Wednesday, April 30, 2008

The Professor Crows Like a Rooster.


INT.
GREY GOAT ENGLISH PUB AGAIN. THE PLACE IS NOISY AND RAUCOUS. THE MAIN
ATTRACTION IS THE BUSY BAR WITH ITS FULLBREASTED, SATIN-BLOUSED BARMAIDS.
THERE ARE TWO OF THEM , A BLONDE AND A BRUNETTE SERVING. THE PLACE IS
INTERNATIONAL, THOUGH LARGELY SCOTS. SOME OF THE MEN ARE INDEED IN
KILTS.

LYING DOWN ON THE GREEN BAIZE POOL TABLE, ONE FOOT STILL ON THE FLOOR AS PER RULES, A SCOTSMAN LOOKS SLIGHTLY RIDICULOUS, KILT HIKED WAY UP, BUTTOCKS SHOWING, AS HE ATTEMPTS A TIGHT CORNER SHOT FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE TABLE.
ONE OF THE OPPOSING PARTNERS TAKES HIS CUE AND WORKS IT UP THE KILT OF THE SUPINE SCOTSMAN.

SCOTS POOL PLAYER.

Will ye just fuck- off, Mate?

HE GETS OFF THE TABLE AND RAISES A CUE TO THE CHEST OF THE OPPOSING PLAYER'S PARTNER.

THERE IS A MELLEE. AS OTHER CUES ARE RAISED AS IF IN EN GARDE POSITION.


VOICE OF MANAGER, WHO IS BEHIND THE BAR WITH THE MAIDS. HE HAS A MICROPHONE.

You guys start fighting, you're all cut off for life.

THE POOL PLAYERS SETTLE DOWN.

THERE IS SMOKE IN THE AIR IN THE PUB, AND A COMFORTABLE WHISKEY SMELL.. HUM OF THE CROWD.

THE PROFESSOR AND HIS BOOK EDITOR ARE IN A BOOTH AT STAGE LEFT OF THE BAR. THEY ARE DRIKING TOBY BEER.

EDITOR (WHO IS DARK, BEARDED AND WEARING GLASSES)

What kind of a place did you take me to? I thought you said it was a swell British pub.

THE PROFESSOR.

It is. But all these Scotsmen, mostly just off the boat, have all taken over. Most of them out of
Glasgow, looking for a new life. I guess old habits die hard. They come here looking for a
woman or a fight. They'll take either one.

THE EDITOR
So what did you ask me out for? Sounds like something's very much on your mind. It's so
smoky in here. (WIPES FOREHEAD)

THE PROFESSOR:
It's smoky in my head, John. Right among the pillars.

There is this woman....


THE EDITOR
Oh yeah. Always "this woman." Most men, when they get divorced, find another woman. With you, it's one after another. You're right off the scale.

THE PROFESSOR
No. This one is different. Way different situation.(HE RAISES HIS GLASS AND TAKES A
LONG DRAUGHT.)
Got this problem. I was more thoroughly loved last night than I'd ever been before. Yet somehow, I didn't finish.
She came to me without reservation. Yet I did not complete the act. I feel somehow that I had
not been a full man. I had not achieved completion.

THE EDITOR
David, David, David. You know that old bit out of Johnny Carson. Where this guy brings in this motorized
unicycle, which he calls a "Wheelie"?
Some days you just can't get your wheelie to work.

THE PROFESSOR
No, it wasn't anything like that. Seems she poured sand into my wheelie. Fucked me up.


THE EDITOR TAKES HIS OWN DRINK OUT OF THE TOBY GLASS.


BEAT

THE EDITOR
...New one on me. It's usually you who is playing musical broads.

THE PROFESSOR.
It's different this time. She is married, her husband looks like a voyeur, probably a poof, and I'll
bet she's getting her real sex out of third guy if I know some women. I think she is just using
me for entertainment and a sounding board. ...I think she's on drugs.

THE EDITOR
Wow. You really pick 'em. Sounds like a story. Maybe you should write about it.


