Blazing Addles

Inside, Alan closed his cell and picked up his satchel. "I'm going to have to leave in a bit. One of my occasional clients and frequent entertainment expenses is again a unwilling guest of our misguided city."

Shirley checked her watch. "When's the Holman deposition?"

"Three," said Alan.

"It's eight-forty now. The home health nurse should be here by ten, but I have to leave for a meeting with the Gregg's before then. Can you stay?" Shirley looked to Alan.

"Afraid not. I need to be sure I make her arraignment. I'm counting on her to be my escort for my niece's wedding."

Shirley sighed. It was always something. "Denny, maybe you could take a nap until the nurse arrives."

Alan's face questioned Shirley thoughts.

"We have to do something. How much trouble can he get into in bed?" Even as the words came out, Shirley realized the dilemma.

Denny seemed not to hear. He rummaged in the umbrella stand for something. "Why should I take a nap when I'm going to the office later? I do my best sleeping there." He picked up a .22 rifle from amongst the umbrellas and fishing rods.

Alan set his satchel down. "I'll stay."

"I'm going to change." Using the rifle as a cane, Denny hobbled off towards the bedroom.

"What's wrong with the suit you're wearing?" Alan asked as he trailed behind. "I picked it out for you to wear home especially." He could sound a little petulant at times.

"For one thing, it makes my ass look fat." Denny answered from the bedroom doorway.

"That's the bandage underneath," Shirley said.

Denny stuck his head out. His jacket and pants were off already. "Shirley! You're looking at my ass again. Come in here. Lock the door. Bring the condoms from the bathroom. How're we fixed for birth control? Are you in a fertile phase?"

Shirley threw up her hands in exasperation and wandered off towards the kitchen in search of a glass of water. Or vodka. Whichever came to hand first would do.

That left Alan with bedroom duty. "Let me help you, Denny. Be a pal; let me play with your nice things. My daddy won't buy me any. He says I haven't been good. What does he know? He should have asked my sister." Alan met Deny at the closet.

"And for another, it's sissy," Denny continued, pawing through his rows of suits. "I'm not going in to work wearing something you chose. Only my wives get to pick out my clothes. Or future wives. Or future ex-wives. "

"Yes, I see your point. How about this one?" Alan pulled down an expensive silk.

"Maybe. Do you think it goes well with yellow? I wanted to wear this shirt." Denny waved the rifle to a starched yellow with thin white stripes and a broad white collar. "Frannie always liked me in lemon meringue."

"Sweet." Alan held the shirt against the jacket and examined it. There could be only one verdict. "Denny Crane," he pronounced.

Denny winked back. "Denny Crane. Tie and hankie?" He pushed the button on his electric tie rack and gave it a spin.

Alan hung the suit and shirt up on Denny's clothes horse. "I wouldn't presume."

"Mm. Smart. I divorced Clovis for that."

"I thought it was because she slept with Bruce Springsteen."

"No. No. We had an…agreement about him."

Alan raised his eyebrows.

Denny stopped at a candy-store pink tie and hankie set. "What do you think?"

"It's the cherry on top."

"Um." Denny rolled his eyes back. "Frannie. What that woman can do with a cherry stem—" Denny laid the set out on the clothes horse as well. Still limping on the rifle, he turned back to Alan. "Well?"

"Well?" Alan asked.

"You can get out now. I'm going to change."

"Not too much, I hope. I like you just the way you are."

Alan shuffled and tried again. "You're less than twenty-four hours out of surgery. I had thought perhaps that a… gentleman's gentleman might be of use."

"You thought wrong. But for the record, I don't hold it against you. If I were you, I'd want to see me naked too. I do want to see me naked, but that's not a homosexual thing. It's just--"

"Denny Crane." Alan filled in the blank.

"Exactly." Denny dropped his boxers and, from the bottom up, began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Alan blinked. "In that case, perhaps I shall go see to Shirley's… needs."

Denny reared up. "Alan, don't you do it! I'll sit on your face again!"

"Promises, promises. That's the problem with you big shots: you're all talk. When it comes time to put your—hmm, for the sake of the censors , shall we say— 'money' where my mouth is, you freeze."

"It's not nice to have sex with your best friend's girl in his own kitchen."

"Would you rather I stay here? There is some evidence…pointing in that direction."

Denny glanced down. "It's not what it looks like. I was thinking of Shirley."

"Mmm." Alan took a step towards him. "Shirley." He craned his head down and his face around. "Shirley." He rolled the name over his lips and tongue. "She does seem to have that…effect." On the last breath, he exhaled with precision, "on men, or at least select parts thereof." He exhaled again, and Denny sucked in his breath.

