Mark Leyner - The Tetherballs of Bougainville

VARIOUS ANGLES

as WARDEN and MARK listen to music.

WARDEN undulates concisely to the bass grooves and disjunctive beats.

MARK, eyes shut, grasps the neck of the wine bottle as if it were a microphone. His face contorts into a succession of histrionic grimaces, as he lip-synchs the prolix lyrics of Offramp Tavanipupu.

WARDEN flicks MARK’s nipples with big toe.

MARK simpers dreamily.

He takes her toe in his mouth and sucks hard until

We HEAR sharp crack of joint connecting phalanx and metatarsal bone.

WARDEN

(flexing toe)

You really do spend a lot of time in your room, alone … don’t you?

MARK

Yeah. I even eat in there most of the time. My dad’s away a lot and Mom doesn’t cook that much. So I’ve got my own microwave … I eat a lot of, like, ramen noodles, instant grits, instant couscous, y’know … instant Spätzle.

WARDEN

Say that again.

MARK

What?

WARDEN

Say instant Spätzle .

MARK

Instant Spätzle.

WARDEN

Your mouth looks so adorable when you say that. Say it again.

MARK

Instant Spätzle.

WARDEN kisses MARK.

WARDEN

Again.

As he repeats the words, the WARDEN traces his lips with her tongue.

WARDEN

Again … c’mon.

MARK

(muffled by WARDEN’S mouth)

Instant spätzle

… instant spätzle

… instant Spätzle.

WARDEN bites and sucks MARK’s neck, giving him two huge heliotrope hickeys. She softly scrapes his earlobes between her teeth, kisses his mouth again voraciously, and, with hurried random pecks, works her way down his neck to his chest and nipples as she lightly rakes his back with her fingernails. She kneels, clasps his ass in her hands, and licks the rim of his navel in languorous circles and then begins to slowly unzip his trousers.

MARK (voice-over)

I can’t tell you how much more exciting this was for me than masturbating to minimalist grids and neoexpressionist palimpsests. And it’s definitely not my intention to disparage the work of any specific painters — but this was just so great.

And I thought it was really fantastic that the Warden was so out-there and so totally cool with what she wanted and was like: “Say it. Say it again.”

But unfortunately here’s where I started overanalyzing everything again. I realize I try to evince this swaggering, salacious, Iggy Pop kind of thing with the shirtless-sweaty-torso-low-slung-leather-pants look and whatnot, but I’m really a very pensive person who hyper-rationates absolutely everything. And this was a perfect case in point — instead of just switching on automatic pilot, instead of just relaxing and intuitively surfing the peaks, troughs, and vortices of the moment, I start thinking to myself: if she likes it so much when I say instant Spätzle , I wonder if she’d like it even more if I said other German dishes. In fact, she’ll probably get bored and disenchanted if I just keep repeating instant Spätzle over and over again. So I began saying things like Sauerbraten and Wienerschnitzel and Rollmöpse and Zwiebelkuchen .

And then it occurred to me that maybe the word instant was significant in some way … The variables here were mind-boggling, and I felt increasingly like one of those chess computers designed to crunch a billion combinations in a split second.

ANOTHER ANGLE of WARDEN, still slowly unzipping MARK’s pants.

MARK (voice-over)

So I thought, OK, maybe instant is important. Maybe the idea of speed, convenience, ease of preparation somehow invests the phrase with libidinal charge. So I start going: Instant Pichelsteiner Fleisch … ready-to-serve Sülzkoteletten … quick Gefüllter Fasan … one-step Blut Schwartemagen … shake-and-bake Käseschnitzel … uh … microwave Apfelpfannkuchen .

And then I become concerned that maybe this is all too coy, and that maybe I’m coming off too adolescent, giving off too much of the whole search-for-identity-need-to-rebel-but-at-the-same-time-need-to-conform-looking-for-cues-from-one’s-peers-fragile-developing-self-image thing and maybe now I should try to present myself as more mature, more worldly, and maybe slightly more decadent and lewd, so I decide to talk dirty to her, because I’d read that some women are really turned on by that. So now I’m like: Fuckin’ boil-in-a-bag Bratwurst mit sauer Sahnensosse … cocksucking Stovetop Getrüffelte Gänseleber-wurst … titty-fuck brown-’n’-serve Konigsberger Klopse …

And she stopped unzipping my pants and looked up at me.

WARDEN

(putting a finger to her lips)

Shhhhhhh.

MARK

(oblivious, on a roll)

Friggin’ cunty frozen hungry-man Kalbshaxe mit Gewürzgurkensosse.

WARDEN

(sternly)

Seriously, you’re really going to have to stop.

WARDEN gets up and produces a leather ball-gag and handcuffs from the top drawer of her desk.

She returns to couch and, cutting him off in mid-scatological-easy-to-prepare-German-entree, pushes ball-gag into MARK’s open mouth, cinches straps tightly around his head, and cuffs his hands behind his back.

She then finally finishes unzipping his clammy leather pants and yanks them off.

Gently fondling his balls with one hand, she takes his erection and pumps it in the other.

WARDEN

Have you given any thought to what you’d say if you actually won the Vincent and Lenore DiGiacomo / Oshimitsu Polymers America Award — y’know, at the presentation ceremony?

MARK

(with ball-gag in mouth)

Aggghhhhh. Agggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh. Agghhh. Aggghhh. Agggggghhhhhhhh. Agghhh. Aggggghhh.

SUBTITLE: There’s like no way I can win. I haven’t written anything — and it’s due tomorrow .

WARDEN

Well, what if somehow you did? Hypothetically, what would you say?

MARK

Agggghhhhhhh … Aggghhh aggghh aggggghhhh: “Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Agggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhh. Aggggggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggghhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggghhhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Agggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhh. Aggggggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggggghhhhhh. Aggghhhhhhh. Aggghh. Agggghhhh. Agggggghhhhhh. Aggghhh.”

SUBTITLE: I don’t know … Probably something like: “I want to thank Vincent and Lenore DiGiacomo, without whose remarkable vision and intrepid, unflagging support none of this would be possible. I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to the folks at Oshimitsu Polymers America for making this a reality. I’d like to thank everyone at ICM, particularly Binky and Sloan — even when I showed absolutely no interest in or the slightest talent for writing and hadn’t as yet produced anything except for a review of an imaginary movie — you guys stuck by me and represented me with more energy and commitment and savvy than I could ever have dreamed of. I’d like to thank all the other screenwriters at Maplewood Junior High School for providing such a vibrant milieu in which to work, and I’d like to say that any of you could and should have won this. I’d like to especially say hello to my main man Felipe — yo, Felipe, ma huang rules! I’d like to thank God for having had the insight in the first place to give humans the awesome intellectual capacity to write screenplays. And finally I’d like to thank my Mom, without whose morbid phobias and apocalyptic fatalism I couldn’t have become half the screenwriter I am today. And, Dad … the Damoclean sword of New Jersey State Discretionary Execution is hanging over your head wherever you are, but I know you’re watching tonight. You always said it takes real balls to turn a brunette without a cranium into a blonde, and well … I hope you’re proud of me. You’ll always be my bikpela numbawan.”