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“How many rooms does this house actually have?,” asked Sparks, as he exited what was perhaps the third dining area he’d been in, although the exact intended purpose for each was left somewhat undefined, due to the lack of furniture, and in some cases light fixtures, present throughout the structure.
“It depends on the day,” said Guru-Vy.
“Today’s Thursday,” said Smarts. “What’s the total?”
“That is not quite what I meant,” said Guru-Vy, who wondered if the band would be offended if he started taking notes in front of them. “Depending on my mood, I hang colored curtains between various walls, thus periodically changing the configuration and count, so I am never really sure how many rooms there are at any given moment.”
“Is that also true of people?,” said Boots, who had just come upon several men and women in various states of consciousness, all of whom looked up at the same time, said, “Don’t forget to tell us when the Field Trip starts,” and promptly fell back to sleep, in what he had hoped was going to be a bathroom.
“Absolutely,” said Guru-Vy. “In fact, one of my greatest pleasures is coming upon friends as I wander around the house.”
“How many people can stay here?,” asked Lips.
“That also changes radically from day to day,” said Guru-Vy.
“But doesn’t necessarily match up with the number of rooms,” said Lips.
“Not to date,” said Guru-Vy. “Should it?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Lips. “Occupancy rates are overrated.”
“Can we stop talking for a while and eat something?,” asked Sparks, who was walking around the perimeter of the most recently undefined space in which he and his bandmates had gathered, and who was at the particular point in his post-trip experience at which a sense of real time was beginning to reassert itself, along with the unmistakable pangs of hunger which usually became readily apparent after 24 hours without food.
“Whatever sustenance you can find is of course yours,” said Guru-Vy. “I should, however, warn you that I have pretty much been sustaining myself on coffee and doughnuts.”
“Is there a kitchen in this place?,” asked Sparks.
“Alas, not any more,” said Guru-Vy.
“I’ll bite,” said Boots, “What happened to it?”
“I had it ripped out a couple of years ago, and ordered all new appliances, but never actually got around to the replacement portion of the plan,” said Guru-Vy.
“That would pretty much explain the refrigerator and stove I walked by on the way inside, wouldn’t it,” said Lips.
“Bingo,” said Guru-Vy.
“Doughnuts are good,” said Sparks, trying to redirect what he continued to hope would be a diminishing conversation back to where it belonged: his stomach. “Where are they?”
“I do not keep them in any one place,” said Guru-Vy. “I never know when I or any of my guests are going to crave one, so I keep a supply scattered throughout the house.”
“Okay,” said Boots, himself tiring of the talk and aware of an intensifying growl coming from the vicinity of his belt. “Let’s try to simplify this process. Between us, we’ve all now covered most of the house. Who remembers seeing doughnuts, and where?”
Everyone looked at everyone else, but no doughnut sightings were revealed.
“I saw a round, grayish looking thing in a corner of one of the small rooms upstairs,” said Smarts, finally. “But it was before the doughnut thing came up, so I wasn’t really paying attention that way. And besides, it might have been moving a little bit.”
“We’ll get back to you,” said Boots. “Anyone else?”
“Now that I think about it, we might be out of doughnuts,” said Guru-Vy. “I consumed a great deal during the planning for the Field Trip, but may not have replenished the supply.”
“May not have, or didn’t?,” asked Boots. “Think carefully. When was the last time you remember actually buying any?”
“It was a Monday, I am sure of that,” said Guru-Vy, “because there is a special on cinnamon crullers on Mondays at The Hole Truth, which is really the only place worth buying doughnuts.”
“I’m fairly sure that the thing I saw upstairs was not a cinnamon cruller,” said Smarts.
“Oh, I always buy a huge assortment,” said Guru-Vy. “So that is not really a good indication of whether or not it actually was a doughnut.”
“I thought the possibility that it was moving would be a much stronger indicator of its non-doughnut status,” said Lips.
Just then, the door opened and into the room emerged a tall, disheveled man, whom Boots thought he recognized from his earlier turn through the rooms upstairs as one of those who had unknowingly slept through the Field Trip, carrying a large, brightly colored cardboard box, which he extended towards the group. “Who wants doughnuts?,” he asked.
Without a signal of any kind passing between them, everyone in the room began running towards him. Flustered by what he perceived to be a surplus of enthusiasm generated by his offer, and somewhat panicky that he was about to experience bodily harm for no reason that was readily apparent to him (maybe doughnuts are against their religion, and I have offended them, he thought), the visitor yelled, “Forgive me!, For I know not what I do!,” and flung the box containing the items in question into the air.
