(Back inside the Chew-Z Cafe. GENERICA and LUXOTTICA sit at the deli counter, awed by the magnetic presence of Oliver KLOZOV, an energetic, robust, tanned dynamo. He wears a fur cap, and stands in the aisle in the center of the cafe, demanding attention. Most of the customers at the Chew-Z watch him expound, but one young, ugly American ingrate at the far wall plays a video game: Rush 'N' Attack. The vulgar machine punctuates Mr. KLOZOV's diatribe with ack-ack noises, Russian music, and assorted exclamations of "do svedanya" and "korosho".)

KLOZOV

(Brandishing a half-eaten bowl of red fluid in the face of the SHORT ORDER COOK.) Borscht, borscht, borscht! I asked for borscht! You call this borscht? Where is the dill flavor? What kind of a vile, roach-infested American establishment do you run, sir? Bring me real borscht! Now!

(Intimidated, the SHORT ORDER COOK takes back the bowl. For the rest of the scene, he can be seen fiddling nervously with an onion and a bottle of Heinz ketchup.)

(Walking about the cafe, inpecting people's dinners, picking them up, scrutinizing them, casting them aside.) How long must I tolerate this disgusting American food? These festering piles of grease, fat, and slop? These slabs of oil-saturated, onion-smeared meat? These deep-fried, putrescent shavings of rotten vegetable matter?

(Clutching, in his outstretched hand, the cheeseburger he's lifted from LUXOTTICA's plate, KLOZOV reaches his first crescendo.)

It is culinary suicide!, you are killing yourselves, because of the despair you feel over the emptiness of American culture.

LUXOTTICA

Hey, love it or leave it, pal.

(At this, there is a groundswell of assent. This guy is un-American.)

KLOZOV

(Flinging the cheeseburger away.) Where is your champion? Bring me Andrew Gilligan, your champion, and I will defeat him right here, before all to see.

LUXOTTICA

Uh, first of all, chill out, and secondly, Andrew Gilligan?, he's really not worth getting this worked up about.

KLOZOV

I will destroy him! He will name the place, and the time, and I will defeat him! I will crush him! And in crushing him, I will --

(The doors swing open. Andrew, flanked by PHINEAS and BHOPAL, acts as tough as he can as he strides into the cafe.)

GILLIGAN

(With preposterous gusto.) Who here is Oliver Klozov?

LUXOTTICA

You're such a retard.

KLOZOV

Well met, Andrew Gilligan, alleged champion of this polluted, waste-infested city. I hope you are prepared to be utterly humiliated, crushed, and discarded like the dreck of your rotten American culture.

GILLIGAN

(Thinking of a good rejoinder.) Well, no, I'm not!

(LUXOTTICA rolls her eyes at GENERICA.)

BHOPAL

(To PHINEAS.) I have always felt the pre-game hype to be distasteful and unnecessary.

KLOZOV

Prepare to be exposed as an impostor, masquerading as a chessplayer before the mastery of Russian intellect!

KID PLAYING VIDEO GAME

I think you got some serious issues about Russia, dude. Like, I think you got a psychological hang-up.

(Assent.)

CUSTOMER

Yeah, buddy. The cold war is over, and bee-sides, if I remember kerectly, youse guys lost.

(KLOZOV strides over to the back wall of the cafe. He rips the video game machine out of the wall, and kicks it to the ground. The cafe, which had been noisy, becomes deadly quiet.)

KLOZOV

Yes, you are right, American pigs. You won this "cold war". You proved that you have the most muscle, the most military might, that you were the most bloodthirsty, the biggest bully. I hope you are all proud of yourselves. You are the policemen and thugs of the world, the undisputed champions of brawn. But what about brain? I take a look at your filthy, featureless, trash-strewn city, and I see the consequences of your guns over butter mentality. You have grown soft, and lazy, wallowing in your squalid urban filth. You have no values and no culture, and no class!

GILLIGAN

That's not true! Cut it out! Jersey City isn't squalid, there's lots of nice parts of it.

(The crowd is getting behind Andrew. "Yeah!", "Yeah!", they cry.)

And, I, I heard lots of parts of Russia are polluted. (KLOZOV scoffs.) Besides, you don't even know what you're talking about, you got off the plane a few hours ago.

KLOZOV

You don't have to eat the whole egg to know that it is rotten!

