Deliriously Happy (21 page)

Life is an improvisation.

—Annoying saying

A Wake. Musical director
ROZ
plays somber organ music offstage right
. FATHER O'DOULE
stands at a podium located center stage, directly in front of the tabernacle. Stage left is an open casket, bearing
BOB HARTWICK.
He is deceased
.

FATHER O'DOULE: Bob Hartwick was a gentle man. He was a kind man. He was a funny, funny man. But above all, he was a courageous man. At the age of forty-four, when most men would have accepted their lot in life, Bob Hartwick quit his job as creative director at Leo Burnett Worldwide, liquidated his assets, and divorced his wife in order to pursue his lifelong dream: to start his own improvisational comedy troupe. And while the Giggle Gas Factory never hit it big, exactly, they were getting more and more out-of-town bookings, and their most recent revue,
I Hate This Damn Job, But I Can't Seem to Stop Laughing
, had gotten some very encouraging reviews. In fact, it is a testament to Bob Hartwick's improvisational ability that last Thursday night, when he suffered a massive heart attack during the “Larry King and I” sketch, the audience laughed for a full six minutes before realizing it was not a put-on. It is perhaps sadly ironic that, had Bob received appropriate medical attention more quickly, he might still be with us today. But those who knew Bob Hartwick know he would have wanted to go out on a laugh. As you can probably guess, the Giggle Gas Factory was everything to Bob Hartwick. Consequently, I have asked a few people who knew Bob best, his fellow Giggle Gas Factory workers, to say a few words.

O'DOULE
exits to vestibule upstage left and the surviving
GIGGLE GASSERS—DESMOND, HELEN, CATE,
and
JEFF—
trot up to the altar. They are in mourning: black jeans and gym shoes; black T-shirts with a reversed-out Giggle Gas logo
.

DESMOND (
reflexively cheerful
): Thank you, and good afternoon everybody! (
Failing to get enthusiastic response, he suddenly realizes
BOB HARTWICK
is dead. He is crestfallen
.) But seriously, let's not kid ourselves: Bob Hartwick
was
the Giggle Gas Factory. He was our foreman, but also our coworker; he was the man who turned on the Giggle Gas. And now, with his passing, that gas has been reduced to a slow leak. Bob Hartwick, quite simply, was irreplaceable.

HELEN (
cutting in perkily
): But we
are
taking applications!

DESMOND (
laughing good-naturedly
): You know, we make jokes; but that's what Bob Hartwick's life was all about: making jokes, making
you
giggle. And in honor of that, we wanted to give Bob the sort of eulogy we'd like to think he would have liked to have given himself.

JEFF (
to
MOURNERS): But first, we need an occupation. A normal everyday occupation.

MOURNER ONE: Gynecologist!

MOURNER TWO (
drunkenly
): Proctologist!

HELEN
and
CATE
put their hands on their hips in mock disapproval.

DESMOND (
in his deep
ANNOUNCER
voice
): Please. Remember, this
is
a funeral.

MOURNER THREE: Mortician!

JEFF: We already have one of those.

MOURNER FOUR: Television anchorman!

JEFF: All right, television anchorman.

CATE (
as
HARRIET LEGGS,
her strident feminist character
): Or anchor
woman.

DESMOND: Yes, of course. This
is
the new millennium. Now, what we need is a last line, or I suppose in this case (
chuckling
), we should say
last words
.

MOURNER ONE: Good-bye, cruel world!

DESMOND (
in his deep
GAME SHOW HOST
voice
): And remember, originality counts!

MOURNER THREE: AAAaargh!

HELEN (
pointing to
MOURNER THREE): I'm sorry, we don't do double funerals!

ROZ provides rim shot
.

DESMOND: All right, the occupation is television anchorman, or anchorwoman, and the last line is (
in uncanny impression of
MOURNER THREE) “AAAaargh!” (
aside to
MOURNER THREE) Is that with five
A
's? (
listens to nonexistent response
) Aaaargh with four
A
's. Well, then, without further ado (
in his
ED RALPHWARDS
voice
), Bob Hartwick,
this
is your eulogy!

CATE
and
JEFF
position themselves in front of the open casket
. CATE
assumes persona of
DEBORAH GUMBALL,
WGAS-TV anchorwoman. She stops
JEFF
as he walks by
. ROZ
provides the “Acting News” theme
.

CATE: Sir, sir, could you please tell us how you felt when you found out that Bob Hartwick had died?

JEFF (
horrorstruck
): What?! Bob Hartwick is dead?! (
dropping to his knees
) There wasn't anything about this in Arts & Leisure?!

DESMOND: FREEZE!

DESMOND
runs in and taps
JEFF
on the shoulder, drops to his knees, and quickly assumes
JEFF'
s position
. DESMOND
then goes into his memorable
TATOOIE
character from the “Beyond the Return to Giggle Gas Island” sketch
.

DESMOND (
pointing to casket
): De corpse! De corpse! (
pause for laughter
) Boss, what is your Bob Hartwick fantasy?

