David Alan Dedin
Two and a Half Men
Ten
Two and a Half Men
2006
“This is what Las Vegas looks like? Why would anyone want to come here?” Stephanie asked, as Shaggy’s “Wasn’t Me” played on the radio.
“No, this is actually what the bad part of Vegas looks like,” Alan clarified. “And I think the better question is, why would anyone want to live here?”
Handing the cabbie the fare so far, Alan crouched outside, by the window. “Here’s the fare, the tip, and this” – he passed the driver an additional ten. “Could you stick around for an extra five minutes? Depending on how this plays out, I might need to hire you again to take us to a hotel.”
Nodding, the driver accepted the cash.
“Thanks.”
Suitcases at their hips, Alan and Stephanie stood side by side in the poorly-lit parking lot of the Thunderbird Apartments, a two story, L-shaped, 1960s-era motel that had been repurposed for longer stays. The structure appeared to have once been painted turquoise, though forty years of desert sun had faded it to pastel. The place, for its age, looked surprisingly well maintained, and though it wasn’t particularly nice, it also wasn’t a shithole. The neighborhood however, was.
Alan looked at his small notebook, then up towards the building. “I think its upstairs.” – he squinted in the late evening twilight – “Fourth door…right by the middle.”
“I’ll stay he-” – Steph started to say, but then noticed a junkie shooting up in a nearby alley. Needle in vein, the druggie ogled her like Joliet Jake – How much for the little girl? She pulled her suitcase closer –
“I’ll come with you.”
Climbing the outdoor staircase together, the two rounded the bend and headed down the long metal balcony. They stopped at a door marked 7, and Alan knocked politely. They waited. The door unlocked and opened. The two now found themselves in front of a 29-year-old woman in a bathrobe, wet hair in a towel. She smiled.
“Alan Lavinski?” the woman asked.
“Melody?” he asked back.
“I’ve got the keys right here,” she said, reaching for something near the door. She handed him a key ring with a shiny dollar-sign pendant. “Here you go.” Alan took them. “Thanks.” He started to leave with Stephanie. Melody stopped him.
“Hey,” Melody said. “Tell Patrick that I’m still his friend. I mean, I know what they’re saying…and I’ve obviously seen the news…but I’ll still always like him, no matter what he did. He was always nice to me. Could you tell him that for me?”
“Of course,” Alan assured her.
“Oh – and also tell him that I almost didn’t make it. I think I saw the police looking for me, but at that point, I was already on the run.”
The door closed and locked again.
Alan and Steph retraced their steps to the parking lot. Waving off the taxi, the two pairs of legs – one in leather boots, the other in pink sneakers – walked slowly past a row of parked cars, stopping at a Cadillac emblem. Alan’s hand clicked the dollar sign’s key fob. The car chirped, the taillights flashed red, and the trunk popped open.
“Bingo,” Stephanie said.
A moment later, they were both inside, pulling their doors closed at once. Steph looked impressed as she buckled the soft seat belt. “All right, this is a lot nicer than my mom’s old Chrysler. That thing was a total piece of shit.”
“Language, Stephanie.”
Alan turned the key and the NorthStar roared to life. The vehicle’s Twilight Sentinel snapped on, causing the dashboard electronics to glow a brilliant emerald. Alan was careful not to touch the OnStar button when he adjusted the mirror. He saw Steph smile in the interior’s greenish-glow, holding the notebook with handwritten directions.
“Should we see what this thing can do?” he asked.
She nodded.
A moment later, with his hand on the console’s leather-wrapped gearshift, Alan threw Patrick’s Caddy into Drive.
* * * * *
From the night above, the Vegas Strip twinkled in neon and animated logos as the Eldorado coupe shot down I-15 like a rocket, the illuminated signs of passing hotels reflected within its hood and roof. An unseen camera followed the car along its route, while its voices inside could be heard over the audio.
ALAN: “Now, this is what Las Vegas really looks like. See all the hotels?”
STEPHANIE: (Showing youthful excitement) “My God, they’re so cool! Can we stop at one, please? Can we? Can we?”
ALAN: “Yes, but not tonight. But we definitely will tomorrow. I’ll show you my favorite places. I’ll even take you to a buffet.”
STEPHANIE: “This trip is gonna’ be fun!”
ALAN: (Sound Effects: Interior light clicks on) “Here.” (one beat) “Start from here and read the directions to me.”
STEPHANIE: “East on 215.”
