The Auteurs

8 years ago…

Kill, a thin, shabbily dressed performance artist stands on the small stage in Cyprus Java coffee shop

Kill:
Everybody knows things are fucked up. Fucked up things- fucked up people- it's all fucked and nobody can save us- not me, not you, certainly not you sir- I mean definitely not you- Jesus, I'm not one to comment on the audience but you are a pathetic looking human being sir. Look at the fucking beard- do you trim that thing with a riding lawnmower or what? Just lie down on the lawn and let it run right over your face don't you?

Audience begins to laugh loudly.

Kill:
Yes sir. Well done selecting the aqua blue shirt there too buddy. I bet you wish you could wear Dockers over those drooping man boobs- cause you just loooove Dockers don't you Cheese Puffs jr.? I swear to God man- who told you to come to this fucking show? You haven't laughed once have you? You fat prick you. Don't you care that our country is being exploited by a bunch of fascists? Fuck man- why don't you go over there to the desert- they could use your big fat flabby ass to absorb that friendly fire that is killing so many of those fucking kids.

Audience roars with laughter

Kill:
But who am I to judge right? You're probably a very nice guy- you voted for Kucinich right?

After the show…

Art, the club's manager has Kill seated in his office.

Art:
Jesus Christ Kill, it's a stage not a fucking soapbox- you want to be a talking head you go do that out there on capital hill in chant form with all those other middle class underachivers that have nothing else to do with there time- don't bring that inflammatory shit in here. People want to be entertained- not lectured. Who do you think you are Noam fucking Chomsky?

Kill:
Hey come on man- they where laughing. What about last bit with the derelict in the front row?

Art:
This ain't that kind of fucking venue kid- if you want any kind of exposure to any type of wide audience you're going to have to tone it done a fucking bit. People got enough shit to worry about with out some prick with a microphone laying it out in front of them for fifteen minutes- all that guy probably does is sit at home alone, worry about his man tits, poorly cut beard and state of the world today- and he came out to Cyprus to get a little relief- maybe have a few drinks and what does he get? He gets you, Kill- you fucking prick- get outta here- no pay. And don't come back till you join what you like to call the "delirious, docile masses"

Kill:
You know Bill Hicks once said that comedy shows are supposed to be cathartic- a release-

Art:
From the daily grind- yeah I know. You drop that fucking hack's name followed by that quote every time someone backs you into a corner and tells you what a shitty act you've got. Grow up kid- this is the way it is.

Kill:
I thought you where a hip guy Art. This just ain't the place for me I guess.

Art:
Get out of here- your wasting my time.

-

Outside Cyprus Java: Kill smokes a cigarette and watches prostitutes stroll by. He catches up with a long legged brunette and walks beside her. She doesn't look at him.

Kill:
Hey there.

She doesn't say anything.

Kill:
This isn't my first time asking- I mean I've done this before- but I'm still not very good at it . So- how much?

Hooker:
Well that depends doesn't it?

Kill:
Yeah- I uh. Just the basics that's all- you know- oral and…normal. That's all, nothing crazy like anal- or pissing or anything.

The hooker looks at him for the first time- incredulously.

Hooker:
Get the fuck outta here.

Kill:
No- hey look, that was a joke- I'm a comedian- and I have a very uh- nervous delivery.

Hooker:
You don't look like a comedian.

Kill:
What do I look like?

She looks him over.

Hooker:
A serial killer- get the fuck outta here- my fingers are on the mace, whacko.

Kill looks down and sees her fingertips probing inside her purse.

Kill:
Ah- so they are. Look- just uh- your name- how about that? What's your name?

Hooker:
Look, do you have money or what?

Kill:
Oh uh yes of course. Do you want to see it?

She jerks him by his sleeve in to a dark alley.

Hooker:
Show it to me.

Kill reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet; he opens it and pulls out two fifties, a ten, and two ones. He holds it up to her.

Kill:
Will this do?

She reaches out and takes the two fifties and a ten and stuffs them in her brazier.

Hooker:
That will do- you'll need the two ones.

Kill:
Yeah. I- why do you say that?

She leans in close to his ear, extends her neck and whispers in a sensual breathy voice:

Hooker:
In case you want to tip the ambulance driver.

She empties the can of mace into his eyes and knees him one good time in the balls. Kill collapses under the pale gaze of the looming streetlight above. The hooker slowly saunters back out onto the NY streets.

-

Present day…

Kill sits in central park with a moleskin notebook and pack of cigarettes. He scribbles a fast poem as he watches a heavily pierced couple walking arm in arm. Suddenly, from the brush a fellow resembling Bruce Campbell leaps onto Kill's lap. He speaks with a Czechoslovakian accent. This is Bruce.

Bruce:
Hello my friend Bill! And how is your poetry today?

Kill:
I'm fine- I'm fucking horrible, but I'm fine.

Bruce:
Yes, yet it's all good- how is the poetry?

Kill:
I don't know- you tell me.

Bruce:
Bill, Bill you know I don't understand your poetry- it's strange, full of words I don't know- magnificent ones I'm sure they are though.

