Notes, from the Upper West Side. I found the kid-vider was talking about and yeah, he was struggling with the cables. As I was walking over to him, this other guy carrying a bunch of bounceboards shouted to him, Hey, skis, you know I can't hurt you if any point they're right. Yeah, fuck you, the kid moaned.
He looked so forlorn, all alone next to a big cardboard box filled up with big thick wires that wouldn't unclump. When I got up to him, I said, skis? He said, chow, I said, oh, I'm Paul. He laughed this snide little laugh.
Yeah, heh, heh, he said. He looked like an overfed goat. He was chunky and blonde, curly blonde ringlets under a red sock's baseball cap and a big fat baby face with wispy little whiskers. There's a trick to that, I said.
I know. Here, let me show you. He gave me the cable. I showed him.
Um, wait a minute, he said. His left eye wandered a little, making him look vaguely insane. That isn't the way Mike says to do it. Mike says go over on the.
He said that in a really loud voice, so a split second later, croutard number two steps over and says, what's up guys? This guy says, wind the cable, switch in hands. So suddenly I'm fighting with 220-somethings about the right-weight-a-wind cable like it was the right-weight-a-suture brain. That and a sudden craving for nicotine made me want to bite through my own cheek.
It was getting a little too loud when Park shouts from across the room. Hey, hey, hey, what the fuck? This guy is doing skis to wind the cable wrong. Mike screamed like a girl.
I just rolled my eyes. I could see the cigarette packs sticking out of the pocket on the table where he'd thrown my jacket. Park didn't even look up from what he was doing, which was helping to drag a large metal cabinet across the floor. Paul's a producer on this project, he shouted really loud.
Do it his way. When whispers who was standing on a ladder focusing a light heard Park say that he erupted in the laughter and did that annoying, slow clap of his with the hands cupped so they boom. But Park didn't crack a smile and no one else but whispers thought he was yanking me. Mike turned on his heel and stomped away and skis handed me the cable.
For two minutes I completely forgot about wanting a cigarette while I showed Goat Boy how to wrap the cable like a minge. When I handed it back to him I looked to my left and there it was cami. In her brown NYUT under an unbuttoned pink pinstripe man shirt she had the low-rise jeans and the brown half boots that pushed her ass nice and ugh. I winked at her swavely and went for my cigarettes.
Yeah, my skied said. Producer on this set. Be right back. I said in the mixture of voice while I walked to the door and dug the lighter out of my pocket.
When I hit the street I half expected to turn around and see Cami following me but she wasn't a little twat. I hate being left alone while other people are around. It's too much like getting a table for one in a busy restaurant. But this time it gave me a chance to think while I sucked smoke.
What I thought about was how Harp had just taken the sting out of the day for me just by yelling out what he yelled out. Now I could do any humiliating manual task on the menu and people would know I was just this producer who wasn't afraid to pitch in. And on top of that, Vida was going to get me into one of the upcoming shots. Yep, I thought.
It's all locking you. I stubbed out the half smoked cigarette and went back in the door dividers. I knew exactly which card to play now. 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 2013-2016 by Dan Rench.