by Tim Dorsey
A 71 Buick sat outside an antique mall in Palma Ceia. A sign announced an autographing event:
TODAY ONLY!
Serge and Coleman stood in the back of a long line. It was moving, but not fast enough.
Whats taking so long? said Serge, standing on tiptoes and stretching his neck. Ill bet someones gabbing up there.
Serge, I think I need to sit down.
Youre hammered, arent you?
Coleman giggled. You are correct, trivia breath!
I hate it when you get like this. Just dont touch anything.
Coleman picked up a rare figurine of a sad clown with a crumpled hat.
Gimme that! Serge set it back on a shelf. We have to pay for anything we break. This isnt like one of those big stores where we can run away again.
Coleman swayed and latched on to a china cabinet. Plates rattled.
Watch it! Serge grabbed Coleman by the shoulders and carefully balanced him on the vertical axis. He slowly removed his hands. There. Dont move.
Was this always an antique place? asked Coleman. From the outside it looked like it used to be a restaurant or something.
It was, said Serge. Old neighborhood bar and grill called Dinos. The kind of place with live honky-tonk musicians in the corner. True story: Forty years ago, some customer was in here drinking and it begins getting late and suddenly the guy gets up and starts playing a guitar left on the stage by one of the musicians on break. I mean like a crazy man, attacking the instrument, distressed noise. They thought he was having a seizure.
Was he?
Naw, it was just Jimi Hendrix. Knocking back a few after playing Curtis Hixon or some other torn-down arena. Serge began jamming on an air guitar behind his head:
Wah-wahwah-wah-wowoooowah-wah-wah!
Purple Haze inside my veins!
The man in line in front of them turned around. Serge was playing with his teeth now.
Waahhhoooo-wah-wahzowoozoo-wahhhhhh!
Sir! said the man. Do you mind?
Serge stopped and looked up. Oh, excuse me
The man turned back around.
While I kiss the sky!
The man turned back again with disdain.
Serge grinned.
Serge, said Coleman. This line is taking a lot longer than you said. Lets get out of here.
Hang on, said Serge. I hate lines, too. But sometimes its worth it. This may be our last chance to meet the great Karl Slover.
Karl?
Youre joking, right? I told you about him in the car.
Must have been doing something. Who is he?
Just one of the last living Munchkins is who. And Tampa has him! Lives just up the street. But I decided to wait until a public appearance instead of knocking on his door because Im not familiar with Munchkin lifestyle and didnt want to barge in on anything freaky.
Is this part of your current Florida movie kick? Coleman picked up a ceramic German boy playing the accordion.
Serge grabbed the figurine and replaced it on the shelf. Nothing current about it. This is different from every previous obsession. Movies are my life now.
If you say so.
No, really. Ive dedicated my existence to absorbing the entire film history of Florida so I can find out what the problem is.
I didnt know there was a problem.
Oh, theres a problem all right. Serge snatched a sleeping cherub from Colemans hands. Why should California get all the glory? Every movie filmed out there has that same shot, aimed up at tall rows of palm trees running down both sides of the street like we should all genuflect. Shit, the bad parts of Fort Myers have that.
Doesnt seem fair.
Heres the thing that really makes me want to kill. A movie is supposed to depict Florida, and they dont even pay us the common courtesy of shooting it here. Remember Some Like It Hot? Filmed at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego. And dont even get me started on the Miami Beach scenes in Get Shorty.
That wasnt Miami Beach?
Santa Monica, said Serge. I want answers.
But, Serge, what can one person do?
Thats what they said back in the 2000 election. Then Katherine Harris ends up in Congress. But not this time. Did you know there used to be studios all over this state competing with Hollywood? During the silent era, one was almost as big. Jacksonville.
What happened?
Shortsighted civic leaders and residents complaining about disruptions. The last straw was when they used a bunch of extras to film a riot, and it became a real riot. Serge tilted his head to see around the line. Then, to add insult, the latest blow from California. Theyre making a move on our cash crop.
Whats that?
You say Florida, and people think oranges and tourism. But our biggest export is weirdness. Remember a few years ago with those fugitives and chads and Elian and that guy who slept with his pet alligator under suspicious circumstances and had all those bite marks? Everyone you talked to: Man, you people in Florida are crazy! Then California elects a robot and puts a bunch of losers on trial. They stole our weirdness crown. I mean to take it back.
The line grew shorter until Coleman could see someone sitting behind a desk signing movie stills. Hes short.
Tall for a Munchkin, said Serge. Did you know he played six different parts?
Which?
One of the trumpeters, a female Munchkin in a bonnet, and who can forget those eggs where the cute little baby Munchkins popped out?
Coleman pointed. Looks like were up.
An assistant at the desk asked which movie photos theyd like to purchase.
