📄 Transcript [show]
I was looking forward to See where I was going But I don't know if I can make it No, I don't know if I could Think I'm gonna try in Hollywood Well, I had to find my way By looking at the city Well, good evening and welcome to The Drama Queen with Judith Bowman.
That's me, and I'm here tonight with my production partner, Vinoy Bernal, our actors tonight, Daryl Phillip and Chris Devlin.
We have two stories to share, one a very short first-person essay, really, our everyman perspective on L.A.'s in-hospital, short, and long-term care.
The first story is a short-term prison experience.
White Collar meets Holla.
The second story will take the bulk of the hour and will reveal life without a rudder in choppy water.
There's time at the end of the hour.
We'll invite you to call 1-800-893-9562.
Meanwhile, get your popcorn, your favorite beverage, and pull up a chair.
Daryl will share Got the Story the hard way.
Daryl, it's all you now.
I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die Nobody like me should ever see the operational side of jail.
I'm the guy who writes the stories about effing losers making deals trying to stay out of jail.
I'm the guy who writes the stories about effing freaks who get turned out in jail by whopping 200-megapound biker guys with tattoos of crosses on their 40-inch necks.
I'm the guy that believes black guys who go to court with do-rags and sagging jeans deserve all the time they might get.
I'm the guy who went to my own court hearing in an expensive blue wool suit and tie looking better than my $450-an-hour lawyer and still got the handcuffs and a stiff verbal kick in the butt from the judge.
You're an arrogant stalker, mister.
And although I doubt you have or ever will understand the trauma you've caused Miss Thing here, I can only do so much under the code, and so I'm sentencing you to the maximum term.
Eight days in county.
Click, go the cuffs.
I never see him coming.
Just the hand on the shoulder.
The other deputies closing in.
A click.
I'm hustled out through the side door, stripped naked.
Me, a man of a certain age, with these 20-year-old gangsters as my new peers.
My new sleeping arrangement, about 20 fares.
Square feet of cement with a blanket, a cot, and a thin rubber mat for a mattress.
I get no TV, no day room, no exercise yard, no dining room for meals, and I use the word meals just like that with effing quotes.
Bran flakes, fruit, and OJ in the morning.
Oh, and did I mention they wake us up at 4 a.m.
for breakfast?
I learn that I can trade stuff I don't want for other stuff I can eat.
The bran flakes I like.
I trade my fruit and juice and get to skip the shit at lunch.
Don't even ask, how did it all come to this?
If you've got a few extra minutes, I can fill you in.
It started with that girl in the Peninsula Inn.
She blew me off, and that should have ended it.
Here's my card.
Call me sometime, she says, as if to say, you think you've got the juice to interact on a business level?
Well, let's have a go at it.
Otherwise, fuck off.
Never expected to hear from her.
I sure wasn't going to call.
Pussy in Hollywood, they're giving it away.
Why worry about it?
There's enough for everybody.
So when the call came, I was amused, intrigued, curious.
Let's meet at Icochina's.
Sure, who wouldn't like a nice dinner?
A drink or two.
She phones three times the day of.
Got a sitter.
Are we still on?
She inquires.
Yeah, sure.
What's with the calls, I think?
We eat.
She asks me if she can stay over.
Sleep on my couch, she suggests.
Hey, sure, what's the problem?
You got the time, I got the couch.
At my place, a few more drinks.
The couch is never mentioned.
She sleeps right where she intended to sleep.
With me in my giant bed.
Okay, I'm no angel.
Did I take advantage, though?
Well, duh, as they say.
And then I caught her professing love to some jerk named Enid.
Or Enid or whatever.
Was I mad?
Damn Skippy!
Kicked her out.
And the kid?
I loved that kid.
He and I bonded.
And the last thing I ever thought I needed again was a child.
He was stuck in my mind all night.
three when we met and I was the one who taught him to tie his shoelaces, how to play ball.
She ruined that.
I, of course, reacted in a way that finished any hope of salvaging anything there.
Where do I go now?
I hear the happy hour at the Itchy Kitty in Studio City has potential.
I'll keep you posted.
Oh, my.
Thank you, Daryl.
Story has more meaning if you know the guy who found himself in that situation.
He was jailed for breaking a restraining order.
He couldn't refrain from trying to talk, explain, implore the woman of his dreams to try just one more time.
His behavior as a stalker didn't register to him.
He was a man used to talking his way through life, negotiating, pleading, making deals.
What was wrong with that?
He'd been rewarded for those skills all through life, business skills, tenacity, never taking no for an answer.
Just aren't the type of skills an ex-lover can appreciate.
But the ways the L.A.
County makes its revenue, though, catching, caging, and controlling those who can't figure the rules out.
So we'll move on now to our featured story, Sea Oak, by noted writer George Saunders.
We're reading the story as written with a special license from Mr. Saunders' reps at ICM.
So let's let Chris Devlin tell the story.
Sit back, enjoy Sea Oak.
At six, Mr. Friend comes on the P.A.
and shouts, Welcome to Joysticks.
Then he announces, Shirts off.
We take off our flight jackets and fold them.
We take off our shirts and fold them up.
Our scarves, we leave on.
Thomas Kirster's our beautiful boy.
He's got long muscles and bright blue eyes.
The minute his shirt comes off, two fat ladies hustle.
They're gonna hustle up the aisle and stick some money in his pants and ask if he will be their pilot.
He says, sure.
He brings their salads.
He brings their soups.
My phone rings and the caller tells me to come see her in the Spitfire mock-up.
Does she want me to be her pilot?
I'm hoping.
Inside the Spitfire is Margie, who says she's been diagnosed with chronic shyness syndrome.
Then hands me an Instamatic and offers me ten bucks for a close-up of Thomas' tush.
Do I do it?
Yes, I do.
It could be worse.
It's worse for Lloyd Betts.
Lately, he's put on weight and his hair's gone thin.
He doesn't get a call all shift and waits zero tables and winds up sitting on the P-51 wing, playing solitaire in a hunched-over position that gives him big gut rolls.
I pilot six tables and make $40 in tips, plus five an hour in salary.
After closing, we sit on the floor for debriefing.
I'm not sure if I'm gonna be able to do that.
