Dr. Slick: A Killer Comedy (4 page)

Michelle sets down a big bowl of pasta on the middle of the dinner table. Tom and Lisa are sitting down.

“Is this whole grain?” Tom asks.

“Yes, Mr. Health Conscious.”

“And the pasta sauce is fat free?”

“Uh-huh,” Michelle says.  “This dinner adheres to your new diet perfectly.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”  He turns to Lisa.  “How was school today?”

“Good,” Lisa says.

“How’s the play coming along?”

“Good.”

“Are you doing your best? Going after what you want?” Michelle asks as she takes a seat at the table.

“Let me tell you what I’m learning, Lisa, from my success coach.  It’s really quite interesting–“

The doorbell rings, interrupting him.

“I’ll get it,” Michelle says.

Tom leans in toward Lisa.  “The most important thing is that if you want success, you’ve got to–“

“Get down to business!” Rocky booms from the hallway.

Michelle and Rocky appear in the doorway to the kitchen.

Tom gets up from his chair.

“Rocky? What are you doing here?”

“We’ve got work to do, buddy!”

“Tom,” Michelle says, a look of frustration on her face.

“Uh, hey Rocky, we were about to eat,” Tom says.

“Not him again,” Lisa whispers to her mother.

Michelle offers without much enthusiasm, “Well, I guess we could set an extra place.”

“No thanks, ma’am!” Rocky says.  “I’ve got to set up the war room. I’m thinking your den would be the best place, Tom, I’ll just get started while you finish up eating.”

“War room?” Tom asks.

“So that’s a no for dinner, then?” Michelle says.

“That’s correct, Michelle,” Rocky says. “If you want to send up a pot of coffee at some point, we could use it. Looks like it may be an all-nighter.”

“An all-nighter?” Tom looks at his watch.

“That’s all right, go ahead and eat. I already had a Turbo Kale Juice. Feed the stomach, feed the brain!”

He turns to leave.  “Okay, people. Eat! I’ll head up and get started. Tom, I expect you upstairs by 2100 hours, okay?”

“Is that like...ten o’clock?”

Lisa shrugs.

Rocky goes up the stairs without answering.

Tom, Lisa and Michelle all look at each other.  Michelle finally breaks the silence.

“Well, I guess you’ve got to admire his enthusiasm.”

“True.  But how did he know I have a den?”

Tom carries a pot of coffee and two cups into his den. He opens the door to reveal that Rocky has completely transformed the room. On one wall are giant pictures of people from Tom’s office: Morgan, Kelly, Dylan. There’s a blueprint of the office itself.

On another wall is a series of pie charts and bar graphs. There’s also a giant eraser board and Rocky is going to town on it, writing formulas and words that resemble nothing more than gibberish to Tom.

“Rocky, what the hell?” he says.

Sutton writes furiously on the board. Then winds it up with a couple of intense punctuation marks.

“Yes! Yes, motherfucker!”

Tom jumps at the sound of the curse word.  “Hey, take it easy. Lisa’s asleep,” he says.

Rocky holds up his hands.  “Sorry. I just get carried away sometimes.”

Tom looks around the room.

“I find that so hard to believe.”

“We’ve got some work to do.”

“But I worked all day.”

“Hey, is that the attitude? What are you on, banker’s hours?”

“I’m tired!”

“You know what you need?” Rocky says.

“A good nine hours of sleep. Drool on the pillow. Farting when I roll over.”

“Sleep is for losers,” Rocky says.  “You need one thing. One very important thing at work. Leverage. And the best opportunity for you to get leverage is American Oil. You need to solve that American Oil problem and then you’ve got something to build on. Something to–“

“Leverage,” Tom says, finishing the thought.

“Bingo!” Rocky says.

“I don’t mean to rain on your late-night parade here, Rock, but Kelly already solved that problem.”

“That was the old problem. The new problem is the one you’re going to solve.”

“What new problem?”

Rocky laughs.

“You let me handle that.”

Tom looks confused. Rocky pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Hey, do you mind if I crash in here? That’s a pullout right?”

“You wanna sleep...here?”

“Yeah. Right here in the war room. Whaddaya say, buddy?”

“Okay, sure.”

“All right then!”

Rocky grabs Tom by the shoulders.

“Let’s kick some goddamned ass, man!”

Several hours later, Tom has a sheaf of paper he’s reading through. On the top page is the American Oil logo.  He keeps staring at it, as if he’s in a trance.

Suddenly, he grabs a pen and starts scribbling some notes.

He continues to write, scratches something out, and then writes again.

He puts down the paper and paces.

Tom stops and looks back at the paper, then goes and picks it up.

He whispers to himself.

“Dr. Slick...”

