this.We need references first."
"What references Fred? This is Har-"
Harry kicked Finkie in the shin and said, "Harvey Potashner-"
"Yeah, my best friend, Harvey Potashner. He loves grass. Is crazy about it. Crazy, man."
Cross-Eyed Fred looked over Harry and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Come in," he shrugged and led them through a purple haze of smoke and into the grungy kitchen where Lenny the Lizard was rolling a joint.
"Gentlemen," Lenny the Lizard said after licking the rolling paper to finish the joint. "Care to partake in some primo Acapulco Gold?"
"Sure, but I have to take a dump first. It'll be quick." Finkie said and dashed to the bathroom.
"What's with this guy, man?" Lenny asked. "Every time he comes here, he takes a dump first."
"Yeah, well, that's Finkie. He likes to brag that he's so thin 'cause he craps six times a day," Harry answered.
"All I know man, is that I don't feel like passing a joint around with a guy who's just taken a crap. Let's smoke now before he gets back," Lenny said.
"It's not like I wanna bail on my best friend, but yeah, it grosses me out too," Harry said.
That and your awful case of facial psoriasis, Lenny the Lizard. What if a flake flutters into the joint? Oh fuck, now he's licking the joint.
"Where do you guys keep the plunger?!" Finkie yelled from the upstairs bathroom.
"Oh man!" Cross-Eyed Fred groaned and made a beeline to the kitchen closet. He opened the closet door and a bat flew out.
"Open the window, open the window!" Harry yelled.
Cross-Eyed Fred lunged towards the kitchen window and opened it wide. The bat which was flying herky-jerky circles around the kitchen table, flew straight out the window as if trained on command. Cross-Eyed Fred slammed the window shut and panted. "Good one, man," he said to Harry.
"Just joking !" Finkie hollered, as pleased as punch that his latest party-grabbing antic was a winner.
"Fucking guy," Lenny said while firing up a joint. "Let's smoke it fast before he gets back!" He took two long hits on the joint and passed it to Harry, who in turn took another two deep halls and then passed it to Cross-Eyed Fred who finished it.
"We'll leave him the roach," Lenny said.
The toilet flushed. Finkie leapt down the stairs into the cloud of purple smoke in the kitchen, chuckled to himself and grabbed the burning roach. All disapproving eyes were on him. Time for a party ice-breaker.
"I haven't tasted stuff like this since the old One-Ball Spiegel days," Harry said.
"Oh man, One-Ball!" Lenny said, happy to change the mood and slow things down. "I remember him well. We did a few deals with him. Fucked up dude."
Cross-Eyed Fred took a couple of tokes and then walked over to his cello propped up against the wall in the corner of the kitchen. He clutched the neck of the instrument sat down and began to play Bach's Cello Suite #1.
"You know how Speigel lost his ball?" Finkie asked.
"Who doesn't know that story?" Lenny said. "One hot August night the dude was playing frisbee high and nude in Sunnydale Park. He over-throws the frisbee sailed into the backyard of this house that bordered the park. And like a real bozo, he hops the fence to get his fucking frisbee."
"Naked?" Harry asked to be sure.
"Fucking naked, man," Lenny confirmed. "Meanwhile there's this Doberman in the backyard that's been waiting all its life for that moment. GRRRRRR!"
Harry flinched. Lenny jumped from his seat and got down on his hands and knees acting like he was a dog.."RUFF RUFF RUFF!" he barked and jumped on his knees. "Jump-jump-jump!" He bit into Finkie's thigh. "Bite-bite-bite," and faked ripping out Finkie's balls. "Twist, rock and roll. Chomp-chomp-chomp." Lenny swallowed hard. "Gulp."
"Bravo, a fine performance," Harry said and applauded.
"Paw lickin' good," Lenny said. "And da da da da, dadadada, the creation of a new St. Claire legend: One-Ball Speigel. The moral of the story dear friends, is never play frisbee au natural and buzzed."
"Bummer," Finkie said.
"And to cap it off, that that happened to be the home of his principal, the fuck-face who flunked him at the end of the year."
"Another flunker bites the dust," Harry sighed.
"That's just part one of the story, dude. When Speigel recovered he took up kung fu, he was fucking crazy mad at the world."
Cross-Eyed Fred was still playing Bach on his cello.
"That's true, man," Finkie said. "I remember playing hockey against him. He got thrown out of the game for fighting before the first face-off. What a fucking total fuck up!"
"Tell me about it," Lenny said. "He murdered his mother."
"???" Shivers ran up and down Harry's spine. Finkie laughed.
"Whaaat?" Harry chattered.
"I shouldn't repeat it, but everyone knows," Lenny said. "One night Speigel smoked some Thai sticks I sold him. He was acting like a fucking moron with these numchucks he bought from some psycho. He almost killed Fred that night for playing the cello, so I kicked him out. So Speigel's pissed at the world, goes downtown, spends a few hours at a strip joint, smokes more Thai sticks and rolls into his house at like three in the morning. Meanwhile his mother's worried sick, alone, waiting up for him.So he's blitzed out of his mind, reeking of Thai sticks and then his mother starts yelling at him. 'Why are you taking drugs? Why are you doing this to me?" et cetera, et cetera. He just wants her to shut up, he can't take the yelling."
