Vivien: “I see that you are sweating. Are you finally ready to admit that you want me more than anything in the world?”
Marlon: “Nope, that’s not it. Some drunk guy on Bourbon Street threw his beer at me.”
Vivien: “Oh, so that’s the game you’re playing. Making up stories about airborne beverages instead of accepting the fact that you are smitten with my neurotic coyness.”
Marlon: “How are you coming up with that? I just want to change my shirt and go finish my shift at the fish market.”
Vivien: “Fish market? How crude of you to use such an analogy.”
Marlon: “What? Look, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I don’t have time for it. I’m gonna hop in the shower and then go somewhere that you are not.” Marlon stomps into the bathroom, slamming the door but not realizing that it doesn’t stay closed because somebody has jacked with the jamb, and then he proceeds to fiddle with the hot water faucet. Steam quickly fills the small room.
Vivien whips out her cellphone and sends a quick text. “Thanks 4 throwing beer. Plan in motion. Sending fee to Paypal account.” Then Vivien smiles.
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
I remember when I was doing a term paper on Laurence Olivier for college and I was reading all about Vivien Leigh. She was a piece of work. I believe if she were alive today she would be considered bipolar. At one point, I think Lord Olivier had her institutionalized. Frances Farmer before Frances Farmer. This was pretty funny, Brian.
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Thanks, Susan. Yes, Vivien had an issue or two. But when she had her act together, she really could be quite dynamic onscreen. Of course, knowing what we now know, one had to wonder how much of it was acting and how much was… well, an issue or two…
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True Stanislavsky method at its finest. 😉
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look at the alien gleam in her eye – she is a scary face.
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She’s certainly up to no good… 😉
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Hmm… post more.
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Oh, I have more of him and her simmering in the archives… 😉
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I can’t wait…
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Boy. He looks hot. Very, very hot.
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I know! I had to go sit outside on the cold patio for a minute.
And here’s a snap of Vivien’s real-life husband, Laurence Olivier, in his younger days:
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WHAAA?! said by a gal who apparently thought he shot out of the womb an old man.
Can I have a glossy print to post on my wall?
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Swoon-worthy, he was. I had a bit of a crush on him after watching “Wuthering Heights” in my formative years…
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That girl plans ahead. And I see the comment thing has been fixed. Yay!
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You always need a plan if you want to get the man. (And I’m glad the comment thing is behaving now.)
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‘I told Lageose to throw the beer and get me a spinach smoothie instead and he replied with a root beer shower…’
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You can never trust anyone named Lageose. Never.
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You just set the scene for tomorrow’s 147,316 “new” erotica posts. I can see them scurrying to their laptops now. “Steamy shower, steamy shower, bad lock…Need to put mail guy on cookie list for beer toss…there’s room for three in that somewhere…Dammit cat, get out of my way…”
In once did an extemporaneous song demo on an early piece of music notation software, and to show everyone how easy it was to use I pulled a guy away from his date to enter a song title. “Bad Shrimp Salad.” He said he had lyrics. I lied and said that update was coming. Brando was like the king of subtle innuendo…
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Well, I suppose it’s good to be considered inspirational, even if that inspiration only leads to soggy fantasies that may or may not result in the sudden disappearance of a stick of butter. (The line about the cat was great, by the way.) As for your second paragraph, I immediately became fixated by the “Bad Shrimp Salad” song title, because I could wear I’ve heard that song before. A quick Google search led to nada, (although I did trip over a recipe for “Jello Salad with Shrimp Frosting”, and yes, I read the whole thing in a car-accident kind of way). Maybe I’m just confused by our recent discussion on ELP and, by association, “Brain Salad Surgery”…
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They (ELP) had to go to court about that because a judge in New York thought “Brain Salad Surgery” was euphemistically prurient and quite possibly in bad “taste.” Greg Lake assured everyone it was a futuristic reference to mind control while sticking his tongue out the side of his cheek and what they should really be concerned about was almost an entire album in 5/4 with an armadillo impersonating a tank on the cover.
My neighbor just dropped by to borrow a stick of butter. I told you so.
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