While Lacey rides in a helicopter with Michael over Manhattan, Lem sits in an SUV. Alone. Behind the wheel. And since it’s death…she can talk to them both at the same time. Nifty.
Michael points out to Lacey the parts of Manhattan his family used to own. She wonders where her supposed family once farmed? They discuss urban development and the change of topography over the centuries. It’s extremely pleasant.
“That’s why I’m a Christian. Yeah.” says a black woman smiling. She nods her head.
An Asmat laughs. They agree with Lacey. They too are confused…at this moment. By Lem. Lacey finds that comforting.
“She doesn’t know, Lem. That’s all. What don’t you understand? She was lied to? And it’s so simple.” an Asmat explains.
Lem rests his head on the wheel. Smiles because he thinks Lacey is enduring pain to cope with…the pain she caused him by sleeping with other men. …But it’s not quite like that.
“She doesn’t know!!!” yells an African man to get him to snap out of it.
He lifts his head. Tries not to panic.
“Why do you keep thinking she thinks you ever loved her?” asks Joe of Lem. “Michael has her. Try taking her away. She’s repulsed by me. Try it.” He sits in the passenger seat. “Maybe you can do it. I can’t.”
Lem stifles rage. Breathes.
“Sweetie, the Fitzgerald’s never owned Manhattan.” Rose Kennedy says to Lem in a creepy voice.
“We ruled the streets. We never owned New York City.” says a leader of the Irish Mob.
“Does that overwhelm you?” Rose asks, again in a creepy voice.
“There are different types of farms, Lem.” says the ghost of a girl from Wisconsin.
Lem thinks. Recalculates. Blinks. Looks over at Joe.
Studies Joe who won’t shut-up about something. Joe who smiles, oblivious.
(Adult content below)
“Joe, are you blind?” Lem asks him.
Joe considers. Scoffs.
“She has a soft chin. Doesn’t she? And tiny tits. But they are tits. Not bumbling breasts.” says Lem. “She’s very agile and yet…I can’t place it. What is it? Oh! Oh! I know. She’s weak. She can’t even throw a frisbee well. Yuck!!”
Joe collects himself. “What does that have to do with my sight?”
“Oh nothing. She’s useless.” Lem pushes his glasses up his nose. “I mean…what can you do with her? It’s impossible to get in her vagina and get her off too? Right?” He shrugs. “So what can you use a woman like that for?” He shrugs, takes a swig from his water bottle. Looks brutal. Indifferent.
Elliott suddenly appears and laughs in the backseat. In uniform.
Feeling bullied Joe drops his smile.
Lem makes eye-contact with Joe.
“What’s it like? Being so superior to God? …I’m your imagination, of course.” asks Lem.
“Oh no! It’s a serious problem. Analyze it! Now! …What’s it like?!” asks Lem. “Of course, you’re nothing. …Just a piece of shit. Right? …But can you imagine?!”
“You’re not really better than God. But…what if you scare Him? Who will save you?” asks Elliott of Joe.
“Right? Like…did you ever wonder? What if you’re the best man to ever live?” asks Lem. “What’s your duty to the whole wide world?”
“You have a bigger dick!” Joe shouts at Lem, fuming.
“I’m also not a moron who would cheat on women for no apparent good reason.” says Lem.
“What if you are the reason?” Elliott asks Lem.
“Then why are we even here? What in the world was the point of my life and Lacey’s life…aside from her kids?” asks Lem. “If those are my kids at all…our lives were utter rot aside from the creation of them.”
Elliott laughs. “Oh no, Joe’s meaning is to save London, Lem.”
Joe looks unimpressed by the insult.
“I’m proud to be a breeder. It’s a blessing. Not a curse.” says Lem. “It’s the only thing I ever had going for me.”
“Joe, what is the point of saving London?” asks an actor in the Illuminati.
“You are on record saying the opposite!” Joe says to Lem.