There are times, Mr. Friend says, when one must move gracefully to the next station in life.
Like, for example, certain women in Africa or Brazil, I forget which, who either color their faces or don some kind of distinctive headdress upon achieving menopause.
Are you with me?
One of our ranks must now leave us.
No one is an island in terms of being thought cute forever.
And so today we must say goodbye to our friend Lloyd.
Lloyd?
Stand up so he can say goodbye to you.
I'm sorry.
We are all so very sorry.
Oh, God, says Lloyd.
Let this not be true.
But it is true.
Lloyd's finished.
We give him a round of applause and Friend gives him a farewell pen and then the contents of his locker in a trash bag.
And out he goes.
Poor Lloyd.
He's got a wife and two kids and a sad little duplex on Self Storage Parkway.
It's been a pleasure.
He shouts desperately from the back of his head.
He shouts desperately from the doorway, trying not to burn any bridges.
What a stressful workplace.
The minute your cute rating drops, you're a goner.
Guest ranker says knockout honey pie adequate or stinker.
Not that I'm complaining.
At least I'm working.
At least I'm not a stinker like Lloyd.
I'm a solid honey pie adequate heading home with 40 bucks cash.
At Sea Oak.
There's no sea.
No sea.
And no oak.
Just 100 subsidized apartments and a rear view of FedEx.
Min and Jade are feeding their babies while watching How My Child Died Violently.
Min's my sister.
Jade's our cousin.
How My Child Died Violently is hosted by Matt Merton, a 6'5 blonde who's always giving the parents shoulder rubs and telling them they've been sainted by pain.
Today's show features a 10-year-old who killed a 5-year-old.
He was a 5-year-old for refusing to join his gang.
The 10-year-old strangled the 5-year-old with a jump rope, filled his mouth with baseball cards, then locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out until his parents agreed to take him to the fun time zone where he confessed and dove screaming into a mesh of cage full of plastic balls.
The audience is shrieking threats at the parents of the killer while the parents of the victim urge restraint and forgiveness to such an extent that finally the audience starts shrieking threats at them, too.
Then it's a commercial.
Min and Jade put down their babies and light cigarettes and pace the room while studying aloud for the GEDs.
It doesn't look good.
Jade says regicide is a virus.
Min locates by afro one planet from Saturn.
I offer to help and they start yelling at me for condescending.
You're lucky, man, my sister says.
You did high school.
You got your frickin' diploma.
We don't.
That's why we have to do this GED shit.
If we had our diplomas, we'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
We'd be able to do this shit.
You're lucky, man, my sister says.
You did high school.
You got your frickin' diploma.
We don't.
That's why we have to do this GED shit.
If we had our diplomas, we could just watch TV and not be all distracted.
Really, says Jade.
Now shut it, chick.
We gotta study.
Show's almost on.
They debate how many sides a triangle has.
They agree that Churchill was an opera.
Matt Merton comes back and explains that last week's show on suicide in which the parents watched a reenactment of their son's suicide, was a success.
He says, I'm not sure if I'm right or wrong.
I'm not sure if I'm right or wrong.
I'm not sure if I'm right or wrong.
I'm not sure if I'm right or wrong.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
I'm a little freaked out.
Meanwhile, Jade and Min get in a slap fight and nearly knock over the TV.
Yo, chick, Min shouts at the top of her lungs.
I'm sure you're slapping me.
And then you knock over the freaking TV.
Don't you care?
I care, Jade shouts back.
You're the slut who nearly pulled her own kid's finger off for no freaking reason, man.
Just then, Aunt Bernie comes in from Drugtown in her Drugtown cap and hobbles over and picks up Troy, and everything calms way down.
No need to fuss, little man, she says.
Everything's fine.
Everything's just hunky-dory.
Hunky-dory, says Min, and gives Jade one last pinch.
Aunt Bernie's a peacemaker.
She doesn't like trouble.
Once a guy backed over her foot at Food King, and she walked home with ten broken bones.
She never got married because Grandpa needed her to keep house after Grandma died.
Then he died and left all of his money to a woman none of us had ever heard of.
And Aunt Bernie started in at Drugtown.
But she's not bitter.
Sometimes she's so not bitter, it gets on my nerves.
When I say, Sea Oak's a pit, she says, she's just glad to have a roof over her head.
When I say, I'm tired of being broke, she says, Grandpa once gave her pencils for Christmas, and she was so thrilled that she sat around sketching horses all day on the backs of used envelopes.
One day, I asked if she was sorry she never had kids, and she said, no, not at all.
And besides, weren't we, were her kids?
Yes.
And I said, yes.
We were.
But of course we're not.
For dinner, it's Beanie Weenies.
For dessert, it's ice cream with freezer burn.
What a nice day we've had, Aunt Bernie says once we've got the babies in bed.
Man, what an optometrist, says Jade.
Next day is Thursday, which means a visit from Ed Anders from the Board of Health.
He's in charge of ensuring that our penises never show.
Also that we don't kiss anyone.
None of us ever kisses anyone or shows his penis.
Except for Sonny Vance, who does both because he's saving up to buy at a Fax-It franchise.
As for our penile simulators, yes, we can show them.
We can let them stick out the top of our pants.
We can even periodically dampen our tight pants with spray bottles so our simulators really contour.
But our real penises?
No.
Those have to stay inside of our hot, uncomfortable, oversized simulators.
Sorry, fellas.
Hi, fellas, Anders says as he comes in wearily.
Please.
I know I don't like this any better than you do.
I went to school to learn how to inspect meat, but this certainly wasn't what I had in mind.
He orders a Lindbergh enchilada and eats it cautiously, as if it's alive.
And he's afraid of waking it.
Sonny Vance is serving soup in a table of hairstylists on a bender, and for 20 bucks, shoots him a quick look at his unit.
Just then, Anders glances up from his Lindbergh.
Oh, for crying out loud, he says.
And writes up a shutdown.
Now we all get sent home early.
Which is bad.
Every dollar counts.
Lately, I've been sneaking toilet paper home into my briefcase.
I can fit three rolls in.
By the time I get home, they're usually flat and don't work so great on the roller, but still, it saves a few bucks.
I clock out and cut through a strip of forest behind the FedEx.
Very pretty.
