Threeway, ch. 11, Inevitability, pt. 3 of 3
In which Kriegman & Mittelpunkt are brought low. We read of Rocky, The Flintstones, Falstaff, and Benny Hill. "Threeway" continues in serial form with a link to buy the book at the bottom of the post. To catch up on prior segments, start at the bottom of the blog. Enjoy. Tell your friends.
THREEWAY: A Short Novel for a Long Season
by
STEVEN LUBLINER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue, and descriptions are the author’s creations and are not to be taken as true. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All incidents depicting, suggesting, or referring to public figures or other historical persons are also fictionalized and are not to be taken as true.
Copyright © 2016 Steven S. Lubliner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1530971292
ISBN-13: 978-1530971299
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue: The Personal Is Political i
1 Fillmore Pipp’s Boner 1
2 Big Mel Kriegman 16
3 Hi and Bye, Connie and Herb. 32
4 THE BROWN BAGGERS!! 40
5 Mittelpunkt 43
6 Mandy 51
7 Mandy In. Mandy Out. Mandy In. 66
8 Authenticity 75
9 Momentum 79
10 Brother Paul 88
11 Inevitability 98
12 Win. Lose. Repeat 108
Epilogue 112
Chapter 11: Inevitability (pt. 3 of 3)
Played for laughs in the movies, the theme from “Rocky” would have soared in the background. Kriegman would have stood there, jaw clenched, muscles rippling, screaming like a power lifter. Instead, he smiled serenely and closed his eyes. He wasn’t fantasizing. He was remembering, traveling back to the can do days of his best self. In this reverie, he seemed like a boat stranded on calm seas. Then, his sail caught a breeze. It caught another. Soon, he was heading full into the storm until eventually sail and mast became one. He had done it. He opened his eyes and looked poignantly and hungrily at Mandy.
“I’m sorry we didn’t do it that time, Mandy.”
“That’s all right, Mel.”
“It was rude of me,” he said, drawing closer.
“Ancient history. Forget it.”
“I’d like to make it up to you. Now, maybe. Can we do it right now, Mandy, please? While it still remembers how.”
“Time and place, Mel. I think we missed our moment.”
The spell was broken. The wind died. The sail drooped. Kriegman zipped up.
“What happens now?” Pipp asked. Igor jumped in.
“If this was a foreign film, the candidates would do it. The Secret Service would do it. We’d all do it,” he said joyously.
“Igor fronts for the orgy party,” Mona said.
“Why not? We have the party of shit; we need the party of fuck.” Everyone laughed like an old Flintstones laugh track.
“I encourage you both to release your tapes,” Donaldson said. Mittelpunkt did not like this. He still hoped to keep the tape in reserve for Mandy’s reelection.
“Then, Roy, the world hears about Mel’s little movie.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kriegman countered.
“Shut up, Mel,” Donaldson said. Mittelpunkt continued.
“The world hears how he wanted to fuck our candidate.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kriegman repeated. This time, Donaldson laughed. Mittelpunkt dug in.
“The world also hears how he couldn’t.” Kriegman grew somber, as did Donaldson, the Magic Hippie Juice no longer helping him either. Stengel looked around and calculated his advantage. Handsome, fit, proportioned in the sacred middle, the only competent male in the group, he took charge.
“The tapes hurt everyone and no one. They’re awful, and I’m already bored with them.” He pointed at Mandy. “I think they hurt her most. I wish I could be sure. At heart, we’re all prudent people. Maybe we should just destroy the tapes.”
“No!” Until then, the tech nerd had given no sign that he was following the discussion or even distinguished the flesh and blood in front of him from the terabytes searing his brain.
“What’s that, kid?” Stengel advanced on him. “I’m asking you a question. Should we release the tapes?” Before dissolving under Stengel’s glare, the tech nerd said,
“They’re information, aren’t they?”
“One is; the other’s bullshit,” Donaldson countered.
“It’s all information, infinite amounts of it. When they come out, there’ll be infinitely more information.” He looked snootily at Stengel. “What world are you living in?”
“Anybody understand this kid?” Stengel asked the group. Donaldson was baffled, but Mittelpunkt got it. Once again, the cultural references that amused him spilled over into his seat of judgment. The tapes were Chekhov’s pistols over the fireplace, the ones that must be fired before the last act. The tapes had been made. They must be released. America doesn’t want tidy sitcom resolutions with lessons learned, canned applause, and a quiet fade. It wants “The Benny Hill Show,” with its fast motion ending, juvenile chaos, exposed girls in peril, and “Yakety Sax” blaring in the background.