Dylan walks into his office, sets down his messenger bag and fires up his computer. He plops into a chair and flips through a magazine while sipping coffee.

The computer screen is visible as it starts to display icons as it powers up. Dylan drains the rest of his coffee.

He gets up and walks out, just as the computer comes to life.

The computer screen goes to black as the frame of a QuickTime movie appears.  Two sailors inside a submarine are talking.

The scene is, we see the inside of a submarine. Two sailors are talking.

“So this is where you’ll be sleeping. You got the bottom bunk I got the top. You don’t mind being on the bottom.”

“Not at all,” the second sailor says with a shy smile.

“Well, I like being on top.”

“I kind of like the idea of you being on top.”

Porno music begins as the men get down to business.

Just outside Dylan’s office, a secretary walks past the open doorway.

She stops and steps back to the doorway, lured by the unmistakable sound of pornography.

In the kitchen, Dylan pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, debates for a moment, then goes into the men’s room.  He grabs a Sports Illustrated magazine that’s been wedged between the stall doors. He drops his pants, sits down on the throne and starts reading the magazine.

Back in his office, the secretary who initially heard the porn on Dylan’s computer has now been joined by four or five other office workers.

They have gone into Dylan’s office and are watching the action on his computer screen.

“On your knees, sailor!” one of the characters says.

“Yes sir!” a second replies.

Dylan’s office is filled with sounds of various grunts and groans and bedspring squeaks accompany the on-screen action.

“Loading torpedo tube!” one of the sailors in the video says.

“Oh mother of God! Oh, oh, oh!”

An older woman arrives at Dylan’s door. Immediately, the group of people surrounding Dylan’s computer disperse.

The older woman takes a look at the screen and immediately writes something down. She leaves and a beat later, Dylan arrives.

He walks behind his desk.

“Fire in the hole!” a sailor calls out.

“Thank you, sir...oh!...may I have another?” a character replies.

“Fire!”

“Oh! Mmmmm! Oh, oh, oh!”

Dylan stares at his screen, aghast. He hits various keys on his computer, but the scene continues. He totally panics and begins pounding on his keyboard but the video continues.  He starts pulling cords and wires out of the wall in hopes of turning the computer off.

A large sign, carved out of granite, reading
American Oil
sits at the driveway entrance to the oil company’s dramatic headquarters.

The office of the President of American Oil Company is impressive. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A giant walnut desk. Along one wall of the office are the presentation boards from Straun & Partners advertising.

The door opens and the FedEx guy walks in.

He takes a package to the President’s desk.

The FedEx guy is actually Rocky.

“Just sign on the dotted line, sir,” Rocky says.

The President, a rotund man with a florid face and an expensive suit, glances up at Rocky.  “Where is Robin, my secretary?  She signs this stuff.”

“Ah, I didn’t see her out there, sir.”

Rocky notices the storyboards along the wall.

“Hey, is this the new ad campaign I read about in the Journal?

“Yes it is. You read the Journal?” he asks Rocky.

“Where else would I get my investing information?”

For the first time, the President actually seems to notice Rocky.  He leans back in his chair, surprised and somewhat pleased to have found out this information.

“Really. Well, that’s interesting. Our new ad campaign is targeting the average investor.”

“Well, hold on there, I’d say I’m slightly above average,” Rocky says.

“What’d your portfolio return last year?”

“Twenty-one percent.”

“Respectable. Very respectable.”

The president gets up and walks over to the storyboards.

“I’d be curious to see what you think of this.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Rocky answers.

“No, go ahead. You’ll be a one-man focus group.”

“Well, okay.”

He reads through the boards.

“I hate it.  Sorry, just being honest.”

“Why?”

“It’s dull. It’s condescending. And it’s not very informative. And it’s a classic example of an ad agency screwing over its client. Pardon my lapse into naughty language.”

“How are they screwing us?”

“Well, I’m no expert, but I see it this way. An ad agency makes its money on media spending. If they can get you to spend a hundred million dollars on running television commercials, they get what, twenty million of that?”

“And then some.”

“So, if they sell you a boring campaign that they think you
want
to hear, it’s perfect, right?”

“Why?”

“Because for one thing, you’ll spend the money to run the commercials. But even better, they’re so fucking dull that no one will talk about them. You get no free publicity, and consequently have to spend more money on...

“...advertising,” the President says.

“Bingo, baby.”

They both look at the storyboards. Suddenly, the President of American Oil Company is clearly not happy.

“May I be so bold as to offer another suggestion?”

“Please do.”

“What you need is something edgy. Some kind of recurring device that creates conflict - because what is conflict?”

The Prez shrugs.

“Conflict is the foundation of all good drama,” Rocky says.

