Manhattan Nocturne (16 page)

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Authors: Colin Harrison

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Billy: That's bullshit. I'm not paying that.
Girl: What does he want anyway?
Billy: What'd you want?
Simon: Plain fuck.
Girl: Most guys want blowjobs.
Simon: Hey, no rhythm in it, no power. [Takes a long drink from a bottle.]
Billy: That can't be one-fifty.
Girl: I'll go one hundred on that, but the room is twenty.
Billy: You can do it right here, the seat's big enough.
Girl: One hundred, then.
Simon: Billy?
Billy: It's too high.
Girl: Come on.
Simon: You're dealing with a very tough negotiator here, lady. This guy works for Merrill Lynch, made a million dollars last year.
Billy [with real anger]: Shit, don't tell her that.
Girl [attempting a flirtatious voice]: Don't you
want
me?
Simon: Yez, sure I do, and I'da pay a hundred, but I'm not paying. He's got the money, he's the guy with the money on this deal.
Girl: Seventy-five? But that's my last—
Billy: Fuck no. No fucking way. There'rz girls out here
who look a shit load bettem you and they'll do it for thirty-five!
Girl: Yeah,
right
.
Billy: You don't believe me?
Girl: You want something that's better, you gotta pay for it.
Billy: All right—we're gonna go find some other—it looks like there's a girl right over there, we'll see—let's go see what she's gonna charge—
Girl: Please, please, I need some money. I have a shopping problem. I shop too much.
Simon: You're a great man, Billy! Don't cry, sweetie.
Girl: Thirty-five? I'll—
Billy: Daaah! Too much.
Girl [crying]: You don't understand. I got all kinds of prob—
Billy: You gotta bring the price down.
Girl: [crying, pride gone]: Twenty? Please? I need some money tonight.
Billy: Five bucks. Thaz my … final offer. [Girl is weeping and cuts her eyes back and forth at the faces of the two men.]
Simon: You motherfucker, no way she's gonna—Girl [face resolved now]: You ain't gonna pay me more?
Billy: No.
Simon: You are fucking
evil
, man. Cold-cock evil. [Takes drink.]
Girl: Twenty? That's so little. You guys are rich.
Billy: Five, you bitch, haa!
Girl: No.
Billy: That's it, then. [The girl looks out the window for other cars. None appear.]
Girl: You fucker. Gimme the money first.
Billy: No, you get in first. [She gets in. A hand appears holding a bill. The girl takes it quickly.]
Girl: You gonna watch?
Billy: No, I'm gonna jes get outa the car on this side and stand here for a few minz lookin' the other way 'n have a philosophical smoke.
Girl: All right.
Billy: Si-boy, you all right with this chick?
Simon: Yeah, I'll be fine. For someone who is totally fucking bombed, you're still a
mean
motherfucker.
Billy: Last thing to go, man, chop off my balls, I'm still mean. [Car door opens, Billy leaves. Door slams shut.]
Girl: Okay, guy. Let's make this quick.
Simon: You wanna drink?
Girl: [brightening]: Yeah.
Simon: We got all kinds of—
Girl: Just gimme that. [Girl takes bottle.] I'm gonna take a real slug.
Simon: Sweetie, I heh already drink like haff of that, so you takem the biggas fucking slug you want. Get som ta money back. [Girl tips the bottle back and it stays there for a few seconds.]
Simon: Jesus.
Girl: What is that? Whiskey?
Simon: Yeah.
Girl: I loved whiskey all my life. Take your pants off, just take them right off, it's easier. [Sound of clothing.] I just pull up my dress, see.
Simon: Hmm.
Girl: Just see what we got here.
Simon: It's clean.
Girl: I got the rubber here.
Simon: Hmmm.
Girl: Waitaminute. [Hand paws through purse.] I gotta use this one. You got a big dick.
Simon: Funny, 'cause I'm a little guy.