BHOPAL

(Leaping up on the deli counter, and expounding with all his tiny might.) Gentlemen, gentlemen! As chessplayers, we must remain above this sort of pedestrian, nationalist squabble. You represent the most analytical minds of your countries; why not allow that to be a site of solidarity, rather than dissent? Why not forge an alliance based on our respect for the game, and the intellectual acumen required for its mastery? Mr. Klozov, you are a sensible, respectable man; your enemies are those who would seek to tarnish the providence of intellect, are they not? Surely I do not need to point out who these might be, and why they respect no territorial boundaries. Let us, then, imagine chess as blissfully transcendent of politics. Chess might be a truly international forum, one where we can put aside our petty jealousies and provincial interests and contribute in the preservation of international culture based on precepts of civility and refinement.

(Silence. Little BHOPAL sinks into his seat, exhausted.)

KLOZOV

(Turning to all.) Pretty words. Pretty words from a distastefully precocious child, living well in the belly of the beast. Who, I ask you, is more responsible for the debasement of this intellectual sphere than the Americans? What contribution have you Americans ever made to this transnational culture you speak of? Who is your great philosopher? This... Rodney Dangerfield? Where is your great painter, your great sculptor, your great composer? We Russians give you symphonies, Stravinsky, Rimsky-Korsakov; you give us your Snoop Doggy Dogg. You import our dancers, and poets, and export your gangsta rap videos. And you talk of chess, the great game. Your people have no respect for the great game whatsoever. (To the CUSTOMER.) Tell me, how does the king move?

CUSTOMER

Well, a king can jump in eida direction.

KLOZOV

Pretty words, in defense of trash, your national religion.

GILLIGAN

(Who the crowd has been expecting a reply from.) Well, that just goes to show what you know. Because we have lots of culture here. Like, just for example, now, there's the Jersey City symphony orchestra.

(A murmur of non-recognition.)

GILLIGAN

And, um, there's several small museums right here in town, and the new Jersey City ballet, and arts center that we got. It's really, um, classy. It's got multicultural exhibits, and stuff like that.

GENERICA

Oh, Andrew...

GILLIGAN

(Above rumblings of disapproval, and customers wondering aloud about the whereabouts of Andrew's cultural center and symphony house.) There's lots of culture here, so cut it out!

KLOZOV

(Realizing he's made his point, clapping Andrew on the shoulder.) All right, Andrew Gilligan, my esteemed opponent, all right. I have dallied here too long. I seek an evening of adventure in this wicked modern Gomorrah of Jersey City.

GENERICA

I hate to say it, but this is kind of it.

KLOZOV

(To GENERICA and LUXOTTICA, extending an arm to each of them.) Beautiful American women! Acoompany me for a night on the town. I am a strapping, charismatic Russian bear, and fine wine connoseur.

(GENERICA and LUXOTTICA exchange glances, as if to say "why not"? Each take an arm, and the three begin to exit from the cafe, umbrellas trailing. Andrew tugs on GENERICA's brolly.)

GILLIGAN

You're not, actually, going out, with this guy, are you?

GENERICA

Why, Andrew, would you like to make me a better offer?

GILLIGAN

Yes. No! I mean, what I mean is, um... quit hassling me! (GENERICA looks at him with a combination of pity and disdain.) No, you don't understand. It's not what I meant.

GENERICA

Good night, Andrew.

LUXOTTICA

Catch you later. At the symphony.

(Much laughter.)

Oh, by the way, Andrew, remember that key to your place that you gave me? I lent it to Phineas.

GILLIGAN

To Phineas?!?! Why, what, I gave that key to you!

LUXOTTICA

Yes, but I have no need for it, and Phineas might. Be good in a pinch for once. That's the whole problem with you. You're no good in a pinch.

GILLIGAN

(As they exit.) In a pinch? What, what? What are you talking about? Luxottica? (To PHINEAS.) She's just fucking with me, right?

(PHINEAS shrugs. Andrew looks around the cafe. All eyes are on him.)

GILLIGAN

What?

(BHOPAL and ANDREW walk down Grove Street together. They have their brollies out: it's coming down pretty hard again. They drift past the candy and lights of the Artiforg Market, an empty polish cafe, and a halal meat market. Together, they turn at the corner of Grove and Wayne. BHOPAL is in a foul mood.)

BHOPAL

Distastefully precocious. I suppose he's always been an inarticulate brute.

GILLIGAN

The thing I just can't figure, is, why would she want to go out with some guy she didn't even know? I mean, she didn't even know.

