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The Tough Talk - 2 |
Cateyes - 11/19/98 02:08:50
My Email:cateyes@aol
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hey j...miss ya babe. hate it when you got the blues.
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How are these people getting in here? Is there a window open upstairs in Johnny's office?
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Original Bobby, I got the answer to your musical question. It wasn't Miss Molly, it was Aunt Mary. Uncle John saw her comin' in "Long Tall Sally."
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Where'd you two come from? How'd you get in here? This place is closed. We got it padlocked.
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What's going on?
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Tres Hombres-Babbas. You say you're going to look for Johnny, but how will you know when you've found him? I predict he'll have still another new identity.
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THIS LOUNGE IS CLOSED. WE'RE SHUTTING IT DOWN.
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Doctor YaYa, you're beginning to sound a little like Johnny. The way you talked to Joe, for example.
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Velocevita, I've got more money than I could spend in a three lifetimes. Why don't you dump that chump husband of yours and we travel the world together . . . trains, ocean liners, aquaplanes, convertibles, motorcycles. We'll take a few years and see what the world looks like here at the end of the millenium. Maybe it'll turn into cabaret life, cabaret songs. My instincts tell me you and I would get along
real well.
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Watch out for YaYa when he starts talking about bureaucracy. Last time he did that, he was shaking his taproot and dancing in his jungle when the sheriff appeared with the siren and the lights.
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i make the best coffee, slkysstr.
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itz satrdaa morng & im stll n bed. i feel laaazee and slooooo. i needa grrl 2 make coffee & breeng it n2meee. haubauchu elln stooooo-rt?
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We're heading out in three different directions. We're going to find out if Johnny is dead or alive.
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The power of the root, Father Mac.
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Real Bobby: Tres hombres-babbas.
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To Whom it May Concern: You're a hack-job editor and no fun to play with. Goodbye to you. You've lost me.
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JOE -- You wanta have a few words with the Doctor Man? Then jet down here to South Carolina, the Palmetto State . . . which is where I am, chump. I've never been to New York in my life. But I'm flying in on the 6th, and I'm gonna see it for the first time. If you wanta wait that long, I'll meet you anywhere. Name it, Workerman. I'll even let you keep your hardhat on. We'll talk a little about where you're gonna sleep . . . and that will be straight down from where I pop you. Tell me, Joe from Public Works, what kinda man would allow himself to become the slave of a city bureaucracy? You gotta answer for that?
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Well spoken, Kid. You and I have one thing in common. But only one.
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Look out for Doctor YaYa. He's a panhandler. He sleeps on a bench in Central Park every night.
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listen, Dahlia. listen to me. i'm going to give it to you straight. i got plans, see. and there's no room in them for you. you could never mean nothing to me. nothing special, that is. you know what i mean.
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I'm worried about Jefferson. Too many hours he's been putting down at that place since Johnny's left. The man has his family. We're all worried sick to death about Johnny. But Jefferson's been getting offers. Good offers. He's loyal to Johnny. Says he owes Johnny. But I say he should be more loyal to us & get out while the getting is good.
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How many Bobbys can two Bobbys be?
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I know that Doctor Ya Ya smells like the earth, the sand, the ocean. And I know that this Father Mac is dominating my favorite stool at the bar...keeps getting between me and the olives. Giovanni, I'm lighting candles for you. Get well soon, baby.
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You must be weary, Father Mac. You sound sort of lassitudinous. I say it's gonna be no contest. You need a root?
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These two Otherbobbys are real cautions. True Bobby's got a
one-track mind, and Real Bobby wants to go out in the alley and fight. Who "saw Miss Molly comin' and he jump back in the alley?" Who was it?
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The door to my confessional is always open. Doctor YaYa, I'd like you to make a visit, but I'd prefer that you leave your
bag of hoodoo behind. I'm not worried about your black
spirits; it's simply that there are already too many
awful smells that linger .... mothballs, stale booze and the
Old Spice aftershave of every Sunday morning sinner. I certainly would not be able to deal with what's in your pockets.
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No.
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It's kind of urgent. Could I meet you somewhere?
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What about Johnny? Does anyone care about his fate, do we just ignore it, or what?
