by Greg Kihn
“It hurts to smile,” Buzzy said softly.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Landis replied, his tone dark.
“Why are you so pissed off?”
Landis put down his paper and leveled a gaze at Buzzy. “You really want to know? Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m pissed off at you because—”
He stopped, wondered if he was wasting his time, then continued, slower, determined to make a point while Buzzy was still in pain. “—because of what you did to Roberta Bachman.”
“Roberta Bachman?”
“Yeah, your date, don’t you remember?”
Buzzy pushed the sunglasses farther up his swollen nose, took a sip of black coffee, and grimaced.
“She left screaming.”
“Exactly. So, what’s your point?”
Landis shook his head. “The point is, I don’t want you alienating people like that. That girl is a sweet young thing. You didn’t have to scare the shit out of her so bad. Now she’s going to go all around Hollywood and tell everybody what a bunch of assholes we are. Negative publicity we don’t need, even if it’s word of mouth.”
Buzzy squinted, mouth agape. “So?”
Landis continued, “Yeah, that’s what she’s probably doing today. Listen to me, I love to scare people. That’s my job, and I love shaking them up like we did last night, but I don’t want people like her to run away crying. It creates ill will, and the only reason we’re throwing these parties is to drum up some industry talk. We’re in the horror movie business, remember?”
Buzzy tilted his head, made a face, then leaned forward. His eyes locked with Landis’s. “Hey, wait a minute. Have you got the hots for Roberta Bachman?”
Landis stood up, “You’re fucked up, you know that? I can’t tell you anything!”
“Do you have the hots for Roberta Bachman?” Buzzy repeated, slowly. “You never cared what people said before. In fact, you never gave a fuck about anybody. Now you’re tryin’ to tell me that you care what this little chick at RKM thinks? Don’t try to shit me, man. I know you.”
Landis looked oft into the city. Palm trees waved down on Franklin Avenue. Cars crawled along the major traffic routes. A few forlorn birds pirouetted in the sky.
“You do, don’t you?” Buzzy said.
Landis didn’t answer.
“Look,” Buzzy said, “I don’t care if you take her out. After last night she’ll never talk to me again anyway, so you’re welcome to her. It’s just that you and me are brothers, man, and I want to know. I want the truth, that’s all.”
Landis moved to the railing and lit a cigarette. He looked back at Buzzy’s beaten face and smiled wickedly. Youth was still a part of him, and even though his hair had started to thin, he still had the heart of a little boy. There sparkled a mischievous energy in his smile.
“I think she’s kind of cute,” he said.
“I knew it! So, the truth is out! You could have any girl in Hollywood, but you want this mousy little publicity girl from RKM. That makes zero sense, man.”
Landis’s smile faded. “Well, you took her out.”
“Yeah, but you tried to talk me out of it,” Buzzy said defensively. “You said I’d never get in her pants.”
“I was right.”
“Hey, I personally don’t care if you take her out or not, okay? I just want you to level with me. Do you or do you not have the hots for Roberta Bachman? No trick answers, yes or no.”
“Yes.”
The sliding door slid open and Neil Bugmier stepped onto the deck carrying a thick sheaf of papers. He wore a halter top and shorts, a pair of tan pumps, and a pair of cat’s-eye sunglasses that made him look like something from a Milton Berle comedy skit. His makeup appeared garish in the bright sun; the effect was surrealistic.
Landis and Buzzy looked up and almost laughed. No matter how used to Neil’s wardrobe preferences they became, they still had to stop themselves from making comments now and then. Neil sensed this and became indignant.
The fresh fingernail polish glinted as he handed over the papers to Landis.
“Here they are, all the latest changes.”
Buzzy rubbed his forehead. “Could you get me some aspirin?” he asked Neil.
“I’m not your maid,” Neil snapped, obviously as unhappy with Buzzy as Landis was today.
“No, but you dress like her.”
“Fuck you!” shouted Neil, and lunged for Buzzy. For his size, Neil was an amazingly strong person. He’d always been athletic and kept himself in good shape, unlike the perpetually whacked-out Buzzy, who was about as inclined to exercise as he was to volunteer for an IRS audit. Neil pulled him out of his chair and pinned him against the railing.
