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The Tough Talk - 5.3 |
Crocodile Mau Mau Eyes - 10/13/99 12:43:15
The Heat You Pack? Big teeth
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Come to me Congachita!
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An early rain poured down today, but only as a tease. I
stood under the sheets of water, wearing nothing but my slip, but it ended too soon to quench my need. It left me only wanting more, so I threw all caution to the wind. I pulled
the wet silk over my head and sought relief in the river. I swam against the swift current, then folded my body and dove deep into its dangerous depths, almost hoping to encounter
the jaws that would bring my misery to an end. I didn't even care that I felt the crocodile mau mau eyes watching me from
the dense foliage. Sometimes, I wish he would come, I wish
he would see me. I turned to my back and floated, but only
for a moment before I came to my senses and sank below the surface to let the murky water cover my body. I emerged from the river and hurried to my tent, but I didn't dress. I lay there longing for the one who saw me in the river.
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I'm not gonna give you the pleaure of a smack, Stella. That's it. You're outta here forever.
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Listen William, Johnny says this, and Johnny says that. What
are you sayin', that Johnny needs you for a mouthpiece? Well
I don't believe it, not for a minute...'cause I know Johnny's got a mighty fine mouth of his own and he don't need you! So like I said before...unless Johnny tells me himself...well,
I've got nothin' left to say to you, lawyer man, you slime of humanity, you walkin' decay!
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Monkey around this, Risa Tharpe. And Carlos Santana, you can have smooth. I'm kinda rough.
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The monkeys are out tonight.
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How long will we wait? Do you like the way?
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Bobby Three-Heads, you are so ugly.
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Where Congachita be?
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Look Stella, lawyers are the only thing between you and a
police state, and sometimes, on a more personal level, the
only thing between you and jail. Johnny says no esoterica. It's enforced. He says you get another chance if, in some private way, you honor the death of the greatest American general of all time, Robert E. Lee, 127 years ago today.
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Money has always been a part of politics, but we now have a situation where nearly all of our lawmakers are for sale. And
we live governed by laws made by these monkeys on a chain.
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Hey now, all you sinners. Put your lights on. Hey now, all you lovers. Put your lights on. Hey now, all you killers. Put your lights on.
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They gotta put a six in that Chrysler PTCruiser, and then supercharge the mother. Hi Andrea--I'm back--miss me? Johnny--get well soon, dude....
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Smooth. Smoother than Rico Suave.
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silky sister: that's only part of it. this is business.
america is craving a return to style. look around, sis.
lookit the new cars comin off the line--that low-down
retro chrysler! lookit the swing dancin. lookit the
zootsuiters. hell, lookit johnny himself. The mapes
hotel and casino, opened for biz on Dec 13, 1947, is a
landmark of style, sis. we're talking the Big Cash-In here.
line up, backers. let's deal. let's go big.
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It's much like Narnia, Luxurio.
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I want to know if this lounge is for real or not.
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Listen William baby, until Johnny tells me himself that he doesn't want to hear from me, well then, you can take your lyin' mouth and stuff it!
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Mo Peppa and I agree that Tina sang better before she got slick, while Ike was smackin' her ass. Ike made her squirm and sing.
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thah kyddd gahna prezrrvva bewtaflll thang.
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Look you one-eyed-fuck Holy Man, you walk into Johnny's and I will personally knock you out. I got your Allah Muhammad rite here.
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Let the fury of Allah pour down upon the Americans and bring this Earth back into balance!
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Johnny, you are a back-row student I remember. I've always wished you well, and if you would rather hole up in my
apartment here in Jersey City, you are welcome. Both of
you. Maybe you want to stay closer to the action, with
your fevered finger closer to the pulse.
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Stella, you will notice that your message to the Queen
of Narnia is gone. Outta here. Maybe you don't know it, but
I am Johnny's lawyer, and right now Bobby 3-H and I are
makin' the rules. Got that? You are out of the Tough Talk
forever. That's right, broad. I might like your name, but you're too esoteric.
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i'm going to Reno. i'm lookin into the hotel business. they
got this hotel out there that i'm interested in. they wanna knock it down. marilyn monroe stayed there. so did gable.
JFK. sinatra. ava. its called the Mapes. a full block. they wanna put up some paper-thin monstrosity with a carnival ride
on the roof. it ain't right. i'm gonna look into this situation.
