Gwenny June's Tommy Crown Affair

  Chapter 46 - Playing Games

  Tommy was all hipped to try to drive like the real Tommy Crown, but I kept distracting him with mind games I call The Sets of Five. These sets are as follows: your five favorite movies; your five favorite rock bands; five geniuses of pop music; five handsomest men and five most beautiful women; and five favorite writers. I have more sets of five but this was all we could handle before we hit Jekyll. We alternated with our lists. The first set was favorite movies.

  Me: You've Got Mail, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, written and directed by the great Nora Ephron.

  Him: Oceans Twelve, starring those twelve guys, what an incredible soundtrack.

  Me: Leatherheads, starring Big George Clooney, and Renee Zellweger in her best performance.

  Him: Oh Brother Where Art Thou, again with Big George, love that bluegrass singing.

  Me: Modern Times, the sheer genius of Charlie Chaplin.

  Him: My Fair Lady, songs by the immortal Lerner and Lowe, Tommy saying his favorite was "Why Can a Woman Be More Like a Man", me not knowing if he was joking or actually a chauvinist, me granting him that the lyrics are very humorous.

  Me: Pat and Mike, me having to throw in something with America's greatest actress, Katherine Hepburn, not agreeing with all those film historians who place that mantel on Betty Davis, me not being able to stand her weird eyes.

  Him: Tootsie, saying Dustin Hoffman wasn't bad but he wanted to go to bed with Jessica Lange, even if she had the brat in the movie.

  Me: Manhattan, directed by Woody, this causing Tommy practically to drive off the road considering how many times I'd dissed New York to him, me saying it was the Gershwin music that made the movie great.

  Him: Forrest Gump, 'run, Forrest, run!'

  While Tommy tried to handle the Mustang I wrote this set down on a pad of paper, and after studying it, said, "Not bad."

  He said, "Maybe someday we can watch all ten movies in bed together," which I didn't reply to verbally, but to which I did reply in silent fantasy mode, "Do we have to get out of bed between movies?"

  Next came the set of five greatest pop bands. Tommy asked if that included single artists, and I said yes, but remember that the next set was five greatest musical geniuses of pop.

  Me: The Who, my boys all the way.

  Him: Pink Floyd, their lyrics sometimes juvenile, but that goes with the territory of pop.

  Me: Neil Young with Crazyhorse, may seem weird coming from an aristocrat like me but I like raw, and Neil is at the top of that list.

  Him: The Beach Boys, unique sound and so many songs, prolific.

  Me: One of the Motown bands, doesn't matter which one, let's say Marvin Gay.

  Him: U2, me, upon hearing that, thinking seriously of bailing out of this relationship, such as it is, platonic, me hating everything about U2 except The Edge's guitar playing, which I gotta allow is great, but really, his beany cap, so hideous, the lead guy, those stupid yellow glasses, I decided not to verbalize my opinion, instead gritting my teeth.

  Me: Jethro Tull, especially "Stand Up", great song composition.

  Him: Emmy Lou Harris, single artist, not because I think she's a super singer or songwriter, but she has the greatest smile on a woman I've ever seen.

  Me: You are such a soft touch. Ok, Blind Faith, the one album super group, but what an album.

  Him: Buffalo Springfield. You wanna talk sweet singing, you talk them. How come neither of us voted for The Stones?

  I wrote down this set for posterity just as we crossed the line into Georgia, and Tommy said, "If I stop up here to take a leak can I keep driving afterwards?"

  I looked at him and said, "You want to keep driving a car that looks like this, a yellow bomb, that now is associated with a shooting in another state, the cops from both states may be looking for it, me now having a second reason for being sent up the river, us no longer having to walk around with our Platos on our shoulders because of you being in the men's wing of the pen and me in the women's?"

  He pulled off, cut the engine, and said, "What's the first reason for you getting sent up?"

  I didn't answer but got out and stretched, him not pushing it, going inside, me letting him keep the keys. When we were rolling again I said, "Next set is geniuses of pop, and I don't use that term lightly. I'm not sure I can come up with five. Been a while since I played this game with Roger."

  "Who?"

  Me: Top of the list, top of the charts for me is the guy we got to come to Charleston and do the Stravinsky ballet, transpose the music from orchestra to synthesizer, and perform it live, Pete Townshend.

  Him: McCartney. It's clear now he was the heart of The Beatles. Still writing great songs today.

  Me: Jimi. Not a nice person, but Hendrix was way out there with his guitar playing, out there where angels fear to tread.

  Him: Paul Simon. What a repertoire of songs. Won the Library of Congress Award.

  Me: Can I vote for McCartney too? No? Ok then, Bob Dylan. I don't own an album by him, and maybe he's a little boring, but how many lyrics has the man written in his life? Millions. There's something there, songs, and more songs.

  Him: Roger Waters and David Gilmour. I don't know which wrote the stuff, but there is genius somewhere around those two.

  We were on an open stretch of Rt. 17, winding through the swamplands of the low country, no one is sight, I'd a bin highballing it, I checked the speedo which said 60. I looked at him and said, "You sure your name is Tommy Crown?"

  He said, "You're the one said half the state cops from South Carolina and Georgia are looking for us."

  "You think a little speeding ticket is going to matter, them looking for us for shooting a guy?"

  "Us? Us? You see me pulling a gun, blasting away?"

  "You ever heard of an accomplice?"

