peg22 | The man can't help himself . . .

and neither can I.

PMG and his little interview all about the Panto - which was really all about making the lovely interviewer all flustered because the man TURNED IT ON. That thing about Starsky that's irresistible - well it first came from PMG. And I love that he's still got it in his arsenal. Plus, since he didn't have to be the one who makes sure David doesn't say something to incite some kind of incident, he could concentrate on honing his . . . interview skills.

the interview is here: http://community.livejournal.com/starsky_hutch/627616.html

So I had to write this. It's RPF - but in a good way. And you KNOW IT HAPPENED.

I just report.
And maybe embellish.
But with these two? Embellishment is hardly necessary.

Hello?

You done fucking her?

Davey?

No, Peter-fucking Pan.

Hello to you, too.

So, are you?

What?

Done.

You saw the interview I take it. Since when do you get up in the morning?

Oh I always get it up in the morning. I just happened to turn on the TV today.

How’d I look?

Desperate. Gorgeous. Dirty old man.

She’s adorable.

She’s married.

Yeah, I know. And she’s probably twelve.

More like twenty seven. Which might as well be twelve.

So, besides yanking my chain, to what else do I owe this call?

Paulie, you know I love yanking your chain. You got a nice chain.

Davey, not that I don’t love you.

Certainly not.

And not that I don’t appreciate your skilled critiques, especially at this point in my career.

Certainly need em.

But I’m headed for lunch with my director.

Is she fuckable?

(sigh)

Damn, she is fuckable.

She’s my director, Davey.

Say no more, Paulie. You’re newly single, newly arrived. Live a little.

I’m not you.

But you could have me. Skip your lunch. Come visit your sick friend. Bring flowers. And whiskey.

You’re not sick. I can’t skip lunch. I’m contractually obligated to endure lunches and dinners and mind-numbing discussions about character development – at least until opening.

I’ll give you mind-numbing. Come visit me.

I can’t, Davey. I have to go discuss why Hook is so angry – what did his mother do to him – what did Schmeee do to him . . .

Oh you love all that shit. Aren’t you the one who thought maybe Starsky’s dad locked him in a dark closet most of his childhood?

I usually love it – but it’s Peter Pan, Davey. Not Ibsen.

They take their Pantos seriously over here, Paulie. Be careful.

I know.

Okay, so you can’t come visit me. Then meet me tonight. Bring whiskey.

Why do I always have to bring the whiskey? And I thought you were cutting down.

I am cutting down. Haven’t had a drink in almost . . . seven hours.

You’ve been asleep.

I call it detox. So, are you going to meet me or what?

At your place?

Hardly, you cheeky bastard. At the White Arms.

Not in public, Davey. I don’t want to appear on Page Six again.

You looked great on Page Six.

Yeah, but I don’t want this to turn into the Starsky and Hutch tour. Me and you all over town, arm and arm. Next thing I know, you’ll be calling Tony to meet us.

Well, now that you mention it . . .

You called Tony to meet us? Davey – no, I don’t . . . why do you always do this?

Simple answer? I’m a publicity whore. Other answer – I miss you. And him. And us. It’s fun. And the women flock. And the drinks are free. It’s a party, Paulie. You remember those?

I remember girls with big tits asking to blow us.

See, you do remember. Now pull that stick out of your ass and go have lunch with Ms. Fuckable and then come meet us.

I’m not going to say yes.

But you’re not saying no. So just come. And meet us at the White Arms. Wear a disguise. I don’t care.

Okay, Davey. This one night. But after this, let’s meet somewhere . . . classy. The Savoy comes to mind.

The Savoy comes to mind because of last summer and Stephen Fry and that waiter you kept calling Hans, but whose name was Franz . . .

Don’t remind me . . .

Talk about Page Six . . .

Okay, Davey – one drink. One picture.

Okay, Paulie – oh hang on I’ve got another call – oh it’s Libby – I gotta take this. See you around seven?

Libby? As in Libby from the Sun?

Yeah, yeah – see you at seven Paulie. Wear something sexy.