Cat's Pajamas (24 page)

SUSAN: If you could persuade her to let
everybody
in Montrose have a zombie… even wealthy people… I'm sure the Public Safety Committee would—

Arabella enters, sans cantaloupe. Her sudden appearance cuts Susan off. Gaston yawns.

GASTON: That was a yawn, wasn't it? I must be tired.

ARABELLA: Your coffin's waiting.

GASTON:
(to his wife, portentously)
You have much to think about, Susan.

Gaston rises from the loveseat and, grasping his dirt bowl, stumbles toward the bookcase. He removes a copy of Immanuel Kant's
Critique of Pure Reason.

GASTON:
(cont'd)
Goodnight, everyone.

SUSAN: Goodnight,
Gaston.

ARABELLA: NO reading after 9:30.

Dirt and philosophy in hand, Gaston exits toward the cellar stairs.

Someone knocks on the front door. Suddenly galvanized, Arabella rushes toward the loveseat, lifts a cushion, and pulls out a cloth voodoo doll.

SUSAN: What's
that?

ARABELLA: I made it in the likeness of your friend Commissioner Grigsby.
(pointedly)
Your
good
friend Commissioner Grigsby.

She removes a pair of scissors from her shoulder bag.

ARABELLA:
(cont'd)
All I need is a DNA sample.

Another round of knocking. Arabella puts the doll and the scissors in her skirt pocket.

SUSAN: None of your cheap voodoo tricks, Ms. LeGrand. This case must be decided on its merits alone.

ARABELLA: No case is ever decided on its merits alone. That's why there's a Susan Wingrove Campaign Fund.
(responds to knocking)
Come in!

BEN GRIGSBY, the smooth and opportunistic County Health Inspector, sweeps into the room holding a black satchel.

BEN: An open sewer, right in the middle of Montrose! A pest hole of filth and contagion!
(notices Susan)
Hello, Susan.
(forced professionalism)
Mayor.

Ben and Susan trade freighted glances.

SUSAN: Hello, Ben. Ms. LeGrand, this is Ben Grigsby, County Health Inspector.

ARABELLA: So I gather. Would you like some dirt, Inspector?

Ben frowns, sets his satchel on the coffee table, and takes out four jars, each filled with a colored liquid reagent.

BEN:
(to Susan)
Our paths don't seem to cross much these days, Susan.

SUSAN: Whose fault is that?

Maurice enters from the cellar stairwell, carrying his copy of
Being and Time,
which he evidently found impenetrable. He approaches the bookcase, reshelves the Heidegger, and selects Nietzsche's
Beyond Good and Evil.
As he starts back toward the cellar, Ben blocks his path.

BEN: Stop, dead man! Don't move!

Maurice freezes. Ben sniffs the zombie head to foot.

BEN:
(cont'd)
Just as I suspected—he
smells bad! (to Susan)
A breeding ground for plague!

Ben returns to the coffee table and removes four tools from his satchel: syringe, tweezers, medicine dropper, Q-Tip.

BEN:
(cont'd)
A walking toxic-waste dump!

ARABELLA: His name is
Maurice.

SUSAN: DO you have any tea, Ms. LeGrand? It's going to be a long evening.

ARABELLA: Everything's in the kitchen. Help yourself.

Susan heads into the kitchen. Nietzsche in hand, Maurice starts to exit.

BEN: Stay right there
Maurice.
This scientific investigation has barely begun.

A brief comedic ballet follows as Ben collects four samples from Maurice and transfers them to the reagent jars.

BEN:
(cont'd)
Let's see: we'll need
(wields syringe)
two cc's of blood…
(uses tweezers)
a skin sample…
(inserts medicine dropper)
an ounce of saliva…
(swizzles Q-Tip)
and a bit of ear wax.

Taking out her scissors, Arabella sneaks up behind Ben and snips off a lock of his hair.

BEN:
(to Maurice)
Okay, dead man, you're done.

As Maurice shuffles out of the room, Arabella retrieves a bottle of rubber cement from her shoulder bag and surreptitiously affixes the lock to the doll. She slips the cement and the doll into her skirt. Ben meanwhile seizes the first reagent jar and shakes it.

BEN:
(cont'd)
This reagent will tell the tale. Organic chemistry never lies.

He holds the jar up to the light.

BEN:
(cont'd)
Hah! Just as I suspected, Ms. LeGrand! Your zombies are carrying amoebic dysentery!