A raccoon scurries over a fallen oak and starts nibbling at a rusty bike.
As I come out of the woods, I hear a shot.
At least I think it's a shot.
It could be a backflip.
Or a backfire.
But no, it's a shot.
Because then there's another one.
And some kids sprint across the court yelling that big scary dogs rule.
I run home.
Maid and gin and aunt, Bernie and the babies are huddled behind the couch.
Apparently, they had the babies outside when the shooting started.
Troy's walker got hit.
Luckily, he wasn't in it.
It's supposed to look like a duck, but now it's beaks missing.
Man, fuck this shit, Min shouts.
Freak this crap you mean, says Jade.
You want them growing up with shit mouth like us?
Crap mouth, I mean.
I just want them growing up, period, says Min. Boo hoo, Miss Dramatic, says Jade.
Fuck off, Miss Ho, says Min. I mean it, Jackoff.
I'm not kidding, shouts Jade, and punches Min in the arm.
Girls for crying out loud, shouts Aunt Bernie.
We should be thankful.
At least we got a home.
At least none of them bullets actually hit nobody.
No offense, Bernie, says Min, but you call this a freaking home?
Sea oak's not safe.
There's an ad hoc crack house in the laundry room.
And last night, I was in the bathroom.
Last week, Min found some brass knuckles in the kiddie pool.
If I had my way, I'd move everybody up to Canada.
It's nicer there.
Very polite.
We went for a weekend last fall and got a flat tire, and these two farmers with bright red faces insisted on fixing it.
Then springing for dinner.
Then starting a college fund for the babies.
They sent us stock certificates a week later, along with a photo of all of us eating cobbler at the diner.
But moving to Canada takes bucks.
Dad left us.
And Nada and Ma now lives with Freddie, who doesn't like us.
Plus, he's not exactly rich himself.
He does phone polls.
This month, he's asking divorced women how often they backslide and sleep with their exes.
He gets 10 bucks for every completed poll.
So not lucrative.
And Canada's a moot point.
I go out and find the beak of Troy's duck and fix it with Elmer's.
Actually, you know what, says Aunt Bernie?
I think that looks even more like a real duck now.
Because sometimes their beaks are cracked.
And I seen one of them downtown.
Oh my God, says Min. The kid's duck gets shot in the face.
And she says we're lucky.
Well, we are lucky, says Bernie.
Somebody's beak is cracked, says Jade.
You know, what if I do something and bad happens?
I don't think about it.
I don't take it too serious.
It ain't the end of the world.
That's what I do.
That's what I've always done.
And that's how I got my job.
I got out where I am.
My feeling is, Bernie, I love you.
But where are you?
You work at Drugtown for a minimum.
You're 60 and own nothing.
You're basically a slave to your father and never had a date in your life.
I mean, complain if you want, she says.
But I think we're doing pretty darn good for ourselves.
Oh, we're doing great, says Min. And pulls Troy out from behind the couch and brushes some duck shards off his sleeper.
Joysticks reopens on Friday.
It's a madhouse.
They've got the fog on.
A bridge club offers me 15 bucks to oil wrestle Mel Turner.
So I oil wrestle Mel Turner.
They offer me 20 bucks to feed him chicken wings from my hand.
So I feed him chicken wings from my hand.
The afternoon flies by.
Then the evening.
At 9, the bridge club leaves and I get a sorority.
They sing intelligent, nasty songs and grope my simulator and say they'll never be able to look at their boyfriend's meager genitalia in the eye again.
Then Mr. Friend comes over and says, Phone.
It's Min. She sounds crazy.
Four times in a row she screeches on the phone.
When I tell her to calm down, she hangs up.
I call back and no one answers.
No biggie.
Min is prone to panic.
Probably one of the babies is pukey.
Luckily, I'm on flex time.
I'll be back, I say to Mr. Friend.
I look forward to it, he says.
I jog across the marsh and through the FedEx.
Up on the hill, there's a light from the last remaining farm.
Sometimes we take the boys through the adjacent car wash to look at the cow.
Tonight, however, the cow is elsewhere.
At home, Min and Jade are hopping up and down in front of Aunt Bernie, who's sitting very, very still on the end of the couch.
Keep the babies out, shouts Min. I don't want them seeing something dead.
Shut up, man, shrieks Jade.
Don't call her something dead.
She squats down and pinches Aunt Bernie's cheek.
Aunt Bernie, she shrieks.
Fuck!
We already tried that twice, chick.
Shrieks Min. Why are you doing that shit again?
Touch her neck and see if you can feel that beating thing.
Shit!
Shit!
Shit!
Shrieks Jade.
I call 911.
The paramedics come out and work hard for 20 minutes and then give up.
And they say they're sorry.
It looks like she's been dead most of the afternoon.
The apartment's a mess.
Her money drawer's empty and her family photos are in the bathtub.
Not a mark on her, says a cop.
I suspect she died of fright, says another.
Fright of the intruder.
My guess is yes, says a paramedic.
Oh, God, says Jade.
God, God, God.
I sit down beside Bernie.
I think, I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry I wasn't here when it happened.
I'm sorry you never had any fun in your life.
And I'm sorry I wasn't rich enough to move you somewhere safe.
I remember when she was young and wore pink stretch pants and made us paper chains out of drugstore receipts while singing Froggy Went a-Courtin'.
All her life she worked hard.
She never hurt anybody.
And now this.
Scared to death in a crappy apartment.
Min puts the babies in the kitchen, but they keep crawling out.
Aunt Bernie's in a shroud on this sort of dolly, and on the couch there are a bunch of forms to sign.
We call Ma and Freddy.
We get their machine.
Ma, pick up, says Min. Something bad happened.
Ma, please freaking pick up.
But nobody picks up.
So we leave a message.
We're all in this together.
We're all in this together.
We're all in this together.
Lobton's Funeral Parlor is just a regular house on a regular street.
Inside, there's a rack of brochures with titles like, Why Does My Loved One Appear Somewhat Larger?
Lobton looks healthy.
Maybe too healthy.
He's wearing a yellow golf shirt, and his biceps keep involuntarily flexing.
Every now and then he touches his delts as if to confirm they're still as big as softballs.
Such a sad thing, he says.
How much?
Asks Jade.
