Let's Stay Together (6 page)

“You know,” Lauren said. “He did. He used it like I used blush.”

“Time out!” Randy shouted, making a T with his hands.

I may have to buy Randy a whistle,
Lauren thought.
He thinks he runs this show. The man is sadly mistaken.

“This show isn’t about you and Chazz Jackson, Lauren,” Randy said.

Geez! Even Randy, a no-name director, knows about Chazz’s other life.
“I know that, Randy,” Lauren said. “But you have to admit, two dudes is a lot more interesting than the old ‘man banging his secretary’ cliché. That is so played out.”

“The network won’t allow that,” Randy said.

Lauren smiled. “They won’t allow two dudes? They’ll let
bee-otch, cracker, orgasm, girth,
and ‘going down there’ go, but they won’t let a little realism go?”

“You said
doing,
” Randy said.

“The original line used the word
banging,
” Lauren said. “Should I have said, ‘I caught him
banging
two dudes on my couch’?”

“No.” Randy shook his head and sighed heavily. “Look. This is a heterosexual show.”

“But the actor playing my love interest is gay in real life,” Lauren said.

“In reality, yes,” Randy said, gritting his teeth. “But not
on
this show. He promises to be heterosexual the entire time he’s in front of the camera. He used to be bisexual, you know.”

“The world knows he’s gay
now,
Randy,” Lauren said. “People will only watch this show to see how a gay white man and a heterosexual black woman fall in love and have a relationship. If that isn’t sick and twisted, I don’t know what is.”

“You’re telling me,” Barbie said.

“Look,” Randy said. “This is a sitcom, not high Broadway drama.”

“I know that,” Lauren said. “But it doesn’t have to lower itself to the least common denominator, does it? Barbie and I are real folks talking, that’s all. This is how real folks talk to each other. Let us finish the scene, okay? I guarantee you’ll like it.”

“I already don’t,” Randy said.

“Because you haven’t heard the entire scene yet,” Lauren said. “What’s my next line?”

“Something about breaking teeth and cutting,” Barbie said.

“We’re cutting the parts about breaking and cutting,” Lauren said. “I don’t break teeth. Say your next line.”

Barbie glanced at the cue cards. “I can’t say that line. White men are good in bed, at least the ones I’ve been with. They
do
have rhythm, and they knew how to make my booty happy.”

Lauren smiled. “You rearranged those lines well.”

“Thank you,” Barbie said.

“Stop! Just stop!” Randy shouted. “You two are missing the point of the show. Lauren’s character is supposed to discover all this about white men
during
this show. That’s what makes it funny. She
has
to be clueless about white men in the beginning. She learns more and more about white men as the show progresses.”

“And while the show regresses race relations in America,” Lauren said. “I will not play an idiot, Randy, and that’s what this script makes me into. This script is pathetic. Barbie is ‘a regular Starbucks’? My ex’s secretary is a ‘milky white heifer’? ‘Joe Bob’s hair smelled like mildew and Grandma’s draws’? ‘At least they can always get you a cab in this city’? ‘Light-skinned chocolate baby with good hair and a trust fund’?”

“ ‘Who can dance real good about half the time,’ ” Barbie added.

“How are
any
of those lines funny, Randy?” Lauren asked.

“You’re taking those lines out of context,” Randy said. “In context, they are
all
funny.”

“In context,” Lauren said, “they are all offensive.”

“Our test audience thought they were hilarious,” Randy said. “They fell on the floor, laughing.”

“Was there an earthquake at the time?” Lauren asked.

“No,” Randy said. “They thought it was funny.”

“You subjected a test audience to this?” Lauren asked. “Really? Are they currently in therapy?”

“No,” Randy said. “I read all the parts to them, and they left laughing.”

“Who was in your test audience?” Lauren asked. “Drunk and high people who will laugh at anything?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Randy said. “They
loved
this scene. They were dying laughing.”

“Are you sure they weren’t crying out in pain?” Lauren asked. “Sometimes people in severe pain
sound
as if they’re laughing.”

