that, that part...that starts a story...oh yeah, opening:
We open up in what seems to be a small classroom at night. There is a man there, in his mid-20s, dressed casually in a v-neck sweatshirt, stubble on his face, and a look of leniency in his eyes. We shall know him as Kurt. He stands before a room of about 20 people, all male, who range in age, from 19-37, let's say. The Smart Board behind him reads "Words of Intimacy: Improving Your Love Life Through the Magic of Language." He sits reading Bukowski's Ham on Rye as he periodically checks his iPhone for the time. He looks at the phone, then at the people in the room, who are all hastily writing away at their desks. Just before he can turn the next page, we hear his stopwatch go off to Papageno's "Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja."
Kurt:
Alright everyone, you know what it means when the birdman sings. Pass 'em forward.
All of the people present hand their papers to the person in front of them, all with different demeanors. Some are visibly nervous, some are confident, others are too hard to read. As they all make their way to Kurt, he takes them in his hand, shuffles through them, briefly skimming each one over, before finally putting them in a stack right in front of him.
KURT:
Alright, who should we torture today? I've had such a long day today so just being able to laugh at anything would do so much for me. On that note, Tommy, would you mind if I read yours aloud today? Please, can you do me that favor?
TOMMY, a young man in his early 20s gives an embarassed look as we hear scattered laughter from those around him.
KURT:
(Reading TOMMY'S paper aloud)
"Dear Clarissa, last vacation brought me more happiness than I can describe in one letter to you. I would give anything to have a fuck like that again. Anything. But know that it's all to please you. Love, Thomas. P.S. You were right, I did actually enjoy The Notebook. I spent a good 20 minutes just crying about it and cuddling with my cat."
At this, everyone laughs as TOMMY sinks into his seat.
KURT:
Okay, now I should start off fair and tell you that this is, in fact, an improvement over what you normally write.
TOMMY:
(Bashfully)
Well, thank yo-
KURT:
I didn't say that it was good, I just said that it was better.
TOMMY:
Oh. Right. Sorry.
KURT:
Now, let's go over the "Keeps" first: Keep the heart you put into it. I mean this whole thing about "fucking" is genuine, and it's real. I get that from you. You were very upfront, open, and vulnerable in this. Now that's what's going to really start hooking her onto you, vulnerability, receptiveness-depending on the girl. You have the same thing going on here at the end with your *smirks* Notebook comment. If it is, of course, true.
All eyes turn to Tommy.
TOMMY:
Well, um, yeah...
All smirk.
KURT:
Go ahead, laugh. But if this were a room full of women it would be a totally different reaction. So, now for the "Tosses." What you need to toss is the brevity. This is prose that would put Hemingway to shame. Now even a word like "fuck," now "fuck" is only one word one word, but in a letter like this it's what I call a "seed-word." When you put it in a context like this, such as an intimate letter, it becomes so much more than just four letters. It becomes something whole, real, and personal. So let's let the seed ripen, shall we? Tommy, I need you to do me a favor.
TOMMY:
Oh...okay.
KURT:
Can you tell me what the word "fuck" means to you?
TOMMY:
F...fuck?
KURT:
What did you call me? No, no I mean, tell me all of the things, the images, emotions, and thoughts, that come to your mind when you hear it.
TOMMY:
Well...sweat.
KURT:
Sweat?
TOMMY:
Yeah...you know...on her bare skin, making it soft, making it, hot.
KURT:
Okay, so the first thing that comes to your mind when I say that word is an image?
TOMMY:
Yeah, I guess so.
KURT:
So there you go. You just answered your own question. Write down for me an image. Think of it as taking a photograph of something that's already inside you. You're not giving her what's already there, that's impossible. You're simply giving her a representation of it. Writing something like this requires a balanced level of detachment and passion, of indifference and precision, of calculation and spontaneity. Does that make sense?
Scattered "yes," "okay," "yeah."
KURT:
Alright. That being the case I'll see you all next Monday. Thank you Tommy for making my day better, really.
As they all go to exit, KURT subtly pulls TOMMY aside.
KURT:
You know I wasn't out to embarass you, right? This is all for your own good.
TOMMY:
Oh, no, I know. I appreciate it.
KURT:
I appreciate it. People learn by examples in here. Plus you all feel like you're going through this process together, as a group. I want to breed that kind of camaraderie in here, you know?
TOMMY:
No yeah, we all appreciate it. I am in a rush though, I'll see you next week!
TOMMY goes to exit.
KURT:
Tommy, wait!
TOMMY hastily returns.
KURT:
Here. For your troubles and for your next time.
KURT hands TOMMY three $20.00 bills.