I mean, for like basic.
Not super fancy.
But not super crappy either, says Min. Our aunt was the best.
What price range were you considering?
says Lobton, cracking his knuckles.
We tell him, and his eyebrows go up, and he leads us to something that looks like a moving box.
Priority usage will moisture-proof this with a lacquer spray, he says.
Makes it look quite wood-like.
Actually, that's all we can get, says Jade.
Cardboard?
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
America.
I step over and take a closer look.
There are staples where Aunt Bernie's spine would be, and down at the foot there's some writing about folding tab A into slot B.
No freaking way, says Jade.
Work your whole life and end up in a Mayflower box?
I doubt it.
We've got zipping savings.
We sit at a desk and Lobson does what he calls a credit calc.
If we pay it out monthly for seven years, we can afford the Amber Mist, which includes a double-thick balsa box with two coats of lacquer and a one-hour wake.
But seven years?
Jeez, says Ma.
Gotta get a good one, says Min. She never had anything nice in her life.
So Amber Mist it is.
We bury her at St. Leo's, up on the hill near Bast Co.
Her part of the graveyard's pretty plain.
No angels, no little rock houses, no flowers, just a bunch of flat stones like parking bumpers.
And here and there, a styrofoam cup.
Father Brian says a prayer, and then one of us is supposed to talk.
But what's there to say?
She never had a life, never married, no kids.
Work, work, work.
Did she ever go on a cruise?
All her life it was buses, buses, buses, buses.
Once she went with Ma on a bus to Quigley, Kansas to gamble in a shop in an outlet mall.
Someone broke into her room and stole her clothes and took a dump in her suitcase while they were out.
She was so scared, she was scared.
She was so scared, she was so scared.
She was so scared, she was so scared.
She was so scared.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
It broke my heart.
After that, it was drug town, night and day.
After 15 years as a cashier, she got demoted to greeter.
People would ask where the cold remedies were.
She'd point to some big letters on the wall that said, cold remedies.
Freddy's ma's boyfriend steps up and says he didn't know her very long, but she was an awful nice lady, left behind an awful lot of love, et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah, blah.
While it's true she didn't do much in her life, she still was very dear to those of us who knew her and never made us think about anything, but was always content with whatever happened to her, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah, blah.
Then it's over and we're supposed to go away.
We got to come out here every week, says Jade.
I know we will, says Min. What I like I won't, says Jade.
She was so freaking nice.
I'm sure you'll swear at her grave, says Min. Since when does Frick a swear word, chick, asks Jade.
Girl, says Ma.
I hope I did okay in what I said about her, says Freddy in his full of crap way, smelling bad of English Navy.
Actually I sort of surprised myself.
Bye bye, Aunt Bernie, says Min. Bye bye, Bern, says Jade.
All my dear sister, says Ma.
I scrunch my eyes tight and try to picture her happy, laughing, poking me in the ribs, but all I can see is her terrified on the couch.
It's awful.
Out there somewhere is whoever did it.
Someone came to our house, scared her to death, watched her die, went through our stuff, stole her money.
Someone who's still living.
Someone who right now might be having a piece of pie or running an errand or scratching his ass.
Or someone who, if he wanted to, could drive west for three days or whatever and sit in the sun by the ocean.
We stand a few minutes with heads down and hands folded.
Afterward, Freddy takes us to Trabanty's for lunch.
Last year, Trabanty did.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
I'm not sure.
It's a fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair excellent lady, says Freddy.
I miss her so bad, says Ma.
I'd like to kill that fuck that killed her, says Min. How about let's we don't say fuck at lunch, says Ma.
It's just a word, Ma, right, says Min. Like pluck is just a word.
You don't mind if I say pluck.
Pluck, pluck, pluck.
Well, shit's a word too, says Freddy, but we don't say shit at lunch.
Same with puke, says Ma.
Shit, puke, shit, puke, says Min. The waiter clears his throat.
Ma glares at Min. I love your girl's manners, Ma, says.
Especially at a funeral, says Freddy.
This ain't a funeral, says Min. Question in my mind is, what you kids are gonna do now, says Freddy, because I consider this whole thing a wake-up call, meaning it's time for you to pull yourselves up by your bootstraps like I done and get out of the dangerous crap hole you're living in.
Oh, Mr. Phone pole speaks, says Min. Anyway, it ain't that dangerous, says Jade.
A woman gets killed, and it ain't that dangerous, says Freddy.
All's we need is a deadbolt and an eye hole, says Min. What's a bootstrap, says Jade?
It's a strap on a boot, you doof, says Min. Plus, where are we gonna go, says Min? Can we move in with you guys?
I personally would love that, and you know that, says Freddy, but who would not love that is our landlord.
I think what Freddy's saying is, it's time for you to go.
I don't see why I should have to work so she can stay at the hospital.
I don't see why I should have to work so she can stay at the hospital.
I don't see why I should have to work so she can stay at home with her baby, says Min. And I don't see why I should have to work so she can stay home with her baby, says Jade.
It's like frickin' vice versa, says Min. Let me tell you something, says Freddy.
Something about this country.
Anybody can do anything, but first they gotta try, and you guys ain't.
Two don't work, and one strips naked.
I don't consider that trying.
You kids make squat, and therefore you live in a dangerous crap hole.
And what happens in a dangerous crap hole?
Bad, tragic, and dangerous.
It's a freaked out country, a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country a country naked, says Jade, which is true.
I always at least have on a tea bag.
No wonder we never take these kids out to a nice lunch, says Freddy.
I don't even consider this a nice lunch, says Min. For dinner, Jade microwaves some stars and flags.
They're addictive.
They put sugar in the sauce and sugar in the meat nuggets.
I also think caffeine.
Someone told me that the brown streaks and the flags are caffeine.
We have like five bowls each.
After dinner, the babies get fussy and Min puts a mush of ice cream and Hershey syrup in their bottles and we watch the worst that could happen.
A half hour of computer simulations of tragedies that never actually occurred but theoretically could.
A kid gets hit by a train and flies into a zoo where he's eaten by wolves.
A man cuts off his hand chopping wood and while wandering around screaming for help is picked up by a tornado and dropped on a preschool during recess and lands on a pregnant teacher.
