L.A. Success (27 page)

GERTIE ELLIOT (CONT'D)

(To Lonnie)

...then come right in and join us. Let's go Tommy!

GERTIE and TOMMY head off to TOMMY's room. LONNIE downs the
rest of his Alkaseltzer.

LONNIE HERISSON

(To himself)

I have to end all of this tonight!

LONNIE stands up. The room spins around him due to his
drunkenness. He starts walking toward his bedroom door, veers off to the side,
puts himself back on course, and then enters his room.

INT. LONNIE'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

LONNIE takes the weird gun from under the bed. He adjusts a
few dials and makes sure the jar is tightly attached.

INT. LONNIE'S LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

LONNIE, finger on the trigger of the weird gun, creeps through
the living room like some kind of ninja. He listens at the door.

GERTIE ELLIOT (OFF SCREEN)

Ha! No matter how many times you roll back that turtleneck,
it's always a surprise.

LONNIE slowly turns the door handle. Moans of passion grow
louder and louder. LONNIE throws open the door, hits the lights, and is
confronted by a horrible scene. TOMMY is on his back, being ridden by a drunken
GERTIE, who waves one hand in the air like a bull rider. Various parts of her
turn in seemingly conflicting directions as she bounces up and down.

LONNIE is not sure where to stick the gun. He approaches the
couple.

GERTIE ELLIOT

Oh good, you're here. Come over and show me what you've got,
and I'll decide where I want it.

LONNIE approaches the bed. TOMMY's eyes begin to morph into
the glowing, reptilian form that is the sign of the SUPPLEMENTARY TERRIAN
DWELLER. It has already been transmitted from GERTIE to TOMMY! In one deft
motion, LONNIE brings the gun down into TOMMY's navel and pulls the trigger. A
series of flashes goes off, followed by an unearthly hissing as the DWELLER
gets sucked into the gun's nozzle, slides through the tubing and, with a pop,
ends up in the glass jar. Its slimy, blue body convulses. Its claws scrape
wildly against the interior walls. LONNIE runs out of the room.

INT. LONNIE'S KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

LONNIE removes the jar from the gun, careful to screw the
lid on tightly before the DWELLER is able to jump out. LONNIE holds the jar up
and looks into the DWELLER's horrible eyes. In disgust, he walks over to the
microwave, opens it, and places the jar inside. A wide-eyed look of horror
comes over the DWELLER's middle-butterfly-part features. His snout comes
completely unrolled and his eyes widen. Suddenly, LONNIE is overtaken by a
strange feeling. There is a stabbing pain in his brain. He bends over and
closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he is able to see
through the DWELLER's eyes and feel his emotions. This phenomenon is completely
unexplained in the film, and moviegoers must accept it, not unlike the way they
had to accept the cheaply comedic psychic link between Elliot and E.T. Tricked
into feeling sympathy for it, LONNIE removes the DWELLER from the microwave and
takes it back to his room.

INT. LONNIE'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

LONNIE places the jar underneath his bed.

LONNIE HERISSON

I can't bring myself to kill you, Dweller, but I'm going to
make sure you never infect anyone again.

LONNIE pulls down the sheets, hiding the jar.

INT. THE SUPPLEMENTARY TERRIAN DWELLER'S JAR - MOMENTS LATER

The DWELLER waits for the lights to go out. In the darkness,
a soft blue glowing emanates from the DWELLER's skin. He begins rocking back
and forth until he is able to knock the jar over. Like a hamster in a wheel,
the DWELLER runs and makes the jar move forward, causing it to knock against
the leg of the bed. The jar remains intact. The DWELLER looks discouraged, but
then makes out a dumbbell a few feet away. He turns the jar around, gets a lot of
momentum, and then...

CUT TO BLACK. A shattering of glass is heard, followed by
hysterical DWELLER laughter.

Then, to make sure the audience knows they have just wasted
a lot of money on a movie that will definitely have a meaningless sequel, the
screen reads “Your end is always the beginning for the Supplementary Terrian
Dweller!”

FADE OUT

2

The writing was done, which meant
that my work pretending to be Dennis was almost done also. I sat back and
admired my little pile of half-crumpled pages and listened to the soft tapping
of my buddies' typing. I was going to miss coming to Culver City. Who knew,
maybe I'd start another project someday, a real screenplay, so that I'd have an
excuse to come back.

I called Grant's shit phone to tell
him I was ready.

“Oh look, I'm calling myself again,”
he said.

“Grant old buddy. You can tell your
boss I've got the final act, with evidence.”

“I'll come get it along with my
phone.”

“Oh no you won’t. I'm hand
delivering this one to your boss, and I expect to get paid once he's looked it
over, so tell him to bring the money we agreed on.”

“I'll let him know. Where do you
want to meet him?”

“You know the big plant-dinosaur
fountains on the Promenade? Tell him to meet me at the one on the north end at
noon tomorrow.”

“You want one of the most famous men
in the world to go to a crowded place like that?”

“Yeah, that way he won't get any
smart ideas.”

“Okay...but one minute. I missed a
friend's birthday because I don't have my phone anymore. At least let me get a
copy of the repertory. It's bad enough I have a sloth on the hood of my car.
And hey, I did you a favor. I called your ex and told her about the STD and—”

“What! You dick!” I yelled and hung
up on him. I drew back my arm to throw his phone down on the pavement, but luckily
the guys stopped me.

“Don't do it. You'll just end up
buying another one,” said Scarf-Guy Al.

“Yeah, you're right,” I said,
putting the phone down on the table and then taking deep breaths to calm down.