Just a second, said Serge. I need to do something first. He turned to the people in line behind him. Could you please step back
Thats right, a little more
Serge faced the desk again. Karl, this is going to bring back memories
He placed his hands on his hips and began thrusting his pelvis: We represent the lollipop guild!
the lollipop guild!
the lollipop guild!
We represent
The assistant stood up. Sir, please
Wait, theres another verse.
We have a long line.
All right, said Serge. Hey, Karl, bet you havent heard that in a long time. But dont get all misty on me
Sir, which photograph?
Right, which picture? Lets see
the one with the good witch? No
Heres one with Dorothy and Toto
Karl, you knew Garland. What was she like? Did she keep in touch or just climb over the Munchkins on her way up? Any red flags of the drug abuse yet to come?
Sir!
Of course. That would be out of school. And youre a class act
Did you get to see the flying monkeys? They scared the shit out of me when I was a kid! What about you? I mean, you were an adult and knew they were fake. Still, the concept minding your own business walking along the yellow brick road. Did you realize they have these giant condors in the Pacific Northwest that can pick up a full-grown Munchkin? Then youre sitting two hundred feet up a tree in a big nest with the hatchlings. What kind of life is that? My advice: Stay clear of Portland
Sir, Im afraid were going to have to ask you to leave.
Leave?
Oh, I see what this is about. Moving product, making him sign his little hand off. Well, your days of exploiting him are over!
Karl, I got your back
Were calling the police.
Good. Ca
ll the press, too. Lets see what they think about this Munchkin sweat farm.
Crash.
A rack of figurines went over.
Coleman! Run!
** Chapter 5
THE FOOD COURT OF A NONDESCRIPT MALL IN BURBANK
A man in a paper hat swept the floor behind the counter. I hate pretzels!
Shhhh! said Ford. The customers.
What customers? said Mark, a choo-choo over his right breast.
Some might come in, said Ford.
Mark set his broom against the wall. Didnt you tell them we didnt want to be closers?
Its all they had. Ford looked down at a stack of typewritten pages that he kept behind the register.
I hate closing, said Mark. He glanced up at the clock, fifteen till ten. You get everything put away, all ready to split, and some idiots come in with a minute to go and cant make up their minds. Then they finally order something complex.
Ford crossed out a verb with his pen, making it active. Looks like were in luck tonight.
Mark pointed at the pages. Whered you learn this screenwriting stuff, anyway?
Wannabe screenwriting magazines full of ads saying theyll get your script produced and then request five hundred dollars for copying and postage every few weeks as long as youre stupid enough. But if you stick to the articles, youre okay.
Mark read the current page over Fords shoulder. Its just talking.
Thats how its done. All dialogue. Once youre familiar with your characters, it flows. Most of mine are people I know. He marked through a nonagreeing pronoun. A minute of talking, a page. Hundred pages, you got a movie. You need a setting, just give it a label and the movie people figure the rest.
Label?
Say you need a busy city street at night? Just type: busy city street at night. Theyll come up with the honking Checker cabs and neon cocktail glasses and Latin kids in white tank tops and Saint Christopher medals spilling out of a pizzeria. All that detail stuff is for books. I just need a label.
What about a space station? asked Mark.
Or a space station, said Ford. Or the food court of a nondescript mall in Burbank.
What are these abbreviations, O.S.? P.O.V.?
Off stage, point of view. Like, Character reacts to noise O.S., or Switch to killers P.O.V.
Can I see?
Ford handed the stack to Mark, who slowly became engrossed. Say, this aint bad. Like Im not even reading, just turning pages.
Based on true events. Wrote most of it since I got here and bought that cheap typewriter at the pawnshop.
What are all these dollar signs?
The capital S doesnt work.
You put me in here. You changed my name to Mark.
For legal reasons
You made me stupid.
In case you sued.
A group of blue-collar young men strolled through the food court, trying to decide.
Oh, no, said Mark. A minute till ten, said the clock.
Theyll probably eat somewhere else, said Ford.
Go to the Magic Wok, said Mark. Please go to the Magic Wok.
See? said Ford. Theyre heading somewhere else.
Theyre turning around! said Mark. Theyre looking at our sign. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The young men approached the counter. Ford stepped up to the register and smiled. Can I take your order?
Just a sec. Their eyes angled up at the menu board. Okay, wait. They read some more. They talked it over among themselves. They came to a decision. They decided against it. The first customer pointed up over Fords head. Whats the Orient Express?
Slightly tangy. Comes with Chinese mustard.
Can I get extra packets?
Sure.
What about the Rock Island Line?
Rock salt, said Ford. Not really rock salt, but they tell us to say that. Its just big salt.
Is it salty?
Pretty salty.
Background:
Fuck, fuck, fuck
Ford briefly turned his head: Shhhh!
The Grand Central Station? asked the customer.
