Gotta Dance with the One Who Brung Ya - sex, scandals and sweethearts

by Jon McDonald

  Randy comes up to Laura. “That’s it, we’re off.”

  She turns to Randy, “Thank you. It was perfect.”

  “Interesting crowd,” he comments.

  “Yes, wasn’t it?”

  “Shall I turn out the rest of the lights?”

  She gathers her thoughts to respond with some difficulty. “Yes, please.”

  Randy turns out the lights and leaves. Laura sets the alarm, exits the gallery, and locks the door. The limo is parked at the curb. The driver hops out as Laura and Mark approach, and opens the door for them. The car pulls away, and Laura and Mark sit in silence, lost in their own separate thoughts.

  Mark sighs, “What a delightful evening.”

  As the car passes along the street Laura sits back in her seat, discreetly tracing the places where David touched her with the perfume.

  As the limo drives down the street it comes to a stop sign. In a shop doorway David steps out of the darkness and stares at Laura. She sees him, leans forward, and smiles as the limo starts up again.

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” she finally answers Mark, leaning back in her seat again. “A most successful opening.”

  David watches as the limo cruises down the street, and disappears around a corner. He smiles, and then turns, walking down the street and into the darkness.

  Why You Must Brush Your Teeth

  Sandra was running very late. And she had a very BIG and IMPORTANT early meeting this morning at her advertising agency. Crosby was putting the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. (Good Boy)

  “Busy day?” Crosby called from the kitchen.

  Sandra was in the bedroom applying her lipstick in a mirror that had too much reflected light from the window and she had to squint to get an even application.

  “Frantic,” she called back, as she checked the clock. Oh my gosh. She realized she needed to brush her teeth, but time was beating at her. She rushed towards the bathroom to brush, but just then Crosby appeared at the bedroom door, distracting her.

  “What time will you be back?” he asked, as he picked up her purse and handed it to her.

  “Ah, oh, let’s see, I have the presentation this morning. Lunch with Corrine. Then having my hair done after work. About six, I would guess.” She grabbed the purse from Crosby, picked up the portfolio with her Dooba Noodle presentation, gave Crosby a pat on the butt and headed for the apartment door. She paused, “If you have a chance could you pick up the cleaning? They were closed when I went by yesterday.”

  “Sure…ticket?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She slammed through her purse and pulled it out, handing it to him. “I really gotta go.”

  “Want me to make dinner? I was thinking spicy shrimp tacos.”

  It was so nice having a stay at home boyfriend. It almost made it worthwhile that he didn’t have a job and brought absolutely no money into the house.

  “That sounds terrific.”

  “Ah, and some money for the dry cleaning?” Crosby asked, as he held out his hand. She grabbed a twenty out of her purse, gave him a quickie kiss, and bounded out the door.

  On the street Sandra hailed a cab, and settled into the back seat, and for the first time this morning let out a sigh and relaxed. She pulled out a mirror from her bag to examine her appearance in preparation for the meeting - this very important meeting. She, as account executive, and her team had worked on this project for months – print, TV, and Internet marketing for a new Japanese food product. She had worked into the early morning putting the finishing touches on the presentation.

  She looked in the mirror and let out a subdued shriek. The taxi driver gave her a look. “You okay lady?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, I just forgot my contacts is all.” She kept her lenses in the bathroom on the sink by her toothbrush so she would always remember to put them in after she brushed her teeth. She thought back to her disrupted morning, and sighed once again. Did she have a spare pair at the office? She couldn’t remember.

  The cab pulled up at her office tower. She tried to focus on her wallet as she pulled out bills to pay the driver. She squinted, as she fumbled for her purse, and quickly exited the cab, as she was now running a bit late. She hoped the rest of her team was already there and keeping the clients happy. She dashed to the elevator and was half way up to her office when she thought of one last refinement she wanted to add to one of the presentation boards. She looked down and with a sharp pang realized she had left her portfolio in the cab. She had completely missed the portfolio when she had scanned the seat before she got out. Damn forgetting her contacts.

