Fred, left: “I’m sorry to intrude, but I just found these undergarments in the hallway, and I thought I might inquire as to whether or not you might wish to claim ownership.”
Melvyn, center: “Good God, man. Why so many words? Couldn’t you have just asked ‘are these drawers yours’? We’re very busy people.”
Jean, right: “Well, I can assure you that those tawdry items are not mine. I’m a complete virgin, and I couldn’t possibly have left those lying about as I wouldn’t dream of removing my own clothing. I’ve never seen my own hoo-hoo!”
Fred: “That’s a completely unexpected and unrequited response. I’m not sure how to process this information.”
Melvyn: “I’m not either, buddy. We’ve been married for a month now and she’s never let me cross the threshold.”
Jean: “Now, darling, don’t be so blue. I told you that I was saving myself for someone special.”
Fred: “And we continue with the information that I don’t really need to-”
Melvyn: “Special? How much more special can I get than being your husband?”
Jean: “Dearest, I let you hold my hand that one time when we drank a glass of wine at the Italian restaurant where that beastly man kept singing opera at our table. One would think that would be sufficient to stifle your carnal nature until I was spiritually prepared for further developments.”
Fred: “It seems I may have acted brashly by knocking on your door, and now all I want to do is escape. I just assumed that because I found a room key for this very door bundled up in the bloomers that I might find some resolution by making a house call. I shall now flee.”
Melvyn: “Wait! That room key smells like ‘Eau de Chastity’, the very perfume that Jean wears.”
Jean: “How dare you accuse me of sleeping with the room service waiter whilst you were in the shower!”
Fred: “I’m getting scared now. Can I just leave this here and pretend like none of this ever happened?”
Melvyn: “I thought I heard some odd noises as I scrubbed my neglected bits in the bathroom, but I just assumed it was the sound of my personal shame swirling down the drain. That sounds like a confessional, Jean. Explain yourself.”
Jean: “I don’t have to explain anything. And you have no right to question the sanctity of my glorious nexus. I cannot stand the sight of you and I demand that you and your unseen bits leave immediately.”
Melvyn exited the room. The door slammed behind him, with a whiff of indignation and misdirection.
Out in the hallway…
Fred: “Do you think it worked?”
Melvyn: “Of course it did. She has no idea that I never planned to cross her threshold in the first place. Let’s head back to your room and make our own opera.”
Inside the room…
Jean picks up the phone. “Hello, room service? Yes, I’d like to order the cobb salad, with the undressing on the side. And can you make sure that Arturo is the one who delivers it? Thank you.”
Previously published, modified minimally for this post.
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
Everyones has a key to their door, so everyone’s happy, and Arturo is in for one hell of a tip.
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Secondary plot point: Arturo has a hidden agenda, which will be revealed in the sequel that I will fail to write in the future… 😉
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Gad, Arturo sounds like he’s going to have to self-service. And I missed the sly Melvyn feeling much two blue, and the undressing salad crack(er) joke. Speed reading does not become me – Dyslexic.
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I’ll be sure to ask for Arturo.
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Just don’t forget to mention “undressing on the side”, as that’s the trigger phrase that will upgrade you to the bonus plan… 😉
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Oh, the tangled webs we weave…
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When it would be so much easier to just let everybody know which thresholds you wish to cross…
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LOL. The end is funny. I didn’t see that coming. Well, all is fair in love and war.
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Very true. People rarely tell the full truth, and yet they don’t understand when others don’t understand… 😉
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Hahaha. 😀 Arturo’s virtue is about to get a drubbing. 😉
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Especially if he doesn’t bring the right croutons to the salad party… 😉
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Ah, an American Love Story! ❤ How satisfying (even without Cobb salad nor a waiter named "Arturo"…
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Everyone just wants to find the right opera to sing… 😉
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And after their rocky start Fred and Melvyn went on to have 3 sons whereas poor Jean was left in the lust when Arturo ran off with Alan Ladd. cheers
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And then both Tab Hunter and Tallulah Bankhead showed up, and nobody knew what the hell might happen in the showcase showdown…
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I’m not worthy! cheers
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So much drama, instead of honesty🙄🤦🏼♀️ Well, it IS Hollywood, and the ARE thespians 🤷🏼♀️
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And it doesn’t help that the movie was shot in black and white, because we all know that life is never that easily defined… 😉
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The important thing is that they were all satisfied in the end, each in their own way.
On a somewhat related subject, I believe we’ve talked Sondheim before but I can’t remember your feelings about him. In any case, my first encounter with him was with A Little Night Music, in which we meet an older guy who married a younger gal and after 6 months of marriage, she’s still a virgin, so he has an affair with an old flame who’s having an affair with a married man whose wife is very aware, thank you very much, and she persuades young gal to agree to visit old flame’s country house where many shenanigans happen and young gal runs off with older guy’s son and married man stays with wife and the old flame sings Send in the Clowns which is a great song that no one understands because they never saw the damn musical.
The moral of this comment is, set this post to music and you got yourself a hit!
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Yes, we’ve chatted about Sondheim, and you hit the proverbial nail on the head with “they never saw the damn musical”. His lyrics are terrific and they CAN manage to stand alone, but the full impact is missing if you don’t know the story. The best songs transcend the moment. This is nothing against Sondheim, because he is great at servicing his particular vehicle and, really, that’s one what should do. But I can see how some folks are not particular fans of his, despite his admirable success and general popularity. I’m not one of those folks, but I get it.
I greatly relish the prospect of my words being accompanied by music, but I would imagine that I would find myself in Sondheim’s shoes, if I may be so bold. My little stories are very specific, not to everyone’s taste, and there may be some muddling should musical composition intrude upon the circumstances. Of course, if the original score for “Sunday in the Park with Brian” wins a Tony, I would be ALL over that acceptance stage, grinning madly behind the actual composer.
“Don’t bother, they’re here…”
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