I miss Bernie so bad, says Min. Me too, Jade says sadly.
The babies start howling for more ice cream.
That's so cute, says Jade.
They're like, give it the fuck up.
We all give it the fuck up, sweeties.
Don't worry, says Min. We don't forget about you.
Then the phone rings.
It's Father Brian.
He sounds weird.
He says he's sorry to bother us so late, but something strange has happened.
Something bad.
Something sort of...
You know, unspeakable.
Am I sitting?
I'm not, but I say I am.
Apparently someone has defaced Bernie's grave.
My first thought is there's no stone.
It's just grass.
How do you deface grass?
What'd they do?
Pee in the grass on the grave?
But Father's nearly in tears.
So I call Ma and Freddie and tell them to meet us and we get the babies and load them up into the K car.
Defaced, says Jade on the way over.
What does that mean, deface?
It means I fucked it up, says Min. But how, says Jade.
I mean, like, what did they do?
We don't know, dumbass, says Min. That's why we're going there.
And why, says Jade.
Why would someone do that?
Check out Mr. Sherlock Holmes, says Min. Someone done that because someone's an asshole.
Someone's a big-time asshole, says Jade.
Father Brian meets us at the gate with a flashlight and a golf cart.
When I saw this, he says, I literally sat down in astonishment.
Nothing like this ever happened here.
I'm so sorry.
You seem like nice people.
We're too heavy and the wheels spin as we climb up the hill, so I get out and jog alongside.
Okay, folks, brace yourself, Father says, and shuts off the engine.
Where the grave used to be is just a hole.
Inside the hole is amber mist with the top missing.
Inside the amber mist is nothing.
No Aunt Bernie.
What the hell, says Jade.
Where's Bernie?
Someone stole Bernie, says Min. At least you folks have retained your feats, says Father Brian.
I'm clearly a broke brat.
I broke a broke brat a long time ago.
I broke a broke brat a long time ago.
I broke says Ma and drops into the golf cart.
What I don't get is who'd want her says Min. She's just this lady says Jade.
Typically it's teens one cop says.
Typically we find a loved one nearby.
Once we found the loved one nearby with you know a cigarette between his lips wearing a sombrero.
I mean these kids today got a lot of nerve more than we ever did.
I never would have dreamed of digging up a dead corpse when I was a teen.
You might tip over a stone sure.
You might spray paint something on a crib.
You might you know give a wino a hot foot.
But geez says Freddie this is an entirely different ball game.
Boy howdy says the cop.
We all look down at the shoes in Ma's hand.
I was looking forward to see where I was going.
But I don't know if I can make it.
No I don't know if I could.
Think I'm gonna try.
Hollywood.
Well I had to find my way.
By looking at the city.
Next day I go back to work.
I don't feel like it but we need the money.
The grass is wet and it's hard.
Getting across the ravine in my dress shoes.
Souls are slick.
Plus they're too tight.
Several times I fall forward on my briefcase.
Inside the briefcase are my teabags and a thing of moose.
Right off the bat I get a table full of Medibin women seated under a banner that says best of luck Beatrice.
No hard feelings.
I take off my shirt and serve their salads.
I take off my flight pants and serve their soups.
One drops a dollar on the floor and tells me feel free to pick it up.
I take off my shirt and serve their salads.
I take off my flight pants and serve their soups.
One drops a dollar on the floor and tells me feel free to pick it up.
I take off my shirt and serve their�� pants and serve their�� pants and serve their�� pants and serve their�� pants and serve their�� pants and serve their Let's face the other way so we can, when you bend over, we can see your crack.
I've done this about a million times, but somehow I can't do it now.
I look at her.
She looks at me.
What, she says.
I'm not allowed to say that?
I thought that was the whole point.
That's the whole point, Phyllis, says another later.
You stand your ground.
Look, Phyllis says, either bend how I say or give back the dollar.
I think that's fair.
You go, girl, says her friend.
I give back the dollar.
I return to the locker area and sit a while.
For the first time ever, I'm voted a stinker.
There are 13 women at the Medi-Bin table, and they all vote me stinker.
Do the Medi-Bin women know my situation?
Would they vote me a stinker if they did?
But what am I supposed to do?
Go out and say, please, lady, my aunt just died.
Plus, her body's missing?
Mr. Friend pulls me aside.
Perhaps you might need to go home, he says.
I'm sorry for your loss, but I'd like to encourage you, not to behave like one of those Comanche ladies who bite off their index fingers when a loved one dies.
Grief is good.
Grief is fine.
But too much grief, as we all know, is excessive.
But if your aunt's death has filled your mouth with too many bitten-off fingers for crying out loud, take a week off.
Only don't take it out on our guests.
They didn't kill your dang aunt.
But I can't afford to take a week off.
I can't even afford to take a few days off.
You really need the money, I say.
Is that my problem, he says?
Am I supposed to let you dance?
Without vigor, just because you need the money?
Why don't I put an ad in the paper for all the sad people who need money?
All the town sad could come here and strip.
Goodbye.
Come back when you feel halfway normal.
From the payphone, I call home to see if they need anything from the food so quick.
Just come home, says Min, says stiffly.
Just come straight home.
What is it, I say?
Come home, she says.
Maybe someone's found the body.
I imagine Bernie naked.
Bernie.
Chopped in two.
Bernie poised on a bus bench.
I hope and pray that something only mildly been done to her.
Something we can live with.
At home, the door is wide open.
Min and Jade sitting very still on the couch.
Babies in their laps staring at the rocking chair.
And in the rocking chair is Bernie.
Bernie's body.
Same perm, same glasses, same blue dress we buried her in.
What's it doing here?
Who could be so cruel?
And what are we supposed to do with it?
Then she turns her head and looks at me.
Sit the fuck down, she says.
In life, she never swore.
I sit.
Min squeezes and releases my hand.
Squeezes and releases.
Squeezes and releases.
You, Mr., Bernie says, are going to start showing your cock.
You'll show it and show it.
You go up to Lady if she wants to see it.
If she'll pay for it to see it.
I'll make a thumbprint on her forehead.
You'll see the thumbprint.
You'll ask.
I'll try to get you five a day.
Twenty bucks a pop.
So a hundred bucks a day.