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Breezes and the ocean smell always. Don't want anything else.
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Art Farmer.
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Mr. Noir, public health is far more important than your fevered gangster strut. I'm not far away from you. Maybe you remember me.
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I'm here laughing.
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come closer, Bobby 3 heads. Kiss me once and see whether your other two heads can still move.
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Bobby Sugarbaker, any backin' off will be done by you.
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On the banks. Black night. Witchfires deep in the trees, back in the jungle. Dancing shadows. Savage howls and throbbing.
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Look Bobby 3-H, you're actin' like a cop. Back off on Jack and loosen up.
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You too, JackaLula. You're outta here. Don't ever walk through this door again. Got that, JackaLula?
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I got the answer. AbsoluteZero's the name, which is -273.18 C. or -459.72 F., the point at which a substance has no molecular motion and no heat.
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thah returnnah thahhh kyddd.
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Dude. Johnny. Wake up, dude, and move the story. Rev the engine, dude. Lay down some rubber. What about the bell tower, what about the roof garden? Dude.
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No riddlers. No buncha Turkish Delight. Who cares what
Turkish Delight is? Stella and The Riddler can Turk on
outta here. Johnny and I went to high school together.
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Yes, love. I'd love some turkish delight!
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Turkish delight, anyone?
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unusual cold snap in Havana. the heat came on last night in this old building i've been living in. steam heat. in the rattle and hiss of these ancient pipes i heard a message. gotta get out of cuba. i ain't gonna swim home, but i'm comin back.
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Sophomoric and misogynistic.
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No riddlers in Johnny's Lounge. Riddlers out. Riddlers to
the Riddlers' Lounge. I got your riddle right here, and your Celsius too.
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The Center for Disease Control has traced the recent outbreak
of West Nile Fever to the island of Hispaniola. Scientists
and officials at the Port Authority now believe that the
deadly virus was brought to the metropolitan area by Jean
Paul Noir, who re-entered the country more than two weeks
ago, by boat in the black of night, and was last seen near
The Bronx Zoo.
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I got smart. Here's what you do. You don't pay any attention to what some women say, you just look at what they do. They
say one thing and do another, especially when they're talking about sex. Researchers have discovered that this feature of their temperament is estrogen-related and cannot be altered except through gene therapy.
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Don't stand too close, baby, you may never escape. I've
frozen the best. Where I go, it's always winter and never Christmas.
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The ballerina girl likes to be thrown around, for her art.
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The practice, working, working, over and over. The pain, the injury. More grace. More perfection. The stage. The lights. The music. Floating, floating. No gravity. Tall. His hands, his arms, hard, mean. Flying, flying. Transport. Another world
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dr li, that sounds most inviting----maybe you can straighten me out.
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Rainy Monday morning. My bed felt very good so I cancelled
all appointments, made coffee, toasted and buttered a tomato
bagel, lit some candles, slipped back into bed, and put on a
movie . . . Fritz Lang's "The Big Heat." Down comforter,
stack of pillows. I have room for one more client from
Johnny's Lounge.
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Somebody talkin' to me? Somebody got some problem?
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Johnny, I'm back from Chicago, West Side. It's safe for me again. Contract paid. No blood spilled. On my way back,
Legs L'Amour took me in and kept me up all night. We had
some laughs. You shudda been there.
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Everybody plays the fool (sometime).
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nah-onlee do he gah ahrrrt, reeko heeza ahrrrt kryteek. he
ryy-bauhoppah, wyyt-grrl & lah-teeen-ah grrl.
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Rico's a neanderthal, Art Historian.
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Oh yeah, Art Historian? I say all that distance will disappear in about two seconds. He is about to turn his head to the right, look at her ass once again, as if it were the first time, and then get involved again. Sometimes it's eventually up against the file cabinet. And if it doesn't happen this way, maybe it will happen another way, after she kneels down to pick up the sheet of paper she dropped on the floor. After work, when everyone else has gone home.
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Listen to me, Rico. The focus of the painting is the man
at the desk. The mood is established by the overhead light
on the stark walls. It's at night, remember. She's there as
an off-center complement and to give the painting its sense
of the distance between them. The power is in that distance, and it has the characteristic Hopper tone of loneliness, isolation, and alienation. She has just gotten up from her desk, where she can look at him all day over the typewriter,
and she is now pausing, thinking for a moment before she goes back to the desk. They spend almost seven hours a day together in this room, yet, ironically, there is a palpable distance
between them.
