(GK: Garrison Keillor; TK: Tom Keith; SS: Sue Scott: TR: Tim Russell)
(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 one of those perfect days in June when finally living in the Midwest starts to make sense and this gloomy icebox starts to take on a certain falalalala hey nonny nonny no quality but you're still surrounded by these small minded people ----
TK (ON PHONE): Hey, Noir. It's about my kid. He's in Little League. Came up to bat yesterday. Right? Ninth inning. Huh? Hit a double. Okay? Next kid hit a single. My kid came around third. Slid into home base. He was safe by three feet. Three feet.
GK: Okay.
TK (ON PHONE): Ump called him out. He was safe by three feet.
GK: Three feet.
TK (ON PHONE): Catcher never even touched him.
GK: Okay. What do you want me to do about it?
TK (ON PHONE): Want you to follow this ump. Either he's nuts or he's on the take. I'd like to know which.
GK: I don't do that sort of stuff.
TK (ON PHONE): I thought you were a private eye.
GK: I'm not interested. (HANG UP) And then two minutes later I got a call from Seattle.
SS (ON PHONE): Mr. Noir? It's Melissa. Seattle Chamber of Commerce.
GK: Right. Sure.
SS (ON PHONE): Mr. Noir? Are you available to come out here immediately?
GK: I could make myself available, Melissa.
SS (ON PHONE): Mr. Noir, we're expecting a visit soon from a travel writer for the Los Angeles Times.
GK: Oh my gosh.
SS (ON PHONE): Do you know what would happen if the Los Angeles Times printed an article about what a beautiful place Seattle is?
GK: You'd have a lot more people driving BMWs and talking to their therapists on their cellphones.
SS (ON PHONE): Exactly. We can't let it happen, Mr. Noir.
GK: Tell me what I can do, Melissa. (BRIDGE) And she told me. And six hours later (TRAFFIC, OUTDOOR CITY AMBIENCE) I was sitting in Ole's Clam & Oyster Heaven looking out over the bay (DISTANT FERRY BOAT, GULLS) where the ferry was heading toward Bainbridge Island and I was enjoying a dozen oysters and a glass of champagne and keeping my eye on the gentleman from L.A. sitting alone at a table, a fellow in a yellow sportshirt and green plaid Bermudas. (FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)
TR: How're those oysters?
GK: They're okay. The fellow in the yellow sportshirt?
TR: Right.
GK: The travel writer? From L.A.?
TR: Right.
GK: Do me a favor. If he asks for a refill on the wine, pour him some of that Chateau Omaha.
TR: Okay.
GK: And bring me an order of clams. You have clams here? I forget.
TR: In Seattle? Are you kidding? Of course we do. You like em fried?
GK: Sure, whatever.
TR: Or we can steam em.
GK: Steamed is okay, too.
TR: Or we can saute' em.
GK: Had a nice bunch of clams a few weeks ago in Minnesota.
TR: I never heard of clams in Minnesota. Where is that, anyways?
GK: East of here. The clams were out of a lake. Lake Piscacadawadaquoddymoggin.
TR: Lake clams---- I never heard of that.
GK: It was a Camp Fire Girls clam bake. You put the clam on the end of a stick like a weenie and you put a marshmallow in it and you roast it over the campfire.
TR: Never heard of that.
GK: These were good clams. The marshmallow is good with it.
TR: You roasted a marshmallow with clams?
GK: And we put sprinkles on em. They were pretty good.
TR: I never heard of clams with marshhmallow.
GK: How about cheese? You ever melt cheese on clams in Seattle?
TR: No.
GK: Well, let me taste a couple steamed.
TR: I'll be right back. (FOOTSTEPS AWAY)
GK: It was a gorgeous day in Seattle. They'd had about five gorgeous days in a row and this travel writer for the L.A. Times came in. I could tell he was having a great time. I arranged for the fire department to direct a stream of water against his hotel window all night (SFX) and when he went to the Frye Museum I arranged it so that they replaced all the Edward Hoppers with calendar pictures of Mount Rainier, and now here I was at Ole's Clam & Oyster Heaven.