All eyes went up, and, as gravity would have it, all doughnuts came down.
“Now, that’s what I call instant breakfast,” said Boots, as he began inspecting the doughy carnage for an edible substance.
“You don’t by any chance have some coffee you could throw at us too, to complete the transaction, do you?,” asked Lips.
“I’ll take cream and two sugars,” said Smarts.
“There’s no coffee,” said the Visitor, who now was fairly sure he was not in any danger but who was starting to regret his having wandered into this particular room.
“I like mine black,” said Sparks, busy picking chocolate sprinkles off of his guitar, which had remained strapped around his neck.
“A little milk,” said Guru-Vy.
“There’s no coffee,” said the Visitor again, who all of a sudden wondered if he had stumbled into one of those improv drama groups for which he had seen posters around town. “Wait a minute, I do have some coffee, right here,” he said, as he simulated taking a coffee pot and cup out of his pants pocket and pretended to pour.
Without really paying attention, Boots said, “I’d really love a cup.”
“Here ya go,” said the Visitor, as he handed the invisible cup to the very real Boots.
“Here ya go what,” said Boots, who at the same time that he was very much aware that nothing was being handed to him, reached out and took the non-existent cup.
“Here ya go coffee,” said the Visitor, who thought he was doing so well he wondered if was going to be asked to join the group. “Watch out, it’s hot.”
“I don’t get it,” said Boots, who by now was very much conscious of the fact that not only was he not holding anything handed to him by the Visitor, but that the thing that he was not holding that had not been handed to him by the Visitor was certainly not coffee.
“Is it too strong?,” asked the Visitor.
“No, it’s not there,” said Boots, who, to prove his point, stopped playing “I’m holding the cup” and shook his hands energetically.
“Now you’ve spilled it,” said the Visitor, who wondered if they were planning a performance any time soon, and how many rehearsals he had actually missed.
“Help me out here, guys,” said Boots, at this point looking to his group for support, not sure exactly what he was facing.
“I hope that was not the only cup,” said Guru-Vy, plunging into what he thought was a spirited game of “pretend” between Boots and the Visitor, and winking at them both, infuriating the former and delighting the latter.
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” said the Visitor, patting the make-believe coffee pot in his hand and hoping he was free the night of the performance. “I don’t have any milk, though.”
“That is alright. Caffeine me,” said Guru-Vy, with such exuberance that both he and the Visitor, who made as if he was pouring another cup, filed the phrase away for future reference, Guru-Vy to add to his everyday lexicon and the Visitor as the possible title of whatever it was that he and his new artist friends were currently enacting.
“Lips?,” said Boots, looking to his friend for support.
“No thanks, I drink too much coffee as it is,” Lips said.
“But you’re the one who started this whole thing,” said Boots. “And if you didn’t want any in the first place, why did you ask for it?”
“It seemed like a good idea a minute ago,” said Lips. “But I’m pretty jittery already. And from the looks of you, you shouldn’t have any either.”
“I’m not having any because there isn’t any to be had,” said Boots.
“Then what’s the problem?,” asked Lips.
“I will gladly share mine,” said Guru-Vy, extending the nonexistent cup he wasn’t holding in Boots’ direction.
“You guys are really good at this,” said the Visitor, who now wasn’t so sure whether or not he could hold his own in the company of what was clearly a group of professionals. “What do you call yourselves?”
“Thank you very much; Boots Klondike and The Euphonious Echoes” said Lips. “Good at what?”
“This improv thing,” said the Visitor. “How long have you been doing it?”
“What time was it when you came into the room?,” asked Lips.
“We’re not doing an improv thing,” said Boots. “We’re arguing.”
“I get it,” said the Visitor.
“Get what?,” asked Boots.
“You don’t want to break the dramatic flow. Let’s keep going.,” said the Visitor.
“It’s true,” said Sparks from the corner where he’d been watching the proceedings. “We’re a rock and roll band.”
“Cool,” said the Visitor. “Do you do the scenes while you play?”
“Let’s review,” said Boots, becoming more agitated by the second. “We don’t do scenes, we are not an improv group, there is no coffee in this room, and I actually can’t think of a good reason why this conversation is taking place.”
“Yeah ! Let’s mime it all!” said the Visitor, who began walking back and forth, right arm extended down in front of him. “Look, I’m walking the coffee pot!”
