Love In The Time Of Apps

by Jay Begler

Goodwin related what had happened to him over the last few hours to which Kass replied sardonically, “Welcome to my world.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “We are in the land of the Low Lifes, our ghetto. Catch the number 10 bus on Broadway and 48th and get off at the last stop, the SoLo district. There is a reception area just inside the first building by the bus stop. I’ll tell them you’re coming. Check in. They’ll find you a spot for now and then hook up with us at the Persona Non Grata bar.” Despite everything, Goodwin had to laugh at the name.

  For the first time, Goodwin looked at the other passengers on the bus, presumably all Low Lifes. The only word that came to mind was refugees. “No” he thought, “the more accurate term is social refugees.” The bus came to a hard stop. He and his fellow social refugees had arrived. The only difference between Goodwin and the other passengers was that everyone else on the bus had someone to meet them. In a matter of moments, Goodwin stood alone by the empty bus.

  The voice from behind him asked, “Mr. Goodwin?”

  He turned to see an attractive, well dressed, woman in her forties. She held out her hand and said, “I’m so happy to meet you. We’ve all been following your battle with the evil twins.”

  “I like that name for them.”

  “I thought you would. We’ll get you a temporary room and help you settle in and then get you over to the Persona Non Grata bar to meet with your friends.”

  “You seem particularly upbeat for a Low Life.”

  “I’m actually a 26, though I think the whole concept is preposterous and clearly dangerous. There is a group of us who come down to help out, but we need to keep a low profile. Those who help Low Lifes are now labeled ‘Abettors.’ Helping Low Lifes is frowned upon and, if you can believe it, there is a large nationwide organization dedicated to outing Abettors. Anyone who outs an Abettor successfully is given a reward of $100.00. Once you are outed, the organization arranges through its network to have very low ratings sent in to Pragat. Twenty-four hours after that, you’re a Low Life. It can happen that fast.

  “What comes next, armbands?”

  It was a sarcastic question, but the woman gave it a serious answer. “That’s only a rumor,” she whispered.

  The room he was assigned was a studio apartment which, to Goodwin’s surprise, was furnished rather nicely. Its former occupant was an interior decorator who ran for her life upon learning that her neighbors on both sides and across the hall, neighbors she had over for dinner many times, were Low Lifes. Goodwin was about to leave for the Persona Non Grata bar when his cell phone rang. Before he could even say “hello,” he heard a sharp clipped, almost squeaky, unfamiliar, voice that spoke in a rapid fire fashion:

  “Goodwin, that you? Goodwin?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  Speaking at the speed of light, with a voice two octaves above that of a castrati taking a cold shower, the man replied, “You don’t know me. My name is Speedy Lazar, the great grandnephew or distant fifth generation cousin; I still don’t know which, of the great agent, Swiftly Lazar. Listen, Goodwin, I work for the American Broadcasting Company and The Sheila and I have an offer that you can’t refuse. Well, you could refuse it. It’s a free country, but you’d be ‘shmazy’ if you did. Like that word? I made it up. It’s a shmuck that’s crazy. I will have a car pick you up at 9 am sharp and I’ll take care of picking up Schnell.” Before Goodwin could say, “wha?” Lazar hung up.

  Two things surprised Goodwin when he entered Persona Non Grata bar, its size and the raucous upbeat nature of the crowd. The atmosphere didn’t seem appropriate for a place housing Low Lifes. Low Lifes, Goodwin thought, were supposed to be downtrodden, beaten. But this noisy group seemed to be just the opposite. They were having a good time.

  A man approached, “Philip Goodwin?”

  “Yes.”

  He took a spoon and banged on a glass to signal for quite. “Hey everyone, I am pleased to introduce you to our latest resident, Philip Goodwin.” With that the man slapped a “TEN BELOW” cap on Goodwin’s head to the cheers of the bar’s patrons.

  “Just because the outside world calls us “Low Lifes” doesn’t mean we have to follow suit. The connotation itself marks you. Ten Below is much better and has a little cache. Your friends are in the booth at the back of the bar.” As Goodwin made his way to the back of the bar, people patted him on the back and shook his hand as if he were a celebrity. After celebratory hugs, downed scotches, and cursing the Two Sheilas and their respective wives, Goodwin said, “This is not at all what I expected.”

