Scene 5.12 - Behind The Green Door
EXT./INT. The Green Door, Los Angeles California
(VERNE runs through alleys, hears a siren, turns the other way, finds the red-light district.)
VERNE V.O.
Captain's Log, I-D key, Bova One. We've followed The Baron and his crew from Oblivion to the Twenty-First Century, where time has been altered and we've discovered a new history, one where their Great Apocalypse has somehow been traded for totalitarianism. I've ordered the men to split up and look for components to construct a Zeta Counter to try to guide us back into the fold, but so far, our efforts seem to be in vain. This Third-Millenium world seems upside-down; marijuana is illegal here- It seems that even smoking cigarettes is considered criminal behavior by the masses. In this world, I'm not The Marlboro Man, instead, I'm The Fugitive.
CU: VERNE
(He creeps around a corner; the coast is clear. He takes a deep toke, chucks it off.)
VERNE V.O. (Cont'd)
I need a place to hide. The Green Door! Azalea made a green room! It's all been commercialized! Hmmmm. Perhaps I can use its privacy to my advantage and make a time-closet there.
(VERNE walks into an adult book store with a green, neon sign and a green door. The shop's name is, of course, The Green Door. He furtively looks about. There's a Hawaiian-Pidgeon-speaking clerk behind a counter. He is unintelligible to most folk East of Hilo.)
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Smart! But you show the camera your face, yeah? Lift up mask for da kine camera, brah.
VERNE
This?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Yeah brah, dat ain't no real gun, no? We need no trouble here, brah.
VERNE
Uh, no, it's just an ornamental replica.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
(Looking up from a Juggalicious magazine:) Okay, but have gun holstered, I have long-day, and we not on Hawaiian time, yeah?
VERNE
They're after me. They're after me.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Who's after you, brah?
VERNE
(Quickly sniffs, wide-eyed.) They are.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Why, brah?
VERNE
Why do you think?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Ainokea!
VERNE
Then how do you know they're not?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Enough of dis chit-chat, cowboy; you want rent movie or you want see da kine in da arcade or what?
VERNE
What's the arcade? Is that where the green room is?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Tree-dolla token minimum, if you have. If you stay back dare too long, dat’s when I start flashin' da lights, yeah?
VERNE
I don't have any money.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Whatchoo botherin' me for den? If ya want cruise for some, least act like you're browsing da titles, brah. Sooner or later someone grab de tool, brah, or dey nod towards de parking lot dare.
VERNE
I have these.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Have bullets? I thought you said dat wasn't real gun...
VERNE
No, it's an ornamental replica.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
But this real gold, right? Or is dat electro-plated rubbish dere?
(CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN literally bites the bullet.)
VERNE
Is everyone around here as astute as you?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Nah, or dare no people for me dat I boss around. Like jizz-mopper. Yo, jizz-mopper! Hey! Jizzy! Spill -- aisle nine!
(ACTOR DELTA, the actor who also plays ASIMOV, comes from the video gallery room to the sales floor, sans insane accent.)
ACTOR DELTA
(Wringing out mop in a bucket:) Don't call me Jizzy.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Sorry, is outta line.
VERNE
Hey, you! You're-
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Yeah, Actor Delta, you recognize? Shoots, you see his movies? Whoa, you must be pervert den!
ACTOR DELTA
My last independent film grossed more than your last full-length featurette.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Okay, okay, I know.
ACTOR DELTA
Yours didn't even make it to D-V-D.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Okayden, I said is outta line. I hear.
ACTOR DELTA
Ai’t then. What's the problem? This guy?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
No brah, dare's a guy who go in preview booth tree with full pack of tissue and only left wit smile; betta check and see if dare's mess dare, yeah?
ACTOR DELTA
Astounding. It's the news I was hoping to hear all day. Whatcha say I'll get to it when I make my rounds.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Dare’s a couple customers doin’ da kine in preview two and someone’s sleeping-something-off in arcade. Booth seventeen wahine. Oh, here, guy, ainokea, I spose I part wit deez tokens dat got left over from last guy who got all he want with first dolla, yeah? Say, all deez tokens for... tree of doze bullets, yeah?