"Then Speigel snaps. He just fucking snaps. The dude whips out his numchucks from his coat and fucking whacks his mother over the head, killing her on the spot. He's freaked out, didn't mean it, but he knows one thing: that he doesn't want to go to prison for life. His mother had warned him before to stop with the drugs before he ends up in jail with all the scumbags. So even though he just killed her, Speigel rationalizes that his mother, rest her soul, would do anything to keep him out of jail, so he gets the idea to fake her suicide."
"He actually ties a scarf around her neck and hangs her from the chandelier. Then he realizes that she's got this numchuck wound across the head, which would do him in. And then to his good fortune, if that's what you want to call it, the scarf rips and his mother's body goes crashing to the floor, ultimately decapitating the head from the body, but saving his ass. He then leaves the scene of the crime, drives back to my place and asks me if he can crash here for the night claiming that he got locked out. He goes home the next morning with his alibi, calls the cops and again to his good fortune, if that's what you want to call it, the cops rule the death a suicide and close the case. A few days later, Speigel tells me the real story."
"And you never told the cops the truth?" Harry asked.
"What for? To make a tragic story worse? I figured his punishment was to live...at least for the short while he had left..."
"Oh right," Finkie said. "There was that kung fu demonstration at the St. Claire Mall."
"Right," Lenny said. "With his mother's inheritance, Speigel opened up a martial arts studio and to attract new students, he'd do these road shows where he'd crack bricks with his head. He was doing one of those demonstrations at the St. Claire Mall during a Canada Day celebration, but this time it didn't work out so well."
"Standing in the front row of the crowd watching the demonstration was Resnick, his high school principal who flunked him out, you know, the guy whose dog bit off Speigel's ball. So when Speigel notices the fucker just before he's about to break the concrete brick with his head, he loses his concentration. And when Speigel tries to break the brick, his head cracked like an egg. And all of the nurses and all of the doctors couldn't put One-Ball Speigel back together again."
"The Curse of the Flunkers!" Harry shouted.
"Who's next?" Finkie shouldn't have said.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Voices on Sunday
"What's with the rocking back and forth, Finkie? It's like you're jerking off."
"...l...l...l...l..." Finkie lit up a cigarette and kept on rocking.
"And since when do you smoke?"
"I'm tired, man, got a lot on my shoulders. I'm fighting wars around the world. A battle just broke out with the rebels in Brazil."
"Get your coat, Finkie. We're going to the doctor."
"No! Their going to try to get inside my head."
"Listen to me, Finkie. I think that acid messed you up. You gotta get some help."
"There's too much shit going on everywhere."
"You need to see a doctor, Finkie. I'm taking you to see one."
"I'm okay, Harry. I'm not crazy...Just that my mind is jumping all over the place. I'm hearing voices, seeing stuff."
"Just relax, man. Everything's gonna be okay."
"I'm hearing voices, Harry. Don't leave me alone."
****
FADE IN:
SFX: An upbeat Franco pop tune is playing on the car radio.
It's a spectacular spring day. Gina and Harry driving along the winding road hugging the craggy grey cliffs of Mount Royal. They take in a scenic view of Montreal against the backdrop of the Laurentian mountains. Hair is blowing in the wind, they're laughing - intoxicated with each other. Youth in all its glory.
CLOSE UP OF HARRY, the leading man. For the moment he's all that he can be.
CLOSE UP OF GINA: She grabs her leading man and kisses him.
SFX: The sound of a needle scratching. The music stops as:
The camera ZOOMS IN on Finkie in the back seat. He jerks his head forward in between the lovestruck couple. Gina's intended kiss for Harry is intercepted by Finkie's butting face.
CLOSE UP of Finkie smirking. We're not sure whether it's pathos or funny.
DISSOLVE TO:
Sunday-in-the-park, a Monet tableau. Gina and Harry are walking hand-in-hand around Beaver Lake on top of Mount Royal. Gina tosses a handful of bread crumbs to a few of quacking white ducks.
A hunk of bread is thrown in between them. A couple of cheeky ducks swoon in a little too close for comfort to Gina and Harry, who recoil in surprise.
We follow the camera as it ZOOMS IN on Finkie who is a few steps behind Gina and Harry. Finkie follows through on that bread toss. He laughs hysterically...maniacally...maniacally.
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: The same Franco pop music is still playing.
Gina and Harry are sipping white wine on the outdoor terrace of the cafe on top of Beaver Lake of Mount Royal. They're doing a running commentary of the park strollers, as if those people only exist for their entertainment. Harry points to an eccentric couple wearing ridiculous hats, walking a ferret on a leash. The ferret climbs up the woman's leg and starts humping it. Harry laughs and leans in to kiss Gina...just as Finkie's head butts in out of nowhere and intercepts Harry's kiss with his cheek.
Pathos, funny or annoying?
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: Franco pop music is still playing.
Silhouettes of Gina and Harry watching the sunset over Montreal from the look-out on Mount Royal. The sky glows mixed hues of hot pink and tangerine. Gina leans her head on Harry's shoulder soaking in the romantic scene.
