The Short

G: Hey, what's up, what are you doing right now?
E: I'm sipping an indifferent chardonnay. Why?
G: You want to make a movie?
E: Only if it's sexy.
G: Sexy, huh? Sexy how.
E: Boobie-tits and camel-toes.
G: I don't know if we're going to do that this time around.
E: You want me in the movie?
G: We could show your boobies.
E: Not interesting to the public at large.
G: So here's what I'm picturing: you're the guy, right? You're the guy and you're walking toward a building on the campus. You turn around to the camera like you're leading a tour, but it's clear that you're not the guy who gives tours and you would rather be somewhere else right now --
E: Eating a sandwich.
G: Yes, right, exactly, you would rather be eating a sandwich -- and, and, and -- get this, you would rather eat a shit sandwich than give a campus tour.
E: I would rather eat a sandwich made of Harpie Labia than lead this campus tour.
G: Oh my gaaaaaahd, that's funny! Yes! I don't know if you'll say anything about labia, but -- you know what? Fuck it. Say labia. Say whatever you want, I don't want to get in your way. Just think that this guy is worried about losing his job, so he's careful about volume.
E: Art imitates life.
G: Exactly. So you're giving a tour but you don't give a shit about this place except for one department. Can you guess which is your favorite department?
E: Gynecology.
G: Close, now think musical theatre.
E: Proctology.
G: Yes! Only it's theatre.
E: So ... am I an instructor ... ?
G: Yes! Yes! Yes!!! YOU are the guy who wants to run the department, but you're too nice to push the old king out of his throne.
E: Ah.
G: You like it?
E: I love it.
G: Aaaaaaahhhhha-ha-ha-ha, Edward!!! Can you picture it?!
E: Yes. I can. So is this guy, like, angry or just frustrated in an eternally-positive way?
G: Oooo, I like that. Um, he's the second thing at first and slowly becomes the first thing.
E: I like it. In fact, I fucking love it. When do we start?
G: Soon. We start soon. But there's something I need to run by you first ...
[A pause of about ten seconds.]
E: That's a significant pause, George.
G: Yeeah, that's because I'm not sure how to say this.
E: Just say it.
G: Um ... I want you to know I did not betray you.
E: What the fuck, George, you're freaking me out, "betray"? What do you mean, "betray"?
G: It's just that there's someone in on the project that a little bird tells me you may not like.
E: George, I like everyone I know.
G: It's your ex-girlfriend.
[Pause. Three seconds.]
E: You are so full of shit.
G: Oh yeah?
E: She's across the country, getting fired from restaurant jobs and struggling to get a supporting role on Broadway, George. She would never, ever do a short film in Livermore. Besides, her mother hates me for breaking up with her. She's taken out some sort of Italian witchcraft hit on me, it's the reason I've got a shaman living in my yard. I'm not kidding. Did I ever tell you about the time we went to that Gypsy musical and I saw her whispering furiously to the old Gypsy lady and handing her money and jewels?
G: Seriously?
E: Seriously! She would never do a short film in Livermore, and her mother would find a way to murder me if she did.
G: It's not a short film anymore.
E: Doesn't matter, she never would.
[Pause. Five seconds.]
G: You're right.
E: So who is it really?
G: Dude, it's her mom.

End.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.