“Yes!” the President is beaming at Rocky.

“You need each commercial to be some classic example of conflict that will get noticed and talked about. And hopefully, will get people talking so much about American Oil, that you’ll be able to spend less money on...” Rocky smiles at the President, letting him finish the thought.

“Advertising!”

Rocky gives him the thumbs-up.

Tom is at his computer. He fires up his SNIPER computer game. He leans back and pounds on the wall.

“Hey Dylan! You want some of this?”

There’s no answer.

He pounds on the wall again.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you hide from me!”

Tom gets up and walks out of his office to Dylan’s. Tom is surprised to see a woman sitting at Dylan’s desk.

“Were you yelling at me?” she says.

“No, I–“

She stands up and offers her hand.

“Hi, I’m Nancy.”

Tom takes her hand.

“I’m Tom. Ah...this used to be someone else’s office. I wonder if he got moved.”

“That’s not what I heard,” she says.

She sits back down and gets back to work.

“What did you hear?”

“Look, I just started here. I don’t want to be spreading rumors.”

Tom steps inside and closes the door.

“I promise, I didn’t hear anything from you.”

The woman studies Tom for a second.

“All I heard, from the guys who moved me into the office, and I’m just repeating what they said, I have no idea if it’s true...is that the guy got fired for watching porn all day. On his computer. On company time.”

Tom digests this.  “No way,” he finally says.

“Like I said, I have no way of knowing whether or not it’s true.  It’s just what I heard.”

“Wow,” Tom says.

“The guys were saying that this Dylan dude was seriously into the man-on-man action. Like, really into it. “All the

President’s Semen.” That kinda thing.”

Tom gets a weird look on his face.

Behind him, a secretary appears.

“Tom. Morgan wants to see you in the conference room. Right now.”

Tom sits at the conference table along with a few other people. Morgan is up front.

“We are fucked! Fucked! Fucked!”

Morgan looks around.

“Where in the goddamn hell is Kelly?”

Morgan presses the intercom at the center of the table.

“Goddamnit, Vicki, I said I wanted everyone! Where the fuck is Kelly?”

He presses the disconnect button, not waiting for a reply.

“Morgan. What happened?” Tom says.

“The President of American Oil called. Everything’s dead. He killed the entire campaign!”

“Why?” one of the other creative asks. “I thought he loved it.  That’s what he said in the last meeting.”

“He’s lost his fucking mind, that’s why!” Wolcott explodes.  “He gave me some insane lecture on the foundation of good drama. Conflict. What an asshole!”

“What type of conflict?” another creative asks.

“Some bullshit about a recurring theme. Or a character or something.”

Suddenly the door opens and Kelly walks in. She’s got a piece of paper in her hand.

“Kelly,” Morgan says, his face awash with relief. “Thank God.”

Kelly ignores him. Tom notices that there is something different about her. She’s flushed. Her eyes look a little wild. She pulls out a chair, but instead of sitting down, she steps onto it, then steps onto the conference table. She raises her hands over her head and starts doing a bump-and-grind.

“Kelly? What are you doing?” Wolcott asks.

Kelly keeps dancing.

“Kelly, goddamnit! Get off the fucking table, we’ve got work to do!” Wolcott barks at her.

Kelly dances down toward the end of the table where Morgan is. As she gets closer, she turns around so she’s going backwards toward him. As she gets close, she bends over slightly so her ass is in front of Morgan’s face.

“Kiss it, kiss it kiss it. Kiss the ass!”

She holds the paper in front of Morgan’s face. He snatches it out of her hand and reads it.

“One point two million for...”

Tom realizes what’s happening.

“Your novel! You sold your novel!” he exclaims.

He jumps up and hugs Kelly.

Kelly hops off the table, grabs the paper back from Morgan and runs out of the room, whooping.

“Buh-bye! Buh-bye! Buh-bye!”

Tom, Morgan and the rest of the group are stunned for a moment. Tom is still standing. Morgan snaps out of it.

“Sit down, Goddard.” Wolcott snaps at Tom.

“What in the hell is going on today?” He shakes his head.  “Look, we need a new campaign. One that has conflict, some kind of recurring character or theme.”

“I’ve got it,” Tom says quietly.

Morgan rolls his eyes.

“Why don’t you take a few minutes before you solve it, Tom. You might actually want to work through a few stupid ideas, before you hit the gold mine, okay?”

“No, I’ve got it. Or, I mean, I had it.”

“Had what?”

“The perfect idea.”

Morgan waits, skeptical.

“Dr. Slick.”

The room goes silent.  Tom folds his arms across his chest, beaming.

Morgan starts to say something caustic, but then stops himself. He looks at Tom in a whole new light.