  "What I've heard of is innocent dupe. A man being taken advantage of by a nefarious lover. That'll be my defense."

  "I'll dispute the lover part, make you look like a bigger dupe. Guy that didn't get nothing out of the deal, 'cept trouble."

  He punched the pedal and said, "Can we get back to the mind games?"

  "Ok. Next set is five handsomest men and five most beautiful women."

  "Is this segregated by opposite gender or can I offer up guys too, and you offer up babes too?"

  "You feel comfortable talking about guys? Not worried about me being worried about you?"

  "Bet my list is better than yours."

  Me: Numero uno is Gary Cooper. Classic.

  Him: I'll see your classic handsome with a classic beauty, also numero uno, Catherine Deneuve.

  I said, "You keep hanging out with me, maybe you'll meet her."

  "I keep hanging out with you, I'll get arrested for something I didn't do and sent away until my libido is nothing but a faint memory, or Roger will shoot me, or I tell the wrong person I know a talking dog and they have me committed, or...."

  Me: Next stud isn't a complete entity, just a voice. Sean Connery. If I could have sex with a voice, it'd be him. It.

  Him: The longer I hang out with you the weirder life becomes: maiming guys for life by shooting them, discussions with canines, little philosophers running things, stealing community held works of art, and now this. No sex with me, but sex with a guy's voice. And not even an American guy, but a guy from Scotland. Never mind, my next most beautiful woman is the great Garbo. What a mouth. You know I named a cat after her once?

  Me: I ignored the comment about stealing something and offered my next entry of the set, my hubby Roger.

  Him: You like to rub it in, don't you. Next for me is a French actress from the 70s, Marie France Pisier. What a mouth.

  Me: You said that once already, I get the picture. Ok, how about Raylan Givens. (Who?) Sorry, that's his character's name in the show. I mean Timothy Oliphant. Only guy I'd screw that has a goatee.

  Him: Grace Kelly. Kissing Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief. Wish that was me.
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  Me: Last choice, umm, Steve somebody, can't remember his last name, got his headed handed to him by Edward G. Robinson in a movie about poker, but what a head.

  Him: Irene Dunne. What a vixen.

  Tommy said, "That's a big bridge ahead."

  "We're going over it. On the other side is the causeway to Jekyll. C'mon, let's finish the game, we're almost there. Writers set."

  Me: Elmore Leonard. Guy that wrote the short story about Raylan Givens.

  "I didn't vote for this set. What if I said I don't know any writers?" he said.

  "I was getting ready to stuff my Plato in the glove box and leave him there for the next two days, but if you don't read books, he's staying with me. We're not talking Littrature here, just books for entertainment."

  Him: Ok, a playwright, Neil Simon, so funny. Remember this line from The Goodbye Girl:

  Richard Dreyfus and Marsha Mason start off hating each other, then start to like each other, and they're out shopping together, both broke, and Mason says how about spaghetti for dinner, and Dreyfus says great, and you can't have spaghetti without a little wine, so they go into a shop:

  Dreyfus: "I'd like a bottle of your best cheap chianti, please."

  Clerk: "I have a nice one here, actually from Italy."

  Dreyfus: "How much?"

  Clerk: "$5.99."

  Dreyfus: "You got anything from Kansas?"

  Me: Very funny, and I'll see your playwright and raise you one, also very funny as I mentioned before, Nora Ephron.

  Him: I really have to come up with another writer if I want you without your Plato? Ok, how about Frank Herbert. He wrote a great sci fi story that Kevin Costner stole and made into a great movie called Waterworld.

  Me: I have to put this guy out there because he's one of my favorites, but it's weird. He's got the same last name as Richard. Westlake. This guy is Donald E. Westlake. About the funniest writer out there. Love him.

  Him: I got a guy, E. M. Forster.

  "I thought we said no Littrature?"

  "I've never actually read anything by him. Books, I mean. I just read an essay once that means a lot to me. Sort of a philosophy of life. “What I Believe”. Says there are three great human qualities: tolerance, good temper, sympathy. Talks about unquenchable lights of a little aristocracy, meaning people with a certain type of courage. Can I count him even if I haven't read any of his books?"

  "Ok. I like his qualities thing."

  Me: Rex Stout. Best crime writer there is. If Archie Goodwin were a real guy I'd divorce Roger and marry him.

  Him: Are we there yet? I don't have many more in the can. How about Jonathan Gash. He's an English guy with a main character called Lovejoy. No first name. Or maybe that's his first name and he doesn't have a last name, I can't remember. Anyway, he's a divvy, which means he has a sixth sense about art and antiques, which are genuine and which are fake. He's a little shady, so you'd like him.

  Me: Ok, my last one, how about a woman. I know, Martha Grimes. She's American but pretends she's English and sets her books over there. Very funny. Writes like a man, why I like her.

  Him: This is tiring. Ok, last one for me is John D. MacDonald. His character is Travis McGee, cool guy.

  I finished writing down this set as we came over the causeway bridge. At the top we got a view of the barrier island, and down below to the left, of the Queen Anne steeple of the hotel. I always love seeing that because it means we're there. Tommy pulled up under the portico and killed the engine. The valet came to the car window, looked at Tommy, stood back and looked at the car, then said, "I thought you died of cancer."

  He looked at me, and I said, "Skip it. We're here."

  He said, "That game coming down was fun. Keep the lists; maybe we'll play again."

  I said, "The fun's just beginning."