"Last Jerry Fagin Show by John Morressy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morressy John)

By now Jerry was sailing. The biggest audience in TV history was watching him, and he was showing them that nobody and nothing, not even a creature from another world, could top Jerry Fagin on his own show. I caught the wild, piercing gleam of ego in Jerry's eyes as he stood up, tousled his hair, and boomed out, "Well, I'll tell you the whole story, citizen, but you'll have to promise not to interrupt me. If there's one thing I can't stand, citizen, it's an interrupter."

He was slipping into a favorite character. Senator Wynn Baggs, the filibuster champion of Washington. The audience applauded and

howled with delighted recognition as Jerry ranted on.

All this time Twelve sat like a statue, watching every move that Jerry made. He didn't look angry or insulted. At least, nothing on that Silly Putty face suggested irritation. As far as I could read him, Twelve was fascinated. It was as if he had Jerry under a microscope and couldn't believe what he was seeing. And Jerry ate up the attention like a kid with a hot fudge sundae.

Then Twelve threw up both his arms in a "Eureka!" gesture. I could almost see an oldfashioned light bulb go on over his head. For the first time that night his features stayed put. The audience got very quiet all of a sudden.

"This is a tohei-meiox!" Twelve announced suddenly, as if that explained everything.

Instinctively Jerry topped him. "If it is, you'll wipe it up. But I ought to warn you-the producer's wife loves it."

Twelved worked his face around into something like an untidy smile. "Now it becomes clear what is my role in this ritual," he said. His voice sounded a little less gooey.

When Twelve began to get up, Jerry had the first whiff of trouble ahead. He bounced to his feet while Twelve was still halfway up, and with a big smile at his guest he said, "Thank you, Mr. Ambassador, for honoring us by consenting to appear on The Jerry Fagin Show. It's been a great pleasure and an exciting experience for all of us, and we're sorry you have to rush off, but we know how crowded
your schedule is." Stepping to the forestage, Jerry began to clap. "And now let's have a big hand for the ambassador," he said to the delighted audience.
That didn't stop Twelve, who was acting like a kid who has just learned the facts of life. "In my ignorance I assumed that this was to be a hoeimeius encounter. I employed my fourth voice. Had I known that it was to be a toheimeiox, I would have spoken thirdishly. Please forgive me, Mr. Jerry Fagin."
On the last few words, as Twelve took his place at Jerry's side, his voice had changed completely. It was really weird. I wondered whether Jerry had somehow shocked the alien into instant puberty. In seconds Twelve had gone from that Bumpy gurgle to a flat, staccato, nowhere-in-particular accent not a hell of a lot different from Jerry's.
"Please take my wife," he said.
Nobody made a sound. They probably all thought Twelve was going out of his head. So did I, for just an instant, and then I recognized that line and had my first clue of what Twelve was up to.
I didn't believe it. It was too crazy. But when Twelve wobbled his face a little-just a little, very nervously-it all became clear: He was mugging for a laugh. This crazy-looking thing from outer space that couldn't even get a fourword one-liner straight was trying to be a standup comic. I felt kind of sorry for the poor blob. Imagine coming all that way and bombing on your very first appearance.

What I didn't know at the time was that Twelve learned fast.
"Thanks again, Mr. Ambassador," Jerry said, edging away. "You've been a wonderful guest, and we hope you'll visit us again whenever your demanding schedule permits."
"It's a pleasure to be here, Jerry," Twelve said, stepping in front of his host, talking directly to the audience. "I would have been here earlier, but there was a holdup in traffic. I stopped for a light, and two men held me up." He did a quick jerk of his features-eyes left, nose right. The audience laughed. They were cautious about it, but they laughed.
"We're all sorry to hear that, Mr. Ambassador. And now our next guest, the wellknown-" Jerry started to say, but Twelve went right on.
"The producer took me to dinner at this place on Fifty-fourth. The salad wasn't bad, but I didn't like the little men in loincloths who kept dipping their arrows into the Russian dressing."
"-Well-known star of stage and screen who for the past three seasons has been delighting viewers with her portrayal-" Jerry tried again, louder, pushing in front of the alien.
Twelve rolled his eyes in opposite directions and blinked his weiox. "I asked the waiter if the lobster Newburg was any good. He said, `Where did you see that on the menu?' I said, `I didn't see it on the menu. I saw it on your tie.' " The audience laughed harder and longer this time. They liked him.
Shoving Twelve aside, Jerry snarled, "This lovely and talented lady who has won the hearts of millions of viewers with her portrayal of the zany, lovable Mrs. Pregnowski in-"
Twelve reeled, staggered back, waved his arms, did a flying leap into the air, and came down in a classic pratfall with a noise like a bagpipe assaulting a whoopee cushion. The audience went wild, applauding and cheering, drowning Jerry out completely. When Twelve climbed to his feet, his nose doing a back-andforth crawl like a slow pendulum, he had to signal for quiet before he could be heard.
"The producer said, `I hate to eat and run, but the way I tip, it's absolutely necessary,' " he said, spinning both forearms around like propellers.
The material was lousy, sure, but I could see that Twelve had a great natural delivery. With a good writer, he could go, places. A show of his own, maybe.
What happened next, I will never believe was an accident. The camera cut to Jerry, purplefaced, restrained by four elderly security guards and a weeping producer. It held on the group. One hundred ninety-two million viewers heard Jerry scream, "Get that mush-faced intersteller son of a bitch off my stage! Shoot him! Drop a light on him! He's killing us!"
Which was an exaggeration. Twelve was doing wonders for the show. He was only killing Jerry.

We call the show Twelve at Twelve now,

even though it still comes on half an hour before midnight. The producer felt that Twelve at Eleven-thirty would only confuse people.
But Twelve is a great guy to work for. It's a nostalgia trip just talking to him. During those years he was monitoring, he heard all the great ones-Berle, - Gleason, Caesar, Groucho, Carson, you name them-and memorized every gag, every shtick, every bit of business. He just didn't know what the hell to do with his material until he saw Jerry putting it all together. Now Twelve is like a guy who's found his true calling. I think he's going to stay right here on Earth, and in the business, for good.
Twelve is also a very hard worker. He drops in every afternoon to run through the monologue for that night's show. We've already come up with some lines that everyone in the world recognizes. I've seen "Well, wink my weiox" on everything from kids' lunch boxes to bikinis, and a day doesn't pass without my hearing someone say, "Please take my wife," and then seeing him collapse in hysterics. Even Henny Youngman used it when Twelve had him on the show as a guest.
We have a good running gag going on Twelve's dumb friend from home. Old Thirtyone. And if a line goes flat, all he has to do is jiggle his features and the audience breaks up.
He's even developing into a good impressionist. Some of his impressions are weird-he's the only one I know who does all the members of the Politburo while simultaneously trying to get a stuffed elk into a Honda-but his Jack
Benny is nearly perfect.

What convinces me that Twelve is in the business to stay is that he's learned to be sincere. Two nights ago he graciously had Jerry back as a special guest to celebrate Jerry's new afternoon quiz show. They were hugging like a couple of high-school sweethearts.