FlamingText

Winnipeg Pt 5

Start From Beginning

Hostile Smoking Man
  The lines of his face have hardened into a permanent glare, all squinting eyes and creased brow and a chain smoker's permanent curled lip. A short while ago he'd taken a seat at the other end of the table Steen and I are occupying in the beer tent at four o'clock on this sunny weekday afternoon, asking as he did so if the seat was taken and if he was interrupting anything. We told him to help himself and returned to our conversation.

  After a few minutes I notice that he is staring intently at Steen. His eyes are narrowed to slits as he attempts to bore a hole into the side of her head with his stare, drawing on his cigarette with Eastwood-like intensity the whole while. Steen can't see this, but I can so I turn to him to see what's up.

"So what do you think of all this nonsense?" he says, gesturing around us with the tiniest wave of his cigarette hand.
"Come again?"
"All this Fringe nonsense. Are you part of this?"
We tell him that yes we are. We are performers.
"So what's it all about? It's nonsense, right?" He furrows his brow and takes another drag.
We explain to him that at least for the moment, it's our job. I ask him if he thinks his job is nonsense.
"It pays the rent." is his reply. Puff puff. "Does this pay your rent? What kind of show are you doing, anyway?"
We explain we are doing a show about pirates.
"Didn't Johnny Depp already do that?" puff puff glare.
I tell him yes, Johnny Depp did in fact do a movie about pirates last year, which I enjoyed quite a bit.
  "That's right. And he's living in a villa in the South of France with his wife and kids." Here he takes a significant drag as he delivers the coup de grace. "How about you? What are you doing?"

We explain to him, laughing, that we're having lots of fun doing this show, in spite of the fact that it won't pay for a villa in the South of France. I tell him I'm a musician in the show and ask him if he has ever played music.

He says yeah, he's played music. Still no trace of warmth in his voice whatsoever.

Well, I ask: Was it fun?

He says he's played with one of the biggest rock bands of all time.

I say really? What band? Maybe I've heard of you.

He takes a long time formulating his reply, his expression unchanging as he takes several long, deep inhalations of smoke to fill the pregnant pause.

"You ever hear of David Bowie?"

"David Bowie? Yeah, I think I've heard of him. You played with David Bowie?

He allows another pregnant pause.

"You ever heard of Mick Ronson?"

"Yes, I have. He was the guitarist in the Spiders from Mars, as well as Mott the Hoople. Fine guitarist."

He just leaves that hanging there and narrows his eyes some more.

"You don't believe me, do you?" he finally says.

"Nope. Not a word. Have a nice day!" I say, as we get up to leave.

Posted by flamingbanjo at August 6, 2004 01:13 PM