Tuesday, October 16, 2012
“Walter!” Angela said, “What the fuck was that?!”
Walter looked at her, his smile fading as he recognised the anger on her face. “I was pretending?” he said, his weak excuse coming out as a question.
“No. No you don’t pretend OK? You are you. People don’t come to see the World’s Happiest Man pretending to be a comedian. That’s what he is here for.” She pointed to Spriggs Casket who had just lit up a cigarette and was bum-puffing away on it, the same convoluted irony that drove him to talk with an accent. Angela walked over and slapped it out of his hand.
“You can’t smoke on live TV. And if you do, it has to be one of our brands.”
“But that was me fag for me first gag.” He said, pausing and smiling as though he had just found the key ingredient to his life’s work. “Me fag for me gag.” He mused, staring into space.
“Walter do you remember any lines? What if you had memory triggers?” Walter hesitated, couldn’t even commit to a maybe. “We are back, here with comedian Spriggs Casket...” Angela said openly.
“Me first fag for me first gag! No.”
“I know that line!” Walter said enthusiastically.
“That’s Lucy’s line. You say ‘So Spriggs...How...have...you...been?”
“Me gag needs a fag.”
Walter’s face was blank. Angela went on, despite the treacherous waters, “Spriggs says ‘aw great I’m a cock-knee moron, but these sand dunes aren’t doing so well.”
“But all we need to do is raise a little cash. How about you make the folks at home laugh a little, encourage them to donate.” Walter said.
“That’s right, but that’s Lucy’s line.” Angela saw Tamara Hamilton in the distance, walking rapidly towards the scene.
“I’m gagging for a fag ‘ere! Gaggin for a faggin.”
“Spriggs! You can’t say fag on TV so shut it!” Angela snapped. “Walter,” she began cautiously, “do you know all of Lucy’s lines?”
“I don’t know,” Walter said optimistically, “maybe.”
Angela gave him a strange look. There was barely 20 seconds to the end of the commercial break. Tamara was closing in as well. “Lucy can you do Walter’s lines?”
“I can pretend.” Lucy said bluntly.
“Great. We’re back in 10.” She whipped out her phone and hit redial on the latest call. She counted them in with her hand and then walked towards Tamara Hamilton to cut her off from the scene.
“Me gag fag for me fag gag!”
The voice on the other end of the phone answered, “What is it, Angela?” Smithwaite asked, his tone dismissive.
“Brian tell Tamara to back off; I have this under control. This is my show.”
“Give me a sitrep and get out of here, Nicky,” Tamara condescended.
“The sit rep, Tamara, is that Angela has it under control. So you can kindly stand clear of the shoot or go back to your trailer and watch it from there.”
“Smithwaite sent me. Would you like to take this up with him?”
“I already spoke with Brian, I have him right here if you insist on interrupting our conversation.” She offered the phone to Tamara who took it with suspicious hesitation.
“Hello?” Angela felt like she was about to explode in a fit of nervous laughter, like all those terrifying speeches in high school, She just had to hold out a little longer under the weight of her adrenaline. She remained stony faced as she stared Tamara down. “OK,” Tamara said coolly, hanging up the phone. The moment hung in the air. It was all Angela could do not to shout out in anticipation. “Well, good luck,” Tamara said, breaking the ice but maintaining a clear undertone of ‘I hope you eat shit, bitch.’ She handed back the phone and Angela gave a courteous, victorious smile.
She arrived back just in time to here Walter deliver his line, “But all we need to do is raise a little cash. How about you make the folks at home laugh a little, encourage them to donate.”
“Orright, little buddy, but let me jus’ light up this ‘ere cigarette, shall I?”
“Fuckin’ twat.” Angela said, shaking her head.