Landis tried to pry Neil’s hands loose, but the incensed transvestite would not give an inch. He pushed Buzzy’s head back until it was hanging over the cliff, his upper body bent over the wooden rail. The red fingernails squeezed into his neck.
“Hey!” Buzzy yelled. “Hey! Let me go!”
“I’ve put up with your shit too long!” screamed Neil. “I’m gonna teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!”
Landis wedged an arm between and tried to separate them, but Neil pushed him away. He released his right hand from its death grip on Buzzy’s Adam’s apple and slapped him hard across the face, aggravating the injuries he’d already suffered. The sunglasses were jarred off his head and spun out into the canyon, helicoptering down into the brush below. Beneath the shades, Buzzy’s eyes were red and squinting, one of them already discolored in a classic shiner. He tried to turn away from the sun, but Neil held him tight. Buzzy yelped in pain.
“Say you’re sorry,” demanded Neil.
Buzzy looked at him with grim determination not to give in. Neil, not really waiting for an answer, slapped him again. This blow caused Buzzy to bark in pain.
Landis considered trying to intervene again but knew that it was useless. Neil was truly enraged and beyond Landis’s control. He wondered if the tough little tranny was going to heave Buzzy over the side and put him out of his misery once and for all.
“Say it!”
Buzzy coughed, making choking sounds. His eyes rolled back up into his head.
“Say it, asshole!” Neil demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Buzzy said softly.
Neil released him and he slid back onto the terrace. Buzzy was embarrassed and his face throbbed. He looked over the edge to see if he could locate his sunglasses. They were nowhere to be seen.
Neil glanced at Landis and said, “I’m ready to start whenever you are.”
Landis nodded. “Okay, let’s work in the kitchen.”
Leaving Buzzy to his own hell on the terrace, Landis and Neil slipped back inside and sat down at the big kitchen table, where Neil had set up his typewriter. Landis preferred to work in the kitchen rather than in an office. He could think with more clarity and had access to the coffeepot. The informal arrangement made for better decisions.
“Let me see page sixty-one,” Landis asked.
He read in silence, then looked up and said, “Could we read this together? I’ll be Luboff and you be Tad Kingston. Take it from the top of page sixty.”
The script was cool and crisp in his hand. Landis scanned the pages like a shark.
CADAVER
Script by Landis Woodley and Neil Bugmier
Scene 41.
INT. NIGHT. LA COUNTY MORGUE JOHNNY CONFRONTS DR. EZEKIAL
JOHNNY
I don’t understand. These corpses are fresh. They haven’t been prepared.
DOCTOR
That’s just the way I want them, Johnny. You see, I have a special need for them, different from the medical college.
JOHNNY
Doctor, I don’t think I can do this.
DOCTOR
Sure you can, Johnny. You want to be a medical doctor someday, don’t you?
JOHNNY
Well, yes, I do.
DOCTOR
Your mother would be very disappointed if
you dropped out now, wouldn’t she Johnny?
JOHNNY
Yes, Dr. Ezekial.
DOCTOR
Bring me that cadaver over there, and remove the sheet. I want to examine its organs to see if they’re suitable for my purposes.
JOHNNY GOES OVER TO THE CORPSE, PULLS BACK THE SHEET, AND GASPS. IT IS THE BODY OF HIS BEST FRIEND, NICK GARBO. JOHNNY DROPS THE SHEET BACK ONTO THE CADAVER.
DOCTOR
What is it, Johnny? Somebody you know?
JOHNNY
Doctor! It’s Nick! He’s dead!
DOCTOR
Of course he’s dead, Johnny. That’s how you get in here. But don’t worry, we’ll give him a nice clean dissection.
JOHNNY
No! You can’t! It’s insane!
DOCTOR
Insane? You call me insane? That’s what they said back in Vienna when I told them I could transplant live organs from one body to another. They said I was mad. Mad! But who’s to say what madness is? Certainly not the doctors! They condemn me, but they have no right! It is I who should condemn them! I am not insane! I have never been insane!
