Chapter 5

The two lovers woke up fairly early considering the time they went to sleep but found themselves refreshed and rested. It was harder waking up Frances and Chrissy in Peg’s bed. Aspirin, water and juice helped. They ate at a nice café in town, nicer than either Peg or Harry were comfortable with, but the fancy crepes were good and the coffee even better.

They arrived at Frances’s house early enough for Pat to be still there and Harry found her sitting with Tom at his desk. “Tell me your ideas,” Pat insisted, so Harry did, starting with the framing device of Rancid telling his story to a whore he found just out of prison.

“You want me to audition Peg too?” Pat smirked.

“If you want,” Harry shrugged. “She even suggested her bar as advertisement.”

Everyone chuckled. “So you want it like reality, maybe not a whore but a bartender you meet and fuck,” Pat asked.

“Peg’s fine with that,” Harry told her. “She’s not ashamed of it, even the bit of prostitution on the side, and I’m certainly not. The whole thing with Rancid drawing her could be used because she’s got nudes on her wall done by one of her johns.”

“Straight from real life,” Tom chuckled.

“Pretty much.”

“Maybe Peg could show us her place,” Pat asked.

“Of course.”

“You have problems with the Alpha thing,” Tom smirked.

“I mean it’s real, the whole hierarchy, but I thought it could be shown more subtly or more symbolically I guess.”

“Less narration would be good,” Pat agreed.

“I think so too. What do you think of the bit with the warden’s wife and daughter, something sexy and funny amongst the grit?”

“Kind of creepy with the underage daughter and a prisoner.”

“I seem to recall you playing an underage hooker,” Harry pointed out.

“Different times, Harry.”

“But it would be all on her, wouldn’t it? She’s the tease and her mother could be the main focus with maybe a quick glance of the daughter into it too. There’s no room for some fantasy interlude is there? Just shots that imply interest or something.”

“It is funny the warden being cuckolded even if it’s just imagined,” Tom offered.

“I was thinking the narration could just be, ‘Oh shit,’ when Rancid realizes the daughter’s flirting too.”

“Did that really happen?” Pat asked.

“It did, but only the daughter actually flirted. The daughter was the one who wanted to be drawn.”

“Wanting a nude study?”

“Seemed like, but of course I did a nice staid family portrait.”

“Did you ... uhm ... fantasize about her?”

“I might have.”

“See. Creepy. I’ll think about it.”

“Should we write it in?” Tom asked.

“Go ahead. Doesn’t mean I have to film it. I’ll see if Peg wants to show me her bar.”

“And her apartment,” Harry added. “It’s right above it.”

“Okay. You two get to work.”

“Yes boss,” Tom chuckled.

Once Pat left, Tom set aside his typewriter and pulled out a laptop from the middle drawer of the desk along with a cord which attached to it for charging.

“I thought you were old school,” Harry commented, amused.

“I like typing out the first draft, correcting by hand and typing it into the computer as a second draft. It’s too easy writing on the computer and correcting on the fly. Things get too wordy with less work and often leaving corrections to later keeps from erasing what is often the free flow of the original writing, even the obvious mistakes, being the more creative or interesting.”

“Like Kerouac and his automatic writing.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Like the creative unconscious or something.”

“Or the Zen of writing, trusting the universe to be available in the moment.”

“Not getting in the way of it.”

“Exactly.”

Tom had the file of the screenplay opened on the computer, saving it as a new version, and the two began to collaborate working better than both had thought they could, Harry already fully admiring Tom’s skills, his genius in fact, found Tom remarkably receptive to his changes, and Tom discovering Harry was chock full of great ideas. Tom, the veteran of plays and less so of screenplays, though definitely not the neophyte that Harry was, realized how much better they were making the screenplay, and eventually the film, while Harry had no clue how much improvement his input had been making.

“You seem really excited,” Harry remarked at one point.

“Because I am, Harry. I thought the screenplay was good, but you’re making it so much better.”

“I guess I have some perspective on it.”

“It’s more than that. It’s not just you living it.”

“Or bringing fresh eyes to it.”

“Or that too. I mean I already knew you had some skills as a writer. Your sketches of your fellow inmates inspired me after all. It’s that you have a knack for it, for giving structure and flow to it. You should really start thinking about being a screenwriter.”

“Except this is my story for the past twenty-five years. What else do I have to write about?”

“Stories are everywhere, whether your own like the dynamics of the family growing up which seems to color a lot of my writing or the near infinite possibilities of historical moments or all the interesting people you might meet or hear about with their compelling lives.”

Harry immediately thought about Peg’s bar and its early history.

“You thought of something,” Tom noticed.

Harry told him about the Vaudeville Bar and the original vad du vill.

“Sounds sort of like McCabe and Mrs Miller,” Tom responded.

“The Altman film,” Harry remembered.

“We could watch it if you want.”

“You have a copy of it?”

“You can watch pretty much anything with a few clicks of the mouse.”

“Strange new world,” Harry chuckled. “Maybe later and I’d like to watch it with Peg.”

They returned to work.

