Stanley Lieber (stanleylieber) wrote,
Stanley Lieber
stanleylieber

SL/fiction 09.29.09 | PERIOD DRAMA




PERIOD DRAMA
599 words by Stanley Lieber




Chuck Fraud loaded his pen.

He cruised in through the front doors and attached himself to a cart. Walked it down an isle and held out his arm, sending a row of boxes tumbling into his basket.

At the register he pulled out his pen and started to write a check.

"What are you, Abraham Lincoln?" the cashier said, "You can't write a check here."

"What, my money's not good enough for you?"

"No, sir, it's not. In fact, where did you find an ink pen, anyway?"

Chuck Fraud was taken aback by this. How audacious. And no regard for history.

"Son--"

"Cut!" cried the Director. "I still don't feel good about this scene. Some of the details just don't read as authentic. And I don't like this conveyor belt. I don't remember electronics stores looking like this."

He looked down and then spoke into his Arrow shirtsleeve.

"Get me the Expert. The Expert! Now."

After a few minutes the actors were already getting restless and so he waved them off, free to shoot dice or fuck under the craft services table or whatever it was actors did when not being directed by a director. People continued to swarm around him, but still the Expert was not present.

The Director consulted his shirtsleeve again and then peered into his lap at his leaf. He'd research this himself. He tapped two distinct regions in sequence and then furrowed his brow as his eyes strained to follow the changes.



Chuck Fraud loaded his pen.

He cruised in through the front doors and attached himself to a cart. Walked it down an isle and held out his arm, sending a row of boxes tumbling into his basket.

Pushed the basket up to the register. Starting filling out a check.

"I'll need to see your identoplate," the cashier interrupted.

"What kind of scam is this?" asked Chuck Fraud.

"Sir, you can't pay with paper--"

"Cut!" screamed the Director, finally making himself hoarse.

This time, the Expert was on hand.

"This sequence just isn't working. I'm sort of re-writing it blind here; I don't know if the original screenplay was pecked out at random by amphetamine-soaked apes or if this was something originally intended for telescreen. Either way, it's shit. This retail environment is in no way authentic. The transaction particulars are also inaccurate. If I remember this stuff, you know the viewers are going to remember it. We've got to do something about it."

"I'll see what I can come up with," confirmed the Expert, before darting between some interns and vacating the sound stage.



Errol Royale fingered a business card from the top of his deck. It read: "B. Errol Royale, Recruiter." His eyes massaged the dense ultracrowd. As he surveyed the area, an erection began to deform the contour of his trousers.

Royale flashed on one Chuck P. Fraud and made a bee-line for him, parting the sea of aimless consumers by waving his business card in front of his face like a butterfly knife. Fraud responded, naturally enough, by shifting his weight and attacking Royale's midsection, using the point formed by his knuckles to radiate a signal of pain throughout the taller man's ribcage --

"Cut," breathed the Director.

He paused to draw in more air before continuing.

"I think I'm going to give up on this scene. I no longer care how Fraud gets into the military. We just have to make it believable when he starts picking off Congressmen. Let's move on to the next page."



To be continued...









creative.commons.attribution-noncommercial-noderivs.3.0

1OCT1993 | INDEX



Tags: 1985, 1oct1993, b_errol_royale, chuck_fraud, creative_commons, fiction, slfiction, stanleylieber
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