BHOPAL

What I find distasteful, really distasteful, is the kind of bankrupt intellect that would dismiss the "precocious" out of hand, do you know what I mean, Andrew?

GILLIGAN

She didn't even, it's not like she even agreed with anything he was saying.

BHOPAL

(With great force.) Andrew, Andrew, snap out of it! You mustn't allow yourself to wonder about women.

GILLIGAN

I, I mustn't?

BHOPAL

Women are a distraction, Andrew. They are simply a mystery not to be solved, so you cannot trouble your mind about them. I, myself, have never allowed myself to think about a woman.

GILLIGAN

What, never?

BHOPAL

I have, occasionally, thought about my mother. But that is all.

GILLIGAN

But Bhopal, it's different, when you get to be, you'll see, it'll --

BHOPAL

Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish! Rubbish! (They have stopped outside GILLIGAN's apartment.) Now you get inside and work, Andrew. Work all night, if you have to.

GILLIGAN

(Nodding.) Okay, okay.

BHOPAL

And you must waste no time thinking about any women. When you find yourself thinking of a woman, re-channel your concentration by fixing on something else. Think of turtles.

GILLIGAN

Turtles?

BHOPAL

You must be at the top of your game. Because I expect you to mop up the floor with this charlatan.

(The interior of GILLIGAN's apartment. Andrew sits cross-legged on the floor, concentrating on an endgame scenario. Black has a rook and a bishop left to defend its king, white boasts a rook, a knight, and a pawn, and is on the attack. Andrew studies the black pieces. He decides to launch a flanking counterattack with the bishop, and jots down some notes in a large spiral binder.)

(A tall glass of milk sits on the table. Guess those groceries from AUNT SHEULIE came in handy after all.)

(The clock on the wall reads 3:05 AM. The radio is on. Andrew is listening, absently, to the overnight show on MaNiK, sports talk radio WMNK.)

EARNEST PITCHMAN

(Over a folksy-sounding banjo.) Remember playing catch in the back yar with your pop? Those golden afternoons filled with good times, and peanuts, and... baseball. Ah, baseball. Take a journey with me, back in time, before the game was ruined, by greed, and fat, lazy crybabies. When heroes stepped out of the cornfields, and onto diamonds of majesty. Back to when the players were just like you and me. Players with names like Whitey, Mickey, the General, and Pops -- names you could actually pronounce. All on the acclaimed series "Before They Wrecked It". It all starts on Thursday at nine, only on MaxiStation KBO. Feel the spring again. Feel young again.

JINGLE SINGERS

Demented Day-yave.... talkin' sports! He's a may-ay-ni-yak... on WMNK!

DEMENTED DAVE

(In a hyperactive, Elmer Fudd-like voice.) Good morning and hello and how are you, it's Deeee-mented Dave back for hour two of the overnight program thanks for being with us Slobberin' Bob Grieseler on the other side of the glass we're talking with you later Ralph Braca to be with us a little later but right now let's get to the phones Bruce in Kew Gardens you're yakkin' on the May-ni-yak! (Static.) Bruce? You there, buddy?

BRUCE

Yeah, yeah.

DEMENTED DAVE

What's on your mind tonight?

BRUCE

These, Knicks, D-Dave. It's, I wish, if they had just made that deal, you know?

DEMENTED DAVE

What deal do you mean?

BRUCE

Its they never gonna be any good, Dave. They need to be more of a machine out there. You could give them all the talent in the world. It's like they don't even wanna win.

DEMENTED DAVE

What makes you say that.

BRUCE

I'm not saying they're not talented. They have such, great athleticism. They, just don't want it enough. The other team just wants it more. They need to get a guy who knows what it is to --

DEMENTED DAVE

(Quite demented.) Bruce, Bruce. You cannot sit there and tell me that the Knicks don't want it. This team wants it. You cannot sit there on April 18th and tell me that the Knicks don't want it. They want it, okay? What about the Sacramento game down by six with ten left to play? For you to sit there and question the heart and guts and soul of this team, I cannot even believe you would do that who do you, how do you know whether they want it? Are you the trainer?

BRUCE

No, no, I'm not the, I'm sorry, Dave.

DEMENTED DAVE

How can you, come on. They want it. This team wants it. Come on, people. Get real! Get real, people. Junior in Englewood, you're yakkin on the maniac.