“Bring it on.” Mittelpunkt handed his disk to Mona. Stengel handed over his. Mandy kissed Mittelpunkt on the cheek. None of his cultural reference points hinted that this was the last one he’d ever get from her.
When Mandy and Mittelpunkt got back to their home office, Brother Paul was waiting, a free man, another mess waiting to be made. Mittelpunkt extended his hand.
“Hey, there he is. Sorry about the screw-up.”
“Would you excuse us?” Brother Paul pulled Mandy into a back room and locked the door. Mittelpunkt rattled the handle.
“I’m fine,” Mandy yelled. “Just leave us alone. I’m fine.”
Mittelpunkt pressed his ear to the door. He heard intense whispering, mostly from Brother Paul, but Mandy gave some back, defending him, he assumed. He went and sat down. A half hour later they came out. Brother Paul extended his hand to Mittelpunkt, who took it and was yanked to his feet.
“I am instructed to tell you that your connection to this campaign is severed.” He squeezed Mittelpunkt’s hand hard.
“What did you just say?”
“You’re fired, asshole.” Mittelpunkt pulled his hand free.
“You don’t fire me, dumbass. I fire you. I can find Brown Bagger vice presidents anywhere. ‘Hey, judge. Next tweeker you put on probation, make Brown Bagger vice president a condition, and send him my way.’ ‘Hey, you, with the illegal fireworks. You, running the dog fight. Want an easy score?’ No, my friend. You don’t fire me.”
“All right.” Brother Paul snapped his fingers at Mandy. She stepped up to Mittelpunkt, looked him in the eye, and did the deed. Mandy had never read Shakespeare, yet she cut Mittelpunkt off not only as cruelly as Prince Hal did Falstaff but more succinctly.
“Who the hell are you anyway?”
If Mittelpunkt had been more likable, it could have been as sad as Falstaff’s dismissal, sadder because there was no hint of reconciliation after duty was done. Unlike Falstaff, Mittelpunkt never got to plead his case, not through eloquent heartbreak as in Shakespeare, nor in Mandy and Mittelpunkt’s more common parlance. He touched her face. She pulled back. He grabbed for her roughly, but Brother Paul stepped forever between Mittelpunkt and his masterpiece. Silently, menacingly, Brother Paul backed the cashiered stooge out of the room. The Secret Service escorted him from the building.
“What have I done?” Mittelpunkt said.
This time, he meant it.
Buy Threeway.
Read the review on Kirkus Reviews.
Read an article about the author.
Review Threeway on Goodreads.
Buy A Child's Christmas in Queens.
THREEWAY: A Short Novel for a Long Season
by
STEVEN LUBLINER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue, and descriptions are the author’s creations and are not to be taken as true. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All incidents depicting, suggesting, or referring to public figures or other historical persons are also fictionalized and are not to be taken as true.
Copyright © 2016 Steven S. Lubliner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1530971292
ISBN-13: 978-1530971299
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue: The Personal Is Political i
1 Fillmore Pipp’s Boner 1
2 Big Mel Kriegman 16
3 Hi and Bye, Connie and Herb. 32
4 THE BROWN BAGGERS!! 40
5 Mittelpunkt 43
6 Mandy 51
7 Mandy In. Mandy Out. Mandy In. 66
8 Authenticity 75
9 Momentum 79
10 Brother Paul 88
11 Inevitability 98
12 Win. Lose. Repeat 108
Epilogue 112
Chapter 11: Inevitability (pt. 3 of 3)
Played for laughs in the movies, the theme from “Rocky” would have soared in the background. Kriegman would have stood there, jaw clenched, muscles rippling, screaming like a power lifter. Instead, he smiled serenely and closed his eyes. He wasn’t fantasizing. He was remembering, traveling back to the can do days of his best self. In this reverie, he seemed like a boat stranded on calm seas. Then, his sail caught a breeze. It caught another. Soon, he was heading full into the storm until eventually sail and mast became one. He had done it. He opened his eyes and looked poignantly and hungrily at Mandy.
“I’m sorry we didn’t do it that time, Mandy.”
“That’s all right, Mel.”
“It was rude of me,” he said, drawing closer.
“Ancient history. Forget it.”
“I’d like to make it up to you. Now, maybe. Can we do it right now, Mandy, please? While it still remembers how.”
“Time and place, Mel. I think we missed our moment.”
The spell was broken. The wind died. The sail drooped. Kriegman zipped up.
“What happens now?” Pipp asked. Igor jumped in.
“If this was a foreign film, the candidates would do it. The Secret Service would do it. We’d all do it,” he said joyously.
“Igor fronts for the orgy party,” Mona said.
