Who Stole the Funny? : A Novel of Hollywood by Robby Benson

Author:Robby Benson [Benson, Robby]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2012-08-24T17:47:27+00:00

At that precise moment, the world of art merged into the

world of reality with a wily, natural absence of sophistication. If it had been a ten o’clock one-hour TV drama, it would’ve been

handled with more flair or it would’ve been canceled. As it was, J.T. only noticed how unremarkably it began once it had begun to unfold. It was all so . . . ordinary.

A man dressed in a blue suit with pant legs that were cuffed an inch too short, revealing white socks and well-worn shoes, came into the production office. Someone get this man to Wardrobe, J.T. thought.

“Who’s in charge here?” the man asked. No one spoke up.

“Well,” J.T. finally said, “I’m the director, so that definitely would not be me.”

“Oh. Sitcom, huh?” he said.

“You got it,” J.T. said, immediately liking this man who had a

sense of irony.

J.T. looked out the production office windows and saw four

black sedans speeding past the office on their way to the stage . . .

past the stage . . . to the schoolroom.

“FBI,” the man stated, showing his badge.

Marcus Pooley chose that moment to come bounding down

the stairs . “What’s with all the tension?” he asked eagerly.

He was in early. Must’ve been kicked out of the house by Stephanie, J.T. thought. What a fucking buffoon.

“Who are you?” the man with the badge asked Marcus.

“Who the fuck are you?” Marcus Pooley replied.

“He’s such a fuckin’ jerk,” Billy whispered into J.T.’s ear.

“I’m FBI Agent Tiffy,” the man with the highwaters said. “Now

I’ll ask again: who are you?”

“I’m Marcus Pooley, the Creator and Showrunner of the num-

ber one sitcom—excuse me—the number one show on television, I Love My Urban Buddies. And you are in my production office.

What the hell do you want? Wait—did you say your name is FBI

Agent . . . Tiffy?” Marcus began to giggle.

1 8 2

W H O S T O L E T H E F U N N Y ?

“Do you have a man working for you by the name of Leo

Thacker?” the federal agent asked.

“Oh no—not again,” Marcus Pooley blurted.

Now J.T. was truly alarmed. “What is going on? That man was

just with the children!”

Marcus’s face darkened. “Oh, don’t go getting all heroic and

gallant on me. Jesus, gimme a fucking break! I can’t believe this.

Leo gave me his word!”

“Can someone explain?” J.T. asked in what he hoped was a

controlled voice.

“Leo Thacker has prior convictions for selling child pornogra-

phy on the Internet. We have information that his operation has grown from distribution to the actual production of child pornog-raphy. And we also know someone tipped him off and he knows

we’re right on his . . . butt.”

“Wait—no—wait—” J.T. kept looking from the FBI agent to

Marcus Pooley and back.

Marcus threw up his hands, all innocence. “Hey, don’t

blame me. All the mothers signed off on it. They knew Leo’s

past. They understand that in America we give people a second

chance.”

J.T. stared at him. “A child pornographer . . . is the on-set

schoolroom teacher? Is that what you’re telling me?” he demand-

ed.

“I don’t have to tell you shit, J.

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