Our largest, said Ford. Feeds two.
I dont know. The customer looked at his friends. What do you think, guys?
Fuck!
The customer quickly spun back to the counter.
Ford smiled nervously.
What was that?
I didnt say anything, said Ford.
Not you. That guy back there.
I didnt hear anything, said Ford. He noticed a blue Navy anchor on the mans forearm.
Yeah, he said something all right. Was he talking to us?
Im sorry, said Ford. Hes had a hard day.
Ive had a hard day. And now all I want to do is eat a pretzel, but somebodys got a fucking attitude!
You ever work retail? snapped Mark. He tapped the face on his wristwatch. Its four after closing now. But no, we cant go home cause you cant pick a snack!
Mark thought his eyes were playing tricks the way the man vaulted the counter from a standing start. Ford jumped in front of the enraged customer and put his hands up in surrender. Free pretzels! Your friends, too! Anything you want! Were just going to throw them out anyway!
The customer was still breathing fast. If he apologizes.
What! said Mark.
Mark! Shut up! said Ford, then to himself: Dammit, all I wanted to do was go home and watch Training Day.
Training Day?
Yeah, I saw Bad Lieutenant last night so I was going to follow up.
Cant believe you fuckin said that!
Ford hopped back and raised his hands again. Dont hit me!
But the man was smiling now. Those are two of my all-time favorite films!
Its the same movie, said Ford.
What do you mean?
Watch em back-to-back. Lieutenant was a little-known character study. The Training Day people must have recognized revenue potential and added the missing commercial pieces.
The customer looked up at thin air, visualizing. He nodded. You know, youre right. The customer put out his hand. Pedro Jimenez.
Ford shook it. Ford Oelman.
I love movies, said Pedro.
Me, too, said Ford.
Come on! Mark nagged. Whats taking so long?
Shut the hell up! yelled Pedro. I havent decided about you yet!
Mark raised his broom as a defensive weapon.
Pedro turned back to Ford. So why arent you in them?
In what?
The movies. Why are you working here?
What are you talking about? said Ford. You dont just decide to be in movies.
Not lead actor, Pedro said with a laugh. Theres a million other jobs. I mean, you love movies, and youre in the film capital of the universe. But youre working in a pretzel shop? Shoot, Im in movies.
You are? What do you do?
Props department at Vistamax across the street, said Pedro. But Ive been there long enough that sometimes I get to be a standby carpenter. Thats what I used to do, hammering studs under the hot sun, but now I build movie sets in air-conditioning. Pays a hell of a lot better, too. And Im that much closer to my dream.
Whats your dream?
To act. Ever since seeing The Wild One. First I wanted to be a serious actor, so I moved to New York and started auditioning off Broadway. Three or four days a week for six months, memorizing lines, rehearsing in a cram
ped apartment with my roommate, but the closest thing to a real part was when I got hired as a toy soldier at FAO Schwarz. And I even lost that role.
What happened?
The whole time Im working there, Im thinking, Dont be an ingrate. You came to New York to act, so act. I kept repeating in my head, Youre a soldier, youre a soldier
One day I hear these security guards yelling: Stop! Stop! Shoplifter! This guy goes running past, and I think, Hey, Im a soldier, so I run out the door and chase him up Fifth Avenue in my uniform and those big rosy circles on my cheeks.
That got you fired?
No. But then I caught the guy. Can you believe it? Who would have thought, running in that big hat with the chin strap? Tackled him on the corner of Fifty-seventh.
So that got you fired?
No. But I was Method acting.
And?
I bayoneted him. It was just a rubber bayonet, but the tabloids couldnt resist running the photos those tourists took. The store said it wasnt exactly the image they were going for. Thats when I came out here and took the job in props, which led to the standby carpenter gig.
Whats a standby carpenter do?
Say some spoiled director changes his mind and wants a door where theres a window. You got thirty minutes.
See any stars?
All the time. Theyre called The Talent. Were The Crew. The people who put deals together over lunch are The Suits. On the set, The Crew isnt allowed to speak to The Talent. In fact, its better you dont even look at them. Who knows whatll tick them off? One word from Cameron and theres a new carpenter the next day.
Sounds like a nasty place to work.
Actually its not. The Talent gets mobbed all the time on the street they just want to work in peace. What you do if youre The Crew is act like they dont exist. The breaks between shoots can get pretty long. Theyre people, too. Sometimes they just want someone to talk to. They strike up a conversation with you, and you go uh-huh, and keep on working, like theyre the pests.
So in a way, said Ford, when youre on the set, youre an actor, too.
I never thought of it that way.
Could I get into props? asked Ford.
Definitely. Right now theres a couple temp openings, but with the turnover, youd be full-time before you know it.
Maybe I can show someone my script?
Pedro laughed again.
Whats so funny?