TR: Here's a coupla clams, steamed, in butter sauce. Tell me what you think.
GK: They look nice.
TR: How do they taste?
GK: (MOUTH FULL) They're okay.
TR: Okay?
GK: They're okay. Remind me of some clams I had in Wisconsin.
TR: Wisconsin??
GK: Came out of Lake Superior. Had em in a clam salad.
TR: No such thing as clam salad.
GK: It was a Jell-o salad. With mandarin oranges and miniature marshmallows and clams.
TR: Please. Don't tell me about it.
GK: It was a raspberry Jell-O.
TR: Please.
GK: But these are good too. Bring me another Martini, would you?
TR: You want more clams?
GK: Sure. Why not? ---- And that travel writer in the yellow shirt?
TR: Yeah.
GK: What'd he order?
TR: Steamed clams.
GK: Uh huh. Listen. Here's a C note for you. Stead of clams, bring him a plate of mussels and put a little sand in them. And spill the whole thing in his lap.
TR: You got it. (FOOTSTEPS) (TK CRY OF PAIN, OFF) (BRIDGE)
GK: The travel writer from the L.A. Times had written a big spread on the glories of the Pacific Northwest a couple years before and the day after, the sky over Seattle was dark with Lear jets, it was like Pearl Harbor except the invaders never went away. So they hired me. To make sure the city got a bad rap. I arranged for him to go to a dinner party of Norwegians. Eight people: average words per minute per person, one point four.
TR: Here. Some of our fried clams. Came in fresh this afternoon.
GK: Very nice. Almost as big as the ones we get out of the Mississippi.
TR: You never want to eat river clams. Take it from me. Full of germs. Very dangerous.
GK: Dug em right out of the Mississippi and cooked em over a fire in an oil drum and served em with tartar sauce.
TR: You never put tartar sauce on a clam.
GK: The tartar sauce had some Lipton's Onion Soup mix in it.
TR: Please.
GK: They were pretty good. (STING) ---And just then she walked by. (SEXY SAX) A tall woman in a short wrap-around skirt and a blouse so tight I could hardly breathe. She had long black hair tied up in a knot and an olive complexion and dark glasses and she looked as if she was pretty much used to men throwing themselves at her feet and one more wouldn't make a whole lot of difference. I dashed out the door and followed her and I didn't see the row of paper boxes along the curb and (GK FALLS OVER PAPER BOXES, EXTENSIVE CLATTER OF JUNK) and I fell down in the gutter just as a bus came along (BUS PASSING CLOSE) and blew a big cloud of bus exhaust in my face (RACKING COUGH) and when I came to, she was bending over me---- (TRAFFIC AMBIENCE CONTINUES THROUGH SCENE AND TK PASSING CARS AND TRUCKS, HORNS)
SS: Mr. Noir-----
GK: How do you know my name?
SS: I looked at your driver's license.
GK: You put your hand in my pocket for my----
SS: Yes. I got your billfold.
GK: You put your hand in my pocket and you ----
SS: You were out cold, Mr. Noir.
GK: You put your hand in my pocket.
SS: I had to look through your billfold.
GK: Thank you. Thank you.
SS: I see that you're a private investigator.
GK: I'll always remember that.
SS: I need a detective, Mr. Noir.
GK: You do?
SS: Are you free?
GK: For you, I could be more than free. (BRIDGE) We went to a Starbucks to talk. (INDOOR CAFE AMBIENCE, TK GRINDERS AND ESPRESSO SFX)
SS: Coffee----?
GK: A grande latte with a double shot and an extra skinny.
SS: An espresso for me. Thanks. ------Can you go up to Ballard and check on something for me, Mr. Noir?
GK: I can go to the moon, baby.
SS: It's about this guy. He wants to marry me. I'm just not sure.
GK: You ought to go with your own feelings there.
SS: I mean, he's a wonderful person.