“There is
nothing
wrong with this script,” Randy said. “Nothing.”

“There is nothing
right
with this script,” Lauren said. “Overall, it’s racist, Randy, and saying that white men hang out in grocery stores, bowling alleys, and golf courses is simply wrong. Men of all races hang out everywhere, yet you want my character to go to a flea market in Hell’s Kitchen to find a man. A friend of mine tells me Hell’s Kitchen isn’t a pleasant place to be, much less to shop.”
I’m glad that Patrick is my friend.
“To be perfectly
black
about it, Randy, that scene ain’t happenin.’ Where’s the writer? I know I could talk some sense into the writer.”

“The writer wishes to remain anonymous,” Randy said.

“I can see why,” Barbie said.

“You beat me to it,” Lauren said.
I am beginning to like Barbie very much.
“Well, who is she—or he?”

“
She
is from LA,” Randy said, “and she has been in many interracial relationships.”

“I can see why,” Barbie said again.

“You beat me to it again,” Lauren said.

“The script is based on her experiences right here in LA,” Randy said.

“LA?” Lauren said. “But the show takes place in New York City.”

“Her experiences are universal,” Randy said.

“In which universe?” Lauren asked. “Her experiences are not the norm. I ought to know, right? I have dated interracially for half of my life.”

“The writer is an expert,” Randy said. “She knows what she’s talking about. I’ve heard her speak.”

“So she speaks in stereotypes, does she?” Lauren said. “I don’t think I want to meet her now.”

“What stereotypes?” Randy asked.

“Where
aren’t
there stereotypes?” Lauren asked. “Let’s examine this scene right here. Two sisters sitting at an outdoor café see a white man and immediately begin talking about his ‘hairy shovel with no meat’ ass. Plenty of white men have some serious back.”

“Amen,” Barbie whispered. She waved at Mike.

Mike waved back.

“Then this hoochie,” Lauren said. “No offense, Barbie.”

“None taken, Lauren,” Barbie said. “I know I’m not a hoochie.”

“Then this hoochie says that
all
white men have wet skin that smells like onions,” Lauren said. “They
all
eat food that falls on the floor, they
all
wear condoms, they
all
like to go down on a woman, and they often like to hang out in the meat section of the grocery store. Stop me if you
don’t
hear a stereotype.”

“I’m not going to argue about this with you, all right?” Randy said. “Sometimes there are stereotypes in comedy. In fact, stereotypes form the basis of most comedy. So what if there are a few stereotypes in this scene?”

“The entire scene is
based
on two ridiculous stereotypes, Randy,” Lauren said. “The first is, ‘Once you’ve had black, you’ll never go back.’ It’s as dumb as ‘Once you’ve had white, you’ll never be right.’ These sayings are foolish rhymes made up by foolish people who think they can fool the world into believing their foolishness. These are false statements. Folks are folks, man. There are no gray areas about this. We’re not airing this show in the fifties. The world has moved on, and the writer needs to move on with it. How old is she?”

“That’s irrelevant,” Randy said.

“She’s old,” Lauren said.

“Yep,” Barbie said. “She probably marched with Dr. King.”

“Or Marcus Garvey,” Lauren said.

“Or Frederick Douglass,” Barbie added with a giggle.

“I still don’t see what’s so stereotypical,” Randy said. “Isn’t there
some
truth to it?”

“No,” Lauren said. “And there’s nothing true about ‘The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice,’ either.”

“Well, in my case,” Barbie said, “that
is
true. I am very sweet.”

“I’m sure you are, Barbie, but that’s only in
her
case, Randy,” Lauren said. “I can name black women out there whose juices are not and may never have been sweet.”
Including my mama.

“If they’re even juicy anymore,” Barbie said.

“The writer is
black,
Lauren,” Randy said.

“That doesn’t absolve her from being a fool,” Lauren said.

“Or from being ignorant,” Barbie added.

“That, too,” Lauren said.

“She’s
not
a fool,” Randy said. “This is a
good
script.”

I’m tired of arguing with him.
“May I make a suggestion?”