VERNE
It’s a deal. Is it private back there?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
As much privacy you want, brah -- but if want company, leave booth-door open tiny crack.
VERNE
You say your name is Actor Delta?
ACTOR DELTA
Yeah, who are you and why should I care?
VERNE
Are all the people in Lost Angeles always this polite?
ACTOR DELTA
No, but we're all moonlighting actors and screen-writers, so get over it. I got a job to do; what do you want?
VERNE
Just a few minutes of your time. (Shows bullet.) Maybe this may make it worth your while.
ACTOR DELTA
Hey, I just work here, I'm not that way. If you want summa that, you're five feet from paradise, pal.
VERNE
(Nemo adds to the bribe:) No no, what I mean is I also got this gold key...
ACTOR DELTA
For a silver locket, right?
VERNE
Yes, how did you know?
ACTOR DELTA
Leah A. Zale. I was at the Emmy's for Supersonic Soul and I met her there. Some photographers were getting pushy, so I let her slip out back with me and I gave her a ride to her crib. Nice chick. She gave me a locket with her name on it. I always wear it when I hit the disco.
VERNE
All I understand from that is that you've met her, then.
ACTOR DELTA
Nice girl, looks just like Judge Alpha on L.A. Night Court, fine as- Hey, she told me to wait for some cat like you. I got my gloves on, you wanna unbutton my shirt?
VERNE
Unbutton your shirt?
ACTOR DELTA
Yeah, unbutton my shirt- but just one button if you don't mind.
(VERNE does this, revealing a Celtic locket, puts the key into it. AZALEA walks-in-from the arcade.)
LEAH ZALE HOLOGRAM
Hello Zero, it seems you've found Cameo Twenty-Seven and Actor Delta. A very close friend of mine is in the arcade sleeping and there's a couple in the preview booth who are in the middle of something I’d rather not describe.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Hey lady! How did you?
VERNE
(Not alarmed, which calms the others:) She's a hologram.
LEAH ZALE HOLOGRAM
All six of you are invited to my party tonight at eight on the twelfth floor at Leah's Luxury Suites at the Hollywood Hilltop. Wear a costume, and don't be late.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
For real? What kind of party is it?
LEAH ZALE HOLOGRAM
The kind that's magical!
(She vanishes.)
ACTOR DELTA
Whoa, did that like really happen?
VERNE
Set in her ways. I'd do what she says and show up to the party, gentlemen, she's not the kind of girl who likes to get stood up.
ACTOR DELTA
Any single women gonna be there?
VERNE
I don't know about single women, but I know there's gonna be a lot of this going on.
(Shows a joint.)
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Shoots! Pakalolo! Spark dat puppy up! I get incense, brah.
VERNE
Here, you guys share it. I'll go back and find this "close friend" and... give him the invite...
ACTOR DELTA
If the honeymooners in preview two come out, we'll let ‘em know about the party.
VERNE
Cool. And if they need a little more convincing, spark another one of these... puppies. Here. Back in a few, gentlemen.