GK: They always seem that way at first, don't they-----
SS: He's smart and good-looking and he makes me laugh and we like all the same things and he's, incidentally, quite wealthy, and he's incredibly kind and giving and sensitive to my moods and ---- Why is it so difficult to find men who are caring and sensitive and good looking?
GK: Because they already have boyfriends.
SS: What're you trying to say, Mr. Noir?
GK: Face it. Your boyfriend is gay.
SS: I don't think so.
GK: What sort of gifts does he give you?
SS: Clothes. Jewelry.
GK: He's gay.
SS: I don't think so. But there's something he's hiding and I need to know what it is.
GK: What makes you think so?
SS: He's never opened the trunk of his car when I've been around. He always put stuff in the backseat. Never in the trunk.
GK: Automatic weapons.
SS: I don't think so.
GK: What's his name?
SS: Kevin.
GK: Hairdresser, right?
SS: He's an actor. But during the day he waits on table at Ole's.
GK: Actor, huh? The trunk is probably full of Scientology pamphlets.
SS: He's Unitarian.
GK: The trunk is full of unanswered questions.
SS: That's what I need you for, Mr. Noir. (BRIDGE)
GK: I checked into Kevin and found out why he wouldn't open the trunk. He couldn't. The lock was busted. But I could see he was all wrong for her. So I managed to fix the lock on his trunk and I put some stuff in it and the very next night----
TR: Huh. That's funny. The trunk opens. (CREAK OF TRUNK HINGES)
SS: I don't believe it.
TR: Where did these come from?
SS: These aren't yours?
TR: I have no idea where they came from. Honest.
SS: All these magazines ---- "Math Teachers On Parade" ---- "Student Counselor Dream Fantasies," "Cafeteria Sex Kittens" ---- Kevin----
TR: These aren't mine. Believe me.
SS: I wish I could. And what's this here?
TR: What's what?
SS: Oh my gosh. A blue negligee?
TR: I never saw it before in my life. You've got to believe me. (BRIDGE)
GK: She didn't believe him. Not that it did me any good, though.
SS: I'm sorry, Mr. Noir. You're too old for me.
GK: We could start out in dim light and see how it goes.
SS: I'm sorry. You're too old and---- you've eaten clams with melted marshmallow.
GK: I'll never do it again. (DOOR CLOSE) (BRIDGE) The travel writer went back to L.A. and wrote a rave article about Seattle and the night rain and the delicious baby clams and the retro calendar art show and what good listeners the Norwegians are and all like that. And I went back to St. Paul, my heart broken once more. (DOOR OPEN, JINGLE, CLOSE, FOOTSTEPS)
TR (JIMMY): Hey, Guy----- how's it going?
GK: Not so bad, Jimmy, not so bad.
TR (JIMMY): Heard you went out to Seattle. How was it?
GK: Well, it rained every day but other than that okay.
TR (JIMMY): You go out there on business?
GK: Not really, no. Went out to see this girl I've been chatting with online.
TR (JIMMY): Oh really.
GK: Yeah, she fell for me like a ton of bricks and wanted to meet so I went and, darn, she was tall and beautiful like a model and smart and 24 years old, and crazy about me, but it just didn't feel right, you know what I mean?
TR (JIMMY): Huh. Too bad.
GK: I mean, what if she just wanted me for my money?
TR (JIMMY): What money?
GK: I'll never forget that day back in 1985. Saw the story in the paper about the stock offering. "Microsoft," I says to myself. "Nice name." So I picked up a couple thousand shares.
TR (JIMMY): What can I get you?
GK: The usual.
TR (JIMMY): One Martini with a soybean coming up.
GK: Except, instead of the soybean, I'd like this----
TR (JIMMY): A clam?
GK: A clam.
TR (JIMMY): It's moving-----
GK: Of course. If it were dead, how would it be able to appreciate the Martini?
TR (JIMMY): Good point.
(THEME)
SS: A dark night in a city that keeps its secrets, where one guy is still trying to find the answers...Guy Noir, Private Eye. (MUSIC OUT)
© Garrison Keillor 2001