  She arrived at her floor, rushed to her office, and searched for another pair of contacts in her desk. She didn’t have any. David, her Assistant, appeared at the door.

  “They’re all waiting. Gordon is schmoozing with the clients and stalling. They need you to set up the presentation right away so they can get started. Mr. Davila is not a happy camper.”

  “Oh shit. David, can you call the team in here, please?”

  He disappeared and Sandra was frantic. She had no idea what to do. There were no duplicates of the work anywhere in the office. Everything was in that portfolio. All she could think to do was postpone the meeting and hope the cabbie would call when he found the portfolio. Fortunately she had her business card inside.

  The team was aghast when the situation was explained. Mr. Davila appeared at her office door having learned of the disaster.

  “What’s this I hear?” One did not wish to hear that tone of voice.

  “Yes, I’m s-o-o-o very sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it here, Sandra,” Mr. Davila burned. He turned from the office door for a moment, then turned back and addressed the rest of her team. “Any of you have anything we can present?”

  All shook their heads.

  “Let me see if we can reschedule the clients. And Sandra, I want to see you in my office in five.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Sandra was beyond despair while she waited for Corrine to show for lunch. She looked down at the two shopping bags filled with the belongings from her cleared out office. She looked up and brushed away a few tears as Corrine came marching towards her. Corrine breezed into her chair, chipper as a cheerleader. She looked radiant in her simple black dress, setting off her chocolate skin tones.

  “Girl, you look like one ton a mess. What up with you?” Corrine unfolded her napkin, spreading it across her lap like a blanket of snow.

  Sandra plopped her head down on the tablecloth and groaned. She then explained the whole unearthly disaster.

  “Uh huh,” Corrine commented, with just a touch of sass. “Well then, we’d better have a bottle of tequila over here right now.” She signaled for the waiter. “You got a plan, sweetie?”

  Sandra in a trance stared at Corrine. “Well, I was thinking that if the cabbie calls and we can retrieve the portfolio then Mr. Davila might reconsider. It really is a good presentation, and I think the client would go with it. Otherwise….” she gestured to the universe, suggesting the end of the world.

  “Doll, I’m gonna clutch you up so bad. Pull yourself together. There’s no way you’re not gonna pull outta this - whatever happens. Come on now; let’s have some oysters. The thought of them been dazzling me all morning. Uh huh.”

  Sandra began to calm down during lunch. Several tequilas and a Grand Marnier desert soufflé went a long way towards easing the shock. Sandra was very grateful for Corrine’s soothing company and bright outlook, and offered to pay for the lunch. She pulled out her credit card and insisted on taking the check.

  The card came back declined. It was her company card and they had already canceled it. She didn’t have any other cards with her and not enough cash. Corrine stepped up and paid. Sandra was mortified.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Corrine comforted. “I should be taking you to lunch anyway, after the morning you’ve had. Why don’t you just go home and take a nice hot bath and a nap?”

  “Oooh that sounds wonderful, but I h
ave a hair appointment. Need a cut. Gotta look good when I hit the streets tomorrow job hunting.”

  “You’ll be okay. I still think you might be able to work this out if you can find your portfolio. Did you notice the name of the cab company?”

  “It was yellow is all I know.”

  “Yeah, that and about twenty million others. You need any money for the hairdressers? I just went to the bank.”

  “No, I’m good. I have an account with them.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Sandra arrived at the hairdresser’s way before her appointment time. But they were able to squeeze her in early, even though they are always busy. She leaned her head back in the washbasin as Renaldo washed her hair. It felt so nice and warm, and she just let go and floated. The salon music was New Agey and tinkled. She almost fell asleep.

  Renaldo roused her when he was done and lead her to his station. She slumped into the chair. He helped her into the smock and prepared to start working on her.

  “Do you need the roots tinted as well as the trim today?” he asked.