(VERNE walks into a moaning, dark-and-seedy-looking hallway with a long stretch of shoddy booths holding flimsy, black-painted, plywood doors that don’t reach the ground and apparently don’t seem to close completely on their own. All booths are unoccupied; except one with its door fully closed, perhaps locked somehow. He notes a dim, blue light above the booth with the closed door that denotes the number seventeen. He walks down the hall to the lit booth and politely raps on door seventeen, which is adorned with an out-of-order sign hastily written in marker on a plain sheet of paper and attached with hardened-and-pock-marked duct tape; as if the sign had been there for months, perhaps years already. A coffee-with-cream-skinned, frizzy-dishwater-blonde-and-strawberry-blonde-haired, blue-and-green eyed, lightly freckled woman stirs within. A woman with one-sixteenth Arapaho, one-sixteenth Australian-Aboriginal, one-sixteenth Kenyan, one-sixteenth Columbian, one-sixteenth Samoan, one-sixteenth Iranian, one-eighth Chinese, one-eighth Irish, one-eighth Norweigan and two-eighths German in her blood sits with a perturbed, yet sexy demeanor. She flicks up a catch with the toe of her boot and opens the door with a kick and remains spread-eagled in her black-and-blue plaid, pleated, school-girl mini-skirt and her white, spiderweb, thigh-high stockings. She has a blue, wire-lined, lace bra with an unbuttoned, ripped, white, tied-at-the-mid-riff shirt. It is a thin, white, cotton, Oxford shirt, like those seen on college campuses. A blue, taffeta, school-girl ascot is loosely tied about her neck. Two plain, platinum barettes pull-back her bobbed hair, making her appear closer to 18, rather than her actual age of... [sic] -- Her studded earrings, Celtic-cross necklace and her plain-band-wedding-ring set are all in silver. The two diamonds on her engagement ring -- one pink, one yellow -- are one carat each; the diamond on her wedding ring is a flawless, two-carat blue diamond. RAMONA is five-foot-eleven and perfectly preportioned, save a perky pair of 34-C breasts that seem to float in front of her, as if unattached --RAMONA has often wondered why the Goddess didn’t provide a natural counterweight system for her matching set of titanic mammary glands, and subsequently, she perpetually chooses brassieres that gives her breasts maximum support and lift. She pulls across herself at her left garter, adjusting a chain that was bunching up in a wayward place. RAMONA yawns and stretches as far as her body allows, flexing her quads and lats and all the trapezial-parts below her neck, like a woman who spends every spare moment at a gymnasium either playing basketball, volleyball or simply lifting weights. She lounges across the long-and-pristine booth seat upon which she was blissfully resting until she was rudely interrupted by a gun-totin’ cowboy of undeterminable age; motive unknown. Upon the camera’s first glance toward RAMONA, a person who sees her clearly might naturally ask: What? -- Is she a convincing transsexual, or a gargantuan, curvacious monstrosity of plastic science? RAMONA thinks, talks and acts perfectly like a girl who knows a little too much about things like role-playing games and quite likely has watched a few too many horror movies in her life. It’s almost as if she could orchestrate a cockfight as easily as firing an automatic weapon or working under a hood if it weren’t for her overly-feminine wardrobe and her China-doll mask of reluctant submission to a sex-driven world: her garish gallery of dark peach pancake; a headless albatross of deep blue eyeshadow; an obscene amount of mascara on already-unusually-long eyelashes; six blended berries of medium pink rouge and a glossy, outlined coat of blackberry lip-gloss; all which erroneously belie any notion that this woman could easily find a way to kill anyone and get away with it -- if she ever had a mind to, that is. After all, she’s adept at martial arts studies and was a barback in a former occupational life. She’s not too bad at archery, either, and makes arrows from scratch with the skill of a master fletcher. She knows how to play the saxophone and, like AZALEA, was Valedictorian when she graduated high school -- seemingly ages ago. The timbre of her voice sounds like a child’s instrument, and her fingernails showcase a mural of interlocking spiderwebs containing scores of jeweled treasures subtlely painted and glued with a distinct level of craft known only by the most-artesian of manicurists. Now, just between you and me, RAMONA’S toenails are painted that way, too, although you wouldn’t know it with her 4-inch near-stiletto heels supporting a pair of knee-high leather combat boots with blue, leather roses embroidered on the sides. Custom, nine-hundred-dollar boots that contain a secret sheath for her three-inch switchblade and also a small holster for her blue-and-silver-chrome, loaded, Derringer pistol. There’s even a secret, air-tight hatch in each near-stiletto heel that can hold a quarter of weed or even an eight-ball of cocaine -- that is, if she did cocaine. RAMONA doesn’t even drink coffee. She eats sunflower seeds, tropical fruits and only drinks distilled mountain spring water. However, RAMONA smokes pot like it’s part of her natural atmosphere and has been elected secretary of her local N.O.R.M.L. chapter three years in a row. