(THEME)
TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions --- Guy Noir, Private Eye
(THEME)
GK: It was the weekend before Christmas and I was in the Pottawatami Hotel in Ann Arbor, Michigan, nursing a bad case of the flu. My head felt like a bag of sand and my mouth tasted like crankcase oil. Just then the phone rang. (RING, PICKUP) Yeah?
TR (ON PHONE): Your name Noir?
GK: Right. Who's this?
TR: Never mind. You the guy looking for the handmade earthenware jewelry?
GK: Could be. (MUSIC TIME BRIDGE) I arranged to meet him later at an art gallery near the U, a place called The Shalimar, and then I took a couple aspirin and ankled the place. I'd come to Ann Arbor looking for a high-class girl I know there who wasn't as yet aware that I was in town. A girl named Angela. She and I were once closer than a couple of mice in a shot glass and time had not dimmed the luster of the memory. I figured a Christmas gift might help reestablish our acquaintance (TRAFFIC SFX). There were shops selling Oriental rugs and mountaineering gear and lots of art galleries and clubs where people go to to drink apple juice and listen to poetry. There was a drugstore called Lucky Drugs and a hardware store, Schlenker's, that sold sandbags and bales of straw. There were a couple of micro-breweries, and hundreds of restaurants: Greek, Siamese, West African, Korean, Thai, foods of every nation so long as it isn't Sweden. I saw a place called Miss Muffet's Cafe. (DOOR OPEN, JINGLE, CLOSE. FOOTSTEPS)
CF: Good afternoon. Welcome to Miss Muffet's. Would you like a table...or a tuffet?
GK: She went about six-one with a mass of blonde ringlets a man could get lost in.....Well, it's just me. Unless Angela shows up.
CF: Tuffet then. Follow me. (FOOTSTEPS)
GK: She was dressed as Little Bo Peep and she pointed the way to a fat white counter seat with her shepherd's crook. I sat down and picked up a menu. Curds and whey, Peter Piper's Pickled Peppers, a four and twenty blackbird pie, Old King Coleslaw, a Humpty Dumpty omelet, Pease porridge hot....just then a guy sidled onto the tuffet next to me.
TR: Hey Noir.
GK: Do I know you?
TR: We spoke on the phone.
GK: I was supposed to meet you later.
TR: I located that jewelry you asked about.
GK: Is it earthenware? I want earrings and I want a necklace, with little earthenware beads on a leather thong, but not round beads, I want geometric earthenware pieces with sort of Indian symbols on them, you know.
TR: I can get it for you but you'll have to come with me. It's about a mile from here. At a pottery run by a guy named Dutch.
GK: Dutch is an unusual name for a potter, ain't it?
TR: This is an unusual potter.
GK: I'm looking for a very fine earthenware necklace for a high-class woman, Mister. I'm not looking to play the sucker in some pottery scam you're running.
TR: You want earthenware jewelry, you gotta come and see Dutch. Make up your mind. I ain't got all day.
GK: Just then, Little Miss Bo-Peep tore off her long golden curls---
CF: Guy!
GK: Angela!
CF: It's good to see you.
GK: Same here. I'm just a little surprised, that's all.
CF: You--- you look pale, Guy.
GK: I've got the flu, that's why. Angela--- I can't believe this is you, I mean--- when I knew you---
CF: I was an actress when you knew me. (SHE LAUGHS A BITTER ACTRESSLY LAUGH) But that was then, Guy. This is now.
GK: And now you're serving curds and whey to people?
CF: What can I say? It's a living. I've got four kids and I'm married to a composer, Guy. We need the money.
GK: Married to a composer, huh?
CF: Yeah. Of all the guys I coulda married, I had to pick a minimalist, huh? Oh well.
TR: You interested in the earthenware jewelry, mister? I ain't got all day.
GK: No, I guess not. But thanks.
CF: You care for any lunch, Guy? The blackbird pie isn't bad.
GK: No, thanks. This is the stomach flu I got, Angela. Not a pretty thing. One minute you're a dignified mature man in a blue suit and the next minute you're a pitiful specimen, driving the porcelain bus. And if there's anything that could get me back on the bus again, it would be blackbirds for lunch. (MUSIC, PASSAGE) I headed back for the Pottawatami to lie down. Having the flu is sort of a preview of what it'll be like to be ninety-seven years old. I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes, just as the phone rang. (RING, PICKUP) Yeah? Oh hi, Angela. Huh? For Christmas Eve? You sure? Well....sure. Why not? Thanks. (HANG UP) Not the way I imagined I'd be spending Christmas Eve --- with my former girlfriend's husband and kids--- but it could be worse. Merry Christmas, you guys. (THEME)
TR: A dark night in a city that keeps its secrets, and down in its crowded streets is a guy still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions.....Guy Noir, Private Eye. (MUSIC OUT)
© 1996 BY GARRISON KEILLOR