JUNIOR

(In a slight but recognizable Latino accent.) Hey, D-Dave, how ya doin'?

DEMENTED DAVE

Fine and how are you tonight, Junior?

JUNIOR

Oh, great, feeling great. Hey, lissen Dave, I got some bad news for ya. You know that big picture of you on Route 3 in Secaucus?

DEMENTED DAVE

The billboard.

JUNIOR

Yeah. It's covered with pigeon crap. (Pause) Aaah! I'm just bustin on ya.

DEMENTED DAVE

What do you want to talk about tonight, Junior?

JUNIOR

Yeah, yeah, it's clean as a baby's behind. Only I saw some kids lookin at it funny.

DEMENTED DAVE

Don't worry about the billboard, Junior anybody touches it we make Slobberin' Bob clean it up.

JUNIOR

Yeah, yeah, get Slobberin' Bob, to, slobber on it and get it clean. But, but let me get to the reason why I called. I called about my Knicks. My Knickssssss!

DEMENTED DAVE

What about them?

JUNIOR

I really think. That this is their year. To win it.

DEMENTED DAVE

And what makes you say that?

JUNIOR

I can see it, Dave. I can see the parade. I can see that ticker-tape! Oh, baby!

DEMENTED DAVE

(Disconnecting him.) In your opinion, Junior. (Ruefully, philosophically.) In your opinion. You know, the Knickerbockers are a strange team. Very strange. They're a puzzle. One day they win, then they lose. It's a puzzle. They don't really have it in them to put together one of those real hot streaks. Personally, I don't think they have that mental toughness. We all know they have the horses. But do they have that inner toughness, that killer instinct? And, you know, they don't. Sometimes it comes down to who wants it more. We're talking to J.J. -- J.J.?

J.J.

Hey, Dave. Yeah, you hit the nail right on the head about the Knicks. They're no good. They're no good as people.

DEMENTED DAVE

That's a way of looking at it.

J.J.

They're no good as people. I wouldn't take my son to see those drug atics.

DEMENTED DAVE

When was the last time you went to the Garden?

J.J.

Oh, I always go. Not anymore, though.

DEMENTED DAVE

Well how can you criticize when you don't even go to the Garden?

J.J.

I say we all go, all us fans, and just boo. Boo them bums. Until they give us some of that money back.

DEMENTED DAVE

You're crazy if you think that's going to happen.

J.J.

I know it won't. The modern player is too greedy. So that's why they deserve the boos.

DEMENTED DAVE

Fans got a right to boo.

J.J.

Fans got a right to boo.

DEMENTED DAVE

(Devil's advocate.) But let me ask you, then. Do the players have a right to talk back, or leave town for more money?

J.J.

No.

DEMENTED DAVE

Why not?

J.J.

Dave. These guys, they're playing a kid's game. I break my back every day working for peanuts. More than I used to get. I used to get pea-nut. Ha ha ha. I'm not saying I'm the president. But is it fair, I ask you. Is it fair. And let's see some enjoyments. The enjoyment of the game is missing.

DEMENTED DAVE

I think that puts it right. Today's fan looks out on the field and doesn't think it's fair. Three twelve on the MaNiaK, time for Mike Mignetto with the update. Mike I wouldn't use that mike if I were you.

MIGNETTO

(Jovially.) Ogh, no, don't tell me.

DEMENTED DAVE

I hate to say it, but Slobberin' Bob was on that one.

MIGNETTO

Oh... I see... my oh my...

(Andrew, who follows the Knicks only intermittently, pushes a white pawn ahead two squares. Distracted, or perhaps just bored, he looks up at what passes for a mantlepiece. Sitting there is a graduation picture of GENERICA and LUXOTTICA, both in cap and gown. Shaking his head briskly, as if warding off sleep, he returns his gaze to the board.)

(Wait a second. How did two black rooks get on the board? That wasn't part of the scenario Andrew was working with. GILLIGAN grabs the extra rook, and looks at it, puzzled.)

(Rain patters hard on the windowsill.)

(When he looks again at the board, it is covered with black rooks. Andrew gasps. There is a fluttering sound.)

(Standing directly behind him, holding a large baguette like a scimitar, Guy de Maupassant RABINOWITZ whispers in Andrew's ear.)

RABINOWITZ

Gee-lee-gahn!

GILLIGAN

(Startling.) Hey! hi!, you, you scared the hell out of me!

RABINOWITZ

No, you American bastard, or should I say French, French bastard. Eet ees you who frightened me.