ZOOM IN on Finkie, who in turn, leans his head on Gina's shoulder.
Sad but sweet.
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: An Edith Piaf song is this scene's soundtrack.
Tete-a-tete in a cozy French restaurant on the Plateau, at a table by the window. The waiter brings them an impressive tray of fresh sea food, including a giant live lobster.
CLOSE UP on Finkie, who's sitting across the table. He reaches over to touch the lobster which almost snaps off his pointing finger. Take that, Finkie!
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: Leonard Cohen's Suzanne is playing in the background.
Gina and Harry charge up the outside winding staircase of a brownstone triplex, into her apartment. Both are so excited that Gina can barely get the key into the lock. When it finally opens, they swirl together, peeling off their clothes in a tornado of lust, groping their way to the bedroom, but not quite making it. The floor will have to do. Ginette claps her hands; the lights go off. Sweet giggles melt into oohs and ahs.
A couple of beats.
SFX: Phonograph needle scratching sound.
SFX: The buzzer rings.
CUT TO:
Finkie ringing the door bell.
FADE OUT:
"...l...l...l...l..." Finkie lit up a cigarette and kept on rocking.
"And since when do you smoke?"
"I'm tired, man, got a lot on my shoulders. I'm fighting wars around the world. A battle just broke out with the rebels in Brazil."
"Get your coat, Finkie. We're going to the doctor."
"No! Their going to try to get inside my head."
"Listen to me, Finkie. I think that acid messed you up. You gotta get some help."
"There's too much shit going on everywhere."
"You need to see a doctor, Finkie. I'm taking you to see one."
"I'm okay, Harry. I'm not crazy...Just that my mind is jumping all over the place. I'm hearing voices, seeing stuff."
"Just relax, man. Everything's gonna be okay."
"I'm hearing voices, Harry. Don't leave me alone."
****
FADE IN:
SFX: An upbeat Franco pop tune is playing on the car radio.
It's a spectacular spring day. Gina and Harry driving along the winding road hugging the craggy grey cliffs of Mount Royal. They take in a scenic view of Montreal against the backdrop of the Laurentian mountains. Hair is blowing in the wind, they're laughing - intoxicated with each other. Youth in all its glory.
CLOSE UP OF HARRY, the leading man. For the moment he's all that he can be.
CLOSE UP OF GINA: She grabs her leading man and kisses him.
SFX: The sound of a needle scratching. The music stops as:
The camera ZOOMS IN on Finkie in the back seat. He jerks his head forward in between the lovestruck couple. Gina's intended kiss for Harry is intercepted by Finkie's butting face.
CLOSE UP of Finkie smirking. We're not sure whether it's pathos or funny.
DISSOLVE TO:
Sunday-in-the-park, a Monet tableau. Gina and Harry are walking hand-in-hand around Beaver Lake on top of Mount Royal. Gina tosses a handful of bread crumbs to a few of quacking white ducks.
A hunk of bread is thrown in between them. A couple of cheeky ducks swoon in a little too close for comfort to Gina and Harry, who recoil in surprise.
We follow the camera as it ZOOMS IN on Finkie who is a few steps behind Gina and Harry. Finkie follows through on that bread toss. He laughs hysterically...maniacally...maniacally.
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: The same Franco pop music is still playing.
Gina and Harry are sipping white wine on the outdoor terrace of the cafe on top of Beaver Lake of Mount Royal. They're doing a running commentary of the park strollers, as if those people only exist for their entertainment. Harry points to an eccentric couple wearing ridiculous hats, walking a ferret on a leash. The ferret climbs up the woman's leg and starts humping it. Harry laughs and leans in to kiss Gina...just as Finkie's head butts in out of nowhere and intercepts Harry's kiss with his cheek.
Pathos, funny or annoying?
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: Franco pop music is still playing.
Silhouettes of Gina and Harry watching the sunset over Montreal from the look-out on Mount Royal. The sky glows mixed hues of hot pink and tangerine. Gina leans her head on Harry's shoulder soaking in the romantic scene.
ZOOM IN on Finkie, who in turn, leans his head on Gina's shoulder.
Sad but sweet.
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: An Edith Piaf song is this scene's soundtrack.
Tete-a-tete in a cozy French restaurant on the Plateau, at a table by the window. The waiter brings them an impressive tray of fresh sea food, including a giant live lobster.
CLOSE UP on Finkie, who's sitting across the table. He reaches over to touch the lobster which almost snaps off his pointing finger. Take that, Finkie!
DISSOLVE TO:
SFX: Leonard Cohen's Suzanne is playing in the background.
Gina and Harry charge up the outside winding staircase of a brownstone triplex, into her apartment. Both are so excited that Gina can barely get the key into the lock. When it finally opens, they swirl together, peeling off their clothes in a tornado of lust, groping their way to the bedroom, but not quite making it. The floor will have to do. Ginette claps her hands; the lights go off. Sweet giggles melt into oohs and ahs.
A couple of beats.
SFX: Phonograph needle scratching sound.
SFX: The buzzer rings.
CUT TO:
Finkie ringing the door bell.
