(GK: Garrison Keillor, SS: Sue Scott, TK: Tom Keith, TR: Tim Russell)
(GUY NOIR THEME)
TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but on the 12th floor of the Acme Building, one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions - Guy Noir, Private Eye.
(THEME UP AND OUT)
GK: It was the first week of December, and already my sister Georgina had called to ask if I was coming for Christmas. My heart sank. Christmas with Georgina means that everybody has to sit around and singing every Christmas carol in the book, and when my relatives sing, suddenly all the joy goes out of Christmas. It sounds like some ancient tribe of nomads keening for their dead. I was going to call her back and tell her I couldn't come, it would interfere with the medications, and then the phone rang.
(PHONE RINGS, PICK UP)
GK: Yeah. Noir here.
TK (ON PHONE): Is this Guy Noir, the eye doctor?
GK: No, sir. It's Guy Noir, the private eye.
TK (ON PHONE): Listen, I've got this terrible itch in my left eye.
GK: Then go to a doctor.
TK (ON PHONE): Okay, when can you see me?
GK: I told you. I'm not an eye doctor. I'm a private eye.
TK (ON PHONE): How about Tuesday afternoon?
GK: I have no medical training whatsoever.
TK (ON PHONE): In that case, I'd like a discount.
GK: I'm hanging up now.
TK (ON PHONE): Do you validate parking?
(THE PHONE SLAMS DOWN)
GK: I could see it was going to be one of those bicarbonate days. I put on my coat and headed over to the Five Spot.
(DOOR OPEN, MUSIC, FOOTSTEPS)
TR (JIMMY): Hey, Guy, how's it going?
GK: Oh I dunno. Other than loneliness and despair and the dread of the holidays, not so bad. How about you?
TR (JIMMY): Well, my car broke down, my roof leaks, and my kidneys ache. As Mr. Rogers says, "Poop Happens." - You going to your sister's again for Christmas?
GK: It's starting to look that way.
TR (JIMMY): Me too.
GK: Your sister Raquel?
TR (JIMMY): Right. The one with the cats and the wind chimes.
GK: The one who always gives you a Sierra Club calendar and a book of meditations.
TR (JIMMY): That's Raquel. - What can I get for you, Guy?
GK: A rum toddy, Jimmy. No cinnamon. No raisins. No cloves.
TR: Coming right up, Guy. (HE MOVES AWAY, TO MAKE DRINK)
GK: But with a marshmallow if you've got one. (MUSIC UNDER) I sat looking out the front window, watching people hurrying home from the office. A pitiful sight. Men and women in the prime of life, trapped in work cubicles, sitting in meetings, trying to read incomprehensible memos - (DOOR OPENS, JINGLE, CLOSE, FOOTSTEPS) And then one of them came in. A guy in his forties. Suit and tie and wingtips.
TR (LARS): Mind if I sit down here?
GK: It's a tavern, there's no first-class section, pal.
TR (LARS): Thanks.
GK: You look like you just came from work.
TR (LARS): Yeah. I'm a communications coordinator for the Associated Federation of Organizations.
GK: Oh. I used to know someone who worked for the United Federation of Organizations.
TR (LARS): Different outfit.
GK: I see. What sorts of things does the Associated Federation of Organizations do? If you don't mind my asking?
TR (LARS): We organize trade association conventions and seminars.
GK: I see.
TR (LARS): For example - what kind of trade are you in?
GK: I'm a private eye.
TR (LARS): For example - we could organize a convention of private eyes and - you're not Guy Noir, are you?
GK: Yes.
TR (LARS): I was just up at your office looking for you.
GK: Well, here I am. What can I do for you?
TR (LARS): My name is Lars LaFollette, Mr. Noir - and it's about my wife - Evelyn. (HE WEEPS)
GK: What's the problem?
TR (LARS):: I think she's cheating on me.
GK: You do?
TR (LARS): Yes. I do.
GK: Mr. LaFollette, the rate of infidelity among women named Evelyn is very low.
TR (LARS): Well, she leaves the house every Saturday night at eight and doesn't come back until one in the morning. She says she's working as a volunteer at a pet shelter, but in the morning her clothing reeks of cigar smoke and whiskey.
GK: Well, some of those watchdogs, German shepherds - you never know -
TR (LARS): Ethel has always been such a sensible God-fearing woman. I mean, she teaches third grade, she wears corduroy jumpers and brown oxfords, for heaven's sake. I think it's this warm weather we've been having. She's gone over the edge.
GK: What do you want me to do, Mr. LaFollette?