BEHIND JOHNNY, COVERED WITH A SHEET ON THE SLAB, THE BODY BEGINS TO RISE UP. THE SHEET FALLS AWAY TO REVEAL THE HIDEOUS DEAD FACE OF NICK. IT SITS’ UP, SWINGS ITS LEGS OVER THE SIDE, AND STANDS. JOHNNY AND THE DOCTOR TURN AROUND AND SEE IT SHUFFLING TOWARD THEM.
JOHNNY
It can’t be!
DOCTOR
Get back! Get back I say!
THE CORPSE LURCHES FORWARD. JOHNNY STUMBLES TRY ING TO ESCAPE.
DOCTOR
Something has caused it to reanimate! If I could just—
JOHNNY SCREAMS. THE CORPSE REACHES OUT AND STRANGLES JOHNNY WHILE THE DOCTOR LOOKS ON, FASCINATED BY THE REANIMATED CADAVER. THE CADAVER KILLS JOHNNY AND TURNS TO THE DOCTOR.
“Okay, hold it right there, Neil. This is where I want it changed,” said Landis, breaking character.
“Changed?” Neil asked.
“Yeah, I can’t kill Tad Kingston this early in the movie, it’s gonna hurt the door.”
Neil ran his hands through his hair. “It’s halfway through at this point. I think you’re free to kill him off if you want.”
Landis smiled. “No, I want him to live. Look, Neil, there’s two reasons for it. One is I’m paying that chump Kingston enough money where he should be in every fuckin’ scene, and two is if he dies halfway through, the teenagers will be turned off. Believe it or not, Tad draws the kids into the theaters. If the word gets out that he dies halfway through, the door goes down.”
Neil stared at the page in his hands. “You can’t be serious. I wrote this scene exactly the way you asked me to. Kingston dies, the sheriff gets suspicious and comes after the doctor. It’s a crucial plot point. How else is the sheriff gonna start investigating the doctor?” Exasperation colored his voice. On certain words he sounded almost whiny. Landis let him finish and waved his hand in the air, as if shooing away a fly.
“Nope, that’s not gonna work. We’ll have to change it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Change it!”
Neil looked dejected, as if he’d been chastised by the teacher in front of the whole class. Landis caught his look and said, “Let me explain something to you, Neil. You never kill the hero, and in this movie, Tad’s the hero. It turns people off. Now, if you heard me say that, it must have been a misunderstanding, because I never, ever kill the hero. It gives people hope, it makes them feel good about themselves, at least for the first seventy minutes.”
Neil laughed. “This is a movie about cadavers! Dead bodies! It’s not Rebel Without A Cause, and that’s Tad Kingston up there on the screen, not James Dean. Nobody’s gonna give a shit if he dies!”
Landis looked at Neil, his eyebrow cocked. “Not true to a teenager. You judge an actor by his hair, and I know for a fact that Tad’s hair is better than James Dean’s. I’ve surveyed it!” Landis paused, then frowned. “Why are you arguing with me? That’s not like you, Neil!”
“This script has got my name on it too, you know.”
Landis raised his voice, “Hey! I don’t give a fuck if it’s Ernest Hemingway’s name. This is my movie, and what I say goes!”
Neil became quiet. His head bowed slightly and he let the page drop from his fingers. Landis put his hand on Neil’s shoulder and said, “What’s the problem, Neil?”
Neil looked at Landis. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “It’s Buzzy and Luboff. They’re so … so screwed up, and they’re trying to take us down with them. It makes me mad, I guess. I want this movie to make it. Then I see those two doing their best to fuck everything up, and it makes me mad that you just let it happen.”
Landis leaned back and scratched his head. He had a precious expression on his face, one that Neil had never seen before. Bemused, a little beatific around the edges.
“Cool it, Neil. I know what I’m doing. This movie is going to be just fine. As far as the goon squad goes”—he hooked his thumb back in the direction of the sliding doors—“let me deal with them, and you just worry about the rewrites.”
Neil shook his head. “I don’t know—”
“You’re a damn good writer, Neil! But, nobody will hire you ’cause you dress like a woman. But I did, didn’t I? The way you dress don’t mean shit to me. You’re fast and you’re affordable—notice I didn’t say ‘cheap’—and I value your work.
“You could clean up in this town, but you’re a goddamn fruitcake! Was that a conscious decision?” He paused, not expecting an answer, then forged ahead, “You could get a crew cut, wear a gray suit, loss butt, and wind up working for Walt Disney if you wanted.