"Shirley." Denny closed his eyes.

"Denny Crane."

Denny sucked in a harder breath. He bent over and grabbed himself. His eyes flew open and his words came out strained. "Alan. My stitches. Get out before they…pop."

Alan swished smugly out of the room.


***


"Alan, a word with you, please." Shirley caught him in the study.

"As long as the word isn't 'deeper.' That one causes me certain psychological distress."

"Don't worry; you're in the clear with me."

Alan seated himself in the chair behind Denny's desk.

As usual, Shirley wasted no time. "Denny said that you told him that I—among others was in the process of trying to have him removed."

"I may only attend staff meetings for the fruit, Shirley, but occasionally, despite my best efforts I do hear some of what you and Paul have to say. I'm thinking earplugs in the future, but as for the events of yesterday, it is too late."

"Alan, I know that you dislike many things about me, but I did think that we had arrived at a certain understanding. As senior partner, I have neither need nor intention of explaining my actions to you or any other associate, but I do require a response from you on one specific matter if I am to retain you here— or at any of our offices: do you honestly believe that I would do such a thing to Denny?

"Because I know you like to play the misunderstood loner raging against the authority, and far be it for me to interfere with what fun and games you two can still manage at your combined ages without the inclusion of a prescription card or a vacuum pump, but know this: you do not have a monopoly on loving Denny Crane.

"And if you repeat that, I'll have you transferred to open the office of Crane, Poole and Schmidt: Iceland. Solo practice."

Alan leaned back. "Shirley, as for my response you should know several things. First, I am inordinately fond of Nordic skiing. Perhaps, in preparation for my seemingly imminent transfer, you could assist with me with having my board waxed."

"Don't you ever quit?"

"Only until next season. Second, I do not dislike you. While I may dislike the fact that I have not been afforded the opportunity to…know you at all the many warm and rewarding levels of your--" He made an unmistakable gesture with his palms, "Depths, valleys, and mounds. While you might perceive some...palpable frustration on my part surrounding that lamentable omission, that is not the same thing as dislike.

"Although if it disturbs you as much as it does me, I do have a suggested remedy for said situation—"

"Next!" Shirley raised her hand to call a halt.

"Yes, then, moving right along." Alan shuffled some unrelated papers on Denny's desk. "Thirdly, having just now expressed such admiration for you—and all your dark, steamy pits and strengths and positions and such— I will say that I do believe that you would stop at nothing to do what you believe is right. No matter the pain or grief or personal cost to you. That is characteristic that I as a coddled libertine neither possess nor understand, and therefore, I fear it.

"And in case you were wondering, it is also a compliment of the highest order."

"Funny, to my ears it doesn't sound that way." Shirley pressed clasped hands to her chin.

Alan exhaled. "Do you ever wonder why you keep me on at Crane, Poole and—most acutely relevant to this exchange—Schmidt?"

Shirley pursed her mouth. "I think I'll take the fifth on that for now."

"We complement each other. You can do things I cannot. I do things you cannot. Denny can do things none of us can."

"You said a mouthful there."

"Together we will make it work. Separately, I must say, we are all a bit sadly…lacking. Especially me."

"I wouldn't have put it that way."

"Then you don't know me well enough. But the offer to remedy that situation is always open. Do you prefer top or bottom?"

"Denny didn't tell you?"

"He did. But I was hoping to hear you talk dirty."

She laughed just a tiny bit, then returned to topic. "He's slipping fast, Alan. I will do my best against anyone and everyone, but even still, I don't know how long I can protect him. And I'm Schmidt."

Alan stood from the chair and put his hand to his suit breast. "Then, I guess you'd best think of something, and soon. He saved my case yesterday. I need him. And as I work for you, that means that you need him, a thought which should make Denny and his crane inordinately happy in more ways than one.

"Letting him go is not acceptable and cannot be an outcome. It will not be while I have any association whatsoever with this firm."

"Then, we stick together."

Alan nodded. "So it would seem."

In the background, a brass clock with an honorarium plaque ticked out the seconds.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack. They both turned and ran for it. In the bedroom, Denny stood in a fresh pair of meringue colored boxers, one leg in and one leg out of a pair of trousers with a rifle in his right hand. In the far corner, Shirley Schmidt Ho slowly deflated into a pitiful heap on the carpet.

"Oops," said Denny.

"Oh dear," said Alan.

"Oy," said Shirley. She headed back for the kitchen. This time it would be vodka even if she had to have it delivered in.