“That’s all you’re making today, Lauren,” Randy said.

“Film us going through the first scene the way we’ve been doing it,” Lauren said, “and not only show the execs what we end up with, but show the writer as well. Maybe she’ll wise up and start writing a show for the twenty-first century for a change.”

Randy walked away, shaking his head and parting several sound technicians, until he disappeared from view.

“He’s pissed,” Barbie whispered.

“Yep,” Lauren said. “But so what? He has to know he has a lame script on his hands, and no amount of camping it up is going to save it.”

“What do we do?” Barbie asked.

“We wait,” Lauren said. “We’re still on the clock, right?”

“Right,” Barbie said. She pulled out a cell phone and began playing a game. “This is so addictive.”

Lauren took out her own phone to get online to check her e-mail.
No signal!
She tried to find a Wi-Fi hotspot and couldn’t.
Tumbleweed is so cheap. This will, however, keep actors from doing exactly what I’m trying to do when they should be working.

A few minutes later Randy returned with an elderly light-skinned black woman who wore a frumpy yellow fisherman’s hat, blue rayon slacks, and a bright orange sweater.

What shipwreck did they pull her from?
Lauren wondered.
She could have been on
Gilligan’s Island!
Does she own a mirror? Did wardrobe do this to her?

“This is Annie Smith,” Randy said, “And she is the writer. Lauren, go ahead. Tell her what you told me.”

Lauren shrugged, and for the next fifteen minutes, she raked the woman’s script over the coals, reiterating the falseness of her stereotypes and giving examples of “rearranged” lines.

“If we tone down everything that’s currently
way
over the top,” Lauren concluded, “we can make this into a decent show we can all be proud of.”

The woman turned to Randy. “You
told
me it was a good script.”

“It
is
a good script,” Randy said. “It only needs a few minor adjustments.”

“But
she
just said it needed
major
adjustments,” Miss Smith said. “I didn’t think the truth needed to be adjusted.”

“Miss Smith,” Lauren said, “please don’t tell me you based this script on actual events in your life.”

Miss Smith straightened. “I did. It’s all true.”

“When?” Barbie asked.

She beat me to it again!
Lauren thought.
I am getting old.

“I was much younger then, of course,” Miss Smith said, “but every bit of this script is true.”

She seems sincere,
Lauren thought.
Maybe it’s all true—just not in this century.
“Well, I suppose I could dress up like Thelma from
Good Times
and we could have a funk soundtrack.”

“I get to play Penny, then,” Barbie said.

“This is
not
going to be another seventies show,” Randy said.

“It might as well be,” Lauren said. “Miss Smith, this is a dated script. It is not relevant to today’s world. I keep hearing Martha and the Vandellas and Marvin Gaye in the background. Unless we all wear bell-bottoms and platform shoes, no one will take this show seriously. No one.”

Miss Smith stared at Lauren. “You think you’re the shit, don’t you?”

Is she serious? Of course I still am!
Lauren stood, the iron chair squealing behind her. “Yes.”

“You ain’t
done
shit in years,” Miss Smith said.

“At least I can write about
this
century just fine,” Lauren said.

“Lost your man, didn’t you?” Miss Smith said. “Had to get a job because your sugar daddy’s gone.”

“I actually lost him
to
men a long time ago,” Lauren said. “What’s your point?”

Miss Smith blinked. “Chazz Jackson is gay?”

So everyone
doesn’t
know.
Lauren nodded. “He’s heavily bisexual, yes. So what was your point?”

“Damn.” Miss Smith shrugged. “I never would have thought that.” She smiled at Lauren. “I didn’t have a point. I was just pissed off, you know. I had to fuss at someone. You understand. It’s what we ladies from
my
generation do when we’re angry.” She turned to Randy. “Is she going to rewrite everything I write?”

“No,” Randy said. “She will not.”

“Yes, she will,” Miss Smith said, and she sighed. “Isn’t that why you asked for her to play this role, Randy? To make my script better?”

“No,” Randy said. “I didn’t. She wasn’t my first choice, anyway.”