FADE OUT:
Friday, March 9, 2012
Market Week - continued
"Come with me to my cousin's wedding, Harry. I promise you a good time."
"For like the tenth time, Pauline, forget it. I can't go... Did you serve that customer in the purple fur coat?"
"I can't. I don't do purple."
But chicks in purple are wild.
"That's ridiculous."
"Purple is bad luck in my family. No one will go near it. Sorry."
"Well, the potential customer just turned around and left our booth. I guess she felt your vibes."
"For sure, Harry. We can't see the forces at work in the unseen world."
Like the Curse of the Flunkers.
"Harry, come with me to my cousin's wedding."
"Drop it already, or I'll wear purple tomorrow."
But keep on begging.
"Come on, we'll have fun. And I promise to put a smile on your face."
"Just don't sit on it...Can we focus on work, Pauline? How about looking after the customer with the red hair and anklet who just walked into our booth?"
The Anklet; Sign of the Harlot.
"That's Colleen from St. John. Such a sweetie!"
Using his special X-ray pussy vision, Harry scanned Colleen from head to toe.
Nice firm breasts. Nipples slightly off center, ass in need of toning. Not quite Ginger or Mary Ann, but wouldn't mind being stranded with her on Gilligan's Island. Massage her bod with fresh coconut oil, skinny dip in the lagoon.
A half hour later; Colleen and Pauline are coddling their mugs of market week coffee while working the fall belt order. "You're glowing, Colleen. You must be in love."
"Can you tell, Pauline? I'm with... my boss...Earl."
"Earl...I never went out with a man whose first name started with an E," Pauline said. "My sister once tried to fix me up with an Ernie, but I couldn't see myself kissing a Muppet. Even worse, Ernie was an accountant. Never go out with an accountant, ma chére. They're cheap-cheap-cheap-cheap. I once went out with an accountant who paid for dinner with a coupon. Mon dieu, I almost fell through the floor."
"I once dated an accountant who chose which restaurants to go to based on an MPC rating."
"You mean MSG."
"No, MPC - Maximum Plate Coverage. He actually invented that unit of measurement and got a copyright for it. He tried to set up an MPC ratings guide for diners, like Zagat. Lost his shirt in the venture. I broke up with him after he got banned from a Chinese all-you-can-eat buffet. He ate so much shrimp, his eyes turned pink. I told him to take his MPC and shove it up his ass...Thank God my Earl isn't cheap. He's spends more on me than on his wife!"
"What's Earl's love sign?"
"He's a Taurus, a bull all the way," Colleen giggled.
"Ooh la la. And he's rich?"
"Well, I guess so, for St. John at least. He has two Mont Blanc pens and a closet full of Polo shirts."
"I like a man dressed in Polo. Even better if he wears zebra striped underwear like my ex-boyfriend, Dudas Dubrofsky," Pauline giggled.
"Earl likes his boxers. He's got sagging balls," Colleen whispered. "If only he wasn't married," she sighed while studying her hand. "But God bless these market weeks. It's the only time we get to sleep together in peace."
"You can't have it all, Colleen, so you might as well have fun. That's what I'm telling Harry." Pauline motioned to Harry to join them at the table. "Isn't he good-looking? We're going to my cousin's wedding together."
"No we're not," Harry said while sitting down at the table.
"Playing hard go get?" Colleen said. "Sounds like more fun than Catch Me, Catch Me!"
"Ha ha ha. Maybe I should try Catch Me, Catch Me with Harry? Maybe he could try to catch us both!"
Maybe a menage?
Pauline stared at Harry's bulging crotch. "All you have to do is look at him and he gets a hard-on."
Harry blushed when he realized that he was indeed packing a hard-on.
"Oh my! " Colleen said while giving Harry the once over.
Baby.
Pauline grabbed Harry's crotch and squeezed. "What did I tell you?"
Colleen picked up her ringing cell phone and slapped it against her ear. "Baby," she nodded. "Aha...Aha..." She mouthed to Pauline, "It's Earl...Aha...aha..." Colleen giggled and nodded some more. "Aha...aha...Right now?...Aha...aha!" She hung up her phone and stuffed it back in her purse. "I gotta run now, Pauline. Earl lucked out on an early check in and got upgraded to a suite with a Jacuzzi...Yeee-haaa!" Colleen grabbed her purse. "Be a sweetie and finish the rest of my belt order? You can mail it to me." And then Colleen vanished into thin air.
"Maybe we should also get a hotel room, Harry?"
"I don't do hotel rooms. I can't sleep in a bed that's been used by thousands of Colleens and Earls."
"That's okay. After my cousin's wedding we can go to my place...So you're coming with me?...Pleeease.?
And he said yes. And he didn't know why, just that he was starring in Market Week.
"Just go ahead, Harry, and write my belt order. I sold out of everything I bought from you last season."
The boutique owners: Harry's new constituency.
"I trust your taste, Harry. If you say I can sell $100 belts with buckles that look like sculptures, then add it to my order."
Not exactly the kind of fans he once imagined.
"Whatever you say, Harry. You're the star."