“Oh well!! Maybe it’s far more complicated than you can comprehend! Leave it to my friends to explain to you someday!” yells Lem.
“You faked it!” says Joe with help from the Illuminati.
Lem crosses his arms across his chest. Huffs.
“I was fooled.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “And I fooled you?!?” He breathes. “And I fooled you?!”
“Joe? Why save London?” asks Michael with Lacey.
“Why London?” asks a member of the IRA.
“Yeah, Joe. London?!” asks the leader of the Irish Mob in the 1940’s.
Lem shakes his head. “You completely screwed-up her mind.” he says to Joe.
“What were you supposed to do?” asks a dead football coach of Joe Jr..
“Probably be a philosophy professor.” says Joe. He laughs. “Actually, I wasn’t bad at politics. Just…understanding war.” He laughs. “Not why they’re fought, necessarily. But how to win them.”
Lem laughs. “You don’t understand war at all.”
“The only just war is fought by someone in absolute self-defense or on behalf of families.” says Elliott.
“You can boil it down to that.” says a dead U.S. General.
“You do seem straight when you’re insulting my family.” says Joe to Lem. Suddenly seeing it. He sighs.
“So why fight a war?!” he asks Lem.
“When someone is trying to hurt your children. You reason through the threat. And then act accordingly.” he says. “If she’d been mine and you’d threatened our lives in any way I’d have had you murdered first. It’s not witchcraft. It’s common sense.”
*cough* “Say…Hoe…why London, babe?” asks the IRA woman.
“Because London is classy!” yells Joe Sr..
“And your family is a real class act these days? Huh?” asks the IRA woman. “Moving it and shaking it?”
The leader of the The Jackson Five cracks-up laughing. “Taking it on the road!”
“The Kennedy Family!” says Lacey. “Like the Partridges but with polo shirts and yachts.”
“Lem joined the Partridge Family!” laughs a woman. “Because he thought he was gay…”
Lacey laughs. Imagines Lem being a groupie for Keith Partridge. Riding in the back of the van. Painting the van on weekends with new flowers or bugs…or a sun? A dog? A…stick-figure smiling and and waving?
“That’s very kind.” she says to Lem.
“We were classier than that!” says Jack.
“Were we really?” asks Joe of Jack.
“Why did you paint in a bathtub?” asks Lacey.
Carolyn smiles. She gets it.
“They found it convenient.” says Lem.
“It was just about convenience, sweetie.” Carolyn says to Lacey.
Lacey is transported back to the mansion where they filmed “Eyes Wide Shut.” She sits on the marble bench and feels irritated. She examines everything. Critiques it all.
She wonders who everyone is.
She wonders why she cares. Still subconsciously influenced by Joe Jr. she grabs a whole bottle of red wine…and starts drinking it.
A man laughs. Quickly walks off.
“Lacey, that’s Chateau Margaux.” says another man in warning and reproach.
“Oh well. Oh bloody well.” says Lacey threateningly but with a sweet smile.
“Some people consider threatening her. Killing her. And she analyzes it coldly as they they analyze it in impulsive desperation.” says Michael.
“I don’t get killed?!” she asks.
“Lacey, you’re busy.” he says.
“True.” she says. She thinks. “But I don’t want to get too attached and get hurt.”
“They why get attached at all?” he asks. He pouts.
“Your wealth beguiles me.” she says.
“It is a lot of wealth.” he says apologetically.
“Not enough to fend off the Ottoman Empire.” she says sadly.
“You don’t quote stuff to sound smart? You’re legitimately worried about the Ottoman Empire.” says an aristocrat to Lacey.
“Yes. Isn’t that endearing?” she scoffs at herself. Enjoys a sip of wine.
“Why? Precious!” he flirts. Laughs. “Isn’t that idiotic?”
She thinks. “It’s just…when was that ever settled?”
He throws his glass on the floor.
He covers his mouth.
“What country ate up your fortune? And when?” asks Lacey.
“We still have our fortune!” scoffs a woman at Lacey.
