Forrest Gump (27 page)

She look at me kinda funny an say, “Well if it’s a
he
, then how come its name is Sue?”

“That is a long story,” I say.

Anyhow, Raquel Welch is tryin to cover hersef up with her hans, but ole Sue, he knows what to do. He grapped holt of a couple of big leaves off one of them banana trees an han them up to her an she partly covered hersef up.

What I find out later is that we have gone across our jungle location onto another set where they is filmin a Tarzan movie, an Sue is being used as a extra. Not long after I got rescued from the pygmies in New Guinea, white hunters come along an captured ole Sue an shipped his ass to some animal trainer in Los Angeles. They been usin him in movies ever since.

Anyway, we ain’t got time to jack aroun now, on account of Raquel Welch is screechin an bitchin again, say, “You gotta take me someplace where I can get me some clothes!” Well, I don’t know where you can find no clothes in the jungle, even if it
is
a movie set, so we jus keep movin along, hopin somethin will happen.

It does. We suddenly come to a big fence, an I figger there probly be someplace on the other side of it to get her some clothes. Sue finds a loose board in the fence an lifts it up so’s we can get thru, but as soon as I step on the other side, ain’t nothin to step on, an me an Raquel go tumblin head over
heels down the side of this hill. We finally rolled all the way to the bottom an when I look aroun, damn if we ain’t landed right on the side of a big ole road.

“Oh my God!” Raquel Welch yell. “We’re on the Santa Monica Freeway!”

I look up, an here come ole Sue, lopin down the hillside. He finally get down to us, an the three of us be standin there. Raquel Welch is movin the banana leaves up an down, tryin to cover hersef up.

“What we gonna do now?” I axed. Cars are wizzin by, an even tho we must of been a odd-lookin sight, ain’t nobody even payin us the slightest attention.

“You gotta take me someplace!” she hollers. “I got to get some clothes on!”

“Where?” I says.

“Anywhere!” she screams, an so we started off down the Santa Monica Freeway.

After a wile, up in the distance, we seen a big white sign up in some hills say “HOLLYWOOD,” an Raquel Welch say, “We got to get off this damn freeway and get to Rodeo Drive, where I can buy me some clothes.” She is keepin pretty busy tryin to cover hersef up—ever time a car come towards us, she put the banana leaves in front, an when a car come up from behin, she move em back there to cover her ass. In mixed traffic, it is quite a spectacular sight—look like one of them fan dancers or somethin.

So we got off the freeway an went across a big field. “Has that fuckin monkey got to keep followin us?” Raquel Welch say. “We look rediculous enough as it is!” I ain’t sayin nothin, but I look back, an ole Sue, he got a pained look on his face. He ain’t never met Raquel Welch before, neither, an I think his feelins is hurt.

Anyhow, we kep goin along an they still ain’t nobody payin us much mind. Finally we come to a big ole busy street an Raquel Welch say, “Goodgodamighty—this is Sunset
Boulevard! How am I gonna explain goin across Sunset Boulevard butt neckid in broad daylight!” In this, I tend to see her point, an I am sort of glad I got on the creature suit so’s nobody will recognize me—even if I
am
with Raquel Welch.

We come to a traffic light an when it turn green, the three of us walked on across the street, Raquel Welch doin her fan dance to beat the band an smilin at people in cars an stuff like she was on stage. “I am totally humiliated!” she hisses at me under her breath. “I am violated! Just wait till we get outta this. I am gonna have your big ass, you goddamn idiot!”

Some of the people waitin in their cars at the traffic light commence to honkin they horns and wavin, on account of they must of recognized Raquel Welch, an when we get across the street, a few cars turn our way an start to followin after us. By the time we get to Wilshire Boulevard we have attracted quite a sizable crowd; people come out of they houses an stores an all to follow us—look like the Pied Piper or somethin—an Raquel Welch’s face is red as a beet.

“You’ll never work in this town again!” she say to me, flashin a smile to the crowd, but her teeth is clenched tight.

We gone on a bit further, an then she say, “Ah—finally—here is Rodeo Drive.” I look over at a corner an, sure enough, there is a woman’s clothing store. I tap her on the shoulder an point at it, but Raquel Welch say, “Uggh—that’s Popagallo. Nobody would be caught dead these days wearing a Popagallo dress.”

So we walked some more an then she say, “There—Giani’s—they got some nice things in there,” an so we go inside.

They is a sales feller at the door with a little moustache an a white suit with a handkerchief stickin out of the coat pocket, an he is eyein us pretty carefully as we come thru the door.

“May I help you, madam?” he axed.

“I want to buy a dress,” Raquel Welch say.

“What did you have in mind?” say the feller.

“Anything, you fool—can’t you see what’s going on!”

Well, the sales feller point to a couple of racks of dresses an say there might be somethin in there her size, so Raquel Welch go over an begin to look thru the dresses.

“An is there somethin I can do for you gentlemen?” the feller says to me an Sue.

“We is just with her,” I say. I look back, an the crowd is all gathered outside, noses pressed to the winder.

Raquel Welch took about eight or nine dresses into the back an tried them on. After a wile she come out an say, “What do you think about this one?” It is a sort of brown-lookin dress with a bunch of belts an loops all over it an a low neckline.