CATE (
in her
RICARDA MOUNTEBANK
character
): Well, Tatooie—(
A beat
. DESMOND
wipes an imaginary goober from his eye
.). My fantasy is that Bob Hartwick could still be with us, bringing mirth and laughter to all of Giggle Gas Island. But failing that (
She walks over to caress the casket lining
.), my fantasy is to see Bob Hartwick laid out in reech Corinthian leather…

HELEN: FREEZE!

HELEN
runs in and taps
CATE
on the shoulder. She continues
CATE'
s gesture, cradling
BOB HARTWICK'
s lifeless head in her palm
.

HELEN (
dramatically
): Alas, poor Hartwick, I knew him, Tatooie. (
She wipes imaginary goober from
BOB HARTWICK'
s eye
.)

JEFF: FREEZE!

JEFF
runs in and taps
DESMOND
on the shoulder. From the kneeling position, he stands and begins to lurch toward the coffin
.

JEFF (
as
EEGORE,
the delightful pastiche he created for the “Haunted House on Pooh Corner” sketch
): Master, master. (
shuffling, deadpan
) I brought you that new brain you wanted. It's from the
Times
theater critic. It's never been used.

HELEN (
as
DR. POOH): Oh, bother, Eegore! (
Turning
BOB HARTWICK'
s face toward
MOURNERS) This was Mr. Bob Hartwick! He deserves better than that! Oh, bother!

CATE: FREEZE!

CATE
runs in and, as a joke, taps
BOB HARTWICK
on the shoulder, cracking
HELEN
up. She then assumes
HELEN'
s position, as
THE FRIGID MORTICIAN
from the revue, “The Giggle Gas Chamber, or I Hereby Sentence You to Laugh Yourself to Death.”

CATE (
scolding
JEFF): How many times do I have to tell you? Face up! Face up! (
She uses
BOB HARTWICK
to illustrate
) Not to the right! Not to the left! Face up!

JEFF (
in his
SKEETER
voice
): Uhhhhhhhh, oh-kay.

DESMOND: FREEZE!

DESMOND
assumes
HELEN'
s position, but in his own mortician character
, MORTY, YOUR DISCOUNT SARGOPHAGUS SALESMAN.

DESMOND (
with a stiff sweeping gesture
): Now this one's a very nice, very nice. Our Bob Hartwick model. A big seller.

JEFF (
comically hesitant
): But … uh … there's already a … a person in there.

DESMOND: It's a demo. I can knock fifteen percent off the list.

JEFF (
resting his hand inconspicuously on the side of the casket
): Well, I was thinking of something, uh, a little less, uh,
occupied
.

DESMOND (
annoyed
): The customer's always right, right? Right.

Here, I've got a very nice fiberglass item, if you'll walk this way…

Before
JEFF
can respond “If I could walk that way, I wouldn't need the embalming fluid,”
DESMOND
flips the casket lid shut and it falls on
JEFF'
s hand
.

JEFF: AAAARGH!

Recognition of these “last words” causes
MOURNERS
to break into spontaneous applause. Over the applause
, JEFF, HELEN, DESMOND,
and
CATE
stand in front of the casket, holding hands, and take a bow. As the applause continues, they stand back and gesture toward the coffin
. JEFF
opens the casket to once again reveal the body of
BOB HARTWICK,
prompting increased applause. The soul of
BOB HARTWICK
rises from his earthly remains and takes its place in line with the living
GIGGLE GASSERS.
Wild applause. The coffin lid drops on the spectral hand of
BOB HARTWICK.
The phantasm feigns great pain. Hysterical laughter
.

Fade to eternal black
.

Today fur.

Tomorrow leather.

Then wool.

Then meat…

—An important message from the Fur Information Council of America

Then

they came and told me I had to free my dog. I still remember what I said.

I said:
What?

—It's immoral for one animal to hold dominion over another animal, the taller one said.

—It's a form of slavery, the shorter one added.

—I see, I said, and I thanked them for their input and closed the door.

Then

when I opened the door again several minutes later, the taller one said: I'm afraid we're going to have to insist.

—Look, I said, I don't have all day to talk to kooks.

But then,

as it turned out, they weren't kooks.

As it turned out, they were the police. And, as it further turned out, there had been some elections a while back and a lot of those green people had been swept into office and had passed all sorts of legislation, the gist of which meant I had to free my dog.

—We don't write the laws, the taller one said. I have a dog myself. Had. Now we're just friends.

—But my dog likes it here, I said.

—Ahhhhhh, the shorter one said.

They had all the answers.

And, in any case, the Pet Emancipation Act (PEA) was fairly clear on the matter, particularly with regard to fines and minimum prison terms. And so I said good-bye to Charlie, my best beagle buddy of nearly ten years, and emancipated him.

Charlie spent his first hour of freedom visiting all the yards directly adjacent to ours, eating garbage and doing all his other favorite things to do outside, and then he came romping back home, scratching and whining at the door.