Seven hundred a week.
And that's cash.
So no taxes.
No withholding, see?
That's the beauty of it.
She's got dirt in her hair and dirt in her teeth.
And her hair is a mess.
And her tongue, when it darts out to lick her lips, is black.
You, Jade, she says.
Tomorrow you start work.
Anderson's Labels.
Fifth and Riviera.
Dress up when you go.
Wear something nice.
Show a little leg.
And don't chomp your gum.
Ask for Len.
At the end of the month, we'll take the money you made from the cock money and get a new place.
Somewhere safe.
That's part of phase one.
You men, you babysit.
Plus you quit smoking.
Plus you learn how to cook.
No more food out of cans.
We gotta eat right to look our best.
Because I am getting me so many lovers.
Maybe you kids don't know this, but I died a freaking virgin.
No babies, no lovers.
Nothing went in, nothing came out.
Ha ha.
Dry as a bone.
Completely wasted.
This pretty little thing God gave me between my legs.
Well, I'm gonna have lovers now, you fucks.
Like in the movies.
Big shoulders and all.
And a summer house and nice trips.
And in the morning, in my room, big vases of flowers.
And I'm going to get my nipples hard.
Standing in the breeze from the ocean.
Eating shrimp from a cup, you sons of bitches.
While my lover watches me from the veranda.
His big shoulders shining all hard for me.
That's one damn thing I will guarantee you kids.
Ha ha.
You think I'm joking?
Ha ha.
I ain't freaking joking.
I've never got nothing.
My life was shit.
I was never even up in a freaking plane.
But that was that life.
And this is this life.
My new life.
Cover me up now.
With a blanket.
I need my beauty rest.
Tell anyone I'm here, you all die.
Plus they die.
Whoever you tell, they die.
I kill them with my mind.
I can do that.
I'm very freaking strong now.
I got powers.
I got powers.
I got powers.
I got powers.
So no visitors.
I don't exactly look my best.
You got it?
You all got it?
We nod.
I go for a blanket.
Her hands and feet are shaking and she's grinding her teeth and one falls out.
Put it over me, you fuck.
All the way over, she screams.
And I put it over her.
We sneak off with the babies and whisper in the kitchen.
It looks like her, says Min. It is her, I say.
It is and it ain't, says Jade.
Better do what she says, Min says.
No shit, Jade says.
All night she sits in the rocker on the blanket, shaking and swearing.
All night we sit in Min's bed, fully dressed, holding hands.
See how strong I am, she shouts around midnight.
And there's a crackling sound.
And when I go out, the door's been torn off the microwave.
But she's still sitting in the chair.
In the morning, she's still there, shaking and swearing.
Take the blanket off, she screams.
It's time to get this show on the road.
I take the blanket off.
The smell is not good.
One ear is now in her lap.
She keeps absentmindedly sticking it back on her head.
You, Jade, she shouts.
Get dressed.
Go get that job.
When you meet Len, bend forward a little.
Let him see down your top.
Give him some hope.
He's a sicko, but we need him.
You, Min, make breakfast.
Something homemade, like biscuits.
Why don't you make it with your power, says Min. Don't be a smartass, screams Bernie.
You see what I did to that microwave?
I don't know how to make freaking biscuits, Min Wales.
You know how to read them?
You know how to read them?
You know how to read them?
You know how to read them?
You know how to read them?
You know how to read them?
Bernie shouts.
You ever heard of a recipe?
You ever been in the grave?
It sucks so bad.
You'll regret all the things you never did.
You little bitches are going to have a very bad time in the grave unless you get on the stick, believe me.
Turn down the thermostat.
Make it cold.
I like it cold.
Something's off with my body.
I don't feel right.
I turn down the thermostat.
She looks at me.
Go show your cock, she shouts.
That's the first part of phase one.
After we get the new product, we're going to have a party.
After we get the new product, we're going to have a party.
That's the end of the first part of phase two.
You'll still show your cock, but only three days a week because you'll start community college, pre-law.
Pre-law is the best.
You'll be a whiz.
You ain't dumb.
And Jade will work weekends to make up for the decrease in cock money.
See?
You see how that works?
Now get out of here.
What are you going to do?
Show my cock, I say.
Show your cock.
That's right, she says, and brushes her hair with her hand.
And a huge wad comes out, leaving her almost bald on the side.
Oh, God, says Min. You know what?
No way me and the babies are staying here alone.
You ain't alone, says Bernie.
I'm here.
Please don't go, Min says to me.
Oh, stop it, Bernie says, and the door flies open.
I feel a sort of invisible fist punching me in the back.
Outside, it's sunny.
A regular day, guy's changing his oil.
The clouds are regular clouds, and the sun's the regular sun.
And the only non-regular thing is that my clothes smell like Bernie, a combo of wet cellar and rotten bacon.
Work goes well.
I manage to keep smiling and hide my shaking hands, and my mid-shift rating is honey pie.
After lunch, this older woman comes up and says I look so much like a real pilot, she can hardly stand it.
On her head is a thumbprint, like Ash Wednesday, only sort of glowing.
I don't know what to do.
Do I just come out and ask if she wants to see my cock?
What if she says no?
What if I get caught?
What if I show her and she doesn't think it's worth $20?
Then she asks me if I'll surprise her best friend, and she says, no.
I'll surprise her best friend with a birthday table dance.
She points out her friend, a pretty girl, no thumbprint.
Looks somehow familiar.
We start over, and at about 20 feet, I realize it's Angela.
Angela?
Salveary?
We dated senior year.
Then dad died, and Ma had to take a job at Paddy Mel Depot.
From all the grease, Ma got a bad rash and could barely wear a blouse.
Plus, Min was running wild.
So Angela would come over, and there'd be Min getting high into the tarp.
She'd be in the car, and Ma would be sitting in her bra on the kitchen stool with a fan pointed at her gut.
Angela had dreams.
She had plans.
In her notebook, she pasted a picture of an office from the JCPenney catalog, and under it, it wrote, my someday office.
Once we saw this black Porsche, and she said, very nice, but pinker's red.
The last straw was Ed Edwards, a big drunk, one of dad's cousins.
Things got so bad, Ma rented in the utility room.