  “Well about half of the people here are not Ten Belows. They come down here because it’s now an edgy neighborhood. The rest are from our ghetto. Most of us come here in a state of shock and despair, but that soon turns to anger. We support each other and are attempting to organize and get rid of the PPRs. Every single person we’ve met is decent and hardworking. Like us, they’ve simply been screwed by circumstances and the ratings.”

  Graves piped in, “We’ve been in touch with SoLo groups all over the country and I think there are close to two million of us now. What we need is a spokesman, a champion to help us unravel this mess, to do away with the whole PPR system. That’s step one in getting our lives back. We need to show people that a system that rates people mainly on the basis of data from the Internet is artificial and wrong.”

  “It’s a pretty tall order.”

  “Yes,” Riques interjected, “but we’ll find a way.”

  Goodwin related the story about the odd phone call.

  Kass said, “My guess is that he wants you on some sort of TV show, which would be great since you can talk about the evils of the Pragat ratings. You could be the spokesman for our cause. Maybe you could be our champion.”

  While Goodwin’s mantra was to never get caught up in unpopular causes, he thought, “Why not? I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

  “You are going to go aren’t you?”

  “I’d be shmazy if I didn’t.”

  His friends looked at him quizzically.

  Divorcing With The Stars

  Goodwin, along with Kass, Graves and Riques, were escorted into the large office of Speedy Lazar, the Director of New Programming Events for ABC. Midstream into drinking coffee and chomping on a big cigar, Lazar introduced Goodwin and his friends to a number of colleagues and began speaking at an even faster pace than the night before.

  “Phil, I can call you Phil, right? Phil, you are presently having some, let’s say, personal difficulties. Very able lawyers represent your wives, you are facing a major divorce case and you have no money. So, unless you hire yourself some damn good attorneys, which always translates to damn expensive attorneys, whom you can’t afford, you’re up the creek owned and named after the famous Mr. Shit. The lawyers for The Sheila will be able to drag out any litigation for years, maybe decades. You being homeless will have to live on the street. You know I am right about you. What you don’t know is that I can help you, Phil. How would you like it if we paid all of your attorneys’ fees for the divorce, and we get you the best lawyers that money can buy? We’ll put you back in the Plaza, on us, and even give you $50,000 in cash. Sounds great, right? Of course it does. And all you have to do is have your divorce on national television.”

  Lazar’s high-speed speech was interrupted by the entry of Schnell, who he introduced to his associates in a matter of seconds. Having completed that task, Lazar signaled to one of his associates to give Schnell a proposed contract and resumed his pitch, “Let me explain, Phil, while you and Schnell peruse our proposed agreement. It’s our standard 45 page single- spaced contract. Besides the vague and unintelligible terms all contracts have, it is one of the most amazing legal documents of all times. You know the expression, ‘A thousand monkeys, typing on a thousand typewriters every day for a thousand years will eventually type the entire works of William Shakespeare.’ Well we tried it and guess what, no Shakespeare, but we did get this really good contract. We saved thousands
in legal fees. Now, if we can only teach these monkeys to take depositions.” Goodwin began to think at this point that this was another elaborate hoax concocted by the Two Sheilas to embarrass him. He looked around for hidden cameras.

  Lazar was not deterred by the skeptical expression on Goodwin’s face and continued his fast paced pitch. “Look, Phil, what I’m about to tell you is the most brilliant idea since they fixed the television quiz shows in the Fifties. Let me explain. What is America obsessed with? One word: ‘celebrities.’ Go to your newsstand and more than half the magazines are devoted just to celebrities and the content of regular magazines always carry features on celebrities. There are at least twenty television shows just on celebrities. People gobble up celebrity news. America is addicted to celebrities. We’re all celebrity-holics.”

  Goodwin thought for a moment about what a twelve-step program might be for celebrity-holics. He imagined men and women in a church basement and someone saying, “Hi I’m Gary and I’m a celebrity-holic. I haven’t looked at People, Us, or In Style for six weeks.”