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To Roxanne -- The answer is yes. To Wanda -- I have conjured that the wild energies driving you can be refined with some restraint on your part. You want me to begin work on a root?.
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Public response to private e-mail: You're a sap, Alex. Get lost. Stay out of here. There are things you don't want to know. You don't belong here.
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Roxanne, I am Zanzibar YaYa, Root Doctor and Love Doctor.
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Do you do marital counseling, Doctor YaYa?
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Two spiritual men in Johnny's. That's one too many, Father Mac. My roots and potions have more juice than your cross.
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Imposter Bobby: There's a dark alley behind Johnny's. Maybe we should meet there. Do a little decision-making about who does the talking for us.
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El poeta joven y guapo, have you considered my offer?
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You get tired of Bingo, Father Mac?
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Johnny's, The Doppelganger. Hey Black Dahlia, I've got a Chance Encounter to report. I was in One of those Markets in Chinatown buying some Things for Chop Suey and ran into your Landlady. She said your Boyfriends always come in through the Back
Door. Why is this?
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Johnny's, The Opera.
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Pour your potion, Doctor YaYa! Do The Pulse. Shake the rattle. Put the root on everybody ...... under the full Carolina moon. Warm up, Root Man, and then bring it up here to me. I'll dance with you anytime.
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Lust, murder, greed and vanity. Intemperance, adultery and voodoo. Deviancy, illiteracy and lassitude. I was sent here, my brothers and sisters. And I'm here to stay.
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rico suave: i'm sorry you can't understand anything that's not written in spray paint.
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Senor El Kiddo -- With moonlight crawling across the stone street, I'd say you've graduated from bad-poet school with honors. You're Zita-simple, too.
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As Doctor Johnny might have said, I got your intrusion right here. The moon is full tonight, Ellen Stewart, and you
should know that ten or twelve firepeople who love the nightlife, who got to boogie, have drifted in from the pines
to hear my drummers and dance, to join me as I do The Pulse
and shake the rattle. They got the moves and they're rockin'. Everybody's jumpin'. I'm a direct descendent of both Tibba Tib and Mateesa. I wrap a taproot in gauzy linen and always leave a few secondary and tertiary roots revealed at the tip. That's my signature. That and the potion I pour inside.
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Doctor YaYa, if no one else will say it, I will. Many of us resent the intrusion of a moralizing Root Man into the blue smoke and yellow light of Johnny's. Maybe some other part of town for you, but not here.
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i would watch all night long for her to come out of the Rancho Grande. every night the moonlight would crawl across the stone street and Tanya's pianola would wind itself down, one note at a time. finally, just as the morning sweat settles over Los Robles
she'd be there, standing outside the Rancho Grande, lighting the first smoke of her day, but the hundredth of her night. Zita.
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Put the root on me Doctor YaYa!
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Wanda's a perfect example.
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Is Johnny dead yet?
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I might be interested, Dr. YaYa.
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There's too much license here. It's either licensebola or a swelling of license. And the cure is some discipline, the exercise of some restraint. Some of you lounge people got no reserve. I'm a Root Doctor and my full name and title is Zanzibar YaYa, D.L. & D.R ..... Sumbul root, for example, and John the Conqueror Root, and Mandragora. And bone powder with some Asophedita sprinkled in. I'm gonna put the root on everybody who even looks like they need it.
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slkysstr: i've watched you walk, grrlfriend. i've seen your jennifer lopez booty in motion and you switch it. i want you to turn around and give me something good. it'll be aer lingus when we fly to faraway places.
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I'm coming to the Paramount on the 6th, invitation or no invitation. Not only that, I'm telling HepCatJiveBopper he better be there too.
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I would seem that the new arrival, Black Dahlia, is an easily recognizable type: the desperate flirt with the bottomless well of need. Despite her tough talk name. Her real name's Liz Short.
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Senor El Kiddo, my dear poeta joven y guapo, who is Zita? I must know.
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I could not walk on the same earth with any man who would insult my people and my sister. I paid 250 rubles to have Johnny shot with an AK .47. I have no regrets.
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You do not outrage a hard-line mullah of the Iranian Shi'ites. We put a fatwah on Johnny. It was precipitated by a dispute over eleven crates of stinger missiles. Unlike the Taliban, we abhor the drug traffic, regardless of what holy purpose the money may advance. The Johnny will never eat lamb in paradise.