ALAN: “I think that’s coming up soon.”
STEPHANIE: “Can we go faster?”
ALAN: (two beats) “Yeah. I think we have time.”
(Sound Effects: NorthStar engine revving)
Still above, the unseen camera was now behind the Cadillac as the vehicle suddenly punched forward into the darkness, its taillights leaving behind two red smears.
* * * * *
A doorknob jiggled in the darkened living room.
“Hurry up!” Stephanie said from behind the door. “I have to pee.”
“Give me a second,” Alan’s voice said. “I have to find the right key.”
More keys, more jiggles.
“Alannn,” Stephanie whined as the lock clicked. The door swung open, then Alan fumbled for the switch. The lights came on. Steph left her suitcase by the door when she raced deep into the unfamiliar house. Alan brought both bags inside, closing the front door behind. He instinctively locked it.
“Steph, be careful! You don’t know where anything is.”
“So what?” the young girl’s voice called from the hall. “Does that mean that I’ll piss in the closet?” Alan smiled. Setting down his messenger bag, he looked around the house. Does Liberace live here?
A toilet flushed.
“Does Liberace live here?” Stephanie asked, coming into the room, casually picking up a statue of Hercules and Diomedes and studying its hand-on-penis action, playing dumb. “Do you think Pat might be gay?”
“Put that down,” Alan told her. “It’s probably fragile.”
Steph’s eyes narrowed before throwing the figurine at the wall as hard as she possibly could. Alan gasped, but the statue – made of rubber – bounced right back into her hand, like a baseball. Stephanie carefully replaced it to exactly where she found it and smirked. “Just like the things in your basement.” Her eyes widened.
“OH – Does he have a dungeon, too?”
She vanished.
Sighing loudly, Alan walked into the great room and flipped the lights on. He fumbled through the kitchen area’s gilded French-country cabinets, then found a wine glass – with roses etched into the crystal.
Setting the stemware onto a pink granite countertop, he went back to the living room, returning with his messenger bag, and pulling out a fifth of Jack Daniels. Breaking the seal, he poured just five ounces, which, after all, was the proper amount for such glassware – otherwise, he’d seem like a drunk. He downed it, refilled it, downed it a second time…and then held the third serving near his chest as his eyes finally explored their faggy surroundings.
He keeps a candelabra on the television.
“I found the guest room, but the door’s closed to his bedroom,” Stephanie said excitedly, returning to the kitchen. It’s not locked though. I want us to see what’s behind together, at the same time…okay?”
“Mmm,” Alan said, swallowing as he nodded. As Aldobrandini’s Madonna watched from a golden frame above, the two joined hands and stood outside the closed door to Patrick’s bedroom.
“There’s a candelabra on the toilet too, so you know this is gonna’ be good,” Steph told him. They counted to three. She grabbed the knob, then flung open the door while Alan hit the lights. They gasped in unison.
And they almost fell backwards like dominoes.
Holy…Fucking…Shit.
* * * * *
Lights.
The first thing they saw were lights.
“Is that” – Stephanie struggled for words – “Manhattan?”
“Yeah,” Alan said. “I think it is.”
The dwelling’s garish kitsch immediately vanished from memory, as the bedroom door opened into a world void of color. As the two friends stepped inside – like children in a chocolate factory – their eyes and mouths grew wide in wonder, before exhaling slowly, like a kiss. Their backsides became silhouettes as the bedroom unfolded, as though it were actually coming to life.
“It’s all black and white,” Stephanie said in a whisper.
“And grey,” Alan added, not realizing he was whispering, himself.
It wasn’t so much the shape of the room that amazed; it was still just a basic track-house box. But what Patrick had done with it, Alan thought, was no less than absolutely amazing.
Dark grey carpet covered most of the concrete slab, above, what was obviously, thick, expensive padding. But the floor wasn’t all grey. A raised platform had been built into the corner, like a stage; on top of the space was a different color pile – white. The walls were painted a softer shade of grey, and if one looked closely, all four walls were slightly different hues.
A stunning black lacquer bedroom set fit perfectly into the corner, as though the platform had been solely designed for the furniture before them. But the pieces weren’t tacky; indeed, they were astonishingly elegant. The sharp, slender dressers and drawers fit together in an “L”, and unlike common black lacquer pieces, their designer kept the set horizontal, rather than vertical. The low bed fit perfectly, built into the center of the longer portion. There was no headboard, for that would have broken the ascetics –
But there was a skyline.