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have any weed stashed in her heels and didn’t bring along her dainty, canteen-flask thing, so she is quite cross from the onset and has cottonmouth out the wazoo. RAMONA’S absolute source of distinction is worn like a medal; with an assortment of low-cut evening gowns, tied Oxford shirts at mid-riff, ripped half-shirts, cotton tank-tops and soft, leather bikini strings. RAMONA’S got a perfect, two-tone, outlined, maroon-and-mauve, black-widow’s-hourglass birthmark on the small of her tanned back where a tramp-stamp usually goes on all the other tramps. It lies dead-center between her two dimples above the curve of her... lower back. At present, RAMONA is quite athletic, and strong, and she gets enough exercise to be able to keep herself from experiencing the wondrous glamour of menstruation; which also helps her think clearly and allows her to focus on getting what she wants, when she wants it. She appears as a ravishing woman whose very soul radiates the core epitome of human femininity. Like a desperate stranger you might meet through the internet or outside the bar at closing time, RAMONA has a dark flipside. She is a foul-mouthed, uncouth, lazy and apethetic version of a Mr. Smith who decided to smoke pot and rant aimlessly with run-on sentences rather than ever going to Washington to risk having her character assassinated. If there were near-people like there is near-beer, RAMONA would certainly be a near-nun, if not an incarnation of a near-Mother Theresa in the cause against marijuana prohibition. She is never wrong about her facts, she knows all the answers most of the time and has been seventeen years old for as long as she can remember. She is haunted by bad dreams worse than Hamlet and despite numerous examinations by doctors, gypsies and over-zealous college freshmen, RAMONA does almost anything short of taking the final, long nap to absolutely and most-positively prevent herself from ever sleeping in a place where she isn’t perfectly comfortable; specifically, she only can truly sleep in a place where she’s alone. She detests most men and trucks nothing with women; tolerates zilch regarding erosion of basic human rights; gives no quarter for imbeciles who stand in the way of what she wants -- which is perfectly clear to her, but impossible for anyone else to comprehend on this terrain, anyway, so I won’t further bore you with endless details concerning the multi-layered and enigmatic character of beautiful, thoroughly-modern RAMONA.)
RAMONA
Yeah, whatcha want? Goodness-gracious! I'm just trying to sleep! Leave me alone!
VERNE
Come on out, I need to talk to you for a moment.
RAMONA
Hey, you ain't the clerk! You a cop?
VERNE
No.
RAMONA
Well, I'm not here to swap any spit with no guy, if that's whatcha lookin' for.
VERNE
I'm here to pass on an invite to a Halloween party.
RAMONA
Get out. For real?
VERNE
For real. Leah Zale is throwing a party tonight, and she wants you there in costume.
RAMONA
Leah! Great-Balls-Of-Fire... is this a joke?
VERNE
No joke. How do you know Leah Zale?
RAMONA
Leah and Ramona Sitting In A Tree... never seen that one? It’s at the gallery -- I painted it for ten G’s, damn taxes took most of it. How'd she find me here? I only got evicted two nights ago.
VERNE
Leah's got her methods.
RAMONA
That’s the truth. So she’s found my little night-light, eh? Hmmm. What time's the party?
VERNE
Eight-sharp.
RAMONA
Ain’t she suppostabee in re-hab? This ain’t really like an intervention, is it? Does her therapist know?
VERNE
I don’t think so. Whatever it is, there will be plenty of this on hand.
RAMONA
Oh yeah, baby! Bring it on! I love a wake-and-bake! Especially after the dream I just had...
VERNE
I thought you might approve since you're an acquaintance of Leah's.
RAMONA
Hah! More than an acquaintance. I know that chick inside and out. Hmph. Listen, I'd invite you in; let's just smoke this out there.
(RAMONA gets up and widely-opens the booth door.)