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I shot Johnny. For obvious reasons.
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We of the Sunni Taliban militia claim responsibility for F. N. Johnny's death. It was opium and guns.
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I shot Johnny with my Johnson machine gun. He took my woman away.
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It'll be crocodile time at the riverbank if we encounter any you little lapdogs who've been badmouthing Johnny from a safe distance . . . while he could be dying. And you're all invited to walk through our door on November 6th. We'll be waiting for you and we'll be smiling.
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The stories now are ended.
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Shame.
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ANDREADORIA: Someone told me you're in great demand as a eulogist. Is that true? LA RAGAZZA: November 6 is still
on (Johnny dead, Johnny alive, or Johnny damaged) and of course you're invited.
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Burn in hell, Johnny. And "one heron" isn't quite up there with "rosebud" as a final, last-breath utterance. You went out with no style -- hauled away in a life-flight helicopter. You died ugly, Johnnyboy, just like you lived. It's biblical.
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Blue Lou .... afraid to invite me to your little social?
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Johnny (man of mystery), I think your Hoboken ruse is a cover. I think you come from some deep hills. Maybe you'd rather hear the specifics in person. If you're still alive.
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i'm in the Ritz drinking sangria with a Rancho Grande chick
named Zita and you're all alone, full of holes and lead, lying on a slab with tubes in your arm and a machine to keep you breathing. ain't life grand.
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Paramount it is. I'll show up for no other reason than to see just how ugly you all are.
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jahneez been shot. mor thn wunse. dont no hu-diddit. kudda bn lotza peepl. thay tk hm ahfff in a helikoptr. thatz ahlll i no.
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I'll be there. To provide counsel and spiritual sanctuary. Got my reservation. Flying Delta into JFK. Let's talk about The Root.
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To Zephyr, Silky Sister, Roxanne, The Russian, F. Monk, Mr. Hip, Rico Suave, The Kid, Johnny in Disguise, and anyone else who wants to fight -- Enough of this nonsense. Enough of this posturing. Let's gather in the bar of the Paramount (235 W. 46th, 212/764-5500) on Friday, November 6, at 6:30 p.m. We'll have some drinks and see what happens. When the time is right we'll take taxis to Johnny's and maybe tear the joint up. We'll find out who's got it and who's all mouth.
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FinDeK, I got your higher thing right here. Higher thing this.
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An idle mind is the Devil's playground. Let's talk about
the warm light of love and fresh, new life. Let's talk about
the return. Let's talk about higher things. It's not a thong and Johnson world, Rico.
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VLADIMIR -- I like your idea. We could shoot it out, on the boardwalk, one on one. Or, you could stop in my place some night. If I'm there, I'll recognize that neck, that collar, that nose, that red face. Then I introduce myself. Then we have a few words. Then things start to happen. JOBETH -- Yeah? You a truck-stop kind of girl? Well now, what might give you such a feeling? You must be specific. BOBBY -- You want some influence? You got to earn it. I suggest that for now
you consider taking a step back.
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So Rico, you're a purple-neon philosopher.
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It's a thong and Johnson world.
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This Russian is the coolest Johnson ever to appear under the streetlights of this asphalt jungle.
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Johnny, you give me the feeling you know something about good
ole boys, chess pie, and wearing your pants up high. That so? You ever drive a rig?
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I am familiar with what you consider your American legends. I, too, have a favorite. Mine goes like this: Two men. Two guns. High noon.
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Ok, slkysstr, if I decipher your trashy, illiterate message correctly, you've just insulted me. You've insulted me big time. I'm a sister with back and I can whup your cartoon ass any day
of the week.
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So get back to the story.
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TO ANDREADORIA: Do it yourself, fool. I work alone.
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When you going to finish the Honeygirl/short-shorts-with-cuffs story? Some of us have an attention span. And what about Rousseau and Lee? What happened to them? And what about the night Agent Cutler and the feds arrested
you at Iridium, the night of the front-page melee, the
night Mr. Hip came in looking for Roxanne, the night they locked you up? You were going to get back to that night.
