loves. this. story.

IT'S LIKE WATCHING THE SHOWS!

As you can tell, there are frequently no words for how awesome I think Shauna is. If I did work there, her part would get bigger immediately. And I don't mean porn. And, yay, I finally get to use the tiny bits of public-relations "wisdom" I learned at college. Although, no, my instructors never made it sound *quite* so nasty, but I figure that Shauna is: a. Jersey girl fabulous
and 2.Talking to guys like Ari all day long, who stop just short of that whole Lyndon Johnson thing of trying to take a meeting and a crap at the same time.

So, she better get crude or go home. But it's not the way she talks all the time. ETA: Except, unfortunately, I sort of made poor Shauna, like, a horse or something. Because at this rate, she'd be pregnant for for more than a year.But, as Neil Simon said, you don't cut funny. So I'm not, because I think that whole bit is, pun intended, comedy gold. But if I do want to write a spec script, I need to be mindful of that kind of thing.

I think I need to start watching Entourage

Wow, really? Thank you so much. (Although I can't take credit for the Piven or AG's astonishing "Pretty! Want." levels of foamiosity.) But I'm flattered, nonetheless. Don't get many compliments at Sbarro's.

All I can say about this bit is that there's a real freedom in writing about characters your mother will never be curious about. Ari/ Mrs Ari

"Baby, I brought you a little something," Ari Gold held out a brightly wrapped box to his spouse, who remained unimpressed.

She sighed. Ari hated that sound like few things on this planet."If it's lingerie, you mean you brought yourself a little something, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but you end up with the bigger something later, don't you?" He kissed her neck.

"Yeah, Ari, make with the sweet talk, I'm all aquiver. Meanwhile I look like a prostitute at the dry cleaners.And I'm running out of fresh places to take it all. And I've got a luncheon to plan by Thursday, and I just don't have time for your midlife bullshit right now."

"Midlife doesn't start till you're forty-three, baby, and okay, maybe I was a little tacky, but you know I want you bad, right? That sometimes I don't even shower after we do it because I love going into my meetings smelling like you. And it's great for the meetings too, cause I'm like, boom...instant stallion. All because I'm wearing Essence of Gold."

"You don't shower?" Mrs. Ari asked. "I really think you should."

"Oh, okay, you caught me," the agent continued, but he did note that his wife's mood had elevated in a promising direction."Three out of four times I do, but the fourth time is my favorite."

"Really, Ari?"

"Would I lie to you?"

Her withering look hit him like a sharp kick in the jewels. "Okay, I should have said, would I ever lie to you in a substantially relationship-altering fashion, because you know I wouldn't, darling. I signed that contract with Grossman."

"That I'll buy. Do you really love the way I smell?"

"Darling, I would love your tub-ring, if you ever lightened up on the housekeeper enough to have one...."

"If there are rings in the tubs, it means somebody's scratching the porcelain...should I leave a memo about the special cleaner again? The decorator was quite emphatic."

"Baby, remember Game Day?" The second it's out of his mouth he wishes some director, or even that schmuck Grossman, would come out onto his patio, say "Cut," and free him from himself.Fuckin' real life should have dailies.If it did, he would look like a decent person a full forty percent of the time, he's convinced. Ok, thirty-five, with a percentage of back-end karma...at a time like that, it doesn't pay to be too picky.

"Yes,Ari, I do," Usually, he counts it as a win when he's pushed someone so far, he can't see what they're thinking in their eyes anymore. Now, he just feels like shit. But he's good at it, and he didn't get anywhere backing down, so like an asshole, he finishes the thought." Well, that's how I feel about this domestic bullshit. You are a fucking goddess, the light of my life...I never want to know you think about countertops."

"Well, someone has to, Ari. Who will do it if I don't? You?"

"Darling, if you weren't here, I'd be eating out of the dumpster at the Palm, bottle of Scotch in one hand and my cock in the other...you know that."

"And it would be bad Scotch, too," his wife replied, as if this were the sad part. "You have no taste."

"Except you," He kissed her fully on the mouth.

"Okay, I'll give you that. Even though I picked you."

"So you say," he teased. "Maybe I just let you think that as part of my plan. Boom, five steps ahead, baby."

"Yeah, you have your little games, Superagent Gold...I suppose I should see how awful this new gift is."

"You know, I would be insulted, but right now, I'm just thrilled that you'll open your box for me."