VERNE
(Sees screen in the booth:) Are those the concubines?
RAMONA
Nah, just ads for web sites, no sex or nudity, they run when you don't put no tokens in.
VERNE
No, I mean, that looks like... can you “turn-it-up?”
RAMONA
You mean the volume? Just a little, the machine’s broke-dick, that's why the booth is spotless. Here.
DAHLIA V.O.
(In lingerie:) Hi, I'm Dahlia, and my girlfriends and I want you to come see us on our exclusive, adults-only website, W-W-W dot Baron Von Buttman dot com.
VERNE
Baron Von Buttman?!
ROSE V.O.
Download the latest movies, interviews and behind-the-scenes action from your home computer.
DAISY V.O.
It's the internet's most-premium website, with a large selection of titles to fulfill every fantasy.
LOTUS V.O.
And in our interactive room, you can tell us what to do with a simple click of your mouse.
PIXIE V.O.
It's for adults only, so have your credit-card ready.
POPPY V.O.
Me and my girlfriends can't wait to hear from you.
IRIS V.O.
Find us online, we cater to every need.
LILY V.O.
What you like, we got. Come. Titillate us. Visit W-W-W dot Baron Von Buttman dot com.
ALL WOMEN V.O.
We're waiting for you!
VERNE
It seems that the women have found a means to support themselves.
RAMONA
You know those girls?
VERNE
Yes. In all likelihood, they'll be at the party tonight.
RAMONA
Really? Count me in! This is for real, right?
VERNE
What do you do? Your name’s Ramona, huh?
RAMONA
Yeah, that's what they named me. I'm an artist and a writer sometimes. You can call me Mona, since you’re so... kind.
(She takes a deep hit off the joint and relishes it. Pause. Rinse. Repeat.)
VERNE
A writer, huh? Do you know anything about screenplays?
RAMONA
Not much, just what a woman likes to see before she pets the cat, blows her hubby... off... and goes to bed.
VERNE
Well, I've been meaning to write a little screenplay to help out this little world of yours but I've got to find a little place where I can sit down and get all my big thoughts together.
RAMONA
Yeah, you kinda seem like the straight-edge type. You can have the booth, I don't wanna sleep through this high. This is some wicked grass, man!
VERNE
Finish it. I'll go and write up a screenplay in there and then have you look it over, cool?
RAMONA
Nah, dude, I wasn't planning on hanging out here all day. I gotta find another place to live. My stuff’s in storage.
VERNE
Oh, it will only take a few minutes, as long as I have complete privacy.
RAMONA
There's nothing BUT privacy back here. Use this booth, don't ever go into that one, it's always grody.
VERNE
Fine. I'll be out in a few minutes. You can finish that while I’m gone.
RAMONA
Whatever you say, man. As long as I got this lovely lady, I don't care whatcha do.
(VERNE steps into the booth and closes the door. The booth takes on a blue hue.)
VERNE
Chapter One, Prologue: The Rhean Incident. Scene, Lord Of The Universe, on throne, reflecting:
(Long pause. Moans from the web ads playing from the distant, automated preview booths are heard faintly; it slows down and keeps slowing. A hologram transcribes his dictation perfectly in old-school, Constitution-Era calligraphy, with the weird double “s” and all.)
VERNE V.O.