TR (LARS): I need to know the truth, Mr. Noir. No matter what. (MUSIC UNDER)
GK: He gave me a picture of his wife, a woman with limp hair and big watery eyes and harlequin glasses. Frankly, the only man I could picture Evelyn with was the Pillsbury Doughboy. But looks can be deceiving. That's a basic precept in this line of work, along with Never Accept a Personal Check from A Guy with Tattoos of Alligators. (MUSIC BRIDGE) The next night, Saturday night, I drove over to LaFollette's house, parked up the street, and tailed Evelyn as she left the house at eight o'clock (CAR) . For a woman wearing brown oxfords, she drove at a pretty good clip, (SWERVE) and it wasn't a pet shelter she was heading for. (BRAKES) It was a joint called Billy's Club Capri and the marquee said "Girls! Girls! Girls!" and underneath it said, "Amateur Night. Saturday." (DRAMATIC MUSIC REACT) I pulled up my trenchcoat collar and slipped inside (CROWDED BAR AMBIANCE). The joint was packed and up onstage was an emcee in a yellow plaid suit and a bad toupee.
TR (EMCEE, ON SOUND SYSTEM): Okay! how about all you sailors put your hands together and give a big Billy's Club Capri welcome to a 45-year-old librarian from Minneapolis, Gladys Schwab! (STRIPPER DRUMS) Take it away, Gladys!!!
GK: And out came a woman wearing a Rand McNally Atlas. She danced around with her index finger up to her lips making shushing sounds and then she dropped the book (MALE WHOOPS AND CRIES) - her body was covered with index cards from a card catalogue, and one by one, she ripped them off and threw them into the crowd (MALE WHOOPING) - I couldn't bear to look. I ran down the hall and into the men's room. (DOOR SLAM) A man was washing his hands (WATER) and combing his hair.
TR (GUY): Be done here in a minute, pal.
GK: That's okay. I'm in no hurry.
TR (GUY): You're missing the show.
GK: That's all right.
TR (GUY): The librarian is good, but later tonight there's two strippers I hear are sensational - an economist and a literary critic. A deconstructionist.
GK: You don't know if one of them is named Evelyn, do you?
TR (GUY): I don't think so, but then they don't use their real names. The economist is called Debbie Credit and the critic is Maud Ernest.
GK: No Evelyn, huh? - You mind looking at this picture?
TR (GUY): Hey. That's a picture of Cayenne. She's a comedian. Cayenne Pepper. (DISTANT CROWD APPLAUSE) And I think she's on stage now. (MUSIC)
GK: I went back in the club in time to see Evelyn come out on stage (STRIPPER DRUMS) wearing a sequin dress that gave new meaning to the word "tight". She walked right up to the microphone and blew into it.
(MIKE RUMBLE)
SS (ON MIKE): So anyway. This rabbi, and this minister and this priest go to a Starbucks - okay? I mean, it could have been some other coffeeshop, but let's just say it was Starbucks, ok?
GK: As a stand-up comic, she certainly was original.
SS: So the rabbi and the minister order frappucinos. But the priest orders a decaf latte. Okay? Or a cappuccino. Doesn't matter, okay?
GK: She had a sense of timing all her own.
SS: The rabbi and the minister ask the priest why he's ordering a latte, okay? And then the priest says something funny, I forget what exactly. Maybe it'll come to me later. Anyway it was really funny.
GK: And she finished the joke, stepping back, took off a glove and threw I into the crowd. (MEN WHOOPING AND CHEERING) I headed back toward the men's room to where I'd noticed the circuit box on the wall and I pulled the main switch. (MALE SHOUTS, OUTCRY, TUMULT) And then I ran backstage and grabbed Evelyn and got her outside into my car. (CAR DOOR SLAM)
SS: What do you think you're doing, mister? You can't -
GK: Shut up, Evelyn. I'm taking you home.
SS: My name is Cayenne Pepper.
GK: The game's up, Evelyn. We're going home.
SS (SIGHS): My husband sent you, didn't he?
GK: Yes, Ma'am, he did. And I'm taking you home. And I'm going to tell him that I found you working at the pet shelter, just like you said, and that whiskey aroma comes from dogs that ran away from rough homes.
SS: I'm only following my dream, mister. What's wrong with that?
GK: Evelyn, we've been having a warm spell but that doesn't mean you can just let go of all your standards.
SS: I can't go back to teaching third grade, Mr. Noir. I just can't. I want to be in show business.
GK: You're going to teach third grade, Evelyn. They need you. And they might like your jokes. (MUSIC UNDER) I headed back to the Five Spot and ordered a Martini, straight up, with a string bean. (GLASS IS SET DOWN)
TR (JIMMY): There you go, Guy.
GK: Thanks, Jimmy.
TR (JIMMY): Something on your mind, Guy?
GK: I'm thinking about a Rand McNally atlas, Jimmy. Particularly the Caribbean. And remembering the times I looked through card catalogues, and now I know what I was looking for.
(MUSIC)
TR: A dark night in the city that keeps its secrets, where one guy is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions - Guy Noir, Private Eye.
(MUSIC OUT)
(c) 1998 by Garrison Keillor