Episode 2: What’s Welsh Losser Have to Do with It?
In this episode, Saint Stephan’s fortunes abruptly change – for the worse… or, maybe for the better…
As Stephan waits for Goldstein to return to his offices, he uses Goldstein’s bathroom. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee.
He’s hungry, but he doesn’t want to go across the street to the Taco Bell or Jack in the Box for fear of missing Goldstein when he returns.
So he finds cold cuts and condiments in the refrigerator and some bread and makes himself a couple of sandwiches. The bread’s a little dry, but Stephan doesn’t complain about it because overall the sandwiches he makes are good.
One hour goes by, and then another. Stephan knows he could have expected this and decides to stay put.
“It’s not like Goldstein left to find Welsh Losser,” Stephan jokes to himself.
But it’s no joke, is it Stephan? It’s no joke, and deep inside, in your heart of hearts, you know it, don’t you?
It’s no joke because it’s, as they say, too good to be true.
So you just wait, Stephan, you just wait in Goldstein’s office and find out, yet again, just how bad things will be.
Why do you do this, Stephan? Are you one of those types who are a glutton for punishment? Is that it? You stupid idiot! You damned fool!
Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? Why did you have to go there, with your work, looking to be recognized, for a little money, for a little fame? Is it THAT important to you?! Are those things what you REALLY need?!
Didn’t you know, haven’t you learned yet, that all you are asking for and all you will get for your troubles, your hopes, your yearnings, is heartache… heartache and pain…?!
As evening draws nigh, Stephan sees Red and is actually having an alcoholic drink from Goldstein’s liquor cabinet – “Heeeeere’s Johnnie!!!” – his feet up on Goldstein’s desk as he rummages through Goldstein’s private effects.
Mr. Electricity and My Ideal – the chatty neon-lighted pastel-colored androgynous couple that chewed Stephan’s ear off at the cocktail bar the other night, while deftly dodging his light and by no means invasive or prying queries as to who they are and what they do – walk in.
They look at Stephan and make believe they’ve never seen him in their lives. They communicate with one another in insinuating soft-voiced murmurs and leave. Stephan thinks he saw them holding hands, but he’s not sure. He’s a little drunk.
After four hours or so, Goldstein finally returns.
“Oh,” he says, “still here… well, good. Might as well tell you what I think and get it over with.”
“Too good to be true?”
“What… what?! Damn right it was too good to be true. Good thing I flew up to Seattle and found Welsh Losser, who you consistently malign in your so-called ‘Commix’, and who just happened to be vacationing at his parents’ home – that wonderful, generous home of his unfortunate and tough childhood, growing up among scum like you, who wouldn’t leave him alone – when I found him. And the first thought I had when I did was what scum you so absolutely are, making him out to be dead in your so-called literary work – that’s first of all; when he’s alive and well and doing just great, thank you very much, and… what a great, great guy. And so funny. And you – well, you’re just scum, scum of the earth, and that’s all there is to it. It’s a shame I didn’t get a chance to spend more time with the guy. After this is over, I’m taking my private plane back up there just to have a few more laughs. I haven’t heard a natural sense of humor like that in years – and after all he’s been through. What strength, what resilience, what fighting spirit! He’s nothing less than heroic – a real inspiration! And after that, I’m inviting him down here. He’s going to work. The wonders he’s going to do for the industry and for me! Writing, consulting – heh, and who knows, maybe even some acting. What a gem! A diamond in the rough! And to think he’d been undiscovered, and all but buried by the likes of you, all this time until now. Makes me shudder just to think how much other talent is out there and the world knows nothing of them! And then you come crawling in here with your so-called manuscript and your, your… and all you are is pathetic bottom-feeding filth, you’re scum… I can’t even begin to imagine how much damage you’ve done to people and their lives…”
“Why do you keep calling me scum and other bad names?”
“Because – I’ll tell you why! Welsh Losser came to Kyiv with a good heart and open mind. All he wanted to do was pitch in and give the Kyiv Poster, a tanking newspaper in need of serious help, the benefit of his considerable knowledge, talents, and experience. But then you – and one other guy, from what I now understand – just wouldn’t leave him alone. You kept making fun of him. You wouldn’t let up – calling him Cyclops and such because this unfortunate but goodhearted, highly intelligent and brilliant man had been specially touched by God with walleyes. And today, in front of me, you have the unmitigated nerve, the outrageous gumption and the brazen gall to call his stories your own! Of course, it all makes sense, looking at you, because you’re a lowlife, no talent, imagination, jealous of Losser, seething with anger, hatred and malice against this man. And so you took his stories and not only did you change them in every pertinent detail in a clever but failed attempt to make them appear original and all your own, but you took the ones about Losser and in them you consistently and viciously defamed him! Hell, you didn’t even have the decency to NOT use his real name! And do you know why I feel for him? Can you in your density and meanness even begin to fathom why I am capable of such empathy and understanding?”