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VLADIMIR, I got a plan for you. First get drunk on vodka. That's what Russians do first. Then bring out your cold-war-era weaponry and bring on your staggering Nikolais for an American shootout . . . on the streets of Brighton Beach.
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You girls have all come down with cat scratch fever.
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Oh, Roxanne...bored so soon with your abbadabba Rio honeymoon? I'm surprised somebody hasn't pulled out your mall hair already. Name your time and name your day.
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Do it, Ellen Stewart. Do it, Zephyr. Do it to Silky Sister.
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To Johnny. Roxanne was cargo? I think you got close to that cargo, say under the thin cotton sheet, say in the Camaro, say out there in the water. You're the one who's coy.
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All right, Zephyr. I propose a showdown. In Johnny's. Think you can handle it?
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You have called my people simple and my sister loose. You have called us monkeys and primates. I will not accept this. As it turns out, your head is worth only five-hundred rubles, less than what it costs to have a rabid dog shot. I'm beginning to think it may be worth the expense.
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TA ELLN STOOO-RT -- the onlee thang that dizalvs wll b
yrrr dezire tu resist me. i saw u wunce & u lookd good 2 me. TA ZEFFR -- u got it bakwrds. it wznta larj corparashun u took on, it was the gangga baggie-trowzrd yuths behin thah ATM. & evrybodee leff smilin'.
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Johnny's Lounge has become the craziest place ... the people in it are a disgrace. Somebody should walk in and clean house. I nominate the Russian. Or Floyd Z. Anybody.
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To GiovanniHimself: That the way you like your broads -- coy, playing dumb, and with an oyster between her lips? No, I'm not a suspicious chick, but maybe you got a libido overload that can cloud your judgment.
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To Zephyr -- Roxanne was just cargo. She was part of a deal I made to pull off the breakout. And I enjoyed her some of the time. I wouldn't use any of your adjectives to describe her. It was just hard for the girl to make up her mind,
the world is so full of possibility. She wanted it both ways, all ways, so to cover herself she became a stranger to the truth. It's an old story. Why do you think of her as an opponent? You a suspicious chick? And what do I win? What was the contest?
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TO SILKY SISTER: Listen, you little street mouth, you don't
want me near your face. I'll make you dissolve before your own
eyes. Try me.
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To Johnny: OK, maybe I've just hummed "Don't Speak", but I've fought off a gang of baggy-trousered youths at an ATM, I've taken on legal battles with large corporations & won, I've battled a pack of hungry coyotes with only a broken snow shoe.....I could go on......but never have I met with an opponent as threatening, as dangerous, evil, insidious, or as odious....as Roxanne. You win.
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To Silky Sister: What? Who you calling names? Girlfriend, you flatter yourself. You seem to believe Johnny needs you for something.
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& elln stooo-rt you wanna say that 2 my face or onlee hwsper
it t'jahnee like a ho?
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hwerde all u grrlz witta noo names (blk dallya, blk kat,
zeffr, itzaseeekret, elln stooo-rt) suddnlee km frm? buncha foolz. & huze ths rushun?
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Maybe I know Johnny's secrets too. Is a club forming?
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TO ZEPHYR -- Name one song. Name one battle. If you'll look closely, you'll see that the woman holding her hands over her face is smiling. You can see her eyes, too. You got some attitude, don't you? TO ITZASECRET -- I respond to threats, but I don't respond to dim-wit blackmail. You think I'd pay to
block anything you could reveal? Or anything anyone else could reveal? This is a 3-D insult, so I suggest you disappear fast. There are other lounges, other clubs.
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To "ITZASECRET" -- Maybe I know Giovanni's secrets too. To Giovanni Himself -- Sorry about that brawl at your place. Details are kinda fuzzy (one of those nights)...seems three
men, all at once, liked my red velvet stilletto boots. I think they may have damaged your jukebox.
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I know Johnny's secrets. And Johnny, unless you want me revealing them to the world, it's gonna cost you some C-notes to keep those secrets a secret.
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Answer to Johnny: I've fought some battles. I've sung some songs. Here's a question for you: Why's that woman hiding her face behind her hands? She just meet you or something?
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LA RAGAZZA -- What did you do? I missed it. Was it a jukebox search that drew you to town? VLADIMIR -- You're gonna what? Your Russian Mob is some ape family in ugly suits. We got a zoo over in the Bronx for primates like you.