Girl: Biggest dick I ever saw was on this short fat guy, Hawaiian or something. [Bored now.] All right, get hard, guy. You can do it.
Simon: That feels good. Very
professional
.
Girl: Think about giving it to me, guy. About putting it in.
Simon: Right.
Girl: Who's on top?
Simon: Me.
Girl: Go easy, my back's killing me.
Simon: All right.
Girl: Go now. Gimme that thing, guy.
Simon: Yeah.
Girl: Uh.
Simon: Can't feel that rubber.
Girl: I put it on.
Simon: Sure?
Girl: I put it on, you can't feel it because you're feeling
me.
Simon: Huuh.
Girl: I'll squeeze again.
Simon: Uh. That was. Yes, that was good.
Girl: Go, go, go, guy, I ain't billing by the minute here. [Something has jostled the camera and now the screen shows the girl's face; her eyes are open and she looks around while the figure works away on top of her, then she notices the bottle next to her on the floor of the car and grabs it and takes a long drink while he pounds her, the whiskey spilling down her chin. She tips the bottle down, adjusts her hips slightly, and then tips the bottle back again, this time draining an inch out of it. She closes her eyes and lets the bottle fall to the floor of the car. Then she presses both her hands on the figure's back.] Go now, go, come on, give it to me, guy, come on. [There's a long groan and Simon's head slumps intimately against her neck for a moment, but she is already rolling out from beneath him, pulling down her skirt.]
Simon: Fucking rubber.
Girl: It was all right.
Simon: I think it fell off, I couldn't feel it.
Girl: Naw, I could feel it. [Points to his groin.] It's right there! [She finds the bottle again.]
Simon: Take it with you.
Girl: Fuck no, just throw it on the street outside.
Simon: No, I meant the bottle.
Girl: Hey, thanks! [She opens the door and almost immediately comes the sound of another door opening.]
Billy: You still in there?
Simon: I'm all right.
Billy: She's taking our fucking whiskey!
Girl: He gave it to me. [Kicks door shut.]
Billy: You stole it!
Girl: Fuck you, you asshole.
Simon: She's mad at you still.
Billy: Max! Max! Let's get this thing rolling! [The car starts to move. Billy presses the window button and sticks his head out.] Five dollars! Hey, ev-rey-body! This fuck-ing bitch is giving it out for fi-ive dol—[He pulls his head in fast.] Uh-oh, she's catching up. [Something hits the car, the sound of glass breaking.]
Simon: She threw the bottle?
Billy: Yeah. [Looks toward the front of the car.] Max! Don't worry. The car's fine. No problem. Bill me with any problem! [Car slips along in traffic. The jiggle of city lights, the flow of traffic.] That was fucked up.
Simon: A dark episode.
Billy:
Very
dark.
Simon: And where to next?
Billy: I got Harlem, I got East Village, Central Park West … I got all kindz possibili-ties.
Simon: Hey, we should turn that thing off.
Billy: It's a two-hour tape, there's gonna be plenty a—
Simon: Gimme that wire. No! Just
give
—Billy, you fucker—[The image breaks. The screen is a snowy static.]
TAPE 69
[Opulent room with high ceilings and thick red drapes to the floor. Well-dressed people moving about. A woman holding a clipboard. An older gentleman with gray hair surrounded by other, younger people. The camera is not stable, as if handheld or even concealed. A group of men enters casually, but all in the room turn. One of the men is Bill Clinton. He is younger, his hair only newly graying. He is the one, he is the power. Several come over to him. It is clear that they are used to being with him. He is obviously a tall man. The camera nears, unsteadily. A voice is heard to say, “Mr. President?” Clinton looks up, then back at his listener. They talk further; Clinton is waiting to respond, nodding, eyes cutting around the room. The woman with the clipboard approaches him and it is clear that she must speak in private for a moment. The camera is close now. It seems that the camera is concealed upon the person who is drawing closer.]
Woman with clipboard: It's just a scheduling problem.