“I’m the only one who hires you the way you are, fishnet stockings and all.” He grinned; Neil did too. “Now, Buzzy is the same way, except he’s an asshole, and Luboff’s a junkie. What can I do about it? Each one contributes what they can, in their own way. I try to give them all a chance. Can you dig that?”
Neil nodded, “Yeah, I can dig it.”
“Okay, then, let’s get to work. I have a million changes I want to make in this script, starting with Tad not getting killed.”
Behind them, the sound of the sliding door opening caught their attention. Buzzy reentered the house.
Neil turned around just in time to see Buzzy walk into the kitchen. He tensed, preparing himself for another fight. Buzzy walked toward him, a hangdog expression still dripping off his face.
Neil started to speak, “If you’re here to—”
Buzzy cut him off. “I’m here to apologize, man.”
Nobody spoke for a moment. Buzzy stood there, his hair askew. The black eye looked painful.
Buzzy’s voice rumbled. The vocal cords, burned by booze and cigarettes, were rough, texturing the words as he spoke. “I’m sorry, it was the booze talkin’. I’ve been a jerk …”
Landis laughed. “You can say that again.”
Buzzy shot him a look, and in that moment Landis could see the terrible pain in the man’s eyes. Buzzy coughed and looked away.
“Don’t agree so fast, okay? Christ, it’s hard enough without having you guys up my butt. I just want to apologize to both of you. It’s been pretty rough around here for me lately, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
Neil and Landis looked at each other.
“Besides, for a guy dressed as a girl, you pack quite a punch,” Buzzy finished.
Neil smiled and put his hand out. Buzzy shook it tightly, and the two men hugged.
“Sit down, Buzz,” Landis said, “I want you to hear this, too. I’m making some major changes in the script.”
Buzzy pulled up a chair and sat down.
“I’ve been doing some thinking about this,” Landis continued. “This movie is a parable of my life, of all our lives, when you think about it.” He looked at the other two. “You follow me?”
Neil shook his head, so did Buzzy. “Explain.”
“Well, it’s like this,” Landis began.
The room felt cold, even though the candles created tiny dots of heat. Albert Beaumond lay on the hardwood floor holding his head.
“Are you all right, Albert?” Devila knelt over him and asked.
Albert shook his head. A trickle of blood oozed from the side of his mouth. He coughed, spraying pink. “What? What happened?”
Devila helped Albert into a sitting position. “You were … I’m not sure how to say it, you were possessed. That thing you summoned covered you, its head became your head, its body became your body.”
His eyes were glazed, unfocused. “What’s that smell?” Albert sniffed the air.
“Snake spit, I think. Jesus, I can’t put it into words … it was horrible. The most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”
Albert’s head rolled. Devila touched his brow and found it burning. “You saw it?”
“Saw it? Jesus, yes. It hovered in the air for a minute, I can’t describe it, it was horrible. Then it came down over you and … and it became you. Albert, I’m scared. That thing was evil. You shouldn’t be fooling around with something like that. I could sense the power of it. God, it was like a bad dream.” She looked into his glassy, frightened eyes and put her hand on his shoulder. “Never again, okay? Never again.”
Albert coughed again, shook his head, took a few deep breaths, and said, “It took over my body.”
Devila nodded vigorously. “It licked me with its disgusting, slimy tongue. I thought it was going to kill me. Were you aware of anything?”
“I didn’t feel a thing, physically, except a shock when it came in and went out. Mentally, though, I feel like I’ve been raped. I sensed it taking over my body, it shared its mind with me. I could feel it in there like a goddamn parasite. Jesus, it was unbelievable. I wasn’t in control of me anymore—it was. I was powerless inside my own body.”
He looked at her again and his face clouded over. The wrinkles on his brow were as deep and crooked as cracks in a sidewalk. “I shared my brain with it,” he said with a shudder, “and I could read its thoughts for a split second before it stopped me. I got the feeling that it didn’t want me to see inside there.
“Once it knew I was able to read its consciousness, it closed that part of my brain off like a light switch. But in that one split second, Jesus Christ, it revealed a lot to me.”