Call me Ishmael. There was no possibility of taking a walk that day, cuz it all started with... the strawberries... we were double-parked in a unpatrolled space-lane in the seedier parts of the Rhean sector when Captain Balboa from the Rhean Vice-Imperial Army informed me through all open channels that he had received a very colorful complaint about the condition of my cargo and wanted me to double-check my ship’s refrigeration unit. I thought nothing of it, and proceeded to the space-port to get out of that ill-begotten sector of The Cosmos post-haste. Naturally, I was unaware of the exact nature of Captain Balboa's complaint at the time, or of the dire consequences of his subsequent, full-hull scan of my ship from his spacecraft seven-miles-above, aboard The Rhean War Cruiser Andromicon -- no, I was oblivious, all seemed well to me, considering what I had dealt with in the Hydra-Mercurial System two weeks before. I was strolling around in the mess hall and all my boys were on ice. What could possibly go wrong? Everybody was on ice. (Pause.) I should have known. I had been feeling really messed-up in the pit of my stomach all morning. Nerves, I guess. I was three feet away from clearing Rhean customs and inspection, and I knew I would have to talk with the senior administrator and I couldn’t allow a bead of sweat to show because rumors of a secret shipment had already been leaked-from the taverns on the pier and I knew it was only a matter of time... but I know a good bluff can do wonders and could buy some crucial minutes so I decided to go to the mess hall for a hearty glass of milk to settle my uneasy stomach. (Reflective pause.) It was quite a mess, alright. Heh, if I hadn’t hit red alert and brought the shields up right then and there, why, Captain Balboa’s full-thrust-reverse-tachyon-imlposion torpedo would have blown us to bits and then would have crushed us to a thousand fragments the size of a pinhead. Luckily, the only casualty from that volley was the paint on our hull. Heck, I didn’t even know he had me targeted. I just had a bad feeling all of a sudden. Providence, I guess. (Pause.) Yes, this is about revenge. When I see him, my little Isaac, Ensign Isaac, only one feeling creeps across my body -- lust. Lust... to throttle him mercilessly. Lust... to splay him, yes, drawn and quartered across the horizon... Yes, my droogies, this is a tale of lust and betrayal... hear how your humble narrator, the Good Captain Verne, exacts his revenge. Betrayed over thirty sour strawberries, a good captain, who was betrayed for a bowl of ice cream. The tables WILL turn, and when they do, oh when they do...
CUT TO: Sales floor, ACTOR DELTA is lazily mopping the floor between tokes. His gloves are no longer worn.
ACTOR DELTA
The tables will turn one day, C-27, and when they do, I hope you can honor this position by doing half the job that I do in this hole. Any job worth doing is worth doing right.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
I give some thought, yeah? Ay-brah, those two love-birds see pretty excited about da costume party invite, yeah? He do some-ting right, yeah?
ACTOR DELTA
Yeah, but I can't believe they didn't want to smoke this with us.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
(Taking joint:) Mahalo. Nah, dey got da kine -- other tings going on in da parking lot, yeah? You see dat guy? He look like he want to go at again on da sales floor even, yeah?
ACTOR DELTA
She wasn't too bad looking, I could see why. She winked at me. Hey, why is Kinky Gays And Lesbians Doing The Nasty in the straight section?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
It’s got mahus (mah’-hoos) dressed like da straight guys having da sex with da lesbians missionary. If dat ain’t straight sex, what is? (Pause, looks at a tabloid left on the sales counter.) Oh snap! (Picks-up a tabloid of Hollywood Inside Express. They’re both on the cover, in the middle of a fist-fight. The caption reads: ”Stuper-moronic: Dy-nemic Duo Dukes-It-Out At Celebrity Peace Rally.”) Ay-brah, why we false-crack so much? I don't crack with da kine as much as you.
ACTOR DELTA
I dunno, brother. What we need is a collaborative project, something we can work on together -- like the old days.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Yeah brah, you're right. Diss frienemies business between us and the tabloids has got to mah-kay die dead. (Shows tabloid:) We got choke bad headlines, brah.
ACTOR DELTA
Yeah, that’s why I didn't invite you to my agent's barbecue, I thought you were angry.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
I didn't ask you to da co-star's wedding cuz I thought you hated the bride, yeah?
ACTOR DELTA
No, no. I dated the bride; and yeah, I fought with the groom once upon a time, but it would have been cool as long as you were there.
CAMEO TWENTY-EVEN
We don't ever hang out after work like we used to, brah.
