artificials - cryptic preview.

Dave, Remington and Isadore all head to the counter of the coffee shop, order, and move to sit down. They don't say anything, and you cannot see their faces, possibly shot from the lower jaw to the point covered by the counter. The order one at a time, and make a few gestures, etc., but nothing with any deep inherent meaning.

It's mid afternoon on a weekday and the coffee shop is pretty much deserted. This is after the lunch crowd would have left, so the only people there are either meaningless or elderly or both. The three characters are each sitting around a table facing one another. The atmosphere is one of comfortable mistrust.

REMINGTON: So. Any good stories?

ISADORE, DAVE look at him as though he is an idiot.

REMINGTON: Because I met this girl, and when I said I liked-

ISADORE, angry

ISADORE:Just because you aren't working, doesn't mean this is 'be yourself' time. You gave up 'be yourself' time.
DAVE:Is it anal posturing time, then?

REMINGTON smiles slightly. ISADORE is pissed. DAVE is enjoying the conflict.

ISADORE:Fine. Let me know when we can start.
REMINGTON:Whenever my coffee is here.
DAVE (SARCASTIC):Should we read the minutes from last meeting, Dor?
ISADORE:Shut up, Dave.
DAVE:Anything new?
REMINGTON:I'm trying to move into another social circle. So, the usual.
DAVE:What kind of circle are we talking about?
REMINGTON:Artsy. Students. The kind that go to gallery shows and know everyone there, ramble to each other about the 'obvious influences' of the work.
ISADORE:So you need to pretend you know who Pollock was to sleep with them. This requires prep now?
REMINGTON:Of course not, if I was picking them up at a bar. But if I actually want to enter the entire group, and attendant dating pool...
DAVE:We do what we do. Remington squanders it. Do we really need to have this conversation every time?

The coffee arrives, via either a server, or one of the characters goes to grab it quickly.

ISADORE:For as long as he keeps being an idiot.
REMINGTON:Yeah, your reasons are ever so pure.
DAVE:No one's reasons are pure. Anyways. Dor does the research, You figure out who they are and who they know, and I'll figure out what they'll think is attractive. Do you have names?
REMINGTON:Always. I think I'll go with quiet critic, tortured by his own inability.
ISADORE:Tell me what gallery is next for them.
REMINGTON plays around with a PDA
REMINGTON:The power of the internet, where everyone puts their life on file and complains about the death of privacy.
DAVE:You really aren't anything beyond an evolved libido, are you?
ISADORE:This is what I was saying.
REMINGTON is amused. This is a regular conversation.
ISADORE:There's a release party I need to be cool by the end of.
REMINGTON:The band from last time?
ISADORE:I need to get in with the band, because they can introduce me to this author, who can introduce me to her manager.
DAVE:This is from last week, right?

DAVE throws an envelope across the table. ISADORE opens it, and there's a bunch of vaguely hip magazines. Flip through them, there are notes, highlighted and circled looks, elements of a style.

DAVE:Follow the instructions. Buy what I said to, wear it how I said to. They'll invite you to sit with them.
REMINGTON:Oh.

REMINGTON gives ISADORE a couple of business cards.

REMINGTON:I'm introducing you to these people tomorrow at about 2:15 am, 'randomly' at Location 4, the west bar on the top floor. One of them is going to the release party, you can arrange to hit it off. I'll email you the work-up from when I met them.
ISADORE:It's so cute when you try to be professional.
REMINGTON:Really? You just seem like a bitch when you do it.

DAVE laughs.

DAVE:Why this manager, Dor?
ISADORE:One of her other clients needs a new PA. I need a larger paycheck, and invites to better events.
DAVE:So, access.
ISADORE:As ever.
REMINGTON:I thought I was the whore?