“That’s not an answer.” says Lacey.
“Fine! Germany!” answers a woman.
“When?” asks Lacey.
“The 1700’s.” says another woman.
“Oh! I’m sorry! You were all having fun. I’m just analyzing reality to protect Western Civilization. Don’t mind me. Or if you do don’t attack me for being brilliant compared to you. It’s getting old! I’m done crying for your vanity!” she yells. Grabs her wine. “That wasn’t well worded. Please forgive my clumsiness. I’m sorry.” Then she walks off.
An Englishwoman says. “Well, I like her.”
The aristocrat laughs. Smiles. “Cheers!”
Lacey goes off, up the stairs, witnesses the Sydney Pollack character injecting drugs into Mandy. Watches the man race out in a panic after Mandy collapses.
“We should help.” says Michael. They give her the antidote. She blinks. “Don’t, worry about me.” she says smiling.
“That’s idiotic!” says Lacey. “You’re not okay.”
She cries. “Mom?” she asks.
“No. But it’s nice to hear that.” says Lacey. The doctor arrives.
“Well. What next?” asks Lacey.
“Why the Ottoman Empire?” asks the aristocrat.
“Oh! Don’t let me bother you. You must be busy.” says Lacey.
“Doing what?!” he asks.
“Running the world.” she says.
He smiles. Sighs. “And…so why the Ottoman Empire?”
“It was never truly settled.” she says.
They all think.
“I suppose not enough.” says an Iranian.
“Exactly.” says Lacey, yawning.
“Joe, what’s wrong with Lacey’s pussy? Does she give bad head? What is it? You can tell me.” says Mandy.
“Is it my tits? My chin? My hair? What’s not enough?” asks Lacey.
“You’re too…dull.” he says, his voice falling.
“Oh! As in, I’m boring and good combined?” asks Lacey.
“You don’t cheat. You don’t lie. And when you do…it’s because you’re leaving. Forever. Most likely. And that’s…so…mature and…why would you do that? Who does that? Who cares that much? Or…is that…good?” says Joe.
“I’m not exciting. To you.” says Lacey.
“You lack artistic brilliance. You lack beauty or sexuality.” he says. “Or that’s what I would have thought.”
“That’s idiotic.” says Lacey.
“Joe…who were the Ottomans?” asks the aristocrat.
Lacey blinks, sleepily suddenly. Walks off.
And of course, Lacey makes it down the stairs holding the bottle, perfectly.
“We are angry.” says an Ottoman to Lacey.
She lays her bottle on a coffee table. Lays back on a chaise. Smiles.
“Oh how yummy. Do go on.” she says.
“We hate evil too. For Allah.” he says.
“Do you want to kill me? Or what?” she asks, sitting-up, annoyed.
“Or what huh?” he asks.
“Damn, get it over with. You’re boring me.” she says. “I’ve been so tortured there’s not much of me left. Be careful not to waste it, jackass.” She laughs. “I’m lucky that way. I was raised without love. By Vikings. But I’m not a heavy bitch, fucker.”
“Oh no.” he says. “I’m being serious.”
“A Holy War?” she asks. “Or what?” She thinks. “Ice?”
He smiles. “You know, God might want you to be happy.”
She weeps as much as she can. “See…now you’ve ruined your evil.”
“God. Not Allah.” says Lacey.
The man cries. Throws his hands up.
“What is wrong with me?” she asks.
He points upstairs. To Joe.
“Yes.” she says.
“You’re not classy and sassy!” says a man in their company.
“He lied.” the man says, finally.
“But what’s wrong with me?” asks Lacey.
“Possibly nothing. You’re just you. And he might not like you.” He thinks. “And maybe you’re too feminine for him.”
“Pat can’t handle that.” says the man that commented before.
“Why?” asks Lacey.
“Because Greta is feminine. And Madonna less so. And some men…like that. I guess.” he says.
“That’s not what I would have imagined.” says Lacey.