Clinton: I can't do it.
Woman [toward camera]: Paul? Can you hold them off another hour?
Voice: I don't think so.
Clinton [face reddening, intent]: I don't have time for this.
Voice: We could split the difference and say—
Clinton: No, goddammit. When are you people going to understand that when I say no I mean it? And that your problem is not my problem? Solve it. You all are smart people, I read your résumés. Tell him we'll screw him on the bill if he tries this again. [Slashes hand through air.] Gonna kill me with chickenshit like this. [Clinton detaches himself and moves across room to greet others. Tape ends.]
 
TAPE 72
[Commuter train, full of men and women in business
dress. The windows are dark; it is night. Before the camera are the backs of two men's heads.]
First man:—in the lowest quartile of the firm, I mean, billable hours is one of the measures. We all know that. So I ask him to come into my office and he did and we sat down and I said, “Gerry, we need to talk about how things are going for you.” And he became all defensive and said he was putting in the time. I said, “Waitaminute, you billed fifteen hundred and something hours last year, that's not even in the middle.” He said he works all the time but that he has a family and has to see them. He's put nine years into the firm and thinks he should get some leeway for that. I said okay, I understood that, but that there's a feeling he's not around enough. I mean, I told him that if he went on vacation with the McCabe thing not yet wrapped up, that it would fall to me and I wouldn't be able to really handle it, and when he came back from vacation, it would be a mess. And that was what had happened. Gerry says he's got a family to attend to, that his little girl was running around at a dinner party and went through a plate glass window and had nerve damage to her foot. His wife is pregnant with their third and he has to take the girl to a physical therapist or something. I say, “Can't you hire somebody to take her, a baby-sitter or something?”
Second man: That's kind of hard to do.
First man: Yeah, well, it's also kinda hard to get the McCabe filings done on time when the senior partner isn't around. I've got a couple of associates—you know, Pete what's-his-name and Linda, they're pretty good, but you know they prepared the basic contract on McCabe and there were some serious problems. These real-estate outfits who've been working in the city twenty, thirty years know all the tricks. Every one. They slip in funny little clauses that look innocuous, you know, and then you find
out later that it pertains to some obscure part of the city code, and then you're fucked, because it's in the contract. Ends up costing a couple of million dollars—we' ve had that happen.
Second man: So what did you tell Gerry?
First man: I told him he's got to take less vacation time, he's got to be around and start making his presence known. I mean, my billable hours have gone down, but that's because I'm out there bringing in business. The guys on the compensation committee understand this. So Gerry says he doesn't see how he can bring his hours up. He's working around the clock all the time, his wife is on him to be home, he's running from one place to the next, like all of us, right? I tell him that he's got to understand that he has a problem at the firm. I can't protect him anymore. I
won't
protect him anymore. He says, “What do you mean?” We're both thinking the same thing. Two kids in private school, third coming, the whole deal. So I say, “Let's work something out where I know you're going to be billing, say, nineteen hundred hours a year and you'll take only one-week vacations.” Second man: What did he say?
First man: He didn't say anything. It's what he
did
.
Second man: What?
First man: You're not going to believe it. He freaked.
Second man: What?
First man: Yeah. He says nothing. He gets up from the desk, stands up, and turns his back to me. I think, Okay, that's weird. Then I realize what he's doing. He's taken his dick out and he's pissing—
Second man: What? Get out of here!
First man: I'm not kidding. He walks around pissing here and there, he turns around and flips the piss up and some of it hits my desk, and then he goes over to the computer and pisses a little on that, and then he's done. Zips up. He sits down again in his chair
and looks at me. Like nothing happened. I'm just sitting there. I'm thinking about a million things. Can I fire this guy right now? No. That has to go through the committee. Only Carl can fire on the spot and he's in Bermuda. I'm wondering if Gerry is genuinely crazy, is he dangerous?
Second man: Gerry's just sitting there, calmly?