DAVE is giving them both the 'why do I have to deal with this' look

DAVE:Once a fucking week, mid-afternoon, I feel the urge to never talk to you again and start another cell. You two have to be the least business-like revolutionaries I've -
REMINGTON:Stop. Just stop. This isn't a militia, it's business.
DAVE:And business can't be revolutionary? What does subversive mean, Rem?
ISADORE:There's a difference between fucking shit up from the inside, and deciding to play the game with the cheats on.
DAVE:Is there? Both are basically working a system in a non-approved way. Dating isn't supposed to work the way it does for Remington here -
REMINGTON:Despite my name being perfect for a plethora of opening lines.
DAVE:And 'networking' isn't supposed to work the way it does for our young Isadore -
REMINGTON:I could say my mom had a huge crush on Remington Steele...
DAVE:But we make it work that way. We get what we want, when we should not. But for some reason, we can't call it revolutionary, because that's a dirty word -
REMINGTON:I could say it was only realised later that my dad had picked the name off his shaver...
DAVE:Like terrorist. Terrorism was almost socially acceptable, in certain cases. I mean, Mandela was a terrorist.
REMINGTON:I could even just pull the 'oh, I'm so shy about my stupid name, I need someone to pull me out of my shell.'
DAVE:Che Guevara. The king of the T-shirt silhouette. Terrorist.
ISADORE:This isn't exactly news, Dave.
REMINGTON:I could even just-
ISADORE:Shut the fuck up.
DAVE:All I'm saying is, we get together and fiddle with shit behind the curtain, all the damn time. And all he does is try to get laid. And all you do is climb the corporate ladder a little faster.
ISADORE:What do you do, Dave?
DAVE:Right now? I'm still using that producer you helped me convince I was a Wall of Sound expert to get to that idiot pop star with the bad haircut.
ISADORE:But why?
DAVE:So I can slowly ruin her career, and put a few select messages into the public eye.
ISADORE:But why, Dave.
DAVE:Fun. Possible profit. Mostly fun.
REMINGTON:Here's the tickets to that Moog retrospective thing, by the way. Producer dude will continue to think you are the best of friends. Pop star's 'still on good terms' ex should be there.
DAVE:See. The system works.
ISADORE:Fine. And here's the Moog workup, and background on shit likely to come up in conversation, according to Rem's profiles.

Everything gets passed to DAVE

ISADORE:What you don't get, is that you're the one here that makes no sense, Dave.
REMINGTON:I dunno. Everyone hates pop stars.
DAVE:He has a point.
ISADORE:Fuck. I mean, Remington and I have motives, as stupid as his are. We're doing this for a direct reason, a direct goal. You aren't really getting anything other than self-satisfaction out of it.
DAVE:I accomplish things, Dor.
ISADORE:But what do your accomplishments accomplish?
DAVE:Everything they need to.
ISADORE:Dave. Dave. If there's no point to fucking with people expertly, it's just as bad as doing it in a playground.
DAVE:This is why I hate working with you. You never got it, no matter how many times I explained it.
ISADORE:These are the facts. We each gave something up to do this, basically having a real personality, being known by another person, ever.
REMINGTON:I'd argue giving that up is like giving up belief in the Easter bunny.
ISADORE:We gave something up, because this, the whole perfectly planned appearance, conversation, ideas, ideals, whatever, it means power. It means we can do things. We do things for a reason, usually. I have a reason. Rem has a reason.
DAVE:I'm very proud of you.
ISADORE:Look. He just wants to meet new and interesting people, and fuck them. I just want access, more better cheaper with prettier people around. You? You're just a fucking sociopath.
DAVE:I prefer the term 'subversive observer'.

Silence for a few seconds.

REMINGTON:Well, if no one else is talking, I have the standard chart for the last week. Targets, who we know who they know, the usual.
ISADORE:Contact information?
REMINGTON:Where it always is.
DAVE:Okay. You have goals, so do I. You want access, he wants women. I want to be able to do whatever the hell I want, at any time.

Dead level stare, no emotion.

DAVE:I can't think of a single thing worth giving up a sense of identity for, other than carte blanche. I have that, so do you. I just choose to fucking use it, rather than just sit here.
ISADORE:We're just people, Dave. We think it through a little more, but we're just people.
DAVE:Exactly. I don't have to feel bad, because anyone else could do it, too.
REMINGTON:I think I read this one before. 'The Prince', something like that?
DAVE & ISADORE:Shut up.

A few more seconds of silence.

ISADORE:Dave. This... This is just a way to get ahead. It's just a thing to do to get what we want.
DAVE:It's not. It's a lifestyle. If a personality makes a person, then we are post-people. We're the genuine fakes. So we can get laid, get a better job, ruin some crappy music career. It's what we get to do.
REMINGTON:You said it yourself, Dor. We all gave up 'be yourself' time. Price of admission.
ISADORE sighs.
DAVE:Anything else today?

All three sip coffee at the same time.

REMINGTON (TO ISADORE):Is the band any good?
ISADORE:Not really. There's nothing to them. It's all posturing.
DAVE:I'm bored. I think I'll seduce a waitress.

DAVE gets up, leaves.
ISADORE and REMINGTON sit in silence, drinking their coffee for a while.

REMINGTON:Ride?
ISADORE:No, not really.

They walk out, not acknowledging DAVE as they pass him and the waitress. She's laughing and touching his arm. They exit into the street.

It'll make more sense later, hopefully. Trust me.