Kill:
I don't know-

Bruce:
Bill- Bill before you go further, follow my finger will you?

Bruce points across the way to the pierced couple.

Bruce:
Look at her ass will you? Moving so smoothly inside that skirt- her skin is so pale and lovely- like

Kill:
Snow?

Bruce:
Yogurt! Yogurt, Bill yes- creamy too. I think I must have her Bill.

Kill:
I think that will be tough Bruce- she's got company- a boyfriend.

Bruce:
Ah, that is no boyfriend Bill; you see how similar they look- same earrings and all!

Kill:
They're kissing, Bruce.

Bruce:
Ah. Well. You know what they say- families that lay together, stay together. I'll be back, buddy.

Kill: (yelling after Bruce)
You don't even have your camera.

Bruce approaches the couple and taps the girl on the shoulder. After a few minutes of attentive listening, she leaves with Bruce and sends the other fellow on his way- stamping angrily and cursing at the railing. The two approach.

Bruce:
Tara, this is Bill, my cameraman, Bill my cameraman, this is Tara, now you two shake hands.

They shake.

Kill:
It's Kill.

Tara:
It's Sarah

Bruce:
Well, now that we are all acquainted, I think that we should- all three of us retire to my flat-

Sarah:
Is that poetry?

Kill quickly closes his moleskin. Tara smiles slyly back at him.

Bruce:
Ah yes! I forgot to tell you, Bill writes the most wonderful poetry, however I cannot read it because I don't understand many of those strange and miraculous words. Tara! You should read his poetry and tell him if it is any good. It is very romantic, I bet.

Sarah:
I would love to.

Kill:
Ahem- well that's you know- very nice of you but- I'd be way too nervous to show it to you- well I mean not just you but anybody I don't know very well- I mean it's kind of- you know- esoteric- just for me really, and the people who know me- my uh friends and stuff- I write it mostly for myself is what I'm saying- but I'm flattered- really-

Bruce leans down and claps Kill on the back.

Bruce:
Bill! What do you say us three go to the flat and retrieve the camera eh? We will all have a very good time I think- what do you say?

Kill looks up to meet Sarah's staring eyes and quiet smile.

Kill:
OK

About one hour later…

Bruce bursts into the tiny New York flat shoulder first- a half filled Styrofoam cup of coffee in his teeth.

Bruce:
God, fuck! That fucking door!

Sarah strolls in with her hand propped against her purse. Kill comes in last, he nervously sets his coffee cup down and forces the door shut.

Bruce:
Here it is and here we are- mine and Bill's humble abode.

Sarah looks around.

Sarah:
It's everything I thought it would be.

Bruce:
Aha ha! That is very funny, she is very funny Bill! But please- I must ask you- no humor while the camera is on, leave that to me- and try and look as sensual as possible- leave the talking to me.

Sarah smiles and nods.

Bruce:
OK then! We're good as rain- Bill, get the camera and set it up rigghhhhht- over here- on the beanbag- yes- we will start on the beanbag I think. I am going to change into my silk stripes now my dear-

Bruce kisses Sarah on the cheek.

Bruce:
And Bill will tell you the schedule, how we are going to do it I mean. OK then- I'll be back in one flash.

Bruce disappears into the back.

Sarah: (imitating Bruce)
So, tell me the schedule Bill.

Kill:
Ha- yeah- he's pretty crazy huh? Well um- the first thing he'll want to do is say you know, 'welcome to Public Pickups- this is Bruce coming to you from blah blah blah' and then he'll introduce you, and talk about how he met you and where and all that stuff- and uh- then he'll um- proceed to ask you to show- different parts of your body going from top to- bottom I guess would be the best way to put it- heh. And then he'll you know probably- touch you a bit- and give you lots of compliments and then propose that you- you know uh- get to it. Ahem.

There is a short silence. Sarah looks over her shoulder at the beanbag chair and nods a little, then looks at Kill.

Sarah:
What will you be doing?

Kill:
Oh- uh- I'll be- I'll be- filming you two- during all of that- while all that is going on.

Sarah nods and looks at the floor and shuffles her feet slightly.

Sarah:
Cool, cool. So- you like to watch?

Kill:
Ahem- uh no- not especially- I mean, I do but you know- yeah I uh- it pays really well. The site is getting pretty uh- popular and that's good- I mean, I'm defiantly not complaining you know heh? He's defiantly got it better than me- heh.

Sarah smiles and nods again.

Sarah:
Anything else I need to know?

Kill:
Oh uh- no, not really- except he might want to- might- he doesn't all the time, but he might want to re-create how he uh- picked you up earlier- after all that is done. Oh and uh- Bruce is pretty- uh I guess creative would be the right word- to describe it- when you guys actually start so is there anything you- you know don't-

Sarah:
Tell him to keep his dick away from my ass and eyeballs.

Bruce bursts out of the backroom in his white, stripped, silk pajamas.

Bruce:
I am ready to fuck!

Two hours later…

Sarah clasps her bright pink bra back together, Kill fumbles absent mindedly with the camera, and Bruce is walking around naked with a pipe in his mouth.

