Terrestrial Squares Continued [1982]

[Continuation of “Terrestrial Squares,” (from Cellophane Visions) written 7–8 June 1982]

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Steve: Well, just what the hell was Pete doing selling acid?

Sheila: He said it was a favor.

Steve: Some goddamn favor—selling acid’s a felony, and it’s stupid to boot, unless you know what you’re doing. Jesus, what’re we going to tell Lije and Lydia?

Sheila: I don’t know, Steve.

Steve: That’s the trouble with you two kids—the first time in weeks I get a chance for a hot bath, and you two have to get yourselves busted. Why?

Sheila: I didn’t—

[door opens, off]

Lydia (coming on screen): Hi, kids, it’s been a hell of a day; just let me unwind a little, okay?

Sheila: Uh, Lydia—

Lydia: Oh, god, it feels good to sit a minute; I wish I could stay a little, but I’ve got this meeting with the NAACP tonight and—say, where’s Pete?

Sheila: Well, it’s like this—

Lydia: Look, Steve, did you get the skins for the egg rolls—I didn’t have time. Can you do the Chinese food without—

Sheila: Mom!

Lydia: (startled) Yes? What is it, Sheila?

Sheila: It’s about Pete. (pause)

Lydia: Yes? What is it?

Sheila: Well, er, we went to the park to-day, and, well, Pete and I were sort of arrested? You know?

Lydia: And?

Sheila: They let me go and took Pete off to jail or something, I guess.

Lydia: But what for?

Sheila: For selling acid—L.S.D., you know?—in the park.

Lydia: For selling drugs? Pete?

Sheila: To a minor.

Lydia: Pete?

Steve: I told you she wouldn’t believe it.

Lydia: But that’s a felony.

Steve: Only since 1967.

Lydia: Where’s Jeff? In the hospital?

Steve: He’s over at Rod’s. Should I—

Lydia: Go fix your egg rolls. (pause) Let me think—Sheila, was it city or county police?

Sheila: County, I think—

Lydia: Okay, good—that’ll give me time to spring Pete and still make the NAACP meeting. Now look, Sheila—you stay here and look after the phone while your brother cooks supper. I’m going to the jail—do you think you can stay out of trouble while I’m gone?

Sheila: Should I tell Lije anything—

Lydia: Now don’t go worrying your father—he has enough troubles as it is. Do you understand?

Sheila: Okay, but—

Lydia: Now just be careful, okay? I’ll be right (& she exits, still talking)

Sheila: But—but—(she produces a bag filled with white tablets from her handbag) what do I do with the rest of the acid?

(fade to)

Chorus: Twenty-one great tobaccos
Make Twenty Wonderful Smokes
Twenty-one

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Get in the Biz Bag

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coffee tastes like sheep urine. Can’t you

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no more Armpit Odor—with Anthrax

Announcer: And now, back to our CBS Movie—Strange Rina, Strange Land, starring Mick Jagger and Goldie Hawn.

Ben (played by Robert Wagner): Look Jubal, I’m worried—

Jubal (moodily): You’re worried, my boy? You should have my worries. Look at this place—three gorgeous secretaries, a mansion, a pool the size of a football field—do you have any idea at all how much all this costs?

Ben: Jubal, listen—

Jubal: And the taxes—state, national, and federal. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.

Ben: Look, I just got back from Valentine’s church and let me tell you, I don’t like what I saw one bit. Did you know

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Moderator: new contestant! And where are you from, Mr. Lucifer?

Lucifer: You might call it Hell.

[studio laughter]

Moderator: Ah, yes, I’ve been there. But does it have—

Lucifer: another name? Sheol, Texas.

Moderator: Let’s have a big hand for Lucifer, from Sheol, Texas!

[studio applause]

         Now, as the challenger, Lucifer, you get to go first. Which of our “squares” do you want to—

Lucifer: I’ll take—Master Kung.

Kung: I doubt that, Honorable

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Ben: sort of thing is moral, Jubal?

Jubal: Free love? Free money? No guilt? My boy, if only I were twenty years younger—well, then

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King: lost dauphin of France!

Duke: Yes?

King: The pore suffrin’ rightful heir to the throne.

Duke: I see.

King: You do?

Duke: The rightful heir to the throne.

King: You do see.

Jim (emphatically): I don’t. An’ whut’s mo, I doan

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Friday: as you a few questions.

Woman: All right.

Friday: Do you know what your son is accused of?

Woman: Obviously.

Friday: Are you aware that drug abuse is the most serious scourge afflicting our young people: Do you realize—

Woman: Excuse me—are you aware that entrapment is illegal?

