My Interview With Bea Arthur
It was somewhat surreal to be interviewing the star of the Academy Award winning television show, The Golden Girls, but it was thrice the strangeness when Bea Arthur demanded that the interview take place in a seedy strip club. I could barely make out her classic gravelly voice over the throbbing house beat causing all the exposed flesh pressing around us to twitch and jiggle. We had a table several dozen yards from the nearest stage. She had arrived before me and I found her table to have at least four empty Long Island Ice Tea glasses scattered at her elbow.
I sat down, notepad in hand, and began as quickly as I could.
CW: I must say, your career spans two centuries, and yet you have time to have fun. What makes you wake up in the morning with a smile?
BA: A sweaty hand cupping my ass, kid. Actually, a Marb Red and half a grapefruit will do the trick as well. This business will eat ya alive. I mean to bite back.
CW: Indeed. The public at large has no idea about the show business. What were some of the wilder moments in your life?
BA: You want me to drag some cats out of the closet? Well, honey, I suppose I could divulge a little bit. Back in '67, I was busy blowing my way into some auditions when I had a lil' herpes scare. I went to a specialist who did the ol' turn your head and cough routine. As I was exiting the office, I noticed that Elizabeth Taylor was in the waiting room with her legs spread wide open and fanning herself. I wandered over and asked her what was wrong. I guess some pool boy she was fucking had given her crabs. Anyway, long story short, I didn't have herpes and Quincy Jones has magical hands. Next question.
At this point, I had no idea what she had just said. Her voice was compressed into a throaty growl by the background noise and I only caught a few key words.
CW: Elizabeth Taylor has diamonds. What does Bea Arthur have?
BA: A hankering to kick some ass. I think I'm going to start some shit with that bitch straddling the pole over near the door. Her shift is up in about five minutes, if I recall correctly. Do you have a lighter?
CW: Um, no. I don't smoke. You are going to start a fight with a stripper?
BA: Its invigorating, hun. Good for the skin and keeps the blood warm. You've never drop kicked a stripper into a curb before? Oh, you are going to love this.
Slamming the rest of her fifth Long Island, Ms. Arthur thrust herself upright and beckoned me with the last inch or so of her cigarette to follow. We slipped past the various vacant eyed patrons until we spilled out onto the harshly lit sidewalk. It was roughly 2pm.
BA: Ok, chief. You stand over there and watch how its done. When I say "banana", I want you to jump in and help me out should I need it. Sometimes these whores are strong, and I'm just an old woman these days. Did you know that Audrey Hepburn had to have fake incisors permenantly placed inside her pretty little smile because of these babies?
She kissed her knuckles and kicked off her dress pumps. Sure enough, as if on cue, the dancer swept out of the building and immediately found herself on her ass as Ms. Arthur spun kick and slapped an age crusted heel across her face. She immediately followed up by kicking the stripper in the stomach, then kneeled and gripped the woman by her hair. Lifting the brusing, sobbing face towards me I realized that Ms. Arthur's cigarette was still pinched in the corner of her mouth.
BA: The thing with women these days is that they have no spine. Its all tits and ass, but when it comes down to heart they have nothing in their chests but more silicone. Sickens me.
She slammed the woman's face into the cement, got up and dusted her hands off, and walked towards me. I must have been shaking like a rabbit in a snare. Flinching when her hand rose, she chuckled like a cement truck backfiring and caressed my cheek with a surprising tenderness.
BA: Kid, you're too sweet for this arena. Get out while you can. While life is fresh. Move to Montana. Anywhere but here.
She added.
BA: I gotta piss like a racehorse. Take care.
She then wandered into the alley and left me standing there with an unused notepad and a most bewildered expression upon my face. The Golden Girls would never seem the same.
Actually, nevermind. It would.
Take care.
I sat down, notepad in hand, and began as quickly as I could.
CW: I must say, your career spans two centuries, and yet you have time to have fun. What makes you wake up in the morning with a smile?
BA: A sweaty hand cupping my ass, kid. Actually, a Marb Red and half a grapefruit will do the trick as well. This business will eat ya alive. I mean to bite back.
CW: Indeed. The public at large has no idea about the show business. What were some of the wilder moments in your life?
BA: You want me to drag some cats out of the closet? Well, honey, I suppose I could divulge a little bit. Back in '67, I was busy blowing my way into some auditions when I had a lil' herpes scare. I went to a specialist who did the ol' turn your head and cough routine. As I was exiting the office, I noticed that Elizabeth Taylor was in the waiting room with her legs spread wide open and fanning herself. I wandered over and asked her what was wrong. I guess some pool boy she was fucking had given her crabs. Anyway, long story short, I didn't have herpes and Quincy Jones has magical hands. Next question.
At this point, I had no idea what she had just said. Her voice was compressed into a throaty growl by the background noise and I only caught a few key words.
CW: Elizabeth Taylor has diamonds. What does Bea Arthur have?
BA: A hankering to kick some ass. I think I'm going to start some shit with that bitch straddling the pole over near the door. Her shift is up in about five minutes, if I recall correctly. Do you have a lighter?
CW: Um, no. I don't smoke. You are going to start a fight with a stripper?
BA: Its invigorating, hun. Good for the skin and keeps the blood warm. You've never drop kicked a stripper into a curb before? Oh, you are going to love this.
Slamming the rest of her fifth Long Island, Ms. Arthur thrust herself upright and beckoned me with the last inch or so of her cigarette to follow. We slipped past the various vacant eyed patrons until we spilled out onto the harshly lit sidewalk. It was roughly 2pm.
BA: Ok, chief. You stand over there and watch how its done. When I say "banana", I want you to jump in and help me out should I need it. Sometimes these whores are strong, and I'm just an old woman these days. Did you know that Audrey Hepburn had to have fake incisors permenantly placed inside her pretty little smile because of these babies?
She kissed her knuckles and kicked off her dress pumps. Sure enough, as if on cue, the dancer swept out of the building and immediately found herself on her ass as Ms. Arthur spun kick and slapped an age crusted heel across her face. She immediately followed up by kicking the stripper in the stomach, then kneeled and gripped the woman by her hair. Lifting the brusing, sobbing face towards me I realized that Ms. Arthur's cigarette was still pinched in the corner of her mouth.
BA: The thing with women these days is that they have no spine. Its all tits and ass, but when it comes down to heart they have nothing in their chests but more silicone. Sickens me.
She slammed the woman's face into the cement, got up and dusted her hands off, and walked towards me. I must have been shaking like a rabbit in a snare. Flinching when her hand rose, she chuckled like a cement truck backfiring and caressed my cheek with a surprising tenderness.
BA: Kid, you're too sweet for this arena. Get out while you can. While life is fresh. Move to Montana. Anywhere but here.
She added.
BA: I gotta piss like a racehorse. Take care.
She then wandered into the alley and left me standing there with an unused notepad and a most bewildered expression upon my face. The Golden Girls would never seem the same.
Actually, nevermind. It would.
Take care.
1 Comments:
Wow..
All I can say is wow.
One day I will get you a book deal.
Post a Comment
<< Home