Chrissy popped her head in a few times, bringing them lunch and liquid refreshment, beers only towards the end. Both men admired her youth and beauty and her slim petite body which she didn’t hide wearing her usual tight jeans and a torso conforming halter top.

“Damn, she’s a temptation,” Tom finally commented after she took away their lunch plates.

Harry could have said many things, but simply nodded.

“Are you...?” Tom started.

“No comment,” said Harry.

“Damn,” said Tom, shaking his head. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Incarcerated for twenty-five years?” Harry reminded him.

“Right. Sorry.”

Harry shrugged. He realized he had gotten lucky and ironically getting out of prison made it better. His tale was providing him money, substantially, and it might have gotten him Peg weirdly enough, and going bareback with her and now Chrissy because he’d not had sex because of prison added to his fortune. The ex con was safe!

Chrissy ended the session announcing dinner.

“I guess I’ll take it in my cell here,” Tom responded with glum humor.

“Might be best,” Harry patted the shoulder of his new friend.

During dinner, which, as usual, was a delicious concoction done by Chrissy, Harry asked Pat, “What did you think of the bar?”

“I liked it,” Pat grinned.

“Me too,” said the DP.

“I liked Peg’s apartment too,” Pat added. “There’s room in the bar for the shoot, but interiors like the apartment and especially the bedroom we’ll need to shoot in the studio.”

“We took shots of it for the set designer,” said the DP.

“Even the nudes,” Peg chuckled. “Speaking of which, have you shown Frances and Chrissy your drawing?”

“What drawing?” Frances asked.

“Uhm...”

“He drew you two last night,” Peg told them.

“Let me see!” Chrissy bounced in her chair.

“Maybe privately?” Frances stared daggers at Peg.

“Of course,” Peg said, blushing.

Pat didn’t seem to care about the implication, but the men did.

“Both Chrissy and I got drunk and passed out together in Peg’s apartment,” Frances explained.

“Nude?” the chubby little producer asked.

“We got ... comfortable, and it’s none of your fucking business, understood?”

“Of course,” the little fat man agreed. More than one person at the table imagined him getting hard. It wasn’t a pretty picture.

Everyone finished eating by the time Tom made his appearance. “I’m going out. Anyone want to join me?”

The fat producer and the DP did.

After they left, Pat asked somewhat shyly, “Could I see the drawing too?”

“Why not?” Frances smirked.

“I’m sorry,” said Peg. “That was stupid of me.”

Frances nodded.

“If you don’t want me to...” Pat started.

“It’s okay Pat,” Frances smiled. “I’m curious too.”

While Chrissy cleared the plates, helped by Peg, and wiped the table, finishing with a dry cloth, Harry fetched the drawing.

“Wow,” said Pat when he placed it on the table.

“It must have been dark,” Frances pointed out.

“The door was open,” Peg explained.

“And I might have turned on the desk lamp,” Harry added. “You two were out of it, but I didn’t want to turn on the room light, and the light we did have ... well it worked.”

“I can see,” said Frances.

“It’s beautiful,” said Chrissy.

“You actually do make this old body beautiful,” Frances agreed.

“Because it is beautiful, Frances,” Harry replied.

“Thanks,” Frances smiled. “You didn’t happen to get...?”

“What? No. Just appreciative.”

Frances nodded. “It’s not like I can display it anywhere.”

“Of course your secret will be kept,” said the out lesbian. “But ... how long...?”

“After my first casting couch experience.”

“Did you...?”

“I thought I had to, at least the asshole framed it that way. But that was the last time. My career wasn’t worth it which probably made for a slower climb, but fuck them.”

“Or not,” said Harry.

They chuckled, even Frances.

“After I didn’t want anything to do with men. I called an actress I’d met, an acquaintance more than a friend who I told about the audition and she must have known and she gave me her number at the bar we were at, and though it might have been nice if she’d warned me, maybe, oddly, it might have been for the best because I’d have been pretty uptight if I’d known and would have been shit at the audition. Anyway I called her, in tears, and she invited me to her place. Her soothing hugs and several shots of tequila and I spent the night with her, her doing most of the work, though I reciprocated eventually and found I didn’t mind at all.

“Since then ... I’ve had affairs with costars, directors, so forth; some women but only occasionally, but when I married Tom ... let’s just say he was enough man for me.”

“But you saw women,” Pat asked.

“Ironic isn’t it,” Frances chuckled sadly. “We both cheated with women.”

“Completely understandable,” said Pat and everyone laughed.

“Maybe I’m the only one willing to ask,” Chrissy chimed in, “But any threesomes with Tom?”

“A timely question,” Frances nodded. “He’s always had a wandering eye, but of course what man doesn’t?”

“Women too,” said Chrissy.

“Humans have their imagination,” Frances agreed. “Though we women tend to be a bit more discreet. Early on I used to tease him about his gaze and he’d tell me he was only interested in me. Later I stopped teasing because ... maybe I started sussing out the lie. I’d catch the gaze maybe lingering a bit too long or he’d get embarrassed and there’d only be shy glances on both their parts. If I bought his line early on so it only could be just us, later I didn’t want the competition for his affection, figuring the old lady wouldn’t win out. I’ve actually been on the winning side of that with both partners preferring me and it was too much of a psychodrama for me to repeat it. Relationships are difficult enough, fragile and delicate enough, not to throw in a ringer to fuck it up even more. Don’t say it Harry.”

