Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 40.
I tried to look busy. Later, when I had a chance to think about it, I realized that what made me completely forget about picking parp up that morning was him ridiculing me the night before for not knowing what vagina dentata meant. So the only thing I could think about was vagina dentata until I googled it and found out it was just some old pagan legend about a cung with teeth in it that I guess would bite your dick off if you tried to fuck it. Then after I found that out, the wife came out of the bedroom to pout in the living room and shush me whenever I spoke because the boys were already in bed.
But right then on the set at fighters I hadn't had time to think it through that far so I was feeling pretty guilty about not picking parp up. I winced. I looked around to see if I could see his face. Oh yeah.
There it was almost right in front of me. It was kind of smirky like you'd been expecting me to fuck up all along so we could tell everybody where Schmuck I was. I looked down at my feet. I looked up at him again.
He still looked smirky. Fuck man. I said I'm really sorry were you waiting long? Nah, Terry was there.
I called him up last night so he could come down in case we needed a backup. We waited for you for about 10 minutes then we just figured you forgot. So you lined up two drivers? Well yeah.
After you hung up the phone I got a little nervous because you know yesterday you completely forgot so I called up Terry. I was starting to get steamed again. So it was all this clapping and humiliating me about if everything was okay. Well it's kind of funny don't you think?
I mean two days in a row you promised to pick up production equipment and then completely forget. I just see. It's funny. He said lighten up right then whispers shouted.
Hey Tony got a minute. Part went over to him and I stood there staring at an empty column of air. But Prick knew I was trying to impress Cammy. He could have kept my little faux pas to himself but he made sure I was the object of community ridicule and he made sure Cammy took part in it.
I wanted to strangle the 9-2-3rd. But I was trapped. I mean what would Cammy think if I tore apart a new butthole right there in front of everybody? I just had to stand there and take it while he got his little public revenge.
And it turned out to be a good thing that I kept my mouth shut. By being the wound up backstabber that he is part managed to get me sympathy with babes. Especially the cancer. She walked up to me and gave me this big sad grin.
To be right now huh? I said she gink juckled. Oh don't bark. She pronounced the B.
dumb bass. I did catch it. She gink juckle some more. Quiet on the set.
Shouted Rosie assistant director. They were off to the races. So now that I was there I was kind of stuck about what to do next. I didn't have many options.
First I figured I could be the quote producer and not do anything but drink coffee and try to look like I was watching over my investment. I tried doing that for about 5 minutes when they were setting up the next scene and didn't work out. Nobody seemed to get it that I was a producer or that I had an investment to watch over. Two young guys came by lugging some locker filled with heavy lighting gear like they were 80 year olds with hernians and set it down right in front of me and sat on it.
They panted. Whispers came over and said to them, yeah maybe I should give you girls a hand here. They hopped up and he grabbed one end of the locker, the heavy end. He pulled, it didn't move, then he laughed, then the two guys laughed, then I laughed.
When he heard me laugh, whispers looked over at me and said, so how's laugh treating you all? Oh pretty good. Yeah? You liking that donut are ya?
Oh yeah, I was eating a donut from the donut table. I was pretty glad Kami didn't see me getting all self-conscious about the donut. I jerked my head around looking for her and there she was, lugging her pretty ass off of the other grunts for a day and not paying attention to me at all. So after I snarfed down the rest of the donut, I sculpt around trying to look busy while I sorted it out.
I figured I could try just hanging out with the masters and creators, part, fighter and whispers and people would think I was busy working on the more creative parts of the film. I was pretty sure that my background as a, you know, talent meant that if I volunteered creative input then that input would be valued by the aforesaid masters and creators. Maybe that sounds like a stretch, it really wasn't. Bang, Bangalore Springfield the comedian was getting away with doing exactly what I just described.
I mean you should have seen it, everybody around him was busting his or her hump and what was bang doing, cracking jokes with parpe about the next series of takes and parpe is asking his advice and what not and bang comes up with an idea and shit, I went to school with parpe and fighter, I knew them from way the hell back. I didn't know anybody from back then, he was a newcomer, a hanger on it, and he was her lopper. He didn't have any money in the so called film, he wasn't a master, he wasn't a creator, he simply insinuated himself into parpe's company so he could look like a big shot in front of fuckable babes. So I decided I'd siding up to parpe and pull the same shit, but when I got close enough for him to notice me I could see there was no smile in his face for me, no smile at all, not even in his eyes.
I guess he was still steamed at me for yelling at him. Okay, no siding up to parpe, at least for the time being, that left whispers and writer. That left fighter. I figured if parpe was still miffed at me then whispers might still be holding against me the whole standing there eating at donut while other people worked.
So, fighter it was. He was standing over at the piano with a Starbucks cup in one hand watching other people work. He was my bud. From college.
We were even dressed a little alike. We both had on the same white canvas sneakers and jeans. He was also wearing a big grey sweater with silver buttons that looked like castle doorknobs and a big sports jacket to help hide his big fat gut. He saw me coming.
Hey Paul, what's new? Oh you know, this film I guess. Oh yeah? Hey Paul, mind if I ask what you're doing here?
I got some money in it, thought I, you know, seriously, what are you doing here? Thought I'd come down to help, but you're not helping. I gave him my look who's talking look and then tried to hide it. He noticed anyway.
I own the place. He said, there was a pause while he just stared at the worker bees and sipped his coffee. Then right when I was thinking I'd better go stand somewhere else, he said, why don't you see if you can help someone who's trying to get something done like that kid over there who doesn't know how to roll cable. You do that and I'll ask Bobby if he can use you in the next shot.
Wow, I thought, use me in the next shot. The deal I said, fighter grinned and sipped his coffee. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist.
Notes from the Upper West Side, copyright 2013 to 2016 by Dan Wrench.