Arabella turns away from Ben, takes out the doll, and proceeds to tickle it. Though obviously perplexed by the sensation, Ben can't help giggling.

Regaining his composure, he sets down the dysentery experiment, holds up the second reagent jar, and shakes it.

BEN: And here we have… Asiatic cholera!

Arabella extends her index finder and jabs it into the doll's stomach.

Ben suddenly clutches his belly and gasps. Despite his confusion, he manages to set down the second reagent jar, grab the third, and examine it.

BEN:
(cont'd)
Jackpot! African sleeping sickness!

As Ben sets down the jar, Arabella puts the doll through a series of bizarre gyrations. Wholly against his will, Ben mimics the doll's convulsive dance.

Susan enters carrying a tea tray: pot, cups, sugar, cream. For an instant she simply stands in place, perplexed by Ben's antics. Sizing up the situation, she sets down the tray and yells at Arabella.

SUSAN: Stop that, Ms. LeGrand! You stop that!

Arabella returns the doll to her skirt pocket. Ben regains control of himself. He glances in all directions, trying to discover the source of his recent spasms.

SUSAN:
(cont'd)
Ben, this woman is devious!

A knock on the door.

ARABELLA: Come in!

Ben holds up the fourth reagent jar, shakes it, and prepares to pronounce on the result.

REVEREND JEREMIAH LARKIN strides into the room. He is an imposing man whose worldview derives largely from St. Paul's First Letter to the Republicans.

SUSAN: Hello, Reverend Larkin.

BEN: Syphilis!

JEREMIAH: What?

ARABELLA:
(to Ben, angry)
Oh,
please
let's be honest, Inspector. The minute I let you have one of your own, you'll decide my zombies aren't a health hazard after all. But I won't do it. No zombie for Ben Grigsby, who inherited
one million dollars
from his Uncle Alex.
(points to Susan)
No zombie for Mayor Wingrove, who pulls in an extra
two hundred thousand
a year as the landlord of Skyview Terrace.
(points to Jeremiah)
No zombie for Reverend Larkin, whose radio station clears an annual profit equal to the budget of Guatemala.

JEREMIAH: Costa Rica.

BEN:
(to Jeremiah)
You're late.

JEREMIAH: Sorry. I decided to walk.
(rubs his chest
a
nd winces)
Doctor Merrick said it's good for the heart.
His
heart maybe, not mine.
(gasps)
Christ had the Via Dolorosa. I have a cholesterol count of 345.

As Susan pours Jeremiah a cup of tea, he staggers into the loveseat and pulls out a pill bottle. The minister removes a pill, lobs it into his mouth, and washes it down with tea.

BEN:
(indicating fourth jar)
The proof is irrefutable. These corpses are harboring four different epidemic diseases. The Borough Council will have no choice but to ban them!

Gaston shuffles in from the cellar stairwell, wearing a sour expression and clutching his copy of Kant's
Critique of Pure Reason.
He reshelves it and selects Heidegger's
Being and Time
instead.

Transcending his pain, Jeremiah rises from the loveseat and blocks the zombie's path.

JEREMIAH: Herman? Herman Wingrove? Remember me? Your minister?

GASTON: I'm Gaston now.

JEREMIAH: Tell me honestly, Herman. Wouldn't you be better off dead?

GASTON: I
am
dead.

JEREMIAH: Dead and
buried,
I mean.

GASTON: All phenomenological experience is beyond me.

Jeremiah confronts Arabella with a full measure of his wrath.

JEREMIAH: How
evil
of you, Arabella LeGrand! How
cruel!
To create beings who are incapable of
(mispronounces)
phomenalogical experience!

GASTON: It's not so bad. I used to get migraines.

JEREMIAH: I'll bet Mrs. Wingrove could have an adulterous love affair right in front of Mr. Wingrove, and he wouldn't feel one tittle of jealousy!

BEN:
(joining in)
Somebody could kiss Mrs. Wingrove
right now,
and Mr. Wingrove wouldn't even
care.

GASTON: Ben Grigsby? Is that really you?
(to Arabella)
This is the man I was telling you about, the one who gets corpses to vote for him.

BEN: Susan, I think we should put Reverend Larkin's theory to the test.

He sweeps Susan into his arms and kisses her passionately. Against her better judgment, Susan reciprocates.