TOMMY:
Bu...but...I can't, it's fine really-
KURT:
Oh don't worry, this is a conditional donation.
TOMMY:
(Confused)
Oh...okay...
KURT:
When she finally is ready to make love to you, be safe. I'd tell you to be respectful but, I know you'll do that.
TOMMY:
Thanks Kurt, I really app-
KURT:
I know. Now get going, I know you have places to be.
TOMMY:
Right, thanks. And thanks!
KURT watches TOMMY exit with a smile as he collects all his papers.
The next part where...something, something happens
KURT is in his car, listening to Tristan und Isolde as he drives through NYC, brightened by life at night. He is smoking a cigar then picks up his phone and begins to call someone. ette of some kind as he makes his way through the traffic. It rings a few times, before we hear a "hello" through the phone.
KURT:
Hey, Ben?
Cut to a nice apartment, with a young man named BEN, around KURT's age, sitting at home with a wine glass in his hand. A man of a similar age, JAKE is sitting across the room, flipping through an edition of Vogue.
BEN:
Get over here.
KURT:
Wait, why?
BEN:
There's someone who wants to see you.
KURT:
What, do they want revenge for something?
BEN:
No-
KURT:
Wow, first time for everything.
BEN:
It's Jake. He says got an offer for you.
KURT:
Right. Too bad that I live a moral life now.
BEN:
Do you have to be so rigid?
JAKE:
Tell him I was expecting him to say that. That's why this time it's different.
BEN:
He says it's different this time.
kurt:
I just can't do it with a clear conscience any-
BEN:
He says dinner's on him if you just listen for 20 minutes.
KURT:
I've already eaten.
JAKE:
Tell him we'll go to Bow Ties.
BEN:
He'll take us out to Bow Ties.
KURT:
Well obviously I won't be able to get any peace of mind unless I indulge him so fine, I'll meet you there in 15.
KURT hangs up. Visibly upset, he turns up his music and inhales deeply.
Bow ties
We see BEN and JAKE both seated at a table. It is clear that this is a distinctly ambient eatery. Between all the waiters sporting the same outfit, which is comprised of a giant bow tie, and delivering pasta from place to place, it is a place of flash. One perfect for Kurt.
BEN:
I still don't know what he sees in this place.
JAKE:
To each his own. Plus I'd eat shrimp shit for a week if I could get him back on the team again.
BEN:
I told you, he's not gonna budge.
JAKE:
I've convinced you though, that's a first, isn't it?
BEN:
Well yeah, but I still don't see him warming up to the idea the way I did. It's not his style.
KURT enters.
JAKE:
Kurt, buddy, hey! Come on, join us. What'll you have?
KURT:
I'm good with water, thank you. I won't be staying long. What did we agree on, 20 minutes?
BEN looks to JAKE with an "I-told-you-so" expression. JAKE, however, does not seem fazed.
JAKE:
Can I just say that this has nothing to do with writing for The Portable Star again?
KURT:
I know, you gave up on recruiting me for that months ago. Plus it's clear that you don't need me to succeed in your exploits.
JAKE:
Alright, I admit it, I'm a leech. I take people's faults and use them for my own gain. Does that make me perfect? Does that dissolve all of my flaws? No, it doesn't. I'm sorry but that's just in my nature. That's why I need you. I need you to bring some moderation to my latest plan.
KURT:
And that is?
JAKE:
It's a better, nobler endeavor.
KURT:
Sure.
JAKE:
Now, when you see a fat person on the street, be honest, what's your first thought?
KURT:
To be honest, concern.
JAKE:
Okay, why?
KURT:
They just, look unhealthy I suppose.
JAKE:
So your first inclination, if you were to take action, would be?
KURT:
To help them.
JAKE:
So, what if I told you that that's exactly what I want to do with this?
kurt:
I would say that you're a fine salesman but that I've known you too long to buy it.
JAKE:
But this is it! This is real! It's called Losing the Shame.
KURT:
That's your title?
JAKE:
Tentatively.
KURT:
And what kind of humiliation are you going to employ?
JAKE:
By doing entire articles on people's families. The struggle that they have to endure with an obese relative. The embarassment, the humiliation. Then, we take whatever profits we made from that, and we put it towards a fitness program for the relative.
KURT:
So your objective is to first publicly display their lives, shame them for their appearance, then fix it? You're creating a problem for the sake of marketing a solution.
JAKE:
Oh, come on. You really think that we live in this nonjudgmental society where everyone is acc-
KURT:
I'm not saying that, no, but I do think that you're perpetuating that in wanting to do this and therefore I have no interest in helping you out.
JAKE:
Alright, can I have a more concrete reason?