Some star, selling belts. Life in the marginal lane. Another Harvey Potashner, Prince of the Lonely, host-on-call for those Sweet Sixteen debs whose Saturday night dates were tubs of Ben and Jerry's -- Rocky Road, Cherry Garcia, Ethan Almond. Those sad girls, camped out in their sweats in front of the TV, taking their virtual cruise on The Love Boat, teleporting their dreams to the custody of Mr. Roarke of Fantasy Island, safe from the daily grind of rejection. But for just one night of their aching teenage lives, for one enchanted magical night, their Sweet Sixteen party, those left-overs could be princesses, flanked by the star of the lonely hearts club band,their muckle-mouthed Prince Charming, Harvey Potashner.
Until the clock struck midnight.
That thought: then: Harry yearned to weep. A moment of clarity; he'd been beamed down to the wrong transporter pad.
"Stop dreaming," Pauline said. "There's a customer over there who only wants to work with you."
"For like the tenth time, Pauline, forget it. I can't go... Did you serve that customer in the purple fur coat?"
"I can't. I don't do purple."
But chicks in purple are wild.
"That's ridiculous."
"Purple is bad luck in my family. No one will go near it. Sorry."
"Well, the potential customer just turned around and left our booth. I guess she felt your vibes."
"For sure, Harry. We can't see the forces at work in the unseen world."
Like the Curse of the Flunkers.
"Harry, come with me to my cousin's wedding."
"Drop it already, or I'll wear purple tomorrow."
But keep on begging.
"Come on, we'll have fun. And I promise to put a smile on your face."
"Just don't sit on it...Can we focus on work, Pauline? How about looking after the customer with the red hair and anklet who just walked into our booth?"
The Anklet; Sign of the Harlot.
"That's Colleen from St. John. Such a sweetie!"
Using his special X-ray pussy vision, Harry scanned Colleen from head to toe.
Nice firm breasts. Nipples slightly off center, ass in need of toning. Not quite Ginger or Mary Ann, but wouldn't mind being stranded with her on Gilligan's Island. Massage her bod with fresh coconut oil, skinny dip in the lagoon.
A half hour later; Colleen and Pauline are coddling their mugs of market week coffee while working the fall belt order. "You're glowing, Colleen. You must be in love."
"Can you tell, Pauline? I'm with... my boss...Earl."
"Earl...I never went out with a man whose first name started with an E," Pauline said. "My sister once tried to fix me up with an Ernie, but I couldn't see myself kissing a Muppet. Even worse, Ernie was an accountant. Never go out with an accountant, ma chére. They're cheap-cheap-cheap-cheap. I once went out with an accountant who paid for dinner with a coupon. Mon dieu, I almost fell through the floor."
"I once dated an accountant who chose which restaurants to go to based on an MPC rating."
"You mean MSG."
"No, MPC - Maximum Plate Coverage. He actually invented that unit of measurement and got a copyright for it. He tried to set up an MPC ratings guide for diners, like Zagat. Lost his shirt in the venture. I broke up with him after he got banned from a Chinese all-you-can-eat buffet. He ate so much shrimp, his eyes turned pink. I told him to take his MPC and shove it up his ass...Thank God my Earl isn't cheap. He's spends more on me than on his wife!"
"What's Earl's love sign?"
"He's a Taurus, a bull all the way," Colleen giggled.
"Ooh la la. And he's rich?"
"Well, I guess so, for St. John at least. He has two Mont Blanc pens and a closet full of Polo shirts."
"I like a man dressed in Polo. Even better if he wears zebra striped underwear like my ex-boyfriend, Dudas Dubrofsky," Pauline giggled.
"Earl likes his boxers. He's got sagging balls," Colleen whispered. "If only he wasn't married," she sighed while studying her hand. "But God bless these market weeks. It's the only time we get to sleep together in peace."
"You can't have it all, Colleen, so you might as well have fun. That's what I'm telling Harry." Pauline motioned to Harry to join them at the table. "Isn't he good-looking? We're going to my cousin's wedding together."
"No we're not," Harry said while sitting down at the table.
"Playing hard go get?" Colleen said. "Sounds like more fun than Catch Me, Catch Me!"
"Ha ha ha. Maybe I should try Catch Me, Catch Me with Harry? Maybe he could try to catch us both!"
Maybe a menage?
Pauline stared at Harry's bulging crotch. "All you have to do is look at him and he gets a hard-on."
Harry blushed when he realized that he was indeed packing a hard-on.
"Oh my! " Colleen said while giving Harry the once over.
Baby.
Pauline grabbed Harry's crotch and squeezed. "What did I tell you?"
Colleen picked up her ringing cell phone and slapped it against her ear. "Baby," she nodded. "Aha...Aha..." She mouthed to Pauline, "It's Earl...Aha...aha..." Colleen giggled and nodded some more. "Aha...aha...Right now?...Aha...aha!" She hung up her phone and stuffed it back in her purse. "I gotta run now, Pauline. Earl lucked out on an early check in and got upgraded to a suite with a Jacuzzi...Yeee-haaa!" Colleen grabbed her purse. "Be a sweetie and finish the rest of my belt order? You can mail it to me." And then Colleen vanished into thin air.
"Maybe we should also get a hotel room, Harry?"