"Ari!" But she was only mock-scolding, more laughing than pissed. Score another one for the Miracle Worker, Helen Keller with titanium balls.

"That's what bothers you, not me talking about going into work covered in your...juices?" Ari pointed out. "I don't understand you sometimes."

"Yeah, Ari, like that's news.' she was (continued...)

( continues...) ripping at the gift's paper in that annoyingly careful way he'd come to hate. They were rich enough not to save every box, but...

"But that's flattering and passionate. Like you can't get enough of me. The box joke, on the other hand, makes you sound like a frat-boy...cuntmuscle."

"Of course, you're right, dearest."

"Um, Ari, before we get started...any special reason why you bought me a lab coat?"

O

M

G

!!!

That was pretty cool to write, as well. Kind of lost sight of the fact that I made it up...haven't done that in a long time. That's what She said, on the back of that Vespa, too, right? (and pretty hot, considering nobody took anything off.)

I think this is a bit less inspired than the other stuff. But it has moments.

It was Monday morning at the clinic, and, in addition to the usual full house of weekend warriors and hypochondriacs, the phones were ringing off the hook.

House answered and heard the following "Hi, this is Angela from Mary Hart's office...does Lisa Cuddy work here?"

"Depends on what you mean by work, Angela. My mistress keeps me occupied here. If you know what I mean. And I think you do."

"Really...that's just great. Cause I'm on a tight deadline here, working on a bigger story than this Chase guy anyway, and...hey, aren't you the guy who hung up me before? Only you used that really phony British accent."

"Oh, yes," House replied, accent now firmly in place. "Dreadfully sorry...Deuced unpleasant lack of manners on my part."

"So, does that mean we get access to Dr. Cuddy or not?"

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." he hung up.

A different sort of differential was going on at Casa Gold "Oh, but, Mr. Gold, our computers are down and our monitoring equipment is useless. You can't leave till we monitor your heart rate and make sure you don't have..."
Mrs. Ari paused in thought, a gesture fatal in her soap opera days, but then she wasn't allowed to be photographed in a white lab coat and really tiny underwear and sitting in one of her personally selected leather chairs. "Lupus. Yeah, that's it."

"Is it serious, Doctor?"

"Well, without our machinery, I'm just going to have to take it hands on."

"You don't have to spare my feelings, Doctor, just give it to me straight."

And they were prepared to do things that would surely scuff the finish of the antique desk.

Then, an ominous ringing from his jacket pocket. "It's the bat phone, baby, I have to,"

"No!"

"Just hold that thought, for one second. And don't get up."

"Well, darling, without you on top of me, it's a lot less fun having a blotter practically up my ass."

"Use that anger, baby. You're going to need that later, okay?"

Without looking to see who was calling, Gold picked up. "Eric, I swear to god. If there is not a chalk outline being sketched or a car around a pole right this minute, I'm going to use my connections to reach through this phone and have your larynx ripped out. Are we clear?"

"O-kay. You know, Ari, we go back twenty years. A simple 'This isn't a good time, Lisa' would suffice. Although I'd be interested in reading the monograph on that remote laryngectomy."

"Lisa," he laughed hollowly. "You caught me in the middle of a practical joke on young Mr. Murphy." He paced around the room, closing the door so that his wife wouldn't hear, only to find that she had pulled the long coat around herself again and was sitting on the patio, sulking. Well, crap.

"Sounds hilarious, Ari.," she pointed out. "Have you ever thought you can't stand E. because you're really so much alike?"

"Actually, Lisa," he told her. "I try not to let the little things bother me. Including Eric Murphy. But can we talk about this later? I was in the middle of pleasuring my wife....how did you get this number anyway?"

"You know how, Ari. You and every morning show booker in America knows I'm staying with Vince...you know, you are unbelievable!"

"I get that from women a lot," he couldn't resist adding.

"See, that's what I mean. Whenever I think you're being honest, you start throwing around that phony bravado...it's really obnoxious. But I just wanted to apologize...I never wanted you to find out like this. If it'll make you feel any better, I'm sorry I didn't see what I was missing in school. We were all stupid, then, right?"

"I wasn't,"

"No, you weren't...you were human. What happened?"

"What happened to your Dr. House?"

"Oh, he was a jerk long before he hit the top of his chosen profession. I'm afraid that, you, Ari Gold, have a unique cross to bear as far as the assiness of upward mobility."

Loving this like Dean Winchester loves pie.