The Remedy

[Steven Hunley]

The Remedy
by
Steven Hunley


The interview was going well and we were touching all the bases. It was another triumph for the Charlie Bougainvillea-Rose show. The time slot, Saturday night on PBS was perfect for our latest chapter on Literary Lives, and my ratings were going through the ceiling. We’d finally arranged to interview the maestro in person instead of over the phone, which he was having none of anyway, and when you get a literary giant like Hunley to consent to a live interview, you expect results to be spectacular.

The viewers and I were not to be disappointed.

“You think that fool doing the Dos Equis commercials is the most interesting guy in the world? Not even close. Sit down and have a chat with me.”

We covered everything, his early life, the appeal reading always had, his favorite authors, and his up-to-date literary life. Then we touched the tragic parts, lightly you understand, with tact, and last, his present situation, how he’d suffered a slump in creativity, and more recently the re-animation of his enthusiasm for writing.

It was time for me to straighten my tie, dust off my mega-hundred-dollar suit and get busy. That’s me, Charlie Bougainvillea Rose, man of the snazzy-fashionable intellectual name-dropping set. Just a working-class hero.

Up until now his re-birth of creativity was a mystery. But I was keen to solve it, being the investigative reporter I am. I also found out why he’s been called the most self-serving bastard on the face of the earth, and the most endearing creature God gave women all rolled into one. It’s funny how he managed to answer all the questions by rote, as if he’d memorized the answers in advance long before I posed the questions.

It was that way at first, before I asked him how his love-life was, and what it was like dating online. Then he put down his cup of Columbian Supremo and got spontaneous and serious at the same time. Spontaneous and serious, there’s nothing like it for live TV.

“So how does this online dating work?”

“Well, you find a site and make up a biography. Try to snare a few birds with your words.”

“I see.”

“Of course, if you write you probably have lots of word-game anyway, and what you’re doing at first is making a kind of general appeal. It’s like shooting ducks with a shot gun. The pellets are indiscriminate, and many of the birds you bring down with your words are not the kind you’re likely to have for dinner.”

“You mean you got more than you bargain for?”

“I sure did. Right now I have over eighty-seven want to meet me. That what they call it, the ‘somebody wants to meet you’ list.”

“So then you have to sort through them?”

‘That’s it, and it’s quite a process. It’s like thumbing through a Fingerhut or Sears catalogue. All colors and shapes and sizes. It’s quite impersonal and you have to proceed with caution. You never know what you’ll end up with when you meet them in person.”

“You mean there’s a lot of deception going on?”

“Exactly, but don’t get me wrong. There’s always the possibility of stumbling upon something, someone unusual, a woman not cut from common cloth. They’re out there, and like a jewel hidden among stones of lesser fire, they can be found… if you’re willing to dig.”

He shot camera four a knowing glance. As we talked back and forth he became more animated. None of his answers were stock any more. He leaned forward and gave me an earnest look, so I followed suit and said,

“You’re hinting you’ve found someone special, is that it? But what does a man like you look for in a woman?”

“I’m not an ordinary man and want something beyond an ordinary life. I’d like to make the world more alive for common people and leave something behind, even if it’s only stories. I certainly never wanted an ordinary woman, and I think I’ve found an extraordinary one, an exquisite example of the softer more refined breeds.”

“What makes her special? You’re a mature man; you’ve been around the block. What makes her different?”

“She possesses inner strength and outer perfection. Her devotion to principals, her rigorous organization, tender heart, love of animals, profound attention to purpose, and concern for the comfort of others are only a fraction of her attributes and strengths.”

“That’s quite a list! Strength in your women characters is one of your hallmarks. You must admire that characteristic. Is there more to her than that? Is her character more well-rounded? No woman can be the perfect candy-cane picture you paint.”

He sat back and then I swear, actually sighed and grew pensive. His eyes turned skyward, as if he was staring thoughtlessly at the studio ceiling. He wasn’t of course; he was questioning the motivation of heaven and begging an explanation for the purposes of sorrow. One more great sigh.

“At the same time she displays fragility. I have the impression that certain trials of life made her give and give until there was almost nothing left. Her brightly polished veneer was scratched by the intense potency of grief. She’s taken too many losses in emotional investments, becoming nearly bankrupt in the process. Now she’s doing her best to reinvest in her emotional portfolio. She’ll do it too; she’s the kind of person you can count on. The longer I know her the more I discover, and I'll tell you what. It's only the tip of the iceberg. This woman runs deep."