"I don't do hotel rooms. I can't sleep in a bed that's been used by thousands of Colleens and Earls."
"That's okay. After my cousin's wedding we can go to my place...So you're coming with me?...Pleeease.?
And he said yes. And he didn't know why, just that he was starring in Market Week.
"Just go ahead, Harry, and write my belt order. I sold out of everything I bought from you last season."
The boutique owners: Harry's new constituency.
"I trust your taste, Harry. If you say I can sell $100 belts with buckles that look like sculptures, then add it to my order."
Not exactly the kind of fans he once imagined.
"Whatever you say, Harry. You're the star."
Some star, selling belts. Life in the marginal lane. Another Harvey Potashner, Prince of the Lonely, host-on-call for those Sweet Sixteen debs whose Saturday night dates were tubs of Ben and Jerry's -- Rocky Road, Cherry Garcia, Ethan Almond. Those sad girls, camped out in their sweats in front of the TV, taking their virtual cruise on The Love Boat, teleporting their dreams to the custody of Mr. Roarke of Fantasy Island, safe from the daily grind of rejection. But for just one night of their aching teenage lives, for one enchanted magical night, their Sweet Sixteen party, those left-overs could be princesses, flanked by the star of the lonely hearts club band,their muckle-mouthed Prince Charming, Harvey Potashner.
Until the clock struck midnight.
That thought: then: Harry yearned to weep. A moment of clarity; he'd been beamed down to the wrong transporter pad.
"Stop dreaming," Pauline said. "There's a customer over there who only wants to work with you."
Monday, March 5, 2012
"Come with me to my cousin's wedding, Harry. I promise you a good time."
"For like the tenth time, Pauline, forget it, I'm not interested. Did you serve that customer in the purple fur coat?"
"I can't. I don't do purple...So are you coming with me to, my cousin's wedding?"
Chicks in purple are wild. "Please drop the subject, or I'll wear purple tomorrow. Harry said. He couldn't stand Pauline, but he didn't want her to leave him alone.
"What's not for you? I will make you happy."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
Tempting. He'd experienced her fine work before. But that was behind a closed door, going to a wedding with her was public and that could be dangerous.
Harry did. Cave in to the power of the she-devil during a fleeting moment of weakness and hate yourself for life. Better to take a deep breath and play, 'Hey, I'm a cool guy.'
"Thanks for the kind offer, Pauline, but I'll take a pass."
"You are such a putz, Harry." Harry loved to hear a shikse say that word. "I do well with putzes."
"Look, I can't go to that wedding with you because I just fell in love with a girl I met this week...Now why am I telling you this? Oh right, because I am a putz."
"Love strikes like lightning...Then it's gone. You can still come to the wedding with me."
Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. Another ridiculous chick conversation. The belt business was turning him into mental mush. The week before he tripped into another moronic exchange with another intellectual lightweight, another fuschia-haired boutique owner from Quebec decked out in Elton John glasses. She asked Harry for a simultaneous French translation the Stevie Wonder song, I Just Called to Say I Love You, while it played in the showroom at the time. And like a simpering fool, Harry actually did it and badly. The look on her face -- as if she was watching a freak show. The fact that his mouth that wouldn't stop, couldn't stop the rambling gibberish spewing out like a stream of verbal diarrhea. The horror, the horror. The ridiculous belt business. Time to move to LA and make it big.
"Okay, I'll go." He had no idea why he agreed and regretted it instantaneously. One more stupid thing to add to the inventory.
But first Harry would have to get through Market Week.
"For like the tenth time, Pauline, forget it, I'm not interested. Did you serve that customer in the purple fur coat?"
"I can't. I don't do purple...So are you coming with me to, my cousin's wedding?"
Chicks in purple are wild. "Please drop the subject, or I'll wear purple tomorrow. Harry said. He couldn't stand Pauline, but he didn't want her to leave him alone.
"What's not for you? I will make you happy."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
Tempting. He'd experienced her fine work before. But that was behind a closed door, going to a wedding with her was public and that could be dangerous.
Harry did. Cave in to the power of the she-devil during a fleeting moment of weakness and hate yourself for life. Better to take a deep breath and play, 'Hey, I'm a cool guy.'
"Thanks for the kind offer, Pauline, but I'll take a pass."
"You are such a putz, Harry." Harry loved to hear a shikse say that word. "I do well with putzes."
"Look, I can't go to that wedding with you because I just fell in love with a girl I met this week...Now why am I telling you this? Oh right, because I am a putz."
"Love strikes like lightning...Then it's gone. You can still come to the wedding with me."
Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. Another ridiculous chick conversation. The belt business was turning him into mental mush. The week before he tripped into another moronic exchange with another intellectual lightweight, another fuschia-haired boutique owner from Quebec decked out in Elton John glasses. She asked Harry for a simultaneous French translation the Stevie Wonder song, I Just Called to Say I Love You, while it played in the showroom at the time. And like a simpering fool, Harry actually did it and badly. The look on her face -- as if she was watching a freak show. The fact that his mouth that wouldn't stop, couldn't stop the rambling gibberish spewing out like a stream of verbal diarrhea. The horror, the horror. The ridiculous belt business. Time to move to LA and make it big.