THE PROFESSOR
Jeezus, John. I really don't want to be in this play.
But I've got her smell. She seems right inside me. Ever been so horny your brain seems awash
with alligator sperm?

THE EDITOR.
Or so horny you could faint? LIke James Joyce, jacked off by a woman in a theatre and
following that woman around for most of his days?

THE PROFESSOR
You got the scenario. I guess that's why you're the editor and me the writer. Yep. Looks like it's
Professor and the Blue Angel. Poor old Professor Rath. Horny and confused as a mink on a sandbar. And crowing like a rooster while Marlene does everybody in town.

THE EDITOR (TAKES ANOTHER DRINK. HE SWATS AT A FLY)

This sound a bit different from Prof. Rath's situation. More bizzarre.
Can I say something?

THE PROFESSOR

Shoot.

THE EDITOR

Sounds like you've just stumbled on a houseful of pimps.

So what happened?


THE PROFESSOR

One day she walked into my creative writing class....

THE PROFESSOR IS INTERRUPED BY A WAITRESS WHO BTINGS MORE DRINKS. SHE IS BOSOMY AND THE PROFESSOR NOTICES.

"SHE FINISHES SETTING UP, THEY HAVE FRESH DRINKS, THE PROFESSOR IS ABOUT TO PAY, BUT SHE IS DISINCLINED TO TAKE THE MONEY AT FIRST.

WAITRESS:
Are you Professor Lohan?

PROFESSOR.
Why, yes.

WAITRESS
Therere's a phone call for you. At the bar. Do you want to take it?

PROFESSOR (LOOKS FIRST AT THE WAITRESS AND THEN AT THE EDITOR).

Oh, I guess I'd better...How did anyone know I was here?


THE PROFESSOR STANDS UP AND TURNS AROUND TO WALK OVER TO THE BAR. A LONE WOMAN IS
SITTING AT THE FAR CORNER, NEXT TO THE TELEPHONE. SHE IS PERCHED ON A VERY HIGH STOOL,
WHICH IS ABOUT TWO FEET AWAY FROM THE BRASSY, OAKY BAR. THE PROFESSOR WONDERS HOW
SHE CAN REACH HER DRINK, AND SHE IN FACT IS HAVING SOME TROUBLE WITH THIS.

THE PROFESSHOR HAS TO GET PAST THE FUMBLNG WOMAN TO GET AT THE PHONE. HE HUNCHES DOWN A BIT TO GET AT IT.
SUDDENLY THE WOMAN, WHO IS DRESSED IN A BLACK SKIRT AND HIGH HEELS, AND NOW SOMEHOW IMMEDIATEL"Y BEHIND HIM, WINDS HER LEGS AROUND HIM. FROM BEHIND. HE CAN"T GET AT THE PHONE. HE TURNS ROUND TO DISCOVER PANTIES.

MYSTERIOUS WOMAN
You've been doing some hard work, haven't you? I can smell the work and stress.

THE PROFESSOR (UNTANGLING HIMSELF, ONE KNEE AT A TIME. HE DOES THIS AS NATURALLY AS HE CAN, PUTIING AN ARM AROUND THE WOMAN'S RIGHT SHOULDER):

I think you're lovely. It's just that I have some business to attend to right now.

THE PROFESSOR KEEPS AN ARM AROUND THE WOMAN"S SHOULDER. HE REACHES FOR THE TELEPHONE WITH HIS RIGHT HAND.

THERE IS A DIAL TONE.
THE CALLER, PROBABLY TIRED OF WAITING, HAD HUNG UP. THE PROFESSOR TAKES HIS LEFT ARM OFF THE MYSTERIOUS WOMANJ, GIVES HER A HUG AND GOES TO MAKE FOR THE BOOTH WHERE THE EDITOR STILL SITS WITING FOR HIM. HE REJOINS THE EDITOR.

PROFESSOR
The woods are full of funny people.

THE EDITOR (NOW A LITTLE AFFECTED BY THE BEER THAT HE HAS ALMOST
FINIISHED:

Ummm. Wha..?