“Say what?”

“So to speak,” said Chrissy.

“Arggh,” Frances cringed but ended up laughing anyway with the rest of them.

“So,” Pat changed subject, “I’m having my casting director come up here. My wife too,” she looked at Chrissy.

“You told her,” Chrissy responded without surprise.

“Fair is fair.”

“Whatever you need, Pat.”

“Hopefully it works.”

“It will.”

“Are you auditioning inmates?” Harry asked.

“The warden won’t allow it,” Pat explained, “partly because we’ll be shooting interiors at a studio. I’d have liked it if we could find something in Minnesota or Wisconsin but there’s not the infrastructure nor the talent here, so it’ll be in Hollywood. But he’s letting us use the yard area and the entrance area and we’ll be using the yard a lot. For those he’s okay for the inmates to be extras, but he thinks acting shouldn’t be encouraged as something to pursue when they get released. So I’m looking for local talent with interesting faces, some are ex-cons but not all. We sent out notices generally about the audition, having people send us head shots and responding to the more interesting ones. We also targeted our notices to ex-cons which we got there last known addresses from the police and the warden.”

“So I might know some of them?”

“It’s definitely possible. Is it a problem?”

“Probably not. If anything it could be a nice reunion.”

“Where’s the audition?” Peg asked.

“You’re auditioning?” Harry asked.

“Of course. That’s if I have a part.”

“Tom and I did work up the framing story,” Harry told Pat. “There’s more work, but there’s scenes.”

“Print it out.”

“I don’t know how.”

“It’s probably got a password.”

“I know it,” said Frances.

“We’re renting office space near the Mall of America,” Pat finally told them while they headed to Tom’s office. “The problem is we’re not really auditioning women.”

“Then I get the part!” Peg laughed.

“There are women,” Pat said, standing behind Frances who opened the computer. “Mostly minor roles and all indoors so we’ll be auditioning them in Hollywood. Rancid’s sister would be the biggest role.”

“Pick me,” said Frances, opening the file and letting Pat sit.

“Actually not a bad idea if we decide on Harry. Only the inmates I want to be unknowns. The warden for instance could be a known actor or the prosecutor or the judge.”

“So the ones with power could have that layer of fiction, that extra sheen of being known actors,” Harry speculated.

“Something like that. Those of the grit and those above the grit. Like the cops would be unknowns and the guards.”

“Like the reality’s in the trenches and like the generals and politicians are above it all, aren’t part of the real.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re saying I’d be at the level of the unreal?” Frances asked.

“You’re a free and successful woman,” Pat clarified.

“Interesting.”

“I hope so,” Pat chuckled. “This is really good, Harry.”

“Thanks.”

“What else did you change?”

“We’re still working on the Alpha parts, but the warden scenes are mostly done.”

“Show me once I’ve printed the Peg scenes.”

“My character’s named Peg?” Peg asked.

“Sorry. My idea,” Harry admitted.

“We could change it to Maggie,” Pat offered. “Are you a Margaret?”

“Just Peg,” Peg chuckled. “Peg of my heart or some shit.”

“Not even Peggy?”

“Nope. My dad was probably drunk off his ass when he decided and my mom probably didn’t care.”

“Sorry.”

“It is what it is. If he’s Rancid maybe I should be Maggie.”

“I’ll change it,” said Harry.

“Done already,” said Pat.

The printer atop a cabinet started printing.

“Show me,” said Pat.

“Use ‘warden’ to find it?”

“Yep.”

Pat leaned over Harry’s shoulder, reading.

“Oh yeah, we worked on the fight too,” Harry realized. “With me laid up next to my fellow fighter.”

“Wow. Okay,” Pat approved.

“Tom liked it too.”

“Print it.”

“Show me.”

She took his place on the chair and showed him how to highlight the section, copy it and paste it on a new page and print that page.

He did it for the warden scene with the flirtatious ladies and then when he asked and Pat agreed what they’d done with the two alpha encounters.

“Anything else?” Pat asked.

“You printed all the Peg ... I mean Maggie scenes.”

“I did.”

“Then that’s it.”

“Great job, Harry.”

“Thanks. Tom said he could get McCabe and Mrs. Miller with a few clicks.”

“Why would he do that?” Peg asked.

“He seems to think I have a knack for this screenwriting thing and I thought, what do I have to write about except this that I’m working on and he told me lots of things, other peoples’ stories, histories and it made me think of your bar and its history.”

“Vad du vill.”

“Yep.”

“Your bar...?” Frances started.

“Used to be a whorehouse amongst other things,” Peg explained. “Offering what good Christians aren’t supposed to have.”

“So the whorehouse in the middle of nowhere with snow like McCabe and Mrs. Miller,” Frances nodded.