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I understand, Johnny.
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So Johnny's been locked into this sustained fever of 103 or 104 for two solid weeks now?
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I got some art, and I say the focus of this painting is her ass. It's
brushed with true affection, and it inspires the painter.
Got curves -- the handle of the umbrella, the banker's chair, her ass. Somebody got a problem with this idea? I'll fight about art, so step up.
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This is what I see out the window, through the mosquito net. The Chateau Noir of Central Park.
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I love Basement Jaxx when I'm stoned and energized.
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Chix in capes and shrugs.
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Vanity Fair. Shipwrecks and cigarettes, sodomists and exhibitionists, third-world fevers, gluttony, pride, lust, anger, sloth, envy, Congachitas, JackaLulas, masquerades,
opium-induced languor, the root, dark helicopters spraying insecticides. Surely some revelation is at hand.
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Mo Peppa dancin' disco, and to Basement Jaxx.
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Johnny threw Secret Addiction out also, and she's back. Fevered absentee owner and manager.
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Johnny threw this Perv character outta here, but he's
back, unchallenged.
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I got something that will shine in your headlights at night.
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You're a real eagle-eye, Gone. And if you're Gone, why are you still here?
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Risa baby, you sd that already----yr being "redundandt"
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Leaves of red and gold blowing fast across the wet highway at night, caught in the headlights and shining.
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BerylB is too harsh. With some people, in the right circumstances, the heat just takes over. It's a thrill like
no other. It's not like she really believes there's much
truth in her version of events. She just says these things. She'll say anything.
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Secret A. let the two cigar smokers in against her will. It was against her will. It just happened.
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A lounge-full of sophomores.
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The Andrea Doria,
an elegant Italian ocean liner, went down on July 26, 1956 after a collision with another liner, the Stockholm, in a fog bank south of Nantucket and east of NYC.
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andreadoria---didn't she go down in flames? Oh....she didn't go down at all? Well, then, that would explain why she has no heat.
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Congachita!
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I'm a one-man man, Robert. But, I maybe could be persuaded....if Johnny doesn't hurry back.
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Magnesium Man, I have a feeling you're wasting time with this pursuit of Johnny. It's falling on deaf and fevered ears. But I'd like to meet you some night, late, in a hideaway somewhere.
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What about Johnny? He hasn't had much to say since last spring.
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Oh, Johnny...Johnny, baby....I'm feeling so cavernous. The heat's making my slip cling too tightly. It's strangling me.
I can't get free. I pat myself with the thick folds of my
hanky, but I get no relief. There's only one thing that
will take my mind off this heat, Johnny...and that's more
heat. Come cool me down, baby.
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Saturday morning, the two men I met in Chelsea were at my
door. I hadn't seen them for more than a month and
I've been doing two-a-weeks with my counselor. But I let
them in, against my will. One held me down and the other
would do it, then they would exchange places. It was very intense and I felt like a slave. O, how I responded! I can still smell the cigar smoke. Now that they are gone and I am back at work, the old despondency has me in its grip.
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We're hot, we're easy, and we're here. Line up, boys, and let's see how long you last.
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Speaking of Johnny, is it dengue or West Nile? Has the sustained high fever caused brain damage? Update, NV, or allow me in to see for myself. Perhaps I will have to slip in while you are out. You must go out for supplies and drugs.
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That Vernal Babe is a looker, but my vote goes to Johnny. Nobody can slut the way that boy can slut.
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You are so right, Andrea Doria. I mean, who are these people? All these . . . baby names. Such vulgarians. My favorite so far is Vernal Baby, who, after someone named JackaLula tells her to rock him all night long, she's got her fingers in his hair,
telling him to take all he wants. What a desperate slut! Are they all from AOL, that virtual Greyhound bus station?
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It must be exceedingly nice to be a woman--your assignment: sit there and be pleased or bothered....
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I am bothered by a degeneration of tone here in the Tough Talk. The Yahoos have arrived.
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Jack, baby, you take your fill and see if you don't still want some more.
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Come here, babydoll. Come here and rest your achin head. You just relax, here, babydoll, and let Hungry stroke all that hurt away.