ACTOR DELTA
That's cuz most the time work was in front of a camera. A real camera. The only thing the camera sees in this place is the register and the door. Now it's all I can do to just go home, order a pizza and try to concoct an image of a sexual situation even more implausible than all of these movies combined. Hell, it takes quite an imagination to stimulate me. My libido is completely desensitized.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
I'll say! Shoots! I've almost got to do something criminal to get dare myself.
ACTOR DELTA
You don't want to know the props I've considered using.
(They both laugh.)
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Speaking of which, uh, you tink dare done in dare yet?
ACTOR DELTA
The bigger they are, the harder they...
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
We could always drag out de old flashlight and police baton and scare the da kine out of ‘em -- give ‘em some dirty lickin’s...
ACTOR DELTA
Nah, the Lone Avenger-lookin' guy seems pretty cool, plus he's got a gun, not to mention some killer grass, man it's good! And I’ve seen that Hispblanasian, goth-chick around before.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
For real? I can’t place her. She an actress, yeah?
ACTOR DELTA
Nah, some band-groupie from a seedy dive. She's a musician or something. Her name’s Mona; we hit an after-party at Club INXTC after one of her gigs. I didn’t get squat, not even some digits. I knew the bartender and got her in and she thanks me with a twenty-four-dollar cab fare -- calling me out before first base... She’s cool enough, I guess. I think she’s a drummer for some jail-bait boy-band or something.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Oh, dat’s it! I know what band -- da Screamin’ Haoles, dey played at da Tiki Lounge dere. (Pause. Beat. Smirk.) Well, she's drumming on something else now, yeah?
ACTOR DELTA
Yeppers, it's why they let us nobodies keep these friggin' jobs, people feel anonymous here.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
I've been so busy dusting the shelves, I haven't even had time to check out da kine -- dat new release dere.
ACTOR DELTA
The Baron's Busty Boob-A-Thon Part Sixteen? Pretty lamo, 'cept it's got Ronica Jeremy in it.
(CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN looks over the DVD case. RONNIE’S on the cover.)
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Ronica Jeremy? Brah, dat chick's in like all da pornos! What's diss movie all about den?
ACTOR DELTA
What else? Supposedly, according to that ugly narrator guy, she can make women achieve orgsasm with her telekenetic powers.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Yeah brah, what's wit dat power-of-the-buzz subplot? Da only thing I see buzzin’ is her vibrator, yeah?
ACTOR DELTA
I like it when I get to hear it and yet I don't see it no more.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Customah-
(Bell suspended over the doorjamb sounds: Ding Ding!)
ACTOR DELTA
And so the Dodgers were down two in the ninth, so who comes to bat, you'll never guess-
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Who?
HEINLEIN
Excuse me-
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
How’zit?
HEINLEIN
We're friends of Captain Verne's, have you seen him? A guy with guns wearing a mask?
ACTOR DELTA
Masked-ranger-dude? Yeah. He's in back swappin' spit with some other horny cat.
ASIMOV
By kit, do you min pussy?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Oh dare's planny of dat back dare, also, as well, yeah?
HEINLEIN
I'm not sure if Actor Alpha's linguistics training did us much good, it’s all Greek to me.
ACTOR DELTA
Nah-uh, don't nobody do no Greek in here; I ain't cleanin' up that mess. Nah-uh.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
You know Actor Alpha?
HEINLEIN
We recently met him.
ACTOR DELTA
Hopefully before you went to see his latest movie.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Oh, yeah brah, you must mean the The Bad Flop Even Harder...
ACTOR DELTA
Hahahahaha! Yeah, you see that chick moving her lips through the whole movie?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Yeah! What was wit dat?
ACTOR DELTA
Man, she musta out-acted him by-
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Tons. You see the boom mike through da whole shower scene?
ACTOR DELTA
I was surprised SHE could fit! How'd they get a boom mike in there?
(They laugh. HEINLEIN clears his throat.)
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
You guys wanna rent a movie, do a pop-n-squirt in da arcade or are you want loiter around until someone grabs your da kine?
ASIMOV
Vill vate. Veer... frinds if his.