First man: Yeah, he's very calm, too. Not even angry looking. And one drop has even soaked into one of my Mueller depositions that I was reading. We just sat there. Then I told him I thought he'd better figure that he was going to be let go. I said this as calmly as I could. I mean, the thing is already done, he's gone way off, right? So then he says, “I will do my damn best to get my hours up to nineteen hundred a year, John, and you can be sure that I'll arrange my vacations so I don't take more than a week at a time.”
Second man: That's weird.
First man: Then he leaves. So couple days later, the following Monday, Carl is back, and he and I and Gerry are in Carl's office. Not the small one but the big one down on the sixth floor. I tell him what happened. Carl turns to Gerry. Gerry says that's ridiculous, that's insane. Yes, we had a discussion about hours and I'm going to get back on the wagon, but pissed in his office? That's crazy, Carl.
Second man: Wait, wait, he's denying the whole thing? Didn't it leave a smell, or—
First man: No, the cleaning service was in there that same night; they dust and empty the trash and wipe everything down and vacuum. There was no smell left, no sign. So I had no proof. I'm sitting there looking at Carl, and I know Carl is thinking to himself, Which is crazier? One of my senior partners pissed in another's office, or one of my senior partners
claimed
that another senior partner pissed in his office? Both things are equally crazy. I can see Carl
thinking like this. I've worked for him a long time—
Second man: So has Gerry.
First man: Yeah, so has Gerry. So Carl looks at both of us. Then he's looking at me with those tired old eyes. I know what he's thinking. I have no evidence. Just my accusation. Then he's looking at Gerry. Now, Gerry may not be putting in the hours, but the guy's a straight arrow, always looks right, doesn't even flirt with the secretaries.
Second man: Yeah.
First man: So Carl just sits there, thinking. Then he turns to Gerry and says, “How's your little girl doing?” And Gerry says something like “She's doing much better, matter of fact. The nerve damage in the heel isn't too bad.” Then Carl says his own daughter once broke her foot horseback riding and it had to be set and then rebroken twice, and he used to hear her crying in her bedroom from the pain. And Gerry, that motherfucker, is just nodding to himself. Then Carl says to Gerry, “The doctors can do amazing things these days, I think it will be okay.” And I'm thinking to myself, Waitaminute, this isn't why we're here, we're here because the guy pissed on my rug and my papers and everything, and so now we're having a sad little talk about Gerry's daughter? And so I say, “Hey, wait, Carl, we're talking about the fact that Gerry pissed in my office.” [Now the second man looks out the dark window.] And as soon as I say that, I'm in trouble. Carl turns to me and he says, “That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about something else. I'm talking about a little girl crying in her bedroom because her foot hurts.” Then I'm thinking I better watch out. I mean, this is the man who took on AT&T, right, and won. So I say nothing. Then Carl says, “My little girl used to sit in her room and cry quietly to herself because she didn't want us to hear her. We told her she had to be brave and not cry, and it was the stupidest thing we ever
did with her.” He's going on like this, I can't believe it. Then I realize that Gerry is going to get away with it. He's pissed all over my office and nothing is going to happen to him, I see that now. And Carl keeps going, and Gerry, that sly motherfucker, is just nodding and listening and maybe looking sort of like he's got a tear in his eye. And I'm freaking out. He's going to get away with it, he actually—
Second man [rising as train slows]: This is my stop.
First man: Oh. Yeah. Okay. See you … what, Friday?
Second man: Yep. [He steps past first man and into the aisle; holding his briefcase, he walks down the aisle and gets in line with other commuters. The train stops, making them all take a little step back, and then they file out. The sound of the train accelerates. The first man can be seen scratching his nose. Perhaps he sighs. Then he reaches for his briefcase, unsnaps it, and pulls out a sheaf of papers, which he begins to read. The train continues, stop after stop. The man eventually puts away his papers and stares out the window. Streaks of rain have appeared on the glass outside.]

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