“You cannot talk if you are a mime,” said Guru-Vy.
“I wish all of you were mimes,” said Boots.
“I’m not sure a coffee pot can walk,” said Lips. “I think it would have more of a glide to it.”
“A drama troupe! What an inspired idea,” said Guru-Vy.
“We’re a rock and roll band!,” yelled Boots. “We have a hit on the charts!”
“A temporary drama troupe, an even more inspired idea!,” said Guru-Vy. “Members free to come and go as they please, no structure, no commitment. A scene here, a play there, and on to the next role, whether it be in life or on the stage!”
“We are not a fucking drama troupe,” said Boots. “We have structure, we have commitments, although you wouldn’t know it from our behavior over the past few days. In fact, the Captain probably is pissed as hell that we’ve gone AWOL.”
“What an inspired name for the troupe!,” said Guru-Vy, being carried ever further away by his enthusiasm for the idea. `AWOL: Actors Without Limits.’ This is the next big thing, man!”
“It’s not a thing at all, man. We are going back to our lives. I have a daughter, for Christ’s sake,” said Boots, realizing that he hadn’t called Rita since he had encountered Guru-Vy and the Field Trip, and feeling more than a little guilty about it.
“A girl to help us out, that is great. For using men to dress up as women was fine for Shakespeare, but for our purposes would be, pardon the pun, a drag.”
“You’re not listening to anything I’m saying, are you,” said Boots
“On the contrary, I am listening most intently. I am simply not agreeing,” said Guru-Vy. “There is a big difference.”
“Well, listen to this,” said Boots, for whom the idea of Rita on the stage at such an early age was beginning to take on a certain Dickensian flavor. “Fuck you, fuck your drugs, fuck your Goddamn Field Trip, and most certainly fuck your drama troupe.”
“It’s awfully loud in here for a bunch of mimes,” said the Visitor, who had been eating a doughnut and practicing his technique during the above exchange. “Shouldn’t we be gesturing?”
“Absolutely. Let me be the first,” said Boots, who proceeded to drop his pants and stick his ass out towards the assembled crowd.
“Mimes that moon!,” said Guru-Vy. “Our first piece! I must preserve this for posterity! Posterior posterity! This is really turning into something huge!”
“I don’t think his ass is that big,” said Sparks.
“Thank you,” said Boots, pulling up his jeans and heading towards the door. “Now, who’s with me?”
“I like the idea,” said Lips.
“Great, then let’s get the hell out of here,” said Boots.
“No, not the idea of leaving, the idea of acting,” said Lips.
“You can’t be serious,” said Boots, stopping in his tracks and turning around to face his partner. “You want to give up the band and join these clowns in a drama troupe?”
“We’re not clowns, we’re mimes!,” said the Visitor.
“Of course I don’t want to give up the band,” said Lips. “Then I’d actually have to work for a living. But we don’t have to be anywhere for a few days, and it might be fun to be in a movie.”
“But we’re not in a movie,” said Boots. “We’re in an increasingly weirdo house in San Francisco, moving farther and farther away from anything resembling our actual lives. Who said anything about a movie?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to preserve us for posterity?,” asked Lips, looking at Guru-Vy.
“He meant remember it, or take a picture, or do it again, or make a play out of it, or some other stupid acting thing,” said Boots.
“No, actually I meant find my movie camera and get it on film,” said Guru-Vy.
“You have a movie camera?,” asked Sparks. “I thought all you had was something to sleep on and something to smoke with.”
“That is all I have inside,” said Guru-Vy. “The movie camera is outside with the rest of my belongings.”
“Oh, you keep it outside. That’s great, because I’ve heard that constant exposure to the elements is very good for a delicate piece of machinery,” said Boots, hoping that a little direct sarcasm would help him get thrown out.
“I bought it just before the Field Trip began, and left it outside,” said Guru-Vy, either missing or ignoring completely the intended effect of Boots’ derision. “I have not had it that long.”
“Why haven’t you brought it inside?,” asked Boots.
“Force of habit,” said Guru-Vy. “Also, I cannot remember exactly where I put it.”
“We’re going to make a movie!,” yelled the Visitor, who now envisioned himself not only as a member of a drama troupe but a famous member of a famous drama troupe, and, much to his surprise, and in variance not only with his current circumstances but also his present world view, visions of binding contracts began to dance in his head.
“It’s going to be another ‘Hard Day’s Night,’” said Sparks.