ACTOR DELTA
Well, what'dya know? The old geezer wasn't lyin'! He's in some sort of swingers' club!
HEINLEIN
We're going to a party. A private party. A Halloween party. A private Halloween party.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
You mean Leah Zale's bash, brah?
ASIMOV
Yiss.
ACTOR DELTA
Yeah, we got the invite, we might show, only maybe tho, we're busy guys, we get around.
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Yeah, brah, we get around.
ACTOR DELTA
Lemme pour this stinky bleach in the bucket, that’ll rouse them outta their fantasy.
(ACTOR DELTA pours some bleach in his mop bucket and goes to the back, RAMONA and VERNE enter slowly, arguing, each carrying several thick screenplays, brads and all.)
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Works every time.
RAMONA
Look, you got me sold with that time-closet thing, cuz I bet everybody would give their right eye to get a few extra hours a day like that, but your screenplay's all wrong. Just... wrong.
VERNE
But it's the truth! What was so wrong about it?
RAMONA
First of all, you wrote like a twenty-four-hour movie, and maybe they could make it a television series, but eighteen hundred pages is; well, ludicrous.
VERNE
I was intentionally verbose; I thought it best to include all the important details.
RAMONA
Even if you could talk a producer into going into one of those cool time-closets to read it, he's gonna fall asleep by page two. Most people just don't have the kind of attention span needed for this piece-o’-er, this, masterpiece. (A la Barry Obama:) Look, if you don't serve them a double helping of sex and violence in the first two minutes, you're slated for midnight or the late, late, late movie slot. This ain't the seventies, screw drama!
VERNE
I thought it best to show the intricate relationships between the-
RAMONA
There's no action, no one gets killed, no T-N-A, no one gets any or even cusses worth a-
VERNE
True; however, people don't need to use violence or vulgarities to express themselves.
RAMONA
Yeah, I kinda might agree, but, where's the orgy? Two guys talking in a fifteen-minute scene and no one dies or gets beat-up? What is this? My Dinner With Andre? You're good about not killing-off the chicks, I'll grant that, but the ending totally sucks! The Mist has a better ending! You gotta give the audience their cookie.
VERNE
Cookie?
RAMONA
The money-shot; a happy ending, something to take home. What kind of ending is this? I like science fiction, but this is too much; like, since when does anyone get crowned King Of The Universe?
VERNE
Oh! I didn't see you guys standing there! What's this all about?
HEINLEIN
Zack came to apologize for sending us to Oblivion and he wants to make up for it.
ASIMOV
I eem sirry sear for sending you to Oblivion, and fear brissing me head and fir eating some of the strewbeeries with me ease creem ind living the frizzer deer ippin.
VERNE
Apology accepted, Ensign. We'll forget any of it ever happened. That was then, this is now.
ASIMOV
Villy? No ixtra dooty?
VERNE
I'm in a good mood. I just hacked-out an eighteen-hundred-page essay on why I'm cool.
ASIMOV
Thit iss gid to hear, sear.
VERNE
Whatcha got there?
ASIMOV
A Zeta Sinzer. Eye thit it mitt hippiss sit this timm-strim ritt iggin.
(ACTOR DELTA mops his way back into the room. New gloves are worn.)
VERNE
I'm proud of you, Ensign. (Lights a joint, clacks his lighter shut:) Good work.
ACTOR DELTA
Am I seeing things, or do you really look a whole heck of a lot like me?
CAMEO TWENTY-SEVEN
Nah brah, I was thinking the same thing; he could be your brudder.
ASIMOV
Eet must bee a coincidinz.
ACTOR DELTA
Yeah, I guess we all got an evil twin out there. My name's Actor D, what's yours?
ASIMOV
Zick Izzimov.
ACTOR DELTA
We get off in a few... Are you going to that party tonight, Zack?
ASIMOV
If korse!
ACTOR DELTA
Good, we'll talk; I could pull alot of pranks on my friends with a guy like you around.
ASIMOV
Yiss, eet vid bee a rye-it!
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