  “Hum. Might be a good idea, Gotta look my very best.”

  “Okay sweetie.” He pulled out his hair color samples. “Do you remember which one we used last time?” He held the swatches up for her to examine. He could not check the color himself, as her hair was wet and much darker now than when it was dry.

  She squinted and peered at the tangle of samples. “Wasn’t it that one?” She pointed to one.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded, and then closed her eyes and retreated into the buzz of her inner turmoil as he blow-dried her hair before the tinting. Yes, a bath and a nap seemed very attractive to her at this moment. She actually fell asleep briefly as she waited for the tint to work its wonders. Renaldo awoke her, completed the rinse and sent her to the dryers. Again she let herself go and surrendered to the soft blowing breeze around her head.

  When the drying was done Renaldo led her back to the chair and began combing her out. He let out a gasp.

  “What?” Sandra asked with stab of panic.

  “I think we’re going to have redo the entire coloring. The roots don’t match at all.”

  Sandra got out of the chair and walked up to the mirror and squinted to see as best she could. There in the mirror was a zebra. The color was off by many several shades. “Oh my god! Can you please fix it now?”

  Renaldo went over to reception and checked the appointment book.

  “I don’t have a moment today. I can fit you in tomorrow at three. That’s the best I can do.”

  “But what about the appointment I had at four today?” she pleaded.

  “Oh hon, we’ve rescheduled that already. Your daddy is much in demand. I even have a waiting list. So on the mark, you know. But I can lend you a scarf. Three o’clock tomorrow is all I’ve got.”

  Sandra collapsed forward in the chair, fate pressing firmly on her shoulders. “Okay, give me the scarf,” she sighed.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Sandra emptied herself out of the cab. She had had enough cash for the cab fare. The thought of her navigating the subway was way too much for her to bear today. She carefully checked the back seat this time and retrieved the bags of her office stuff. She was hoping there might be a call from the office with the glorious news that her portfolio had been found, withMr. Davila pleading for her return.

  She trudged her way to the elevator and up to her floor. She wearily unlocked the apartment door and let herself in. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it and closed her eyes. She was home. All would be well now. It was early and she would have plenty of time for her bath and nap.

  There was a wonderful aroma coming from the kitchen. She set down the bags and wandered to the kitchen. She checked the answering machine for messages. There were none. Perhaps Crosby had taken a message for her. She lifted the lid of the pot on the stove and took in the wonderful waft of sauce simmering away. Yes, she was beginning to feel better. And now, time for that bath and nap.

  Where was Crosby? He was not in the living room and she couldn’t hear him at the computer. She wandered towards the bedroom and called out. “Crosby honey, you home?”

  She heard a thump. The cat jumping down to greet her. She went to the bedroom and opened the door. There was a blur of activity. And without her contacts she could hardly focus. Almost before she knew it a young man flashed by, pulling on a shirt, as he swept out the apartment door. Crosby sat on the side of the rumpled bed. It was pretty hard to deny what had been going on. Sandra couldn’t speak. She just stared at him.

  “Well, now you know,” Crosby finally said, without too much concern, as he stood and leisurely walked, stark naked, towards the bathroom. Just before going in he stopped and turned towards her and studied her a moment. “Nice scarf,” he added, and turned into the bathroom and closed the door.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  And that is why, boys and girls, we must always brush our teeth.

  Youngsters

  Daniel couldn’t believe what he was holding in his hand. Yes, he had heard the announcements early that morning when the Academy announced the nominations. And, of course, his phone had not stopped ringing all morning either. But here it was, in black and white - the official invitation to the eighty-third Academy Awards. With his name on it - Best Original Screenplay, for his quiet little film, Youngsters. Wow.

  He sat down and picked up the phone and called his agent, Nash Gordon. (Of course everyone called him Flash Gordon behind his back.)