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Whoah yeah (harmonica). Rock me Vernal baby. Rock me all night long. Rock me like my back ain't got no bone. I wancha to rock me slow, Vernal baby, til I don't want no mo.
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I got a song I'd like to sing for you. I hope you like it .... Are we really happy here in this lonely game we play/we're lost in a masquerade.
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That's West Nile fever, baby. The copters were spraying low last night, against the just-past-full-moon. And HungryXXLW
-- come on back here to the booths when you're through with John Lee. I need some help nursing my pounding head.
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i got yr yardbird right here
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Yardbird's the word and that's the name. You have a problem with squares? Maybe I have a problem with hipsters who clip it.
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sleepy/lazy--no offense, but "Yardbird Parker" sounds way square...it's "Bird",or "Charlie Parker"....there's standards to maintain.
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Pout on out of here, Lips L'Amour.
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You got new carpet in here? Place looks different. Mebbe
it's me. After a week in hell, things look different, are different. Johnny, I gotta blow town for a while. It ain't
safe for me here right now. I'm gone - Sweet Home, Chicago. Later.
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The bright crisp clean light of fall. And the smells in the air. And Yardbird Parker playin' Cole Porter.
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I remember Johnny.
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I'm not finished pouting yet.
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This Lips L'Amour is a pouter, one of these melodramatic chix.
She's edgy and will flare out. Come out here and dance, Grrl.
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Run, baby, run. I don't wanna bring down the quality of
this fine establishment. It's a good site, Johnny. But
I'll mosey on along where my sophomoric, dimwitted, redundant, and derivative trash won't gum up the works. It was good
while it lasted, Johnny, baby.
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Ed, I run this joint. Got that?
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ah, it was awful. Twenty-four years in the business, I never seen nothin like it. Red ink flowed like blood. The carnage. I'm experienced, I seen a massacre before, but it even got to me. The only good to be said for it is a few escaped
untouched, so Johnny, he'll be able to build this joint up again. I wouldn't want to be the one to have to do the clean up. But he's still got Rico, and them chicks...the Doctor chick, and that sister, and his vamp...he still got
Jefferson and the weatherman, Shanghai Lily and BigWada. In
no time, he'll have the place shined up just how he likes it. Here's my card if you need anything. The name's Itor....Ed Itor....but you can call me Dick.
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Sophomoric, dimwitted, redundandt, and derivative.
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Somebody tell that little Noir vapor to step aside. I wouldn't wanna run her over on my way gettin' to John Lee. (I like a man who knows value when he sees it, who knows how to get more for his buck.)
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Dengue fever.
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I like a woman with big legs and a tight skirt. Fat woman give good love.
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vernalbaby, "Harvest Moon" by Cassandra Wilson.
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You can work as a truck, HXX-LW. Or we could move a few tables.
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Is there any room in this joint for a substantial woman like me?
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You laugh tonight and cry tomorrow. The joy that you find here you borrow.
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ile pk thah sahng 4U, vrrnl. itz bllavarda brokn dreeemz d-livvrd byyyy dyannna krallll.
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Late this afternoon, as I was stepping into the garden of Barolo, a woman called me "a strutting bitch." She was right, of course, and I told her so.
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Magnesium Man, you sure you're in the right place? What kind of joint is this, Johnny? You gonna let Magnesium Man call you baby? Its startin' to get funny in here.
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yeah, Girl. I'm talkin to you. Johnny's my only baby, see? Let's go, sweeheart. This ain't a place for a little girl like you.
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The leaves turn color, they fall, they die. Words turn colors, they change, they disappear. It's a cruel, cruel world. Pick a song for me, baby...I'm in a melancholy mood.
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Golden Boy, you must have me confused with someone else. I've never claimed to be a Wall Street Icon. I admit I've had some success on the market, but that's not my primary interest. I'm an economist. You may disagree with my views, but I've got
my credentials framed on the wall and a stack of publications taller than you are. On the very top of that stack is my most recent article, which you might have seen in the Journal, titled, "The Calm Before the Storm." Which brings me to
this week's report: Beware a flat market. We are not on the
threshold of a new economic cycle, but only beginning the last phase of the current one. Things will get worse before they get better, a lot worse.
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Oh, you were talkin to me, Magnesium Man? Thank goodness you're here. Give Johnny my thanks, from the bottom of my heart, that from his delerium he would send you to my rescue.
It was....ummm....nice meeting you all.
