Post by Zevon on Jul 18, 2007 12:22:48 GMT -6
Stephie Campbell is walking through the dank, dark basement of Philadelphia’s New Alhambra Center, current home of a loony former champion and his lawn chair. Stephie is closely followed by her usual crew. A small mouse scampers through the legs of POW’s lovely correspondent and her followers.
Stephie: I better be getting a huge bonus for this. Trampling over rodents to try to talk some sense into that idiot Zevon.
She continues down a corridor passing supply closets and the like. In the distance she can see a flickering light. A tortured voice slowly rises through the darkness.
Evil Zevon: Go back from whence you came, Not Lee Cash.
Stephie pauses for a short moment to gain her direction, and then shouts back.
Stephie: It’s Stephie Campbell!
Zevon: This is no place for a lady. Turn back. The ambiance!
Stephie: Ambiance?
Zevon: It will spook you.
Stephie: I’ve interviewed Nightkiller. I’ve interviewed Meltdown. A flickering light bulb is nothing!
Stephie continues approaching. Zevon slowly appears out of the darkness, still dressed in his ring gear, still seated in a lawn chair. Various beverage cans and sandwich wrappers are strewn about. Stephie speaks to her crew.
Stephie: Where did he get all this? Is that maintenance guy feeding him? I though Zevon was the crazy one. We didn’t pass a vending machine on the way did we?
Stephie plows through debris as she walks to the side of the former champion. She places her hand on his shoulder. Zevon doesn’t acknowledge her presence. She searches the wall behind her with her free hand.
Stephie: Where is it? Jake told me it was right above his head.
Light fills the basement room. Zevon is stunned by the sudden burst of light and scurries to cover his eyes.
Zevon: Nixon Almighty!
Stephie: There we go.
Zevon: Ambiance! You killed the ambiance!
Stephie: Good, now look at me.
Stephie grabs Zevon’s arm and forcefully removes it from his eyes. His face doesn’t show the signs of a man who hasn’t shaved in a week. His odor is something else.
Stephie: Have you been shaving?
Zevon: My facial hair is slow of growth, visually appealing one.
Stephie: Definitely haven’t been showering.
Zevon: Janitor turned the water off. And refused to bring me fresh delicious Arby’s.
Stephie: What have you been eating then? There are wrappers all over the place.
Zevon: Concession stand.
Zevon is still not used to the light. His eyes are squinted as Stephie continues to keep hold of his face.
Stephie: At least you haven’t starved to death. Wouldn’t that make a hell of a headline for the papers?
Zevon: Filthy rags.
Stephie: You seem cogent to me. Now pack up your lawn chair and let’s get to Glen Burnie!
Stephie tugs at Zevon after a few moments of awkward nothingness. Zevon succeeds in sulking his head despite Stephie’s resistance.
Evil Zevon: My precious! He stoles it!
Stephie: Damn it! Don’t you start this crap now.
She continues to tug but is unsuccessful. She implores her crew for help but none come to assist.
Stephie: Don’t just stand there! Tony sent us to get Zevon to Maryland!
Her crew doesn’t move, intent on filming the activities instead.
Evil Zevon: Revenge will be ours it wills.
Stephie: You big blubbering baby! Get off your arse and let’s go. I don’t buy your dog and pony pity trip. You lost! Get over it!
Stephie finally gives up, steps back and addresses her crew.
Stephie: Thanks for the assistance. Tony Hunter wants to make me look silly too? Fine.
Evil Zevon: Squeeeeze…
Stephie turns to exit. The camera is reluctant to move. Stephie grabs it and spins it around.
Stephie: I’m driving! If you aren’t in the van when I get there you are more than welcome to live in the basement too. The fine people of Philadelphia don’t seem to mind.
As Stephie steers the camera towards the exit, the lights abruptly turn off. The silhouette of a man in a beret and long jacket with a walking stick is spotted in the distance. Stephie moves forward without fear.
Stephie: There’s nothing of interest down here, just a couple good for nothing camera technicians and a crazy man in spandex. Mug me if you must; it would be the best thing to happen to me all day.
The man removes his beret in respect for Stephie. He motions for her to step aside.
Beret Man: You must be the lovely Miss Campbell. A pleasure to meet you, but I must politely ask that you step aside and leave the matter of loony men in spandex to me.
Stephie: Good luck.
The two pass without much pleasantry. Stephie continues to the exit. Her crew stays behind. Beret Man marches toward Zevon, twirling his walking stick in his right hand. He stops directly in front of Zevon and taps him on the head with his walking stick. Zevon does not look up and continues to inaudibly mumbling to himself.
Beret Man: Sad. Pitiful. Yet strangely beautiful.
Zevon looks up. His face is full of contempt. His voice is seethes with hate.
Zevon: Haberdasher.
Beret Man (Haberdasher): Always nice to see an old friend. (in fake snooty French accent) Oh-hoh-hoh.
TO BE CONTINUED….. DA DA DAH!