“Why not? We have the party of shit; we need the party of fuck.” Everyone laughed like an old Flintstones laugh track.
“I encourage you both to release your tapes,” Donaldson said. Mittelpunkt did not like this. He still hoped to keep the tape in reserve for Mandy’s reelection.
“Then, Roy, the world hears about Mel’s little movie.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kriegman countered.
“Shut up, Mel,” Donaldson said. Mittelpunkt continued.
“The world hears how he wanted to fuck our candidate.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kriegman repeated. This time, Donaldson laughed. Mittelpunkt dug in.
“The world also hears how he couldn’t.” Kriegman grew somber, as did Donaldson, the Magic Hippie Juice no longer helping him either. Stengel looked around and calculated his advantage. Handsome, fit, proportioned in the sacred middle, the only competent male in the group, he took charge.
“The tapes hurt everyone and no one. They’re awful, and I’m already bored with them.” He pointed at Mandy. “I think they hurt her most. I wish I could be sure. At heart, we’re all prudent people. Maybe we should just destroy the tapes.”
“No!” Until then, the tech nerd had given no sign that he was following the discussion or even distinguished the flesh and blood in front of him from the terabytes searing his brain.
“What’s that, kid?” Stengel advanced on him. “I’m asking you a question. Should we release the tapes?” Before dissolving under Stengel’s glare, the tech nerd said,
“They’re information, aren’t they?”
“One is; the other’s bullshit,” Donaldson countered.
“It’s all information, infinite amounts of it. When they come out, there’ll be infinitely more information.” He looked snootily at Stengel. “What world are you living in?”
“Anybody understand this kid?” Stengel asked the group. Donaldson was baffled, but Mittelpunkt got it. Once again, the cultural references that amused him spilled over into his seat of judgment. The tapes were Chekhov’s pistols over the fireplace, the ones that must be fired before the last act. The tapes had been made. They must be released. America doesn’t want tidy sitcom resolutions with lessons learned, canned applause, and a quiet fade. It wants “The Benny Hill Show,” with its fast motion ending, juvenile chaos, exposed girls in peril, and “Yakety Sax” blaring in the background.
“Bring it on.” Mittelpunkt handed his disk to Mona. Stengel handed over his. Mandy kissed Mittelpunkt on the cheek. None of his cultural reference points hinted that this was the last one he’d ever get from her.
When Mandy and Mittelpunkt got back to their home office, Brother Paul was waiting, a free man, another mess waiting to be made. Mittelpunkt extended his hand.
“Hey, there he is. Sorry about the screw-up.”
“Would you excuse us?” Brother Paul pulled Mandy into a back room and locked the door. Mittelpunkt rattled the handle.
“I’m fine,” Mandy yelled. “Just leave us alone. I’m fine.”
Mittelpunkt pressed his ear to the door. He heard intense whispering, mostly from Brother Paul, but Mandy gave some back, defending him, he assumed. He went and sat down. A half hour later they came out. Brother Paul extended his hand to Mittelpunkt, who took it and was yanked to his feet.
“I am instructed to tell you that your connection to this campaign is severed.” He squeezed Mittelpunkt’s hand hard.
“What did you just say?”
“You’re fired, asshole.” Mittelpunkt pulled his hand free.
“You don’t fire me, dumbass. I fire you. I can find Brown Bagger vice presidents anywhere. ‘Hey, judge. Next tweeker you put on probation, make Brown Bagger vice president a condition, and send him my way.’ ‘Hey, you, with the illegal fireworks. You, running the dog fight. Want an easy score?’ No, my friend. You don’t fire me.”
“All right.” Brother Paul snapped his fingers at Mandy. She stepped up to Mittelpunkt, looked him in the eye, and did the deed. Mandy had never read Shakespeare, yet she cut Mittelpunkt off not only as cruelly as Prince Hal did Falstaff but more succinctly.
“Who the hell are you anyway?”
If Mittelpunkt had been more likable, it could have been as sad as Falstaff’s dismissal, sadder because there was no hint of reconciliation after duty was done. Unlike Falstaff, Mittelpunkt never got to plead his case, not through eloquent heartbreak as in Shakespeare, nor in Mandy and Mittelpunkt’s more common parlance. He touched her face. She pulled back. He grabbed for her roughly, but Brother Paul stepped forever between Mittelpunkt and his masterpiece. Silently, menacingly, Brother Paul backed the cashiered stooge out of the room. The Secret Service escorted him from the building.
“What have I done?” Mittelpunkt said.
This time, he meant it.
Buy Threeway.
Read the review on Kirkus Reviews.
Read an article about the author.
Review Threeway on Goodreads.
Buy A Child's Christmas in Queens.
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