"Okay, I'll go." He had no idea why he agreed and regretted it instantaneously. One more stupid thing to add to the inventory.
But first Harry would have to get through Market Week.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Market Week
CLOSE UP OF HARRY:
THE BACKGROUND IS BLACK. IT SEEMS LIKE HARRY'S HEAD IS FLOATING IN THE DARKNESS. HIS FACE IS PAINTED IN WHITE WITH BLACK STRIPES ON THE CHEEKS. THERE IS A GOLD RING IN HIS NOSE:
THE BACKGROUND IS BLACK. IT SEEMS LIKE HARRY'S HEAD IS FLOATING IN THE DARKNESS. HIS FACE IS PAINTED IN WHITE WITH BLACK STRIPES ON THE CHEEKS. THERE IS A GOLD RING IN HIS NOSE:
"The horrors, the horrors that I've seen. The honest merchants bereft of guile, easy marks for the schmatologist wolves. Little Red Riding Hoods with checkbooks in their baskets knocking on grandma's door. I've seen them all. The Anne-of-Green-Gables bo-tique owners from the Maritimes writing checks for merchandise that never gets shipped. The fair-haired, double-chinned Ontario innocents clad in floral-patterned polyester sweaters, OD'ing on bagels and lox. The stiletto-heeled fashionistas with fuschia-streaked hair from la belle province getting banged in shag-carpeted motel rooms on cum-stained sheets by grunting, toupéed, lingerie jobbers high on Diet Coke and smoked meat, farting while they fuck. Do not judge these schmata barbarians, for they are pure. They take the money and run, no regrets. If I had half the heart of those goniffs, half the heart, half the gumption of those sales reps living in their perfect immoral vacuums then I too would be at peace, at one with the universe. Do not judge them I say, for they are pure and I am but another Market Week whore masquerading behind this painted face ."
"Alvy, I need more money to work the show."
"You know what it costs me to rent a double-booth in the Fashion Mart for Market Week?"
Not my fucking problem "I dunno, Alvy. Ten bucks?"
"Putz.Ten bucks he says."
A putz who did your wife. "And can you stop with the putz, please."
"Okay, smart ass. Do you have any idea what Market Week costs me? Between moving costs, extra sample sets, refreshments...A fucking fortune..."
Alvy placed three boxes from Delly Guys on the booth counter. He opened a box, pulled out a poppy seed bagel and ripped off a piece.
"Five hundred bucks just in bagels, cream cheese and lox," he said while chewing on a bagel. Poppy seeds rained down on his yellow silk shirt. Alvy pulled out the plastic container of pickles and another one with potato salad. He opened the pickle container, fished out a spear and guided it into his mouth. "Mmm, good...And then there's pickles...they're not cheap, you know?" Alvy eyed the tub of potato salad peeled off the lid, plunged in a couple of wet briny fingers, scooped out some potato salad and stuffed it into his masticating mouth.
"Mmm," he grunted."Good," he gulped and took a deep breath. "Y'know, good potato salad's not cheap! Add it up and..."
"...You've got some potato salad on your nose, Alvy."
Alvy wiped it off with his sleeve and scowled.
"And poppy seeds in between your front teeth."
Alvy picked them out with a business card and said,"And then there's your substantial bonus."
"Bonus? More like salary, Alvy. Small salary; two hundred bucks to work the show over a whole weekend? That's bupkis compared to the business I write."
"Bupkis? You want to cover all my expenses? You're never satisfied with anything. It's always, 'Gimme, gimme, gimme.' You get an extra two hundred bucks for working the show. What more do you want next, my wife?"
Harry's face turned red and the words, any words wouldn't come out. "..."
"You s.o.b Harry, you'd probably do her if you had the chance."
"?" Well...yeah, but at least I feel awful that I don't feel awful about it. Won't let it happen again, even though she called me the other day. Don't need this kind of headache. Mental note: Grovel for forgiveness in synagogue on Yom Kippur. Get my name inscribed in the Book of Life. If not...well, I guess I won't have anything to worry about."
"Okay, okay. What's with that look? You do a good job Harry, I'm bumping up your Market Week bonus to $250."
"Stop with the bonus. It's more like overtime pay." Enough. Alvy pirouetted towards the exit. Harry shrugged his shoulders. An extra fifty bucks. Fifty lousy bucks.
"Gonna check to see if the samples are ready," Alvy said. "And make sure that Pauline is out there selling, not yapping. The broad has chronic diarrhea of the mouth"
and blond streaks, designer clothes, with chutzpah to burn. No beaut, that Pauline if you looked closely, if you looked at all. A harpy with alligator hide, pouchy eyes and tobacco-stained teeth. And some big mouth! She never shut up, especially when the subject was herself. Pauline told her life story to any poor sap who'd listen, like Harry.
"Me, I was married for five years to Arnaud Edouardo. He was a lying bastard, a Corsican antique dealer, but he had impeccable taste and mon dieu, was he charming when it suited him. And full of money, he worshiped money. Of course he screwed anyone who did business with him and usually got away with it. Once he sold a pair of Louis XlV for $34,000 that he bought in a Paris flea market for $250. And when he bought our first house in Westmount, he forged the inspection report so he could bargain down the price another $200,000." Yadda, yadda, yadda. Arnaud, Arnaud, Arnaud.