“More like “Help!,” said Boots, now resigned to the fact that the band was not yet leaving.
“Really? How are we going to get to the Alps?,” asked Smarts, referring to one of the central locations in the Beatles’ second film.
“As the great Groucho put it so well, the Lord Alps those who Alp themselves,” said Lips.
“Alright. For the sake of argument, not to mention that I seem to be the only one who objects to this idea, what would this so-called movie be about?” asked Boots.
“We already decided, remember? We’re all gonna stick our bare butts at the camera,” said Sparks, who was looking forward to an additional way of seeing his name in lights and who didn’t seem bothered by the fact that his ass was going to be just as bright.
“Terrific. That’ll definitely be something audiences flock to,” said Boots.
“We could call it ‘Rear Window,’ ” said Lips.
“Or ‘Tush, Tush, Sweet Charlotte,’” said Smarts.
“‘End Game’,” said Sparks.
“‘Voyage To See The Bottom,’” said Guru-Vy.
“Can it,” said Boots. “If we’re really going to make this movie, I think at the very least we should try to make it entertaining, and with all due respect for your individual anatomies, it would really be best if we moved on.”
“‘The Golden Bowel,’” said Lips.
“Had to get in one more, didn’t you,” said Boots.
“But of course,” said Lips.
“I think you are absolutely correct,” said Guru-Vy. “Mimes that Moon should not be our first project, and for the time being we should put it behind us. Before we proceed any further, however, there is one caveat I must put before you that may influence the direction we take.”
“No film?,” asked Boots, somewhat hopefully.
“No sound,” said Guru-Vy.
“We’re a rock and roll band, and we’re making a silent film?” said Boots.
“How avant garde,” said Smarts.
“Yes,” said Guru-Vy. “It will be a statement.”
“A statement of what?,” asked Boots.
“Whatever you want to say,” said Guru-Vy.
“I don’t want to say anything,” said Boots.
“Then that is your statement,” said Guru-Vy.
“What is my statement?,” said Boots.
“The fact that you do not want to say anything,” said Guru-Vy. “Now all we have to do is determine the best way to say it.”
“But if I don’t want to say anything, why should I say anything?,” said Boots.
“Because no one will know you do not want to say anything unless you successfully communicate the fact that you have nothing to say,” said Guru-Vy.
“I have plenty to say,” said Boots. “I just don’t want to say it to you.”
“You are not saying it to me,” said Guru-Vy. “You are making a statement.”
“I feel dizzy,” said the Visitor, whose most recent feelings of euphoria at having found what he believed to be his calling and almost certain celebrity status were reverting rapidly to the regret he had experienced initially upon encountering what he now was becoming quite convinced were not his partners in the arts but instead may indeed have been some sort of religious cult, which, on the positive side, would once again leave him with his nights free. “Maybe what you guys need is an exorcism.”
“That is it!,” said Guru-Vy. “Invoking the spirits, cleansing yourselves of their evil influence, and on camera! There is a statement if I ever saw one!”
“Great,” said Lips. “I could do with a bit more exorcise.”
“Okay, that’s it,” said Boots. “This is getting way out of hand. I agreed to the stupid film idea, but this driving out the evil spirits thing is way weird.”
“They could walk,” said Smarts.
“I am not going to participate in some stupid religious ritual with satanic overtones,” continued Boots, ignoring his bandmate’s comment. “You guys can do whatever you want. I, however, will be outside, communing with nature and various pieces of heavy furniture.”
With that, and before he could be stopped by anyone or anything else, Boots walked to the door and left the room.
“I think we have succeeded in offending him,” said Guru-Vy.
“Were you trying hard?,” said Smarts.
“He’s not offended, he’s just pissed off,” said Lips. “When Boots gets really aggravated, he starts jumping up and down and throwing things. It’s not that effective, but he does make his point. On the other hand, I could be wrong, and there are many more things to throw out there than there are in here.”
“Let him throw some stuff, it might do him good,” said Guru-Vy. “May we continue?”
“We haven’t done anything yet, but absolutely,” said Lips. “But listen carefully for the sound of breaking objects.”
“Well, if we are truly going to do this, we need to have something to exorcise,” said Guru-Vy.
“How about him?,” asked Sparks, pointing to the Visitor, who, despite disappointment with the group, and his resolve to disassociate himself from his current surroundings, had continued alternately to drink from, and walk, the non-existent coffee cup, increasingly irritating the guitar player and causing his desire for caffeine to rise.
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