“It’s killing me to find out.”
“I don’t need your sarcasm, scum. Save that for the court and the long and expensive legal battle that’s about to destroy you forever. Then we’ll see how sarcastic you’re going to be – if there’s anything left of you. Because when I was a little boy, just wanting to be a regular American kid, like everyone else, and play baseball in Little League, I’d listen to the jibes, and the taunts, and the bullying, and all the non-stop mockery every time I’d go up to bat or make a play in the field, like jewboy, jewboy, and mikey-kikey, and… and… heebie-jeebie!!!”
“You wanted to be an American. You wanted to play Little League. But the other kids made fun of you for being a Jew. I’ve heard all this before. But I’ve got to tell you – heebie-jeebie, that’s really original! That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that – honest! That’s really great!”
“That’s right… that’s right… And how would you know if you weren’t one of them? You think I can’t read between the lines? You think I don’t see the subtle jabs and digs in your so-called ‘Commix’ against the Jews? And subtle anti-Semitism is worse than the blatant kind, because you drop in seemingly innocent asides and descriptions purportedly apropos of nothing that actually disguise nasty innuendo and malicious stereotyping that you are using to broadly characterize the Jew. Have you ever read Frank Norris?!”
“No, I’m sure YOU’RE the only one who’s ever read the atrociously written ‘McTeague’ and Norris’s over-the-top characterization of the fantastically repulsive, psychopathically greedy red-haired Polish junk-dealing Jew, Zerkow, and seen the brilliant 1924 film adaptation of that book, ‘Greed’, by Erich von Stroheim…”
Goldstein licks his bottom lip, his pointed over-pink tongue stops its quickly vacillating, almost lewd pulsations, to tremble for a second or two, left of center, on the said lip’s thick scythe-like upward curve. His eyes dart this way and that. He does a few other things with his hands and his face that other regular Americans also possibly do with theirs, then recommences speech:
“So Welsh Losser and I are suing you for libel, intellectual property theft and copyright infringement, and that’s just to start.”
“Oh, no… what other misfortunes might befall me?!?”
“Shut up! It’s ilk like you… These, these… ‘Commix’! are racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobic AND anti-Semitic… it makes me sick! In fact, we’re going to add the charge of extreme discrimination with malice aforethought to the defamation and IP charges – you sick, sick fuck! Don’t you know discrimination is against the law in this state based on race, sex, sexual orientation, changed sexual status, religion, national origin, ethnicity, and especially anti-Semitism?!” [but not age – Ed. Note]
“Heebie-jeebie!!! That’s so funny… it’s great… I can’t get over it… it kills me!!!”
“Mr. Electricity and My Ideal had the misfortune of running into you, too – told me all about it on my way back in. Said you ruined their day. Wonderful people, just wonderful – can’t say enough about them. It’s a real shame they were naïve enough to introduce themselves to you at the Observatory Lounge & Bar. I know the people there and I’m going to make sure they never let you in again!”
“And are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?”
“What, vat…?!”
“You and all your little Red friends in Hollywood.”
“You’re through in this town!!!”
“Can anything good come out of Kyiv?”
“You fucking fuck!!!”
*
Nighttime has fallen. Saint Stephan has crossed Los Loseros Boulevard to its westbound side and boarded what is probably the last bus bound back toward Hollywood. He is very surprised to find the bus practically full-up, mostly with elderly holidaymakers – apparently fresh from the small entertainment complex on this side, and especially the Singlex Theater with its double feature.
The old people are chatting away, animated with the memories of what they’ve just seen.
“That’s the best time I’ve had in a long time…”
“Yes, I thought ‘Mothers Full of Carnage’ was great, but ‘The Butchering Brides’ – eh… not so good…”
The bus appears ready to leave, but one more elderly woman barely manages to make it on just before the door closes.
There’s the seat left next to Saint Stephan.
“Can I have the window seat, sonny?”
“No.”
Filed by Jack Step, CTFSA, Friday, May 13, 2016