KURT:
I don't owe you a concrete reason.
JAKE:
But you know that you owe me.
KURT:
I appreciate the money from the first job you ever gave me, yes. Upon deeper reflection I've also come to appreciate the perspective I've gained in working for someone as basely inconsiderate as you. You're only out to please a consumer market. I mean consumer in every sense of the world. They devour your words, your stories, and even each other just so they can escape their own faults-just like you. It's a dirty practice that I don't want any part of. Excuse me.
KURT goes to exit. BEN makes a vain attempt to make JAKE stay.
JAKE:
Kurt, wait!
KURT begrudgingly turns around to hear him out.
JAKE:
Do you know my #1 reason for wanting you? Because you're an author at heart, and you know it.
KURT:
Look I'm not going to be-
JAKE:
Just listen, for Christ's sake! You are an author. This idealistic bullshit that you're giving me here? That is not the way someone who sits at a desk and writes manuals should see the world. That is the perspective of someone who is interested in gazing into someone's life and delivering all of the intricate and intimate details of their life through a unique lens. Through his lens. The way he handles each word with so much care, so much grace-
KURT:
Fuck off, Jake.
KURT abruptly storms off. JAKE simply stands there, seemingly unmoved.
Um, some, uh, more exposition...i guess...why not?
KURT sits at his laptop pounding away furiously at Microsoft Word. Passion is in his eyes with every word that he types. Just then, we see an attractive, curvaceous enter in from the bathroom.
JENNY:
Still writing?
KURT:
Still writing.
JENNY:
Still caring deeply?
KURT:
Still caring deeply.
JENNY:
Gonna be a while?
KURT:
Yup.
JENNY:
O-kay.
JENNY then proceeds to flaunt away every aspect about her body. She leans in closely forward across KURT's chest, emphasizing her cleavage. She then teases around with her bra, snaps her panties, and makes every attempt imaginable to catch KURT's eye.
JENNY:
Ugh, these panties are so itchy. I think I'll change them.
KURT:
You do that.
JENNY goes off to the room and changes. She then emerges from the bathroom in a teddy.
JENNY:
It's too bad, looks like all my P.J.s are still in the drier. Oh well.
KURT:
Oh well.
JENNY:
For God's sake, what more do you want me to do?
KURT:
Leave me in peace to do what I said I had to get done.
JENNY:
But you promised that we'd be able to get together tonight!
KURT:
I didn't say tonight, I said at some point this week.
JENNY:
But that's too vague. I know you'll change your mind.
KURT:
Well, then that's a personal flaw of mine that I'll invest my time in correcting in the future.
JENNY:
You know, of all the guys I've ever had this kinda thing with, you're the one I'm most drawn to.
KURT:
Really? What makes you say that?
JENNY:
I think it's because you're just like my father.
KURT:
Yeah?
JENNY:
Yeah. The way you talk, and think, and the way your eyes light up when you talk about a certain book or author...it's just, cute.
KURT:
He taught at NYU, right?
JENNY:
I think so. Something like that. I never really saw much of him.
KURT:
I'm sorry.
JENNY:
Meh, there are worse things that could happen.
JENNY looks through a disheveled pile of books on KURT's desk. She picks out one, Cousin Bette, and looks at it curiously. It is clearly bookmarked in the middle.
JENNY:
You still working through this?
KURT:
Well, there are only so many hours in my day.
JENNY:
And there are only so many days in my week.
KURT:
Look, I'm sorry that I can't tend to your every whim 100% of the time, alright? But Jennifer you do have to realize that, sad as it may be, we're not committed to each other.
JENNY:
I know, and I'm not complaining about that.
KURT:
Then what are you asking for?
JENNY:
...I don't know.
KURT:
I'm sorry Jenny but it's way too late and I won't be able to sleep unless I type this-
JENNY:
You know that I don't have to be here though. You said yourself that neither of us are "committed" in any way.
KURT:
Well then there's our conflict! Here's something that I am genuinely committed to. And the fact that you're threatened by that is your own choice, not mine.
JENNY:
Well then thank you for reminding me that I also have a choice. I'm thinking you're on a three-week "Jenny Probation." How does that sound?
KURT:
I lived without sex for the first sixteen years of my life. I think I can survive a little bit longer.
JENNY:
Your libido, not mine!
KURT:
Well you make sure that yours never goes unchecked. You're the insatiable one, not me.
JENNY:
Fuck you.
JENNY storms out. KURT continues to type away. He then types what is clearly a long page, types out a pseudonym of some kind, uploads it as something, and then goes away...LOSS.
*INSERT SLIGHTLY CREATIVE TITLE HERE*