One night, Angela and I were making out on the couch late when Ed came in and soused and started peeing in the dishwasher.
What could I say?
He's only barely related to me?
He hardly ever does that?
Angela's eyes were like little pies.
I walked her home.
Got no kiss.
Came back, cleaned up the dishwasher as best I could.
A few days later, I got my glass ring in the mail and a copy of The Prophet.
You will always be my friend.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
she'd written inside, but now my path converges to a higher ground.
Be well always.
Walk in joy.
Please don't think me cruel.
It's lust that I want so much in terms of accomplishments.
Accomplishment.
Plus, I couldn't believe that guy peed on your dishes.
No way am I table dancing for Angela Silvieri.
No way am I asking Angela Silvieri's friend if she wants to see my cock.
No way am I hanging around here so Angela can see me in my flight jacket and teabags and wonder to herself how I went so wrong, etc., etc. I hide in the kitchen until my shift is done.
Then I walk home very, very slowly because I'm afraid of what Bernie's going to do to me when I get there.
Min meets me at the door.
She's got flour all over her blouse, and it looks like she's been crying.
I can't take any more of this, she says.
She's like falling apart.
I mean, shit's falling apart.
I can't take any more of this, she says.
She's like falling off her.
Plus, she made me bake a freaking pie.
On the table's a very lumpy pie.
One of Bernie's arms is now disconnected and lying across her lap.
What are you thinking of, she shouts.
You didn't show your cock every, even once.
You think it's easy making those thumbprints?
You try it, smartass.
Do you or do you not know the plan?
You gotta get us out of here.
And to get us out of here, you gotta use what you got, and you ain't got much.
A nice face and a decent unit.
Not huge.
But shaped nice.
Bernie, God, says Min. Wet Miss Priss shouts Bernie and slams the severed arm down on her lap, and the other ear falls off.
I'm sorry, but this is too fucking sickening, says Min. I'm going out.
What's sickening, says Bernie?
Are you saying I'm sickening?
Well, I think you're sickening.
So many wonderful things in life, and where's your mind?
You think with your lazy ass.
Whatever life hands to you, you take.
You're not going anywhere.
You're staying home and studying.
I'm what, says Min? Studying what?
I ain't studying.
Chick comes into my house and starts ordering me to study.
I freaking doubt it.
You don't know nothing, says Bernie.
What fun is life when you don't know nothing?
You can't find your own town on a map.
You can't name a single president.
When we go to Rome, you won't know nothing about the history.
You're gonna study the world book.
Do we still have those world books?
Yeah, right, says Min. We're going to Rome.
We'll go to Rome when he's a lawyer, says Bernie.
Dream on, Chick, says Min. And we'll go to Mars when I'm a stockbreaker.
Don't you dare make fun of me, Bernie, shouts.
And our only vase goes flying across the room and nearly nails Min in the head.
She's been like that all day, says Min. Like what, shouts Bernie.
We had a perfectly nice day.
She made me help her try on my bra, says Min. I never once had a sexy bra, says Bernie.
And now mine are all ruined, says Min. They got this sort of goo on them.
You ungrateful shit, shouts Bernie.
Do you know what I'm doing for you?
I'm saving your boy.
And you got the nerve to say I made goo on your bras?
Troy's gonna get caught in a crossfire in the courtyard in September.
September 18th.
He's gonna get thrown off his little trike with one leg under him and blood pouring out of his ear.
It's a freaking prophecy.
You know that word?
It means prediction.
You know that word?
You think I'm bullshitting?
Well, I ain't bullshitting.
I got the power.
Watch this.
All day, Jade sat licking labels at the desk by our window.
Her boss bought everybody subs for lunch.
She's bringing home some in a green bag.
That ain't true about Troy, is it, says Min. Is it?
I don't believe it.
Turn on the TV, Bernie shouts.
Give me the changer.
I turn on the TV and I give her the changer.
She puts on Nathan's body shop.
Nathan says, washboard abs drive the women wild.
Then there's a close-up of his washboard abs.
Oh, yes, says Bernie.
Them are for me.
I'd like to give those a lick.
A lick and a pinch.
I'd like to sort of straddle those things.
Just then, Jade comes through the door with a big green bag.
Oh, God, says Min. Told you so, says Bernie, and pokes Min in the ribs.
Ha ha.
I really got the power.
I don't get it, says Min, all desperate.
What happens?
Please.
What happens to him?
You better freaking tell me.
I already told you, Bernie, says.
He'll fly about 15 feet and live about three minutes.
Bernie, God, Min says and starts to cry.
You used to be so nice.
I am still so nice, says Bernie, and bites into a sub and takes off the tip of her finger and starts chewing it up.
Just after dawn, she shouts my name.
Take the blanket off, she says.
I ain't feeling so good.
I take the blanket off.
She's basically just this pile of parts, both arms in her lap, head on the arms, heel of one foot touching the heel of the other, all sort of wrapped up in her dress.
Get me a washcloth, she says.
Do I get a fever?
I feel like I got a fever.
Oh, I knew.
I knew it was so too good to be true.
But okay.
New plan.
We loved you, I say.
Why do some people...
New plan.
I'm changing the first part of phase one.
If you see two thumbprints, that means the lady will screw you for cash.
We're in a fix here.
You gotta speed this up.
There ain't gonna be nothing left of me.
Who's gonna be my lover now?
The doorbell rings.
Son of a bitch, Bernie snarls.
It's Father Brian with a box of donuts.
I step out quick and close the door.
He says he's just checking in.
Perhaps we'd like to talk.
Perhaps we're feeling some residual anger about Bernie's situation, which would, of course, be completely understandable.
Once, when he was a young priest, someone broke in and drew a mustache on the Virgin Mary with a permanent marker, and for weeks he was tortured by visions of bending back the finger of the vandal until he, or she, burst into tears of apology.
I knew that wasn't appropriate, he says.
I knew that by indulging in that fantasy, I was honoring violence, and yet it gave me pleasure.
I also thought of catching them in the act and...
act and pointin' them on the head with a rock.
I also thought of jumping up and down on their backs until something in their spinal column cracked.
Actually, I had about a million ideas.
But you know what I did instead?
I scrubbed and I scrubbed our Holy Mother.
And soon, she was as good as new.