  “Great work, Gary.”

  “Hi. I’m Lois and I’m a celebrity-holic. I’m afraid I slipped this week. I bought a copy of the National Enquirer because it had a headline I found irresistible, “Madonna Has Three Breasts,” and to add insult to injury when I looked at the photo inside, it showed her eating at Kentucky Fried Chicken.”

  Lazar interrupted Goodwin’s reverie. “Are you with me, Phil?”

  “Yes, sorry.”

  “As I was saying Phil, what’s even of greater interest to America? Two words: celebrity scandals. And what’s even of greater interest than celebrity scandals? Two more words, celebrity trials. And what’s even of greater interest than celebrity trials?”

  Like someone who just came out of shock therapy Goodwin mumbled, “Celebrity divorce trials?”

  “See boys,” Lazar said to his team, “I told you this guy was sharp. So, you ask yourself, what does this have to do with me?” Goodwin was about to say “Uh huh?” but didn’t have time.

  “I’ll tell you Phil. I was thinking about a new television show, a reality television show, something like Trials of the Stars. Not a bad idea, right, Phil? But, it wasn’t a blockbuster idea. I was frustrated. Then, one night I’m lying in bed, remote control in hand. It’s the brand new RX4 which will be state of the art until Wednesday. Anyway, I’m flipping between Court TV and American Idol, back and forth, forth and back. And then Phil, whammo! Did you ever experience a whammo, Phil? Or you can get really fancy and say you’ve experienced a great epiphany, a great revelation. Something like this comes once in a lifetime. It’s better than multiple orgasms, Phil, and you don’t have any pain in your prostate afterwards.”

  “So, here it is, Phil. Why not have the divorce trial modeled after other reality TV shows, like America Idol or Dancing With The Stars? We have the American television audience give the verdict by phoning in their votes. And to make it really special it’s a winner take all decision.”

  “And we’ve come up with a great title, ‘Divorcing With The Stars.’ Yeah, I know it’s a play on Dancing With The Stars, but that’s okay with the network because that show will be the lead in show for us. Word is out and celebrity couples, even happily married ones, are beating down our doors to get on the show to jack up their careers. Want to hear the terrific twist? Sure you do. The divorcing party with the greatest number of votes at the end of the season will be guaranteed a spot on Dancing With The Stars. If we get a mega couple on the show, the divorce will be held in The Supreme Court of the United States immediately after the Super Bowl.”

  “Is that possible? Can you get into the Supreme Court and do that?”

  “Phil, I know you’ve been wrapped up in this Sheila thing, and haven’t kept up what’s going on, but it’s absolutely possible, since DOMM”

  “DOMM? Who is DOMM?”

  “Not who, what. DOMM is the newest agency of the Government and everyone expects it will solve all the country’s financial problems. It’s the Department of Making Money.”

  Goodwin looked at his friends for confirmation and they shook their heads in a way indicating that Lazar was telling the truth. Lazar continued: “The crazy thing is that the idea was so obvious and so simple that no one thought of it before. Everyone knows that the government is good at collecting money, namely taxes, and even better at spending money, but it is absolutely lousy at making money, that is, functioning as a profitable enterprise.”

  The most that Goodwin could eke out during Lazar’s mile a minute narrative was, “But how?”

  “About two months ago, DOMM came into existence. Under the department’s direction, virtually everything the government owns and controls will be rented or licensed. Landmarks, personnel, and assets can be exploited for profit. Most people in the know think that the entire deficit will be wiped out within two years.”

  So far the biggest sellers are weddings and bar/bat mitzvahs at the White House. The tentative cost of each is a cool $12 million and for an extra $2 million the President and First Lady will drop by for the cocktail hour. For $3 million more the President will sing Hava Nagila at a bar or bat mitzvah. There’s already a two year waiting list and about a hundred couples have opted for the Maxi-Package. For $25 million they get everything I’ve mentioned, plus a honeymoon at Camp David, which they fly to via the Presidential helicopter. There are so many bookings for Camp David that the President has been forced to spend his next retreat at a local Motel 6.