Then he put his thumb on his jaw and his forefinger up against his temple. I could almost hear his wheels turning.

He leaned closer and whispered, as if he was afraid to speak aloud, “Such strength, such fragility, she’s a rare amalgam of opposites.”

“What did you say?”

He suddenly sat erect, aware of his surroundings, the cameras, the audience, the entire enchilada.

“I said she’s perfect and flawed. When we first met I wondered how she could be both perfect and flawed at the same time. And frankly, I couldn’t understand her alluring nature or its effect on me. Was it her intense charisma or just my writer’s imagination? The attraction was unexplainable and resembled true magic more than any effect Harry Potter ever produced.”


©Steven Hunley2013


Last half to follow….

http://youtu.be/T81xsEyfl3c Remedy-The Black Crowes

[AuntShecky]

If this guy (who happens to share your last name)* is the big literary celebrity he's cracked up to be, how does he know from Sears and Fingerhut catalogues? More like Nieman-Marcus, right?

Also, I like the Dos Equuis gag. I've noticed that some local commercials (always pretty lame on their best days) have been "borrowing" the "most interesting man in the world" theme. When local yokels start copying, that means the idea is history--or as the great Dorothy Fields put it "as cold as yesterday's mashed potatoes." It's time for the ad agency to come up with a brandy new campaign.

Looking forward to part 2.

*I recently read that "self-deprecating humor" is the best kind of humor there is. You are
a master of that, and is one of the endearing qualities about your work.

[Steven Hunley]

“I’m impressed and I haven’t even met her. You were an art student, familiar with the Greek ideal of beauty, been to the finest art museums in Europe, and rigorously studied the finely-crafted female form. She must be good-looking.”

“My attraction isn’t based on her physicality alone. I could write volumes describing her natural beauty, but that isn’t it. Katherine, we’ll call her Katherine, it’s as name good a name as any, is composed of more than a fine collection of pleasing shapes and curves, and it struck me from the first that her true value goes far beyond the physical.”

“Sounds like she was a lucky choice. Have you always been lucky with your encounters with women?”

“Not even, but there’s something very right about Katherine that goes beyond luck, something unspoiled and genuine. Even with flaws she’s truthful and honest in every respect. You know, while researching a story I came upon one of the sayings of Buddha.

"Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without.”

Then I realized it wasn’t magic that cast her spell. It was logic. It took Prince Siddhartha to point out that the value of an imperfect gem was more than its outward shine; it was its inner healing. Her inner healing powers were felt by me even though they were invisible.

She has a beneficial aura that radiates outward and touches anyone who’ll accept it. She can’t see it. She couldn’t see it even with a mirror. It’s something only my eyes perceive. And there’s the key to our relationship, hiding in plain sight.”

“You’re saying she’s had a beneficial effect on you, is that it?”

“I knew what I was when we met, a broken-down wreck of what I’d thought was an indestructible writing machine. I admit I was good at hiding it. I’d just moved. No enthusiasm, no orientation, lost in an unfamiliar city I once knew as well as the back of my hand. But after just a few encounters, I felt the old fire returning, infusing me with warmth all the way to my bones. The wonder and magic that washed over me in my youth flooded over me again. Katherine, more than any surgeon or holy man, had the cure to the hole in my heart.”

He was being real with me. People being filmed for an interview are usually anything but spontaneous. Oh, they play the part, but play it falsely.

“That’s really something. The old literary romantic knight in rusty creaking armor is saved by a fair maiden for a change. It’s more convoluted than any of your stories or serpentine sentences.”

“Yes,” he said, and his concentration grew on the Richter scale of intensity to such a degree it threatened to break the meter.

“When a guy who figures he’s washed up, finds a woman so talented, so lovely, with these attributes, taking an interest in him, he knows he’s alright, and suspects there’s actually hope for his worthless *ss. With rock-solid certainty I am bound to befriend her. Whether or not she knows it, she feeds my chivalrous spirit just like she feeds her dogs treats.”

He smiled a mischievous smile, then suddenly grew thoughtful.