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Jefferson 86'd me from Johhny's. Sure, I had it coming. But where do I go to hear the good music when I'm in The City?
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How dare you say these things about my sister. You are a scoundrel. For two-thousand rubles I could have your
mega-gelled fop head, but it is not worth it. I will beat you like the dog you are.
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I told you so.
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To Zephyr: Like you, I'm glad we've seen the last of Senora Thong, Ph.D. I too was worried about him on the island. Something bad was happening there. Really bad.
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Vladimir, I heard your sister spends all your money on vodka and Bulgarian boys.
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You call my people simple. I will not accept that. You say all we care about is the money. Last week my sister waited outside the bank in Moscow to remove her money while her children ate trash. I send all my money to them. What is style to a man whose
family is starving? You do not belong among us. If I see you, I will run you off for good.
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To Zephyr -- I know only a few things about sap movies, but I know it was C. Colbert and Clark Gable in the one about the walls of Jericho, the walls they wouldn't allow to come tumbling down. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho.
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Thank god! Giovanni's been saved from that horror of horrors -- Roxanne. Scared there for awhile they were going to fall in love (puke!) ala Claudette Colbert and Cary Grant or some other dead movie stars. Johnny's back...mean as ever...just the way we like him.
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Get Johnny out of there! Get him off the island! He's slipping into a coma! And he's not Robinson Crusoe. He's Ralph Lauren on vacation.
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TO ELLEN STEWART: I think you and a friend should go on one of these women's talk shows. Confess, then listen thoughtfully to the five-minute, new-age, psycho-babbling counselor they bring on at the end. What I need is a hot boat and more ice.
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I've come to agree with Roxanne. You're most of what she says you are. Furthermore, if you can't get back to New York and run your "joint'," if you're going to be traveling with her while you're running from the authorities and probably Floyd Z also, then why don't you have the brains to just be nice? Think, Johnny. This might be an opportunity to stabilize your life. All of this might be a blessing in disguise. You should listen to the women (except for Silky Sister, who sounds like your mindless cheerleader and secretary).
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Oh yeah?
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I say Johnny and Roxanne won't last long.
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Spanish moss clinging "like ghost-love" to the oaks? It would seem that Johnny's the one who's been going to bad-poet school.
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jahnee brok out & nau hez on anothrr iland. hez robissin
krew-so.
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Ahhhhh . . . tenderness.
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If I'm not mistaken, wasn't it Chekhov who said, "We shall find peace, we shall hear the angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds"? I can't say I've ever danced the tango in the shallow Gulf waters, but I can certainly say I'd like to. Tell me, Senor El Kiddo, how does a girl get herself invited on a trip like this?
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I'm embarrassed for this caged-bird, diamond-sparkling, night-sky, warm-gulf-water KID. I feel sorry for him. It's either heavy locoweed, he's down there for a nervous breakdown, he's goin' to bad-poet school, or this raven-haired tanya took his little squirrel cojones away. Either way, he shouldn't ever show his face here in The City again.
poor boy.
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slkysster: hey, babe, i was just offering. fact is, i like it down here and i'm in no hurry to leave.
you'll never see the mexican night sky and that's your loss. you tell johnny if he needs a hideout
anytime
in the future, i'll see that Tanya
takes care of him--i got my own reasons for wanting him alive. as for me, i got my work cut out
for me in Los Robles. i'm going to own this town one way or the other. tell johnny there may be
business opportunities yet...i'll keep you posted.
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TO THAHHH KID......birdcage boy, u need 2 eeta worm frm the bottm uvva mezcal bottl. frget it. yr out. u loss yr chans.
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slkysster: i talked to Tanya. she lit a cigar and saw a bird in a cage. She said that bird is without flight or song. She said any help i give that bird will come back to me, thrice-fold. there's something big right around the corner and Tanya says i shouldn't face it alone. i'll tell Johnny everything i know about it myself. you tell him if he'll be my muscle i'll be his wings. we got a deal.
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Do you want me to visit you? I'd have no problem getting in and getting through. Do you want someone to talk to, someone who will understand, someone who won't make judgments? You know lots of people's secrets. Wouldn't it feel good to tell someone yours? And really talk to someone? Really talk? This is your chance.
