July 4, 2008
Fourth of July
Written by Girth McDürchstein on July 4, 2008 3:55 PM
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Colby & Perdida
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I stood in the baggage claim, waiting for Margo. It felt like years had passed since the last time I’d seen her, even though it had only been a few weeks. For those not keeping up with the blog (or the trades), she was offered a one-off guest appearance on an ABC series called Black Belt Irish last season. Her character, a sexy Canadian arms dealer, proved so popular, they’re giving her a six-episode arc to launch the new season. She’s been off in Wilmington, North Carolina, shooting episodes. The combination of 18-hour days and our recent marital problems have prevented us from speaking much, which I guess is why it feels like she’s been gone forever and a day.
When she came around the corner, along with the rest of the passengers on her flight, her radiance struck me. She stood out like a thousand-watt halogen bulb amid a sea of 3-watt flashlight bulbs. I watched her approach, hips and tits bouncing in a slinky black dress. She’d cut her hair―or, more likely, the folks at Black Belt Irish had forced her to cut it―into a bob that made her look oddly cute and non-threatening.
“Hey, babe,” she said, breaking into a surprising smile.
Margo hugged me, and I pressed her body as tightly to mine as I could, memorizing the form and heat for future masturbatory purposes.
“How’s the show going?” I asked.
“It’s a fucking nightmare,” she groused, breaking from the embrace and leading me toward the correct baggage carousel. “I’ll be so glad when it’s done.”
“But they like you, right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, they like me. They want to make me a series regular, but I’d blow my brains out if I had to spend 18 hours a day, six days a week, for eight months, with that stupid Irish cocksucker they hired as the lead. Don’t get me wrong―he’s so nice, but he’s dumb as a goddamn rock. Six episodes is bad enough. But, hey, maybe it’ll lead to something else…”
“So you’re into this,” I sighed. “Like, if someone offered you a show, you’d take it?”
“If they meet the right conditions,” she said. “It’d have to shoot in L.A. so I could stay close to you.”
“What about touring?”
“Give and take, Girthy. Schedule the fucking tours when I’m on hiatus.”
“Right,” I said. “Well, Fuck Machines has to come out by November, and we have to tour to support it. How’s that gonna work if you’re on a series?”
“If I’m on a series―and that’s a big ‘if’ at this point―it’ll start next year. Don’t worry, Girth. I’m on top of this shit, and my dipshit agent is aware that you and Abysmal are my top priorities.”
“Good.” I smiled.
“Actually, there’s this one project I’m interested in,” Margo said coyly, as if trying to feel me out. “Some goofy comedy for Showtime. It’s called…” She scrunched her face, straining to remember. “The State of the Union Is Bonkers.”
I tensed suddenly. I hoped she didn’t notice.
She continued, “It’s about this old lady suffering from senile dementia. I think I’ll either be playing a younger version of her or her granddaughter. It should be kind of prestigious, though. It’s on cable, and that cunt who wrote that piece of shit Aries is creating it.”
“That’s…awesome,” I said, struggling to hide my discomfort.
“What’s a matter, Girthy? You look a little down in the mouth.”
“I’m fine,” I said curtly. “I’ve just had more than a few run-ins with Perdida Cheyenne, and it makes me really uncomfortable that you’d want to work so closely with her?”
She eyed me askance. “Well… The big advantage is 10-episode seasons, meaning, even if I’m a regular, I won’t have to work as often. And it’s shooting here in L.A. We’re gonna be going up to Newhall and pretending that looks like Kansas.”
We both laughed at the stupidity of that.
“Can’t they afford to make it all the way up to Stockton?” I asked.
“On a cable budget?”
We laughed again. Margo’s bags finally spewed out of the carousel. We grabbed them and hustled out to the hearse.
Back at the apartment, I surprised Margo with my ability to get a natural erection. She had fun with that for awhile. Afterward, we finalized plans to go to Little Riffs Nicky’s place for a Fourth of July barbecue in the parking lot of his apartment building. He lives on the other side of the hill from the Hollywood Bowl, so we get a nice (if partially obstructed) view of the fireworks.
We drove to Riffs’, got some burgers, mingled a bit, then flopped down on a couple of Adirondack chairs to relax and hold hands like a couple of retarded high schoolers, or those old people in the bathtubs in the Cialis commercial. Margo was clearly very happy with my all-natural performance.
Around six o’clock, Colby showed up to the party. He did not look happy, but I didn’t know why…until he stormed up to me and asked if we could talk privately.
We went into the narrow hallway of the apartment building, and Colby immediately whisper-shouted, “What the hell did you do with Perdida?”
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
“I mean you fucked her!” he snapped. “Don’t even try to deny it. I was afraid she’d find the bug you planted, so I broke in and planted another one in a better hiding spot.”
“What?!” I growled. Softening a bit, I said, “Fine. We did it. I’m sorry.”
“You better fucking be sorry!” Colby hissed. “I love her! You don’t. You can’t stand the sight of her, can you?”
“Well,” I said, “I can think of worse things than the sight of her, but she does annoy the shit out of me every time she opens her mouth. Somebody ought to stick a tampon in it.”
“You son of a bitch!” he yelled, forgetting the part about whispering. “You ruined my chances with her, and you claimed her for yourself. Just like every relationship I’ve ever had. Except the one with Dana.”
“That’s because ‘she’ was a dude, man.”
“Be that as it may… We had a connection.”
“Colby, buddy… You’re goin’ nuts. Can’t you see that?”
“Fuck off!” he spat. “You betrayed me. The world will know the truth. The world will know!”
With that, he ran deeper into the recesses of the apartment hallway. I stared, baffled, as he rounded the corner. Moments later, looking dejected and humiliated, he came back around the corner and moved past me, keeping his head down. Apparently Riffs’ apartment doesn’t have a street entrance.
I shook the cobwebs from my head and went back to sit by Margo.
“What was that all about?” she asked, clasping my hand.
I shrugged. “Nothing. He’s having girl problems.”
“With an actual girl this time?” Margo asked.
I laughed nervously. “Yeah… Believe it or not.”
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