TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions... Guy Noir, Private Eye.

GK: It was October and summer was over, winter on its way, and what's worse, it was membership week at public radio and stations were pounding hard.

TR (ON RADIO, DISTRAUGHT): Listen, folks. If we don't get two more phone calls in the next ten minutes, I am going to have to sell my dog. (DOG WHINES) Can't afford his Ken-L-Ration any more. (DOG BARKS) Old Shep is going to have to be sold to a research facility----- unless you call in.....(DOG WOOF, FADING) Please. We need to hear from you.

GK: I was in Memphis where the public radio station had hired me to solve their tote bag problem.

BG: Noir? I'm Betty Bogart, development director. Mind if I smoke? (MATCH, INHALE, EXHALE)

GK: Like most development directors, she was drop-dead beautiful. She wore a tight black dress that did little to conceal the fact that she spent an hour a day at the gym. She put her hand on my arm and suddenly I felt warm, even feverish.

BG: Our Nina Totenberg tote bag is toast. Totally. We paid twenty-two cents for them and they came in taupe, tartan and tortoise and turns out the totes were made in a tattoo shop in Tiptonville, Tennessee, by tiny tots and truant teens and we had a tete-a-tete with our attorney and tort law says totes can't be made by tots without a tutor present, so tut-tut on us.

GK: So you need a new premium.

BG: There's no time for that. We need an angel.

GK: Oh?

BG: Somebody who can shower us with money right now.

GK: May I say something, Betty?

BG: Of course.

GK: Your hand on my arm.

BG: Does that bother you?

GK: It bothers me in a way I've always wanted to be bothered.

BG: It's what development directors are trained to do, Mr. Noir. Make a personal contact with big givers.

GK: I wish I were a big giver, Betty. I'd give it all to you.

BG: How much could you give?

GK: I could give you my body for research.

TR (ELVIS): Hey Mama, don't listen to him.

BG: Who are you?

TR (ELVIS): You don't remember me? Mr. Hunka hunka burning love?

GK: Elvis?

TR (ELVIS): Who are you?

GK: The name is Noir. Guy Noir.

TR (ELVIS): Well, listen to me, Chief. I think you better quit hitting on this lady and go pick on someone your own age.

BG: It's an honor to meet you, Elvis. But I have to say, I never was a big fan of your records.

TR (ELVIS): Hey- That's okay. Some of them I didn't care for myself.

BG: I'm more into classical music-

TR (ELVIS): Hey, I love classical music, Beethoven. Roll over, Beethoven. (HE SINGS THE OPENING BARS OF BEETHOVEN FIFTH) Love opera. (SINGS IN ITALIAN TO O SOLO MIO)

BG: Wow. You know Italian?

TR (ELVIS): Of course. It's the language of opera. Plus French, of course. (SINGS IN FRENCH "CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE")

BG: Wow- Tres bon!

TR (ELVIS): Merci, mama.

GK: Elvis singing in French. Pretty amazing.

TR (ELVIS): Hey, when you're an international sensation, you got to try to understand the people who love you.

BG: I just never imagined you'd know French.

TR (ELVIS): Because of Graceland, right?

BG: Right.

TR (ELVIS): Didn't you ever have a bad decorator? Picked him out of the Yellow Pages and came back one day and the house was full of junk. I was planning to have it redone. Fill it with Ikea stuff, all white and shiny. So when people leave they go, "wow"- and not, you know. "whoa."

GK: So you were just about to re-do it?

TR (ELVIS): That's right, chief. Then I died. I was gonna do a lot of stuff. But regrets- I've had a few, too few to mention. Anyway, I've moved on. I get to travel now, you know. Anonymously. I went back-packing in Germany. (SINGS "ALL SHOOK UP" IN GERMAN)

BG: Is learning a language easier after you're dead?

TR (ELVIS): You got more free time after you're dead. You don't sleep. Just go, go, go.

BG: So what else you have time to do?

TR (ELVIS): Got time to talk to you, Mama. (KISS)

GK: Betty? Betty? ---- She disappeared the moment he kissed her. I guess ---- she went to be with him.


I dropped in at a bar on Beale Street. (DOOR OPEN, JINGLE, CLOSE, FOOTSTEPS, AMBIENCE).

FN: Hey. Come on in.

TR (ON THE RADIO, WEEPY): We've got two hundred bucks yet to go to make our goal this hour, and if we don't make it, I am personally going to stab myself with this fork. This fork right here in my hand. I am going to jab myself with it over and over and over until you people call in (ON, UNDER)

GK: Would you mind turning that off, please? Please.

FN: Oh. Sure. (TR FADES, AND OUT) So, where you from?

GK: Minnesota. Make me a pledge week Martini, wouldja?

FN: That's the one where I put it in the eyedropper....

GK: And give it to me one drop at a time...

FN: On your forehead.

GK: Right.


BG: Guy---- ?

GK: Betty. Where'd you go?

BG: Away. To a beautiful place. Like Graceland but no shag carpeting. Would you like to come?

GK: No, thanks.

BG: You sure?

GK: Very sure.

BG: It's wonderful here. Grassy lawns. Private jets. Terrific peanut butter. People adoring you.

GK: No, thanks.

BG: Lots of adoration.

GK: I don't go for adoration.

BG: And it's warm and sunny-

GK: I don't care for warm that much. Or sunny. I just like a regular life on earth, that's all.

BG: You like being cold?

GK: I like being warm when it's cold outside.

BG: Okay. Last chance-

GK: What do you like about being there, Betty?

BG: I like being with him.


GK: Okay. Bye. Have a nice after life.


TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions... Guy Noir, Private Eye.