  Goodwin’s response to Lazar’s, “Get my drift?” was simply a blank stare. Lazar, enthusiastic about the program continued, “Product placement, another DOMM program is already generating about four billion a month.”

  “Product what?”

  “Product placement. Check out this photograph of the President.” With that Lazar gave Goodwin an autographed 8 by 10 photograph of the President, which he bought for $3500. “I would have purchased a personal inscription, but it would have cost $7000. The President signs 500 of these a day. Take a careful look at his photo. See the lapel pin of the American flag. Now look directly below it.”

  Goodwin was shocked, “Unbelievable.” It was Nike Swoosh logo.

  Lazar held up a magazine with a recent photograph of the President. “Now take a look at this photograph. The President is sitting behind his desk. You’ll notice that on the desk there is a large bottle of Coke, an Apple Computer, a mug of Starbucks Coffee and, a small snow-globe of Disney’s Magic Kingdom. That desk is worth $6 billion a year.

  “And let’s not forget naming rights. The government is already having a bidding war over Pennsylvania Avenue with credit card companies leading the charge. So is it going to be the American Express way or Visa Way? The bidding is up to $3 billion per year. God knows how much the Government will get for naming rights for the White House. Burger King and McDonalds appear to be neck and neck in the bidding. The President seems ok with either company because their slogans, “You deserve a break today” and “Have it your way” have nice political overtones.”

  “And absolutely nothing is off the table. Our network is bidding to put on a new television show called the Congresswomen of Washington DC, sort of the Housewives of Orange County.” Lazar stopped and started laughing hysterically. Can you imagine the scene?

  “Congresswoman One, distraught: ‘Nancy Pelosi used the F word to describe my actions.’”

  “Congresswoman Two: ‘My God, what did she say?’ ‘

  “Congresswoman One: ‘She said they were furtive.’”

  “Look, the Supreme Court building is empty on the weekends and nights, right, just some tourists. We rent the whole thing out to have the mega celebrity divorce there. The cost is $1 million per night. Since our commercial rate for advertisers is $600,000 per minute, we make a profit after the first few commercials.”

  For your trial, we are going to rent out a courtroom in the Federal District Courthouse in New York; $100,000 per day. It’s a turnkey promotion by t
he Federal Judiciary. You get the courtroom, judge, bailiff, stenographer, two guards, clerk, and an extra whose only job is to say ‘all rise” when the judge enters the courtroom.”

  “So here’s the way it works. The trial will be a real trial. We will follow all of the trial rules, the Federal Rules of Evidence and the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. Once the trial is over, the jury, in this case the American Public will render a verdict by phone.”

  “Let me get literary here Phil and quote the famous Ginzu knife advertisement, ‘Wait…there’s more!’ There’s actually going to be a show within a show. Here the idea is to try to influence the American Public. It’s the reverse of a gag order. It’s sort of a “brag order.” Lazar became hysterical at his attempt at whimsy, but no one else laughed.

  “You and The Sheila will have to get out there to influence public opinion. We’ll have cameras following you around for the pilot we’re making. The show’s working title is ‘Undue Influence.’ It’s a win, win situation. The more you get into the media, say go on talk shows, the more publicity for our show.”

  “Obviously, whoever does a better job has an advantage going into the trial. But, even if the jury favors someone going in, the other party’s lawyer can pull the case out of the jaws of defeat if he or she is good enough.”

  As Lazar began to catch his breath, Goodwin asked, “But how?”

  “Who knows? Trials like the fashions on the Red Carpet, or the ferry schedule on the Alimentary Canal are totally unpredictable. Since we need to follow the Federal Rules, appeals are possible. Frankly, I’m not particularly interested in that since appeals just involve questions of law. That area does not generate much interest to the general public, so we’re trying to work a deal with PBS on the appeals.

  “There is a provision in your contract with the network, and an identical provision in the network’s contract with The Sheila, that whoever wins the divorce, that is whoever is found by the American Public not to be at fault by the jury for the demise of your marriage, is awarded all the marital property, the house, the stock and the business. Winner takes all. One of you will be very rich and the other very poor. I don’t know about you, Phil, but I’m pretty excited.”