Gaston's only response is to decide against the Heidegger volume. He reshelves it. Jeremiah studies Gaston's impassive face.

JEREMIAH: Not a twitch!

Ben pulls Susan onto the loveseat, and they engage in a bizarre variety of necking, half passionate, half clinical. Jeremiah leads the impassive Gaston toward the couple.

JEREMIAH:
(cont'd)
Not a twinge! Not a flicker! Not a blip!
(to Arabella, indicating Gaston)
Do you realize what you've done, Arabella LeGrand? Shame on you! You've stolen this man's
soul!
In a Godless age, who will protect the rights of the undead?

Jeremiah climbs onto the coffee table, the better to study the whole group. Inspired by his newfound elevation, he behaves as if commanding a pulpit.

JEREMIAH:
(cont'd)
But the Lord, he shall come in a cloud of flame, and then shall the wicked know his wrath! He shall scourge the atheists and the idolaters
(points at Arabella)
and the
enchantresses
and the flag burners and the gun controllers and the adulterers
(glances at Susan and Ben, realizes he's condemning them)
and certain adulterers and the sodomites and the Darwinists and the
(pain sears his chest)
environmental… alarmists… and… and… and—

Jeremiah clutches his shoulder and falls on the floor, dead. His demise gets the attention of Ben and Susan. They rise from the loveseat and stand over Jeremiah's body.

SUSAN: Good heavens, is he… dead?

GASTON: A reasonable supposition.

Arabella bends over Jeremiah, grasps his wrist, and feels for a pulse.

BEN: Leave this to me. I'm the professional here.

Arabella stands aside. Ben pulls a mirror from his satchel and holds it over Jeremiah's mouth. He checks the glass for condensation.

BEN:
(cont'd)
He's dead.

Ben looks at himself in the mirror. He smoothes back his hair.

ARABELLA: Gaston, give me a hand.

Together, Gaston and Arabella pick up Jeremiah's body and carry it out of the room, toward the cellar stairs. Ben and Susan are now alone.

SUSAN: Poor old Jeremiah. At least he fell in the line of duty.

BEN: Kiss me again.

SUSAN: Ben, we have to talk.

BEN: My marriage is over. This time I mean it.

SUSAN: I don't care.

BEN: No. Really. Karen and I are through.

SUSAN: Ben, everybody knows there were some irregularities the
first
time you got elected, but the
second
time around, you earned every vote, right?

BEN: What does
that
have to do with anything?

SUSAN: I need an honest answer. How many dead people voted for you in last year's election?

BEN: Susan—

SUSAN: How many?

BEN: This isn't—

SUSAN:
How many?

BEN: Three hundred and thirty. But they were all
recently
dead.

SUSAN: I thought so.

BEN: I'm definitely leaving Karen.

SUSAN: Not for me you aren't.

BEN: Let's save that discussion for tomorrow. Right now we've got to block those zombies. I now call to order the first meeting of the Montrose Public Safety Committee!

SUSAN: No, Ben. The meeting's over.
(under her breath)
Everything's over.

BEN: Come on, Susan! It's you and me against the dead!

SUSAN: I don't think so.

BEN:
(to Susan)
How can you blithely ignore major disease vectors?
(points to reagent jars)
Amoebic dysentery, Asiatic cholera, African sleeping sickness—

SUSAN: None of those are
airborne
diseases. You can't catch them from a zombie unless you eat it or have sex with it.

BEN:
(to Susan, angry)
Since when did
you
get elected County Health Inspector?

SUSAN: Since when did you?

An otherworldly moan issues from the cellar stairwell.

BEN: Damn it, Susan, we have to present a united front. I mean, now that the Public Safety Committee is down to just two…

Jeremiah staggers into the room: paleface, dark eyes—a zombie.

JEREMIAH:
(zero affect)
No, friends, there are still
three
of us.

SUSAN: Jeremiah! You're… back.

JEREMIAH: Pierre.

SUSAN: Pierre.

JEREMIAH:
(philosophical)
It was a most congenial funeral. Short, but congenial. They dug me a cozy little hole in the cellar. I have a clean, well-lighted grave.

Arabella and Gaston re-enter the room.

JEREMIAH:
(cont'd)
I'll say one thing for death—it gives you a new point of view. From my present perspective, I would argue that there's nothing inherently wrong with using resuscitated corpses for charitable purposes.