GILLIGAN

How, how?

RABINOWITZ

(Brandishing the baguette.) You frighten me weeth your stupidity! Weeth your eenseepeed attempt to defend zis American culture!

GILLIGAN

Well, what, what? What was I, how should I have argued, what --

RABINOWITZ

(Beginning to feel sorry for him.) Ah, Gee-lee-gahn. Eet ees an eendeefensible position. Ze Rahssian een right, look around you. Americans contribute nossing but feelth and misery to zees world. (Putting an arm around him.) But zees ees not your battle! Remember? You are not American! You are French!

GILLIGAN

(Squirming a bit.) Right... um, about that French thing...

RABINOWITZ

A Frenchman never allows ze vulgar, eenferior Rahssian to defeat heem een a tet-a-tet. You remind zees Rahssian zat everyssing of value een Rahssia was stolen from ze French.

GILLIGAN

I think he was, like, talking about things like philosophers, and, um...

RABINOWITZ

Aah. Een France, ze great works of pheelosophy -- Bataille, Foucault, Rousseau -- are sold in ze drugstores.

GILLIGAN

Why would anybody go to a drugstore to get, philosophy, why...?

RABINOWITZ

(Genially.) Come, Gee-lee-gahn. You must not lose your sense of bearing. I can see zat you do not have ze same pride you showed zees afetrnoon, when you described ze splendour of France to zat poor boy.

GILLIGAN

I actually, I mean, I feel cheap about that. I, I lied. I've never been to France.

RABINOWITZ

Yes! Yes you have! (Severely.) You have been to ze inner France. (Pointing to his beret.) France ees een ze mind!

GILLIGAN

It's also on the map.

(RABINOWITZ suddenly, and distressingly, appears before one of those huge multicolored, kooky tourist posters of the Arc de Triumph.)

RABINOWITZ

Technically! Technically, you are correct. And eventually, we weel surely take ze Tour de France, and we weel do eet togesser. For now, zough, I am more concerned wees za Franchman weesseen you. Tell me about zees girl, zees, Generica Feelofax zat you have been obsessing over all night.

GILLIGAN

(Terrified.) Oh, no, listen, I haven't been thinking about her at all, I've been concentrating on chess, thinking about turtles, I've --

RABINOWITZ

Liar! You lie like a Frenchman.

GILLIGAN

I do, how, how do you mean?

RABINOWITZ

But you do not romance like a Frenchman. And zees I weel teach you. I weel teach you to bring out your French nature, and sweep zees filles away.

GILLIGAN

But that isn't what, I, um... really?

(Inside Andrew's bathroom. RABINOWITZ, in the mirror, is putting the finishing touches on a complete makeover of Andrew. GILLIGAN now wears a crisp, stylish shirt, a beret, and he has shaven his usual scruff into the beginnings of a jaunty little moustache. The sports talk radio continues in the background.)

RABINOWITZ

(Producing a grey overcoat.) Zere! Ze lovely shirt, ze beautiful beret, and now, ze finishing touch -- ze long grey coat from Comme de Garcons.

GILLIGAN

Comme de Garcons? That's risky.

RABINOWITZ

Reesk ees ze essence of romance. You must be suave, and forthright, classy and cultured, yet! you must always maintain ze air of unpredeectabeelety, of danger. And now: I must teach you ze most important part.

GILLIGAN

(A little nervously.) Um, really.... what's that?

RABINOWITZ

(Puckering up.) Ze French kees.

GILLIGAN

Ah, I don't need, um, help with...

RABINOWITZ

(Cocking an eye.) Are you sure?

GILLIGAN

Yes, because that, I, already know how to do.

RABINOWITZ

(Smiles.) But of course! You are French! (Clapping GILLIGAN on the shoulder.) Every kees ees zerefore a French kees!

GILLIGAN

(Nodding vigorously.) Right, right. I'm French.

RABINOWITZ

(Producing a bottle of wine and two glasses.) A toast!, to ze newest pure Frenchman! A chess champion, a refined appreciator of ze haute couteur, a lady-keeler, eh?, conosseur of ze very best een life!

(RABINOWITZ gives Andrew, who is sitting atop the toilet bowl, a glass of wine. RABINOWITZ takes a long drink, as does Andrew, who coughs, and spews out a mouthful all over the bathroom floor.)

 

Go back to Fit #3.

Forward on to Fit #5.