“I know.” says Paul.
“Well…I can’t sort that out. Not easily.” says Lacey.
“I know!” says the man.
“Why would you paint in a bathroom?” asks the man.
“Because I was feeling suicidal.” says Lacey.
“Where would you paint otherwise?” asks the man in their company.
“In a proper room.” says Lacey. She thinks. “Unless you have careful servants it’s a messy endeavor.”
“Like…not even outside?” asks the man their company.
“No. It’s messy. And no one cares anymore about art enough to get that messy.” says Lacey.
“What about kids?” asks the man.
“That’s why they molest them. Because their brain’s and souls are threatening and they lost their minds and souls in adolescence.” says Lacey.
“And they don’t understand art? Or they lie about it?”
“They don’t see almost anything.”
“But I loved you!” says Joe in the doorway.
“Then why weren’t you good in bed?” asks Lacey. “It was weird.”
“This is a vile conversation.” says the man.
“What was wrong with it?” asks Joe.
“It was like…you needed to act your way through. It wasn’t real.” says Lacey.
“I’m sorry you had to find out my lies that way.” says Joe.
“You didn’t act with other women. You gave them your love. Why were you so odd with me?” asks Lacey.
“Because they were more masculine and more loved by their parents.” he says.
“He sucked your brain like a leech.” says a woman.
“Why do you need women who were loved by their parents?” asks a witch.
“Because that’s what we do. Polos. Yachting. Drugs… Sex. Good hair. Badass attitudes… And parental love.” says Joe. “It’s our elite aesthetic.”
“Do you need Lem?” asks Mr. Jackson.
“I’d like to buy him from you.” he asks.
“No, it’s just…I need a Lem. And if you aren’t needing him?”
“How much?” asks HoneyFitz.
Joe looks confused.
“I’m thinking $30 million.”
“60 million.” says the man.
“200 million.” says Michael.
“400 million!” shouts Michael Jackson.
“40 billion.” says a voice.
“2 trillion.” says the IRA.
And at that the money was funneled back into the hands of the British Aristocracy. And so Lem sits in Dublin. In shock.
“Lem was purchased by the IRA for $2 Trillion.”
“With money given to them by the British Aristocracy.”
“Do they own him now?”
“No. He was just sold to Philip. And then…see…Philip sets him free. That’s how it was apparently settled.”
“So he’s free in London?”
“But how did they get the money back from the Kennedy’s to give to the British?”
“They never have it to them.”
“They said they’d only pay once Joe Jr. flew the entire family around the world.”
“Who refused to get on board the plane?”
“Gideon. Maeve. David. Kick. And all of Jack’s kids.”
“Maeve said she’d rather fly the plane herself.”
“Just think! They could be worth 2 trillion in Purgatory…if only they’d let Joe fly them.”
“It’s over Joe. We’re dead Joe.” says Carolyn.
“Did they even own Lem’s mineral rights?” asks a UND student.
“They always will. He sold his soul.” says another student from UND.
“No. It was by accident!” protests a Roosevelt.
“Well, regardless, Prince Philip bought it back.”
“For nothing.” says an Irishman.
“Actually that’s not true. He may have given someone homemade blueberry jam.”
“The berries did do well this year.”
“Lem. What’s it feel like to be a free man?” asks an Irish reporter.
“I should have consulted my lawyers before agreeing to be involved in my sale. I don’t believe I was ever rightly purchased by the Kennedy Family or any of their affiliates.” He blinks. “But I’m relieved I suppose.” He laughs. “I thank the Irish people, the Celts in general, St. Patrick, the English crown, King William The Conqueror of course, my parents, Lacey’s father, God and blueberry growers of the British Isles.” says Lem.
Lacey sits and looks sad.
The room is empty except for her.
“This was a tragedy.” she says.
“Don’t ever waste my time.” says Lacey.
“I’m still hurt!” Lem yells at her.
“And yet…” says Michael.
“I’m done.” says Lacey.