Friday: I’m not talking about

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Sheila: to do with the stuff.

Jeff: Yeah, that’s a problem too. We could sell it. How come Pete was selling the stuff, anyway?

Sheila: I don’t really know. He said he was trying to get some chick off his back.

Jeff: Pete?

Sheila: Yes—I guess she’d been calling up, hasseling him to sell her some acid, so Pete did.

Jeff: That figures. What a dope.

Sheila: What?

Jeff: He was set up. Who’d he buy the stuff from?

Sheila: Some guy called Saruman. I think.

Jeff (grins): Saruman. Okay—let me (He gets to his feet in one fluid move and starts to phone) make a call—hello? (pause) This is Jeff—you know? (pause) Yeah. You know my brother—Pete—just got busted. (pause) What do you mean what for? You know. (pause) You haven’t seen him for two weeks? You’re sure? (pause) Yeah, okay, thanks. (He hangs up.) He didn’t get it from Saruman. (He examines the bag.) I wish I knew if this shit was any good.

Sheila: You think Pete got burned?

Jeff: Well, I’m sure not going to sell the stuff if I don’t know where it comes from. I think we’d better flush it.

Sheila: But—

Jeff: No, better yet, I’ll take it to Saruman. He knows what’s going around. And he can do an analysis if there’s any problem.

Sheila: I’ll go with you.

Jeff: Yeah, okay, let’s get on with it. (They both head for the door, just as it closes, Steve comes to door opposite, entering.)

Steve: Supper’s on, gang—where is everyone?

(fade to)

(Scene is Saruman’s pad at Perelandra House; décor is Late Decadant Hippy, real 1969. Heavy sitar music drones in the background. Saruman is sprawled on some cushions, staring at the ceiling, more or less entangled with two Hippy Chicks. Miscellaneous lights strobe at random. The doorbell rings. There is a pause. Then the doorbell rings again.)

Saruman: Oh, wow, I got to get that tape fixed.

First Hippy Chick: What?

Saruman (as doorbell rings): Dig that discord—real uncool, you know.

First Hippy Chick: Yeah. It’s a bummer.

Second Hippy Chick: (slowly, spacily) That’s not a discord. That’s, like, your doorbell.

Saruman: Oh, wow, that’s heavy. (He rises vertically to his feet, as if pulled by invisible strings, and staggers to the door. He opens it, revealing Sheila.) Well, hello there. Is this Christmas?

Jeff: (pushing on in) It’s July. This is my sister, Sheila.

Saruman: Yeah? Where’s she been hiding?

Jeff: (handing Saruman the bag) Here. Take it.

Saruman: (suspiciously) What’s that, man?

Jeff: That’s what we want to know.

Saruman: (reaches in the bag, pulls out a tab, looks it over, sniffs, etc.) Shit, I don’t know. It could be acid. Some amateur outfit looks like. Where’d you score it?

Jeff: (shrugs) Pete scarfed it somewhere.

Saruman: This is a lab case—I’ll have to, like, call it in for testing, all right?

Jeff: Uh, yeah, sure. Give me a call—

Saruman: No way. In my book, all phones are tapped.

Jeff: Just yes or no, okay? Yes if it’s acid or something; no if it’s a burn.

Saruman: Yeah, okay. I guess. (He is rapidly losing interest.) I gotta sit (he collapses in a heap on the rug but continues talking as if nothing had happened) down before all the blood rushes out of my head.

(fade to)

Announcer: we filled one dishwasher with ordinary bleach and the other with New Chlorox 2 and

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Mr. Spock: think it was wise, Captain, for so many of us to leave the ship?

McCoy: He does have a point, Jim. Who is in charge up there now?

Captain Kirk: Uh, just a second. Let me check the duty roster—

Mr. Spock: I believe you’ll find that Assistant Master Mechanic Third Class Juarez is now the highest ranking officer on board.

Captain Kirk: Ah—yes. Now that that’s settled, gentlemen, shall we go forward into the un

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Chorus: brite toothpaste
The taste you can really feel
New Ultrabrite gives your mouth
Sex

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Chorus: grok around the clock tonight
We’re gonna grok grok grok
From dawn to night
We’re gonna grok around the grokkin’ clock tonight.
When the

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Duke: cons for all occasions, come one, come all—cons by fraud, cozenage, deception both grotesque and subtle—the truth indirect, or the outright lie. You sir—you look like a dupe.

Man from the Crowd: Why, thank you kindly, sir.

Duke: Step right on up here.

Man: You want me to step right on up there?

Duke: That’s right. Right on up here.

Man: Up here?

Duke (pointing): Up here.