Her statue, I mean.
She herself, of course, is always as good as new.
From inside comes the sound of breaking glass.
Breaking glass and then something heavy falling.
And then Jade yelling and Min yelling and the babies crying.
Oops, I guess, he says.
I've come at a bad time?
Look, all I'm trying to do is urge you, if at all possible, to forgive the perpetrators, as I forgave the perpetrator that drew on the Virgin Mary.
The thing lost, after all, is only your aunt's body.
And what is essential, I assure you, is elsewhere being well taken care of.
I nod, I smile, I say, thanks for stopping by.
I take the donuts and go back inside.
The TV's broken, the refrigerator's tipped over, and Bernie's parts are strewn across the living room like she's been shot out of a cannon.
She tried to get up, says Jade.
I don't know where the hell she thought she was going, says Min. Come here, the head says to me, and I squat down.
That's it for me.
I'm fucked.
As per usual.
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.
Oh, come to think of it, I was never even the freaking bridesmaid.
Look, show your cock.
It's the shortest line between two points.
The world ain't giving away nice lives.
You got a trust fund?
You a genius?
Mm-mm.
Show your cock.
That's what you got.
And remember, Troy in September, on his trike, one leg twisted.
Don't forget.
And also, don't remember me like this.
Remember me, how I was that night we all went to the Red Lobster, and I had that new perm.
Oh, Christ.
At least buy me a stone.
I rub her shoulder, which is next to her foot.
We loved you, I say.
Why do some people get everything and I get nothing, she says.
Why?
Why was that?
I don't know, I say.
Show your cock, she says.
And dies again.
We stand down, stand there looking down at the parts.
Mac crawls toward it, and Min shoves him back with her foot.
This is too freaking much, says Jade, and starts crying.
What do we do now?
Says Min. Call the cops, Jade says.
And say what, says Min. We think about this for a while.
I get a hefty bag.
I get my winter gloves.
I ain't watching, says Jade.
I ain't watching either, says Min. And they take the babies into the bedroom.
I close my eyes and wrap up Bernie in a hefty bag and twisty tie the bag shut and lug it out to the trunk of the K car.
I throw in a shovel.
I drive up to St. Leo's.
I lower the bag into the hole using a bungee cord, then fill the hole back.
I'm in the middle of the house.
Down the stairs, there are nice houses and the so-so houses and the lovers making out in the dark yards and the babies crying for their moms.
And I wonder if, you know, other than Jesus, this has ever happened before.
Maybe it happens all the time.
Maybe there's angry dead all over, hiding in rooms, covered in blankets, bossing around their scared, embarrassed relatives.
But how do we know?
I for sure don't plan on broadcasting this.
I smooth over the dirt and say a quick prayer.
And then I'm in the bathroom.
If it was wrong for her to come back, forgive her.
She never got the beans in this life.
Plus, she was just trying to help us.
At the car, I think of an additional prayer.
But please don't let her come back again.
When I get home, the babies are asleep and Jade and Min are watching a phone sex infomercial.
Three girls in leather jumpsuits eating bananas in slow-mo while across the screen runs a constant disclaimer.
Not necessarily the girls who man the phones.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
I'm in the bathroom.
Not necessarily the girls who man the phones.
Them chicks seem to be really nice enjoying those bananas, says Min in a thin little voice.
I like them jumpsuits, though, says Jade.
Yeah, them jumpsuits look decent, says Min. Then they look up at me.
I've never seen them so beat and sad and sick.
It's done, I say.
Then we hug and cry and promise never to forget Bernie the way she really was and use some resolve on her.
And then we go to some reading on the world books.
Next day, I go in early.
I don't see a single thumbprint, but it doesn't matter.
I get with Sonny Vance and he tells me how to do it.
First, you ask the woman, would you like a private tour?
Then you show her the fake P40, the gallery of historical aces, the shower stall where we all get oiled up, et cetera, et cetera.
Then in the hall near the restroom, you ask her if there's anything else you'd like to see.
It's sleazy.
It's gross.
But when I do it, I think of September.
September and Troy and the crossfire.
His little leg bent under his arm, et cetera, et cetera.
Most say no, but quite a few say yes.
I've got a place picked out in the complex called Swan's Glen.
They've never had a shooting or a knifing, and the public school is great.
And every Sunday, they have a nature walk for kids behind the clubhouse.
For every hundred bucks I make, I set aside five for Bernie.
It's a fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair fair passed her by, died disappointed, came back to life but fell apart?
All true, but too sad, and no way am I running any of those.
Bernie Kowalski, it's going to say, beloved aunt.
Sometimes she comes to me in my dreams.
She never looks good.
Sometimes she's wearing a dirty smock, one she had on handcuffs, one she was naked and dirty, and this mean cat was clawing its way up her front, but every time it's the same thing.
Some people get everything, and I got nothing, she says.
Why?
Why did that happen?
Every time I say, I don't know, and I don't.
I was looking forward to you.
See where I was going, but I don't.
I don't know if I can make it.
No, I don't know if I could.
Think I'm gonna try.
Thank you so much, Chris Devlin for Sea Oak, and thank you for listening tonight.
The music was featured Hollywood by Tobias Gesso Jr. The Drama Queen will be back next time.
We hope you'll be back.
Today, we want to...
Thank our board operator and Jeremy Hansen, the owner, proprietor of Skid Row Studios.
Thank you again for listening and sharing time with Daryl Phillip and Chris Devlin.
So long for the Drama Queen team.
Good night.
Hollywood Well, I'm a man I was brought up right I said my prayers every night Since 1995 And I prayed, God help me I've done the best I could But I think I'm gonna die in Hollywood Hollywood Hollywood Think I'm gonna die in Hollywood So I found the best advice Go and get a job But I don't know if I can take it back But I don't know if I can take it back But I don't know if I can take it back But I don't know if I can take it back But I don't know if I can take it Cause I never understood How everybody lies in Hollywood How everybody lies in Hollywood And I don't know if I can make it And I don't know if I should I think I'll say goodbye to Hollywood Well, I'm a man I was brought up right I said my prayers every night Since 1995 And I prayed God help me I've done the best I could But I think I'm gonna die In Hollywood I think I'm gonna die In Hollywood In Hollywood