PROFESSOR
I don't know how to tell you this. It really reminds me of a joke, the one about the musician, playing badly all night, complaining over the actions of a disgruntled pervert who kept masturbating in the second row.

EDITOR
I don't want to know!

PROFESSOR

Lady at the bar. Almost attacked me.


THE EDITOR
You got confidence. That's what it is.

THE PROFESSOR SHRUGS.

PROFESSOR 9TAKES A DRAUGHT OF HIS UNFINISHED BEER)

Did you ever read a book by Frederic Exley, "A Fan's Notes"?

THE EDITOR
Of course. What of it?

PROFESSOR
It seems that Mr. Exley is disgusted over being a fan all his life, of loving the great football guy, The Gipper, of loving great authors.

But it was always somebody else that was great, never him."

There is another guy in this Celia's life. I can sense it. It's never going to be me.

THE EDITOR
Yep. You're like your archetype, I guess. Prof. Rath. Crowing like a rooster.

THE PROFSSOR TAKES A DEEP DRAUGHT. HE STANDS UP FROM THE TABLE, CAUSING
A GROAN OF CHAIRS. SUDDENLY HE CRIES OUT, AS IF COMPELLED BY SOMETHING
ALIEN IN HIM ABOUT TO GIVER BIRTH IN HIS VERY BODY....

Cuckarukakoo!

THIS CAUSES A STIR AMONG THE OTHER TABLES.

THE EDITOR (A LITTLE EMBARRASSED):
You sir, are a fucking nut. You seem possessed.

Get out of that situation. Walk away from it.

Walk! That's what you do.
You walk
.....end ACT I,, Scene 3 THE FIRE IN BRADFORD,
A TV Script by Ivan Prokopchuk
.............................................INTERMISSION.....................................................................

16 comments:

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

you are doing well Ivan. I am happy for you.

T

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Thanks, Tara,

But I fear I have damaged my site with speed and fury of my attack.

A lot of stuff is now missing or all over the place.

The god alway seems to have a price.

the walking man said...

You are saving your writing in two different formats aren't you Ivan? If so then screw it, continue on with the project at hand. It really is a good thing to come to your door for the next installment at 0330. Kind of wake the soul up.

I never would have thought the professor to be so caught up by Celia, yet I wonder was it her on the phone, did she hear the other womans voice and hang-up? She is and has been playing him and soon he'll see it in a way I can't conceive of...ergo more! more!

Peace Ivan

mark

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Good insight, Mark.

And thanks.

TomCat said...

Great writing, Ivan, and you answered the age old question about what they wear under their kilts.

A SCOTSMAN LOOKS SLIGHTLY RIDICULOUS, KILT HIKED WAY UP, BUTTOCKS SHOWING, AS HE ATTEMPTS A TIGHT CORNER SHOT FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE TABLE.

Charles Gramlich said...

Always someone else who is great. *winces*. Hum, I shouldn't hold this mirror up to close to my face.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Nha Ivan. For me, I do not feel qualified to suggest anything, so I am just sitting back. Besides too much of me is a bad thing eh?

T

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

It sounds nuts, but I think I saw extra balls on the billiards table.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Charles,

I was greatly heartened when I read "A Fan's Notes" by Frederick Exley.
"Hey," I said to myself, "Here is a guy, a lifelong fan of others, and maybe even a bigger asshole than oneself."
The book was in fact, almost a study of bad behaviour, but old Exley "did" her.
I believe they made "Notes" into a movie and the "fan" became a star in his own right.
Strange things happen.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tara,

You do light things up around here.

Monique said...

Nice Ivan

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Thank you, Monique.

...Coming from you!

Donnetta Lee said...

And it keeps on coming! Hey, I saw you got the "poof" in there...
Donnetta

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Funny how words change in time and location.

I think Pam said that in Australia, a poof is a little footstool at the end of a bed.

Well!


Truman Capote was once a male pro.

Hey.

TomCat said...

Ivan, don't try to put them in your corner pocket.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Hee.