Monday, April 1, 2013

NOW THE MEDIA TAKES NOTICE ...4/01/13

Carson Daly was the first to run with it. Some DJ friend in Philly tipped him off. Two days later he came out with a crew. Not a full crew. Figured he'd get some 'fill ins' once he got here. Met with Marianne. We talk about her. She's one of the elferinas, a female, pubescent vampire with pointy ears and a certain gamine charm. Interviewed her in a bar, the one in THE HOTEL MONACO. And he never, ever knew there were other vampires in the building. That's how discrete they can be when they want to. 

She gave him the whole treatment. Showed him the fangs. Offered to bite him. Nothing major. Just a tiny, little nip on his forearm. But he demurred, 'cause he's got kids and all. She told him how old she was and about The Inquisition and all (Google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz for more). Levitated a spoon up off the table. Whispered some stuff in Old Vahmperigo. Made him blush. Showed her pointy ears and said yeah, she knows how much she looks like Cosett (I think that's the right name) that little French girl from the Les Mis juggernaut. Think she said Maroon Five is her favorite group. But that's just because Adam looks so much like Jonathon, only with a haircut. And you know how loyal they all are to him.

He's gonna 'cull' someone tonight. Jonathon, I mean. It's his time of the month. He had a dream. He had a vision. He feels the hunger. It's gotta be done. And this always brings up the old vampiric dilemma. Do they actually have a physical hunger. Do they actually have a physical need, or are they just fulfilling a spiritual purpose? No one knows. Some vampires have survived centuries of captivity without so much as a drop,  while others go berserk and die after weeks. Apparently, every soul is unique and the 'burden' rests differently on each and every one of them. 

'Cull the wicked. Save the worthy.' That's what they do. So he sits on the roof of a venerable, old South Philadelphia restaurant. Victor Cafe, I think it's called. And he listens to the opera within. Each and every  cameriere and cameriera is also a classically trained singer, able to burst into song at a moment's notice. A man in the corner plays arias upon an old, much polished Steinway. The crowd waits for the biggies. Naturally Carmen, or Nessun Dorma brings the house down. Once in a while they sneak in something from West Side Story or Candide, but that's almost opera.... almost. 

A man toward the front is almost human too. He's a promoter... a producer, or an executive, or some kind of Hollywood big wig. In town with his daughter. She wants to go to Penn. This is their 'look see.' But she's a bitch and he's a creep and that's why he ain't human. Sits there playing with his osso buco. What a shame some little calf had to get itself all slaughtered so this bastard can eat dinner. You know a twenty four year old girl killed herself over him. nice girl too. Had a script. Real good. Tight story. Everything. Didn't have an agent. Didn't have no 'uncles.' Just sent it to him. And you know that means she's got about as much chance as a ballerina in a gas chamber. Only some kid, an intern, sees it. And he likes it. And he passes it on. Mister Beefy-Tan sees it too. Thumbs through and keeps it. Two weeks later the decorator comes to change the retro grass cloth in his office. His people clean up the place in preparation. Script gets stuffed in an envelope and sent back with one of them 'oh, not without a lawyer, an uncle and an agent you don't' papers. Girl gets it, feels sad for a while, but life goes on.

Yet six months later, some new script is all the rage in West L.A.. Script mags cover it. Web's all over it. Pod cast talks about it. And the twenty four year old sees it. She listens. She recognizes it. She knows it. It's her work. Goes into production. Makes eighty mill. Beefy-Tan guy's nephew wins some kind of award. She tries to get a lawyer. They try to do something. But something ain't enough. They laughed at her. They ridiculed her... patronized her and even her cut-rate lawyer too..... That's it. All done. She's toast... a showbiz joke. 

Goes back to substituting. Get's a middle school class. Eighth grade girl 'rapes' a sixth grade boy in the coat room. Boy's mom wants a new Lexus outta all this. Judge gives her one. Girl gets prosecuted for willful neglect. Serves four months house arrest. Reads about upcoming sequel. Pees all over the seat at a seven o'clock showing  of Hangover I. Nineteen year old manager kicks her out. All the semi-humans in the lobby see her wet blue jeans and laugh as only semi-humans can. She bursts through the doors, tears through the parking lot, stumbles into the busy  street and gets hit by a bus.

Her basically sweet, though culturally baffled parents cry for weeks and one month later her father dies. Two weeks after that, the government puts her mother in a dirty, sour, abusive  'home.' 

Beefy-Tan guy's nephew reads about it all in the papers. Writes another script and wins an Oscar. Uncle laughs and laughs and laughs.

But twenty minutes from now, he's gonna leave that restaurant. He's gonna get up from the crisp, white table cloths and the old opera prints on the wall.  He's gonna give his daughter five one hundred dollar bills, so she can catch up with a friend and go gambling, with her perfectly undetectable, rich-girl-fake-cards at THE SUGAR HOUSE (a Center City casino on the Delaware) and step outside to meet his fate.

Jonathon feels it all, up atop the roof of this late Victorian townhouse. He leans against the chimney and waits....

For soon the dead twenty four year old gets some sweet revenge.

The night is clear. The wind is sharp. The stars shine coldly down...

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1 comment:

O. G. Tomes said...

I know... I am so far behind, but this one was a good one. Wishing for more time...... but can't see it in sight right now.