“Oh, I’m not so sure, dear,” say the salesman, “somehow it—it just isn’t
you.
” So she go back an try on another one an the salesman say, “Oh, wonderful! You look absolutely precious.”

“I’ll take it,” say Raquel Welch, an the salesman say, “Fine—how would you like to pay for it?”

“What do you mean?” she axed.

“Well, cash, check, credit card?” he say.

“Look you bozo—can’t you see I don’t have anything like that with me? Where the hell do you think I’d
put
it?”

“Please, madam—don’t let’s be vulgar,” the salesman say.

“I am Raquel Welch,” she tell the man. “I will send somebody around here to pay you later.”

“I am terribly sorry, lady,” he say, “but we don’t do business that way.”

“But I’m
Raquel Welch!
” she shout. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Listen lady,” the man say, “Half the people that come in here say they are Raquel Welch or Farrah Fawcett or Sophia Loren or somebody. You got any ID?”

“ID!” she shout. “Where do you think I would keep ID?”

“No ID, no credit card, no money—no dress,” say the salesman.

“I’ll prove who the hell I am,” Raquel Welch say, an all of a sudden she pull down the top of the dress. “Who else is got tits like these in this one-horse town!” she screech. Outside, the crowd all be beatin on the winders an hollerin an cheerin. But the salesman, he punched a little button an some big guy what was the security detective come over an he say, “Okay, your asses is all under arrest. Come along quietly an there won’t be no trouble.”

So here I am, thowed in jail again.

After the security feller corralled us at Giani’s, two carloads of cops come screamin up an this one cop come up to the salesman an say, “Well, what we got here?”

“This one says she’s Raquel Welch,” the salesman say. “Come in here wearin a bunch of banana leaves an wouldn’t pay for the dress. I don’t know bout these other two—but they look pretty suspicious to me.”

“I
am
Raquel Welch!” she shout.

“Sure, lady,” the cop say. “An I am Clint Eastwood. Why don’t you go along with these two nice fellers here.” He point to a couple of other cops.

“Now,” says the head cop, an he be lookin at me an Sue, “what’s your story?”

“We was in a pitcher,” I says.

“That why you’re wearin that creature suit?” he axe.

“Yup,” I says.

“An what bout him?” he say, pointin to Sue. “That’s a pretty realistic costume, if I say so myself.”

“Ain’t no costume,” I says. “He’s a purebread orangutang.”

“Is that so?” the cop say. “Well I’ll tell you what. We got a feller down to the station who makes pitchers, too, an he would love to get a couple of shots of you clowns. So you jus come along too—an don’t make no sudden moves.”

Anyhow, Mister Tribble has got to come down an bail me out again. An Mister Felder showed up with a whole platoon of lawyers to git out Raquel Welch, who by this time is hysterical.

“You jus wait!” she shriek back at me as they turnin her loose. “When I git finished, you won’t be able to find a job as a spear carrier in a nightmare!”

In this, she is probly correct. It look like my movie career is over.

“That’s life, baby—but I’ll call you for lunch sometime,” Mister Felder says to me as he is leavin. “We’ll send somebody by later to pick up the creature suit.”

“C’mon, Forrest,” say Mister Tribble. “You and I have got other fish to fry.”

Back at the hotel, Mister Tribble an me an Sue is settin in our room havin a conference.

“It is going to pose a problem, with Sue here,” Mister Tribble says. “I mean, look how we had to sneak him up the stairs and everthin. It is very difficult to travel with an orangutan, we have to face that.”

I tole him how I felt bout Sue, bout how he saved my ass more than once in the jungle an all.

“Well, I think I understand your feelings,” he says. “And I’m willing to give it a try. But he’s going to have to behave himself, or we’ll be in trouble for sure.”

“He will,” I say, an ole Sue be noddin an grinnin like a ape.

Anyhow, nex day is the big chess match between me an the International Grand Master Ivan Petrokivitch, also known as Honest Ivan. Mister Tribble have taken me to a clothes store an rented me a tuxedo on account of this is to be a big fashionable deal, an a lot of muckity-mucks will be on han. Furthermore, the winner will get ten thousan dollars, an my haf of that ought to be enough to get me started in the srimp bidness, so I cannot afford to make no mistakes.

Well, we get to the hall where the chess game is to take place an there is bout a thousan people millin aroun an already settin at the table is Honest Ivan, glarin at me like he’s Muhammad Ali or somebody.

Honest Ivan is a big ole Russian feller with a high forehead, jus like the Frankenstein monster, an long black curly hair such as you might see on a violin player. When I go up an set down, he grunt somethin at me an then another feller say, “Let the match begin,” an that was it.

Honest Ivan is got the white team an he get to make the first move, startin with somethin call The Ponziani Opening.

I move nex, using The Reti Opening, an everthin is goin pretty smooth. Each of us make a couple of more moves, then Honest Ivan try somethin known as The Falkbeer Gambit, movin his knight aroun to see if he can take my rook.

But I seed that comin, an set up somethin called The Noah’s Ark Trap, an got his knight instead. Honest Ivan ain’t lookin none too happy but he seem to take it in stride an employed The Tarrasch Threat to menace my bishop.