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TU THAHHH KID......tol jahnee hwat u said. hez laffin bouchu and sayin he rekkaniz hmslf in u....... a dummr & klumzee verzhun uv a prevyous self. but he sez yr tryin, even tho itz kleer u dont got it. u hajjjr chans boy and u bluit. big tymmm. u stay daunere in sombrerosville witcher 3-inch burrito & yll bee safe. mabeee.
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It's a full moon, Johhny, and I'm putting my spurs on.
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hey, sis, you ever seen a tequila sunrise or danced the tango ankle deep in the warm gulf waters?
did you know you taste blood when the matador first sticks the bull? try to imagine the night sky
over
mexico, sparkling with diamonds. one night
with me, sis, and i'll do the job. that's my asking price.
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TU THAHHH KID......i got yr ritz rite here, dude. are u in or out? u get one chans.
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hey, babe, why don't you come on down here to Los Robles yourself. i'll introduce you to Tanya
and she'll probably treat you like her true sister. all her girls were stolen by the Rancho Grande
and
Tanya's going bust. everyone's going bust
in this town and i'm looking to change that. What'd ya say? If that don't work out we could
always shoot over to Mexico City and check into the Ritz. i'll make sure you have plenty to tell
Johnny
about.
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TA THAHHH KID.......jahnee hazza messj fr u. he founout frm this ugly thang at the table hwer he eetz that we wr rongabout u rattin 2 thah fedz...... and he likez yr postkrds, thoz old fotos uv zapatistas & pancho villa on horsezzzz. he wanzz
ta no whatz goin on in los roblace and summore about ths raven-haired tanya & hr segaarrr smoke. he mite evn wanta km vizit the paris uv bordr tounz, say aftr mabeee sm kinda breakout,
some kinda breakout u mite wanta be a part uv (he hrd u
gotta cigarette boat that kd slip into the easss rivr via long iland sound smmm nite). he mite wanta teem up witchu 4 sm fun and proffyt. lemmee no.
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Tell us, Hooz, what your summer vegetables look like. You've been back in the shadows of this site too long. What do you have in the basket?
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At a time when Johnny is apparently locked up on Riker's Island and incommunicado, let's exchange thoughts about hot, steamy, buttered succotash.
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I like buttered succotash. Steaming buttered succotash. I want some.
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got a room upstairs at Tanya's. sleep and wake to her tinny pianola, which plays to an empty
house except me. someone's putting the squeeze on Tanya's action, and everyone else's in Los
Robles too.
except the Rancho Grande across the street.
haven't figured out why, but there's action there, lots of action. maybe i'll let you in when i find
it.
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TA HOOOM IT MAY.......... jahneez bn transfrrd 2 rikerz iland bekahzee tolla womn judjj ta indite this. lookz like reel trbbbl. but i saw him on a fake conjugal (one hr) and we had summa that contakt.
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I'm here in Maine on the coast as Bonnie weakens and moves out. You should call me. You'll like what you hear.
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Johhnyboy, maybe it's time to shoot over to the Western Rockies for awhile (it's not too unlike gli Dolomiti di Italia norte). Shove those captoes you wear and put on some ass-kickin' boots. Might find a saloon you'd like (just skip the sissy martinis). Caveat: the women here aren't as cushiony as your Wanda or your Roxanne. Better bring a 4-wheel drive. Gear it up with
a rifle rack. You never know.
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down here in Los Robles, the Paris of the Border. raven-haired tanya fed me some chile then
read my future in her cigar smoke. told me i'll either own this town or die in it. hot as hell and
the water
crawls, but something's got me sniffin.
Comments:
So Johnny, what's the view like? Why don't you describe it for us the way you described life in the mountains and the scene at the Metronome before they took you down? What do you see through the bars? Any thongs around? Do you have opium and absinthe and a pipe from Shanghai in your cell? How about a leather couch? Cable? Delmonico steaks? What's the music like?
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Arrested at the Metronome. That's what happened to Johnny last night. Big Johnny's locked up and he's got no computer in his cell. No broads, either. No Viper parked outside -- it's impounded and behind razor wire. No thousand-dollar suits. He's just another crook wearing jail orange.