Behind the furniture, behind the corner housing the platform, an “L” shaped mural of New York at night provided the perfect backdrop for the sophisticated urban lacquer. But, even better, in front of the outer wall – yet behind the actual furniture – a second false wall had been devised, cleverly fashioned to look like windows. The overall effects made one actually feel like they were standing in a penthouse, with one’s bed nestled cozily in the corner, 45 stories in the sky. It was –
“FUCKING COOL!” Stephanie shouted, like The Peanuts Lucy.
Language, Alan thought, giving up completely.
He then stepped forward to see the mural more closely; a long string of Christmas chase lights lay at the windows’ very bottom, out of sight. The lights twinkled like headlights, and gave the city “movement.” Alan had to stretch on his toes to see the mural’s tiny manufacturer’s label, hidden in the very corner. It read, Radio World.
Stephanie face-planted onto the bed’s down comforter. “I want to sleep in here!” Her words were muffled, as though being suffocated.
Alan tried to object, but of course –
He could never deny his Schnookums.
* * * * *
BZZZZZZT!
The following day, Alan looked up when he heard the sound of the jailhouse door buzz open. He watched as a very disheveled-looking Patrick was ushered in wearing chains, which were eventually unlocked once the door buzzed closed, and the accused was safely secured within the guarded visitors lounge. As soon as the two were alone at the steel table, Patrick got to the point. He leaned in close to Alan and whispered –
“In my bedroom, under the bed platform on the left, you’ll find a hidden door. Open it, then get a rake or something. You’ll need something long like that to get to what I need. I purposely didn’t make it easy to find.”
Alan nodded.
“Way in the back, in the farthest corner, you’ll find three old Samsonite suitcases. Do not open them – I don’t want you any more involved than you already are – but take them to my lawyer. His name is Bob Gross. Remember the name…Bob Gross. Can you remember that?”
“Bob Gross,” Alan repeated. “Got it.”
“And I need to do this now. Today. As soon as you leave this facility.”
“As soon as I leave, got it.” Alan arched his back in tension. His friend looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was flat, his face had stubble, and his fingers trembled like a telegraph, tapping anxiously on the table’s hard metal surface –
tap tap tap tap…tap…tap-tap, tap…tap--tap…
They looked naked without diamonds.
“Again, Alan…this needs to happen today.”
“It will. I promise.”
Folding his hands, Alan looked down, in order to choose his next words carefully, He wanted to assemble the next sentence in his head first, in an effort to leave Patrick with some type of hope. He looked up when he got it.
“Hey, Melody wanted me to tell you that” –
BZZZZZZT!
The accused had already gone.
* * * * *
“DID YOU KNOW” – Stephanie yelled from behind sunglasses – “that the two thousand Cadillac Eldorado – in addition to a premium sound system with cassette deck – which, by the way, does not include a CD player – also comes with multi-zone air conditioning and two air bags?” Steph snapped the car’s owner’s manual shut, returning it to the glove box when she finally saw Alan approach. She had been reading it out of sheer and total boredom, in the hour and thirty minutes that he had been within the Las Vegas County Correctional Facility.
If ya’ can’t leave your kid alone in the car here…
“However will I play my Cradle of Filth CDs?” she added, as Alan got in, pulling the door shut behind. He started the motor, then closed the convertible top so they could actually use the multi-zone AC. He put on his shades. Stephanie sensed that he was preoccupied. She broke the silence.
“They gonna’ hang em’?”
“They don’t do that anymore,” he said quietly, crossing his arms and resting his head on the steering wheel for a moment.
“Why not? They do everything else here in Nevada.” Reaching under the seat, she produced what she had been reading before the Caddy’s manual.
“What’s a Kentucky Klondike Bar?” Alan looked up. Stephanie had somehow acquired a local singles paper – The VegaXXX Files – and was now merrily leafing its personals.
“Hey, this ad for this bar” – she pointed to the paper – “it’s logo is a pair of open scissors with heels. Why would someone want to get their hair cut from a stylist who’s drinking?”
“Give me that!” Alan snatched the paper from her and went to throw it out the window, but on realizing their location, tossed it in the back seat instead. A uniformed officer in mirrored sunglasses glanced their direction as he passed. Alan adjusted the dashboard vents to blow cold air on his face.
“You’re as thick as a thief,” Stephanie told him, noticing how his demeanor had completely changed over just ninety short minutes.