  “I got it,” Daniel announced, once he had gotten through the brigade of secretaries that protected his agent from intruders. “I’m holding it right here in my hand. It’s even got my name spelled correctly this time.” Daniel was still smarting from the time his last name was spelled Colbaltz instead of Kolbaltz at the Golden Globes. “Guess I’d better get my tux cleaned. It’s been awhile.”

  “Can we have lunch?” Nash cut off Daniel’s sweet rhapsodizing. “Couple a things we gotta cover.”

  “Oka-a-ay,” Daniel responded, a little unsure.

  “I’m on another call – Cahoots at one?”

  “Got it. One o’clock, Cahoots. See you then.”

  Daniel put down the phone, and sighed because he really didn’t want to go out today. He was still in his PJ bottoms, an old Cornell sweatshirt, and his scuffies. All he really wanted to do today was work on the new project for Kiva Pictures. He had been knocking out the first draft pretty quickly and thought he would be able to present it next week if he got a good day’s work on it today.

  Now Daniel could hardly be called a looker. Here he was at sixty-two, rather rumpled, a bit bent by all the years at the typewriter before he was forced to use a computer by the studio execs who wanted that script file emailed to them right now; and what hair he had left was combed across his head and reacted like a flag in a stiff wind.

  His wife had left him twenty years ago and he had still not stricken her name from tag below the door buzzer at the entrance to the apartment building. Yes, apartment - no fancy condo, house in the Hills, or mansion in Bel Air for him. He was just about as unpresuming as any Hollywood celebrity could be. Of course, as a writer he was not exactly paparazzi fodder - he could easily pass as a low level CPA or a salesman for a carpet cleaning service. Didn’t bother him one bit, though. He liked the anonymity and the freedom it gave him to pass freely and unobserved through the sparkle dens of Tinsel Town. But now he would have to go out and face his agent over a seared, sesame tuna Caesar.

  He would actually have to put on some pants. He knew better, of course, but he put on a pair of plaid golf pants and a chartreuse polo. He loved outraging the fashionistas, and Cahoots would be totally outfitted with swank at a Friday Lunch - just before everyone scooted off early for the weekend to Palm Springs. He could just imagine the sneers over pulled down “shades” as comments tumbled out about his garish attire. But few would recognize him till he sat down with Nash. Then the light bulbs would go off and
they would realize it was only Daniel Kolbatz – that crazy writer. Then someone would remember that he had just been nominated, and the conversations would subtly shift from snark to wondering if he would be interested in that bright little investment they had been trying to unload ever since the Crimean war.

  Daniel sailed into Cahoots, having left his ’93 Chevy Malibu with the Valet Parking folks in total bewilderment. Was this some kind of exotic vintage Jaguar they speculated? No one had ever seen one of these before.

  Nash was already waiting for him, busily working two cell phones. He snapped them both shut as Daniel slipped into his chair under the umbrella on the patio.

  “You have my undivided attention.” Daniel announced after they had ordered and been served their San Pellegrino.

  Nash put both of his vibrating phones aside and focused solely on Daniel. “Just have to say congrats again. Wow, you did it kid. I’ve been talking you up a storm all over town. Even if you don’t win this one, we got ourselves a hot ticket with the big boys. Got half a dozen enquiries already about your availability.” He nodded fiercely, which meant that he was processing more information than he could put into words.

  “And we needed to have lunch for you to tell me this, why?” Daniel might look like a schlub but he knew the Hollywood shuffle and suspected something else was afoot.

  “Yeah…” Nash was nodding wildly. He picked up his phone then put it down again. “Yeah, well the thing is…. There might be a slight problem.”

  “Uh huh, and what might that slight problem be?” Daniel bent down and looked up at Nash who was avoiding his gaze by looking down at his fried calamari.

  “Well, you see…. You know this town. Perception is everything, right? You know that.” Daniel was waiting for the clincher. “And the studios are hot for the youth market. So I was thinking that we need to put a nice young face up there at the Oscars.”