The Punch Line.

La Cienega Boulevard. Manicured palms. Lots of cars but not many people walking. Eddie is one of the few. He feels better out in the open air but he doesn’t feel good about the fight he just had with Carmen. He shouldn’t have talked to her like that. They’re practically married and she deserves better. It’s not her fault he can’t stay off the bottle. Poor old Carmen, she’s a good woman in her way, not unlike Eddie’s old mum back in Epsom, the old-fashioned type, caring and kind. Not one of those Hollywood ball-breakers or the Pamela Anderson wannabes down on the beach with their beach balls and their whopping great tits. He was lucky to meet Carmen when he did. At his age it would not be easy to find a replacement.

Hollywood, shit. The world of entertainment. It isn’t very entertaining when you don’t have a stake in it. And Eddie has been wondering for some time why he bothers. It’s killing him. He’s pushing fifty. There’s a certain world-weariness in Eddie which no amount of suntan can conceal. Five years selling jokes and pitching ideas for half-arsed reality shows has taken its toll. And what does he have to show for it? It had been exciting at first. He’d enjoyed the hustle, even sold a few things. He’d actually become quite adept at projecting phony enthusiasm for idiotic projects without faking it too much. But lately it has become something of an effort to even make a phone call. Marketing his talents? Forget it. Think positive? Yeah right. Get a good agent? Ha-ha.

Hollywood must have been great in the old days. Model T Fords. Buster Keaton. Charlie Chaplin… Imagine being a gag writer for people like Bob Hope and Jack Benny! What wonderful times those must have been. All gone now. Disappeared with the orange groves. Perhaps he should just quit. Move back to England and forget about trying to make it here. It’s something to consider. There comes a point where you just have to face reality. But what about Carmen? Seriously, where would a forty year old, half-Mexican, ex-porn star fit into suburban England? And what would he find to talk about in the local? But right now there are more immediate problems to think about. Paying next months rent for instance, a car about to be repossessed, an empty fridge and no toupee glue.

Rather than deal with all these problems Eddie decides to get something to eat. When he’s feeling confident he doesn’t mind paying ridiculous prices at places like Spago’s or The Ivy. Today it will probably be Nate ’n Als. Soon, if things get any worse, it will be back to McMuffins and styrofoam cups.

Nate ’n Als is packed as usual, mostly with tourists, dreamers like himself and sundry supporting actors. The menu is overwhelming. Eddie decides not to create his own omelet. He is severely tempted by the corn-beef hash but he goes for the bagel and cream cheese tray with a salad side order... Ho-lee!!…it can’t be…Larry David just walked in!…and he’s taking the next table! Can Eddie manage one last pitch? What does he have to lose? Jump in Eddie boy…no point in being formal…
‘Hi Mr. David er…Larry, sorry to bother you. Are you looking for any jokes?’
Larry David looks up as if he’s just seen a joke. Not a very funny one.
‘Sure. What have you got?’
‘There’s this orthodox Jewish girl. Kosher. Can’t stay out after dark. She gets trapped in a ski lift with you.’
‘We did it already.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s OK. Sit down for a while. There is something contagious about your lack of enthusiasm. We can discuss the fragile state of the popular entertainment industry if you like. Coffee?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Suddenly Eddie is feeling a little better. He even feels better about the fight with Carmen. No real harm has been done. She isn’t going to walk out on him any time soon. But he really should do something nice for her…buy her some flowers may be, take her somewhere nice for supper. Perhaps he should buy her a book. Chicklit or chocklit or whatever they call the stuff. She’d like that.

What an amazing break. Here’s Eddie having a chat over coffee with Larry David! Let’s run with that for a while. It’s always fun to fantasize. And it helps explain Eddie’s presence in L.A. Which actually came about after a messy divorce and subsequent failure to make child support payments followed by getting fired from the accounts department at the BBC and various minor embezzlement charges. But that’s another story.

‘You’re English right?’ Larry asks. ‘What brings you to the fount of Western culture?’
‘I’m the next Ricky Gervais.’ Says Eddie. Not very convincingly.
‘Oh good. We’ve been waiting for you. Everybody’s staying up nights trying to figure out what comes after ‘The Office’.’
‘Well I do have a few ideas,’ says Eddie, rapidly trying to come up with some, ‘excuse me a sec.’ His cell phone is making funny noises.
‘Of course.’ Says Larry brazenly slapping cream-cheese on one of Eddie’s bagels.
‘Oh dear.’ Says Eddie after putting the phone back into his pocket.
‘Trouble?’
‘Well yes and no. That was a text message from my agent.’
‘Exciting.’
‘Yes very. My agent says I’ve been offered a job in Iceland.’
‘Iceland?’
‘Iceland. Population 309,699. Capital city Reykjavik. First settled by Vikings in 874.’
‘You speak Icelandic?’
‘No. That’s the funny part.’
‘Do they have cable?’
'Oh yes. And a lot of volcanoes and geysers. Today Iceland is a modern developed country with a high gross domestic product. It is based upon a free market economy where service, finance, fishing and various industries are the main sectors. Tourism is also popular as many people are attracted to Iceland's exotic scenery.’
‘Well good luck with that,’ says Larry, ‘I guess that means we won’t be working together after all.’
‘Unfortunately not. In fact I shouldn’t even be here.’
‘Let me give you my number. If things don’t work out in Iceland perhaps we can do something together some other time. Nice talking to you anyway. Mind if I finish your bagel?’

Back on the street Eddie wonders if he has time to pick up a book for Carmen before leaving for Reykjavik. ‘Bridget Jones Diary’ would be nice. Perhaps he can find a Spanish edition. It’s only a short walk to the Beverly Center where Eddie soon discovers there are five levels of parking, numerous boutiques and restaurants and not a single bookstore. For some reason the elevator takes him up to the roof. All around him is the sprawling City of the Angels. It’s all very depressing. Why tell Larry David that bullshit story about Iceland? Eddie thinks he might be going insane.

As he stands on the edge of the roof looking out through the haze towards Santa Monica and the vast Pacific Ocean he thinks about an old joke. Somebody once asked Bob Hope if he wanted to be buried or cremated. Eddie is about halfway down when he remembers the punch line. “Surprise me.”