"Arnaud was a great businessman...although he screwed almost everyone. He was always screwing somebody, in business, in bed or even on the kitchen counter. That was his game. He even screwed my cousin Sylvie the manicurist and my Aunt Lisette. Such a dog that Arnaud..."
"Okay, Pauline. It's enough already," Harry said. "Let's focus on selling the customer."
But a half hour later Pauline pointed to the five carat diamond ring on her finger. "Arnaud bought me this for my thirty-fifth birthday. Five carats and pure...Also a little hot. His little brother Napoleon, was a fence."
"I don't care, Pauline." But Harry did care, he loved the stories. So he faked annoyance and listened intentively with each coffee they shared in between customers.
"But one day Arnaud screwed the wrong customer when he sold a fake Persian rug worth $600 for $12,000 to a female body-builder he'd been fucking. She found this out while he eating her pussy. Arnaud, the putz, left the original invoice lying around. The body-builder got so mad that she clamped her legs around his neck so hard that it snapped like a bread-stick, killing him on the spot. Then she had a multiple orgasm. She told me this herself and I felt nothing. He deserved it."
"She told you this and you were okay with it? You didn't go the police? Someone who was screwed your husband and then killed him."
"She said it was an accident, he licked her G-spot and she just lost control. It was just an accident."
"Just an accident?"
"Even the coroner said so. The truth is, she really did me a favor, he was such a bad person. I even gave her back the twelve grand that Arnaud took from her for the rug. Why not? I could afford to. In his will Arnaud left me two point seven million in cash, a strip mall and the house in Westmount. Life was better without him."
Yadda, yadda, yadda.
"...then one night at Chez Alexandre I met"Dudas" Dubrofsky, you know, the big defenseman for the Montreal Canadiens and a Jew. He had just left his wife after he caught her in bed with the team doctor. I dated Dudas for over a year, he was a great guy. Then he got cut by the Canadiens and went into dentistry, his real dream. But dentists are cheap, so I dropped him."
"Sweet girl."
"But at least I met Alvy through Dudas and when I wanted to get back to work, Alvy offered me a job here at Shugar Belt."
"Which brings us here."
"And I need a new boyfriend, Harry."
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Fade In, Fade Out
FADE IN:
IT'S FOGGY OUTSIDE, AN IMPRESSIONISTIC LANDSCAPE OF GREY HUES.
THE WHITE MERCURY COUGAR WITH THE TAN VINYL ROOF IS PARKED IN FRONT OF GINA'S TRIPLEX APARTMENT.
INSIDE THE CAR; HARRY TURNS OFF THE IGNITION AND TURNS TOWARDS GINA. THE MOMENT HE'S BEEN WAITING FOR.
"I just can't figure you out, Harry, but I'll admit it. I like you...a lot."
"That makes two of us."
Gina looked him over and shook her head. "A guy who likes to hang out in coat rooms."
"Yeah, I do lots of strange things," Harry whispered before kissing her.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA TH
"That kiss didn't feel strange," she said.
"A kiss for the movies," he said.
Suddenly Gina grew flustered and pulled herself together. She opened the car door."I don't like movies, they're a waste of time. Reality is my game."
"Of course..." Mental note; play down the movie producer scam.
"Sorry, Harry, but I've got to go. I'm waitressing at a big banquet tomorrow and I need to get some sleep." Gina got out of the car and gave Harry her number. "Call me this week."
"Yeah, sure."
"Good night, baby, Thanks for the ride," she said and blew him a kiss.
She said, baby.
Then Gina disappeared into the fog. Just like in the movies.
FADE OUT:
IT'S FOGGY OUTSIDE, AN IMPRESSIONISTIC LANDSCAPE OF GREY HUES.
THE WHITE MERCURY COUGAR WITH THE TAN VINYL ROOF IS PARKED IN FRONT OF GINA'S TRIPLEX APARTMENT.
INSIDE THE CAR; HARRY TURNS OFF THE IGNITION AND TURNS TOWARDS GINA. THE MOMENT HE'S BEEN WAITING FOR.
"I just can't figure you out, Harry, but I'll admit it. I like you...a lot."
"That makes two of us."
Gina looked him over and shook her head. "A guy who likes to hang out in coat rooms."
"Yeah, I do lots of strange things," Harry whispered before kissing her.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA THUMPA TH
"That kiss didn't feel strange," she said.
"A kiss for the movies," he said.
Suddenly Gina grew flustered and pulled herself together. She opened the car door."I don't like movies, they're a waste of time. Reality is my game."
"Of course..." Mental note; play down the movie producer scam.
"Sorry, Harry, but I've got to go. I'm waitressing at a big banquet tomorrow and I need to get some sleep." Gina got out of the car and gave Harry her number. "Call me this week."
"Yeah, sure."
"Good night, baby, Thanks for the ride," she said and blew him a kiss.
She said, baby.
Then Gina disappeared into the fog. Just like in the movies.
FADE OUT:
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