“My world was on fire. No one could save it but her.”

These writer types, always with the drama. Always ready to dramatize their sordid lives out of existence at the drop of a hat.

The director gave me a signal we had only a few minutes left. I decided to change the topic of discussion to music and end it with a piece of fluff. Nothing too deep you understand, nothing the viewer’s intellects would drown in.

“So most of the viewers know you like the music group The Who. Why are they one of your favorite groups?”

“It’s funny you should ask that,” he said, and repositioned himself in the chair. “Because I was just listening to an old song by them this morning, and considering how it ties in with my world view, and what we’ve been talking about.”

“You’re gestalt?”

“That’s it. Well, I hesitate going into this. Many of your viewers might find my views politically incorrect, the male chauvinists and strident feminists particularly.”

“Since when does Steven Hunley care about political correctness? Besides, it’s a personal matter. It’s an opinion. Want a disclaimer?”

“Please.”

I turned to camera number three, and used my official voice. “The opinions expressed on the Charlie Bougainvillea Rose show do not necessarily reflect the opinions or policies of this station or any of its affiliates. There, how’s that?”

“Good.”

“Then damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead.”

Hunley cleared his throat.

“The song was called Bargain, and when I heard it in the early seventies, I assumed it was about a woman. You know, someone’s love. Then after I read the liner notes about it later I found out it was about spiritual realization and enlightenment. Pete Townsend was into Meher Baba. A few years later I decided they were both valid views and maybe only one interpretation considering my personal gestalt.”

Hunley was deluded, manipulative, and overtaken by events. The man was a fascinating piece of male baggage. His leather was quality but a little old-fashioned. These intimate confessions were almost too much to put up with. But I have the patience of a priest. So like Oliver Twist I asked for more.

“Oh, now you’ve got me going. Please continue.”

Now he started using his hands, trying to shape the concept for me. When Hunley got serious about making a point he always used his hands. They were unchained magic.

“A man is a man and caught in a man’s body. He thinks like a man, and no matter how smart he is, no matter his intellectual capacity, he’s stuck with that viewpoint. His inner self can’t escape the effects of his outer shell. That’s where a woman comes in.”

“Ah, cherchez la femme.”

“A woman is in the same spot. She’s caught in a woman’s form. She views life as only women do. Forget the intellectual bullsh*t, that’s just so much nonsense. The basic fact is that we’re programmed genetically and no matter what our brains tell us, we can’t compensate for the effects of flesh. It’s too corporeal. Reality is somewhere between the two extremes of perception seen by the two different sexes.”

“If that’s the case, and I’m not sure it is, then what’s the solution to seeing things straight?”

Then he sat back and a hint of a smile appeared as he put his fingers together like Sherlock Holmes.

“Ah, the solution to the problem, my dear Watson, is divine, divine in its simplicity and devised by nature herself. A man finds a woman. He has to find one that’s smart and one he can trust. He asks her,

‘How do you see this? Or what about that? Or how do you feel about this or that or the other?’

He considers her opinion, her feelings, and during the process he obtains balance, balance and truth. She provides the other half of the ultimate story. That’s why women are so important, they help you arrive at a negotiated truth. Their perceptions are a key to reality. Without them your view is screwed up."

“Wow, I never thought of it that way. Not sure if that works for me.”

“It does for me, if the woman is right, if she’s perceptive and articulate. Enlightenment? Woman? Same thing."

“Like the woman you’ve been talking about?”

“One can only hope. And hope, for me,” he quipped with a boyish smile, “springs eternal.”

The director put out his finger and described circles. Time to wind up.

“Then you must be content. And you gave me an unprecedented interview. It was ground-breaking. I want to thank you.”

I turned toward the camera and thanked the audience for watching, told them to tune in next week for my interview with Putin or Musharraf or some other well-known political creature of note. But then Hunley saw the camera was still running and tapped on his microphone. It was off. He suddenly sprang up with Batman heroics, marshaled the strength of a thousand men, grabbed my mike and looked into the lens with such fire and rabid intensity it nearly shattered.

“Thank you, Sweet Katherine,” he shouted to the international airwaves that circled the earth like a fricken symphony, “for simply being yourself.”

©Steven Hunley2013

http://youtu.be/XvbuAJH58I8 Bargain the Who