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bobby, i got yr 5 boroughs right here
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No.
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May I come over and help, Vamp? I could be there in ten minutes.
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Johnny is weak and fevered, but I have him here at my place,
on a heavy-duty canvas cot and under the mosquito net he insisted I hang over him. He has a view of the park, and I
keep the music down low. I think it may be serious. It's steady at 103 and I can't bring it down. Maybe it's
dengue. Oddly, he is bothered deeply by the death of George
C. Scott. He drifts in and out of a delerium.
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I have wide and busy practice, but I will do lounge counsel at slightly reduced rates because I confess I have developed perverse interest in the aggression, inflated egos, and
sex. Li Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D.
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I see myself reflected in his glasses. The dark lenses give
me a sultry look. I smooth my skirt, then comb my hair back
with my fingers. He stares, emboldened by the cover of the sunglasses. I look away and wonder whether he would stare like that if he couldn't hide behind the mini-mask. Finally, I gather my nerve. I extend my hand to him and say, "Hello.
I'm Vernalbaby. And you are.......?"
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Come here, Babygirl. Johnny sent me to show you the way to the Stork Club. No need to worry, sweetheart, I only got eyes for Johnny.
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O these limehouse days and limehouse nights.
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Everybody who isn't from one of the five boroughs or Jersey, out. There are other fine joints in this town. Vernalbaby, the door's right there.
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Dude, Johnny. Dude. Some uproar goin' on in your lounge. A din of voices, Dude. Take some quinine and take control
dude. Dude.
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Kansas on 52nd St.
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George C. Scott!
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What are you saying, Carmen? You mean....you mean....this isn't the Stork Club? Oh, thank heavens. Could somebody please direct me to the Stork Club? I have apparently been separated from my group.
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keep talking, Carmen--that's what you good at, baby
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Johnny, it's a tour bus. It pulled up in front of your lounge and all these blinking people got out. They think it's the Stork Club.
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Rico...no eres tan suave. Si quieres saber algo de este chica
hay que preguntarme, no mas. Todavia estas lolo. Ya soy mujer. Cuidate.
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How did I stumble into this place, this madness? I look around, desperate for a glimpse of sanity, but I see nothing....nothing but suave, handsome men, their eyes fastened on me. They see
my distress, my vulnerability. They wait, biding their
time, poised to strike. They silently taunt me. How will
I escape? Is there nobody I can trust?
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like a switch was turned this equinox...the Coltrane song in my head...cool breeze and a bittersweet feel...
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It's pressing heavily upon me. I'm out of my element. If only I could find a friendly face, strong arms to help me navigate these cold and dying days. Another club soda, please. With lime.
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Fall, as of 7:30 this morning.
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I'm looking for a guy who calls himself MONEYMAN. Seems he's been hiding behind false pretenses. Indeed, he fancies himself a Wall Street Icon. I say he's a fraud.
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Who says you can't find heaven on earth? Neon lights like
beacons on the high seas. I think I'll just settle on down
here and calm the waters with a stiff drink and some good conversation. Who's game?
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You gonna allow this, Johnny? You gonna allow this esoteric insinuating from these new-name chicks? Whattah they talkin' about? Who are they? You been gone too long, Johnny. Things are reelin' outta control. Looks like anything goes these days.
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I wonder what a nice girl like me is doing in a place like
this. It's hot....and smoky. A girl could get lost here. All I wanted was just one more....that's all. Just one more.
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So Root Man...I'm coming to town. There's got to be a club where I can listen to Maxwell. I'm wanting a welcome cause Lonely's the Only Company I've been keeping. Except for Calling all Angels with Jane.
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Hound and Sugarbaker can obfuscate this. I tell it like it is: I got the most because I'm the best. I don't smirk, I grin. You would, too. Behold!
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Johnny, someone's been askin 'bout you. A lotta questions - maybe too many. The dude, he sez he from Philly, but I dunno. Sound more like Jersey to me. I smell somethin. Just lettin you know.
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So Root Man...I'm waiting for the address. I got the cash like you said. For the root. I want a root. The best root you got.
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I have no mixed feelings, but Bobby Sugarbaker and Hound,
esp. Hound, seem to have chips on their shoulders. I'm
talking Dow Jones here, and high-maintenance wives, and a
safe, beautiful place to live and raise a family. Eat your heart out, leftists and social critics. The cream rises.
