He soon realized that the only reason they had kept him in as long as they had was because they had grown fond of him and didn’t want to let him go. Especially that faggot, Doctor Flagg. Christ, were his consultations ever a humdrum! The way he would always try to psychoanalyze him with all that Freudian bullshit about mother-son relationships, latent homosexuality tendencies, insecurity and lack of self-respect. It was all x-amount of bullshit and the good doctor knew it, too. But finally the doctor’s true colors started to show and the game suddenly took on an entirely new twist. Hell, if Stanley had known that all he had to do was let the doctor give him an occasional blowjob, he would have been out of that hellhole one fuck of a lot sooner!
But that was then, and this is now, Stanley thought. No sense in crying over spilt milk, ha-ha.
In retrospect, it was probably to his advantage to have been locked up in the nuthouse as long as he’d been. It had given him plenty of time to read, research and figure out what he was going to do with himself once he was released. Had he gotten out sooner, he probably would have done something rash, with his temper and all, and ended up getting thrown right back in there.
But instead, he’d hung tight and devised his master plan. And when he finally had gotten released on that glorious May morning, he knew that he had the added plus of his father’s life insurance settlement to help make his plans materialize.
Rest in peace, Pop-you wimpy little son of a bitch!
Stanley glanced over at Sara Hunt’s faintly lit window and felt a renewed surge of excitement. He was really going to enjoy making her pay for what she had done. By the time he was through with her she was indeed going to wish that she’d never shit upon Stanley Jenkins all those years ago. And unlike Cindy Fuller, Sara was gong to suffer some before he did her in. He’d knock her around a bit, make her feel some real pain in her fucked up life before she bought the farm. After all, that bitch had purposely screwed over Stanley Jenkins. Hell, it was not only premeditated but down right cold-blooded what she had done to him! Cindy Fuller had been an innocent casualty, in a sense; and for that reason Stanley had gone easy on her.
But Sara was an entirely different case. And this time the whole world was going to know who brought her to justice. No covering his tracks as he’d done with Cindy. The whole fucking world was going to learn that you don’t fuck around with Stanley Jenkins and get away with it. And finally, after all these years, he would get the respect that he by God deserved! These gorgeous two-faced sluts weren’t going to push Stanley Jenkins around anymore!
He glimpsed at the luminous dial on his wristwatch. It was 11:40. Time to split. He wanted to get a good night’s sleep for the big day tomorrow.
He went over his plans one more time in his head. He would get up early tomorrow morning-no later than 6:30-eat a light breakfast before taking his shower. Then he’d get dressed: white polo shirt, gray sport jacket, faded blue jeans and a pair of loafers. Then he’d pack up his belongings, leave his hotel key on the dresser, then take the stairs down to the lobby and slink out of the hotel.
He would take a cab over to Penn Station and place all his belongings into the locker he’d rented except for the clipboard and Rolling Stones CD he’d just purchased. Then he’d hail another cab to Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village and get out a few blocks from the coffee shop where Sara worked. It would be around 8:00 by then and much of the breakfast crowd will have already cleared out.
He would enter the coffee shop and sit down at one of Sara’s tables. When she came over to take his order she would notice the Stones CD laying there on the table as well as the clipboard with the made up script he’d created, which he would be pretending to read.
Sara’s interest would of course be aroused when she spotted the Stones CD, not just because the Stones were her favorite rock and roll band in the world but also because she didn’t own this particular CD. It was an extremely rare bootleg copy of a concert they’d played at the Fillmore East back in 1966 (which he had been able to procure with the help of the internet and a few hundred bucks). It was something that Sara Hunt no doubt would die for and if luck was on his side, she would promptly initiate the conversation while salivating over this rarity: “My god! I don’t believe it! I’ve been trying to find that recording for years!”
But he realized that luck may not be on his side and instead of her getting all excited about seeing the CD, Sara may simply ignore it and ask what he wanted for breakfast.
That’s when the clipboard with the mock screenplay would come into play. If Sara didn’t happen to notice it the first time around while taking his order, he’d make damn sure that she did when she returned with his coffee. And once she saw what was written on the cover page, Sara Hunt would unlikely be able to remain passive any longer:
The Rolling Stones: The Myth Behind the Legend
A Three Star Pictures Production
Screenplay by Hugh Quincy
Directed by Hugh Quincy
The questions Sara Hunt would suddenly be dying to ask him would overwhelm her and why shouldn’t they? Here she was, a struggling actress waiting tables at a coffee shop, and there he was, a director/writer sitting there at her table with a screenplay for an upcoming movie documentary about her most favorite rock and roll band in the whole fucking world! Could any aspiring actress as desperate and downtrodden as Sara Hunt be able to contain herself after this sudden quirk of fate? Especially after taking into account the fact that this writer/director was not only in possession of a rare CD that she would die for, but was also sporting quite a decent looking beard that looked a lot like the one her ex-boyfriend used to wear.
All of this would no doubt be making her heart do flip-flops. He could almost hear her now: “Excuse me sir, but I couldn’t help but notice the movie script that you’re reading there and I just wanted to let you know that I’m an actress-just in case by some chance you’re looking for a cast for your movie. I’m even willing to be an extra if you need…”
At this point Stanley would smile, introduce himself, then offhandedly tell her that as a matter of fact he was in need of a few more players for his movie and that one of those roles actually had a speaking part. He would go on to explain that he’d flown in from L.A. the day before to do some background research for a scene he would be filming and hadn’t yet found a competent actress who could effectively play the role of an over-enthusiastic groupie who ends up going to bed with Mick Jagger after a concert during their first American tour.
Sara Hunt would then go absolutely bonkers. “Oh please, Mr. Quincy, please give me an audition for that part!”
At this point, Sara Hunt would be putty in his hands.
Stanley would be sure not to act overly zealous about auditioning Sara (in true Hollywood big shot style) and mention to her that he unfortunately didn’t have a great deal of time to spend in New York-he had to return to L.A. the following morning. Then he would rather hesitantly offer to fit her in later that evening if she was going to be free, after which Sara would of course assure him that she would indeed be available. At that juncture, Stanley would appear to warm up to her suddenly.
“You know, Sara,” he would announce with a winning smile, “The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that you just might be perfect for that part. I don’t suppose by any chance you can dance as well?”
Sara Hunt’s eyes would bug out of their sockets. “Are you kidding? I dance to the Rolling Stones all the time!”