“Whatever it is, get your revenge on
paper. It pays better, and you don't end up getting arrested,” said Hat-Guy
Leonard.

“I learned that lesson the hard
way,” said Pee-Smelling, Old-Birkenstock Jerry. Several of the guys nodded
quietly to themselves.

I imagined a sequel to my work, in which
Grant would come knocking on my door after midnight just as the Dweller was
escaping his glass prison. As we are talking at the door, the Dweller sneaks
behind us to the toilet and waits. Having completely reconciled our
differences, I feel comfortable enough with Grant to let him into my house and
offer him a drink. At some point he uses the bathroom. Now in complete control
of Grant, the Dweller decides to terrorize all of New England by doing what
Grant does best, which apparently involves typing unimportant details into an
organizer and kissing ass. But how would this Dweller-ized version of Grant
differ from any other New Englander? This writing stuff could be tricky after
all.

I said my goodbyes to the writers
and told them I wouldn't be around for a while, since my big project had come
to an end. They wished me luck and told me not to wait too long to start a new
one.

3

I had only just returned to Dennis'
house when the phone rang. It was Dennis, still sounding as depressed as he had
the last time. I wanted to make him feel better, so I launched into the good
news.

“Dennis, glad you called. I've got
some great news for you.”

“Wonderful. I could use some.
Ignacio has had to stay longer than he thought in L.A., so here I am still
alone.”

“I went by that apartment, and
there's no way a gay dude lives there. You can be sure that Ignacio's lover
moved out like he said. I met the little girl who lives there now and her dad.”

“There was a little girl?” he asked
with a tone of despair.

“Yeah. Amanda.”

There was a long pause. Then I had
to take the phone away from my ear because a loud pounding, as if Dennis were
slamming the phone down on something, shot out of the receiver, punctuated by
obscenities and wailing feedback. After the fifth or sixth explosion, the line
went dead.

About an hour later, the phone rang
again. I lifted the receiver and out poured the sound of passing cars, dance
music and an occasional shout in Mexican. Above all that, I could make out
Dennis' voice.

“Um...I think we got cut off,” he
said.

“You mean after you smashed the
phone?”

“Yeah...Lonnie, I need a favor.
First, do you have a pen?”

“Oh do I,” I said, but when I pulled
out the Montblanc I was annoyed that it didn't have the same effect over the
phone. Maybe these things should play music as you write with them. He rattled
off an address in Beverly Glen.

“Okay. Got it,” I said.

“Now, I need you to go downstairs
into my office. You'll see some steel shelves, and on the middle shelf there's
a manila envelope marked 'Reyes'. I need you to take that envelope to the
address I gave you. Make sure it gets in the hands of Mrs. Reyes. If anyone
else answers the door, just pretend you've got the wrong address.”

“You want me to go over there now?”

“No, it'll be evening before you get
there, so she might not be alone. Wait until tomorrow. She doesn't work, so
unless she goes out to run an errand, she'll be around. Just make sure you give
it to her personally.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“One other thing. Would you mind
picking me up at the airport on Sunday? My plane arrives in the afternoon. It's
the first flight I could get that didn't cost a fortune. Everything leaving
before then was four times the price.”

“On Sunday? This Sunday?” I asked. I
couldn't believe my ears. I hadn't expected him to come back for another couple
of months. Now I wasn't going to have time to do anything. To be honest, I
wasn't even sure what I wanted to do. I needed more time to find out.

“I'll call you from the plane when
it lands. You can drive one of my cars to pick me up if you want...well, take
the Honda. Since you're not insured on my cars, I'd prefer you take the one I'd
be the least sad to see wrecked.”

“All right. See you Sunday,” I said
with all the enthusiasm of a man buying the coffin he knows he'll eventually be
buried in.

4

This was very bad news. It meant I
was going to have to find somewhere to put my dad. I definitely didn't want him
to end up all stinky back in Venice, and anyway, I didn't think he'd go back now
that he'd gotten used to the good life. The only solution I could think of was
to let him move into my house, but it would be pretty crowded over there. Also,
once Dennis got back and I stopped getting that second check, keeping my dad
stocked up was going to be a lot harder. Of course I'd have the five grand from
Spieldburt and the last check from Dennis, but how long would that last? I
hadn't thought about any of this in the beginning.

My dad was on the couch clicking
away at the computer. His hair was getting all crazy again and his beard was
getting thick, but I knew he had been showering on his own because I'd
occasionally see soap on him that he'd forgotten to rinse off.

Most of his clothes were on the love
seat all folded up. Tommy didn't realize that I had been slipping my dad's
dirty clothes in with mine, so he had been doing laundry for both of us. I
picked up the piles and loaded them into the trunk of the Charger. Then I took
a trash bag and picked up all the dirty clothes scattered around the living
room and the bathroom. While I was doing all this, my dad would glance up
nervously. I knew he had gotten used to the place, and whenever he had to
change it made him uneasy.

All the rest of the cleaning would
have to wait until my dad was out of there. I needed to wipe the leather couch
off with a spot remover, run the vacuum everywhere, and get a carpet cleaner to
take care of the ring of chocolate stains around the coffee table where my dad
had been sculpting.

I sat down next to him and watched the
rest of his game. He must have been more nervous than I had thought because he
kept losing piece after piece but played on anyway. When he finished, he tried
to start up another game, but I stopped him by closing the laptop.

“Look Dad, I've got a problem.” He
was staring at the closed laptop. “My buddy, the guy who lives here, is coming
back on Sunday, so we have to get out of here.”

“I can't play chess on the computer
anymore?”