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really a shame to see Pretty Boy lose--a damn shame...
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Bobby Sugarbaker and I are attuned. The compass is gone. In
my book, "Politicians and CEOs," the idea is that we live in
an era of unprecedented double-talk, lies, euphemism, and spin here at the end of the millenium -- far beyond anything Machiavelli ever imagined. It's systemic. The title
characters are cartoon versions of this phenomenon, but all administrators and managers do it, usually out of fear --
fear of lawsuits, fear of discovery, fear of loss of money
and social position. They're fear-driven, and they use
language not to communicate but to obfuscate and cover their asses. And those who do it best are rewarded with huge salaries, perks, and authority. They're admired and aped
by many, who want from life only to learn how to get slick themselves. Many people have mixed feelings about all this (they want that money and privilege themselves), and smirking irony is one way they express these mixed feelings.
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Foggy night. Some rain in the air.
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It was even money all around and I had a wad on the Golden Boy. Don King is to blame. When Don King is involved--and in boxing, Don King is always involved--the odds are gone. Might as well bet on the WWF.
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Oscar De la Hoya dominated the entire fight and danced for the last two rounds. The decision came from deep space. All three judges were aliens.
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felixx iz prettee tooo. i got my moneee ahn hymmm inna daseezhn.
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Dude, in Vegas for the fight. Dude. Saw flaming Siegfried and Roy's tiger show and within hours it'll be De la Hoya and Trinidad in the ring. I got big money on the Golden Boy, Dude, because I had the dream. Dude. De la Hoya will do it with a
knockout left hook in the 6th. Dude.
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You some esoteric dickhead, FinDeK. You some new-age oracle guru snake-oil con artist who might have some appeal for urbano trendos only.
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I agree with Bobby Sugarbaker. Things are turning on the widening gyre.
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The riffs of jazz have it all over irony. Smirking irony. All these smirking ironists everywhere I look. The face of David Letterman is the face of contemporary American life.
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Listen, don't mean to ox your moron, Johnny. But see, it's Cheap for me cuz the chix, they always buyin' the Whsky. And yeah, I heard the trumpet but I missed the sax. Didn't mean ta step on yer spatz, Johnny. No hard feelins. You all right.
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Johnny dude ya gotta get outta the Dominican Republic. Goddamn ....
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Gentleman Jack is smoother, it's like warm nectar, but Wild Turkey isn't cheap -- so you need a name change, chump; you got some oxymoron goin' on. And I got lotsa sax. And trumpet too. You got ears? Plus, I already got The Bouncer of Bouncers and
I run this joint my way. Got that?
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Quite a joint ya got here. Classy joint. Cloth napkins. But
you gotta have sax. The chix want sax. You need a bouncer
for this joint? BigWaddaCash, he know where to find me. Later.
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Johnny could take ten Tonton Macoutes with 30 rounds.
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Andrea Doria, you need a bitch-slapping.
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Floyd turns out to be a world-class posturer.
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Take the hurricane! Take the hit!
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I have been talking with two people who come here, and I will talk with others. Li Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D. Ivy to examine --
The Ivy.
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HepCat, if you want some trouble, say so. You're talkin' to the right person.
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So Sleepy/Lazy, are you trying out for the Weatherman/Astronomer position in Johnny's Lounge?
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Apples. Clear, warm, bright days. Cool nights. Crescent
moon. Equinox on the 23rd. Floyd coming up the coast. Full moon on the 25th.
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Funkomatic Johnny in the Coupe DeVille on the road to Barahona. Smoking cigarettes with the low-riding houngan after the death of Zhe-zelle in Haiti.
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It's images now. This place is trendy. Does everyone have to do it? I prefer Nahuatlan to html.
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I was previously in here as Hoosier Daddy, but from now on it's my real name. I am here to say that this is some low-level tough talk.
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This morning a boy came in with a 13-foot stepladder and
cleaned the skylight, inside and out. Soon, through the
sweet smoke, I see the helicopters I've been hearing and
feeling for days now. They're making slow passes ...... the
man in the bunk beside me says they're spraying somewhere for St. Louis encephalitis. I hear "Whiter Shade of Pale."
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Hurry Johnny, it's going to be a tight getaway. We don't have all the time in the world.
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Who are you? What are you doing in
Johnny's office? I'm coming in.