Bruce:
Bill, is this life, or is this life- I knew as soon as I laid eyes on voluptuous Lady Liberty- firmly grasping that torch, that this land is the most free of all.

Kill scoffs quietly.

Bruce:
And we should really find some tobacco for this pipe Bill- the wooden taste is fine, but after a while- oh you are leaving my dear Tara?

Kill looks up quickly. Sarah is standing by the door fully clothed with her purse in hand.

Sarah:
I am.

Bruce:
Ah very well, very well, parting is such sorrow my sweet.

Bruce glides across the room and pecks Sarah on the cheek once more.

Bruce:
Bill will show you out and pay you the rest of your money my dear- there are vicious creatures riding those elevators madam- but Bill will protect you!

Sarah looks over at Kill.

Sarah:
Oh, I bet.

Bruce:
Ha! So funny my dear- you did wonderfully- the best I've had all month- and now I must shower- show her out Bill.

Kill:
Ahem, ok.

Kill crosses the room and opens the door for Sarah; they walk for a while in silence down the hallway towards the elevator.

Sarah: (again, imitating Bruce)
Parting is such sorrow my sweet.

Kill:
Ha ha- yeah- Bill- I mean Bruce- loves Shakespeare.

They walk a little while longer in silence and get on the elevator. The elevator shutters and starts downward.

Sarah:
So- how did I do?

Kill:
Oh- you uh- you did great- you where really wonderful- a uh really- good sport.

Sarah:
Ha.

Kill:
Oh I didn't mean that in a- you know I wasn't insinuating anything- I just mean you know putting up with Bruce and his- you know- uh-

Sarah:
Auteurist posturing?

Kill:
His- heh ha- hahahaha. Yeah- exactly. Hahaha.

Sarah:
He's like the Roman Polanski of internet porn.

Kill:
Hahahaha- oh God- I've always thought the exact same thing- he even gets really tyrannical sometimes- you know? He'll just like- stop in the middle of everything and demand a- Hahaha- a retake. Which means- starting over from the very beginning.

Sarah:
Hahaha.

The elevator stops and the doors open.

Kill:
Oh- uh- I guess here's the rest of your-

Sarah:
Do you want to take a walk- or share cab or something?

Kill:
Oh- you don't have to be anywhere or anything?

She grabs his sleeve and tugs him out of the elevator; he watches the door close and turns back to her gaze.

Sarah:
What do you mean?

Kill:
Oh I just didn't know if-

Sarah:
That guy I was with in the park? Is that what you're wondering about?

Kill:
Well- yeah I guess- was that your-

Sarah:
Was my boyfriend.

Kill:
Oh. Haha- Bruce thought- Haha- that was your brother- he said 'the family that lays together-

Sarah:
Stays together- yeah- he said that during the interview remember?

Kill:
Oh. Yeah- uh well-

Sarah starts walking, Kill with her.

Sarah:
The question was do you want to take a walk or share a cab.

Kill:
Ha- yeah- I remember um-

Sarah:
How about you think about it while we walk outside?

Kill:
Ha- okay- I guess I could go for a walk- yeah- I just have to get back pretty quick to start uploading- the uh- video.

Sarah:
That's fine.

They arrive at the door, and open it.

Sarah:
You don't mind walking in the rain do you?

5 minutes later…

Sarah and Kill are seated on opposite sides of the large foyer around the entrance to the apartment. Kill reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes.

Kill:
Do you mind if I smoke?

Sarah:
Only if I can have one too.

Kill:
Oh- yeah sure.

Kill takes out two cigarettes and throws one across the way- it lands on a small piece of chewed up gum.

Kill:
Oops.

Sarah:
Haha- here.

She gets up, crosses the foyer and sits down next to him. He hands her a cigarette. He lights one for himself.

Sarah:
Ahem.

Kill:
Oh- sorry.

He lights hers.

Sarah:
Thank you sir.

Kill:
You're welcome.

They smoke in silence for a little while- the downpour picks up. Three young men in white shirts, ties and khakis jog by, covering their heads with binders, newspapers and briefcases. Kill and Sarah's gazes follow them down the sidewalk. Sarah takes a drag off her cigarette.

Sarah:
Fucking yuppies.

Kill exhales quickly and coughs slightly.

Kill:
What?

Sarah:
It's scum like that- these whitebread, business minded drones that are turning America into the corporate slave state that it's becoming. Or has become would be more apropo. I mean- least a raindrop fall on their holy, calculator heads- they won't be able to hide themselves from the downpour much longer with their fucking briefcases and perfectly organized portfolios. Orwellian nightmare characters every last one of them.

Kill:
I- you- I- have you-

Sarah:
Every other Saturday- for fifteen minutes- at Cyprus Java.

-end of part one-

a/n: don't usually like to do these, but I would just like to thank all the reviewers who urged me to push my little dialogue and character obsessions a few steps further. I've really had a blast writing this, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Sorry for any typos but I've been at it for a few hours now- it's 4:17 and I'm ready to get some shut eye. But again thank you for the reviews and criticisms. And for those of you who enjoyed it, the next part will be up soon. Really.

In love, hate and infinity,

ExplodingCongregation.