“What happened in there?”
Removing his sunglasses, Alan rubbed his eyes for a moment.
“Is Pat gonna’ be okay?” she added.
Alan sighed. “Yeah, Steph. But we apparently have to go back to the house, then find his lawyer’s office.” Closing his eyes, Alan replayed the brief conversation within his head.
Something wasn’t right about it.
Way in the back, in the farthest corner, you’ll find three old Samsonite suitcases. Do not open them… I don’t want you any more involved than you already are.
His mind then visualized Patrick’s actual sentences, as though the words, themselves, had been carefully arranged to hide some deeper hidden meaning within the story. There was one line in particular that stood out in his head:
I don’t want you any more involved than you already are.
Alan’s eyes snapped open.
“But all I did was come to Nevada.”
And I’m not involved in any of your casino shit, Patrick.
“What?” Stephanie looked up. “I didn’t ask you to come to Nevada. You asked me. Remember?”
“No, wait” – Alan stammered, quickly putting the car in reverse. “Sorry – I was talking to myself.”
Replacing his shades, he spun his head around, while throwing his arm round the girl’s headrest, behind her hair. The transmission whirred as the car shot backwards, out of the space. Stephanie’s shoulders slammed against her seat – What the fuck? – as their tires threw gravel when they stopped.
“You’re acting weird.”
“Yeah, well, your face looks weird.”
He chucked the car into drive, then spun the wheels towards the break in the fence, by the exit. Punching the gas, he seemed to have forgotten they were still within a correctional facility’s parking lot. The shiny Cadillac became a white flash, as it zipped down the aisles of both private and official vehicles, quickly banking a turn.
“What’s the rush?” she asked, holding on.
“There’s something important that we need to do.” He was focused. “Again, we’re going back to the house.”
“Mood swing much?”
“Steph, please just be quiet for a few minutes, okay? I need to think.”
Jesus!
The girl looked forward, out the windshield; one hand gripped the armrest, while the other clutched her ceiling strap. She may have appeared perturbed on the surface, but inside she was terrified –
Her breaths came fast.
The Caddy lurched to a stop at the parking lot’s edge. The light up the street had just turned green, so Alan threw the blinker on and prepared to merge left onto busy Arbitrage Boulevard. His chest tightened on realizing that he had to cross not just one – but two – double lanes of traffic. The timing had to be perfect as this wasn’t a maneuver for inexperienced drivers –
Something her mom would have failed.
“Steph, please sit back so I can see.”
Do not open the suitcases.
Alan leaned over the steering wheel, to better view traffic. His windshield momentarily became a smear of passing cars.
“Steph, I asked you to sit back.”
“Alan, what are we doing?”
“I already told you twice, Stephanie! We have to go back to Patrick’s house.” His black lenses shot back and forth. There was an opportunity coming. “Please! Just…be…quiet!”
He let up on the brakes a little.
Why did Patrick tell me not to open the hidden suitcases?
“Alan?”
Cars sped by so fast, had the Cadillac’s windows not been closed, the two would have felt the passing motorists’ displacement of air. The opening he’d seen had vanished, so Alan quickly searched for another. The air brakes hissed when his boot slammed their pedal again, causing the vehicle to lurch forward a second time. The NorthStar growled. The hood ornament rocked up and down.
What could be inside?
“Alan, the lawyer’s n-n-not what I mean,” the young girl stuttered. But he was far too focused on the task at hand to notice the anxiety rapidly rising within her voice.
It has to be more than money…
He spotted another opening. His boot released the breaks.
“Alan-n-n-n-n…” She was fighting to breathe now.
Patrick used to say at Checker’s that information was key to not getting caught.
The opening was coming.
“A-A-Al-l-l-l-an-n-n-n-n…”
Like changes in the managers’ behavior, which could mean their suspicion.
He shut the air conditioner to allow the engine as much horsepower as possible –
…vvvVVVROOOOMM!”
“pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa…”
I mean yes, we’ve been friends fifteen years, but could it be possible that –
His boot hovered over the gas pedal. The next opening was seconds away.
…vvvVVVROOOOMM!”
“p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p…”
Migod, Alan suddenly realized –
Patrick’s got something on ME! –
- “Steph, HOLD ON!” he barked angrily –
- He punched the gas HARD, hurtling them into the road –
The world went sideways in her eyes again.
And Stephanie screamed so violently, Alan was momentarily blinded.
END OF ACT ONE