-I would love to.

-And we can talk more about the novel.

-I've never read a book from beginning to

end my entire life.

-I've got it.

Book on tape.

MALE SPEAKER: Autobiography of a Domestic Terrier.

Chapter four.

I crawled into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

Betsy was there, washing dishes,

Trying to get her attention, I said, woof.

Woof, woof.

Woof.

Woof.

Woof.

Woof woof.

Woof.

Woof woof woof.

Woof woof.

Woof.

Woof woof.

-Um, I need a book on tape.

Rosewood Junction.

Do you have it?

-Yes.

You're in luck.

I just happen to have one.

Here it is.

-Oh.

-Rosewood Junction.

-Terrific.

Thank you so much.

-You're welcome.

-Excuse me.

-Mr. Stickland.

-Don't try to sweet-talk me, Ms. Van Volkenberg.

You're five months behind on the rent.

-All I need is a few more weeks.

-If I give you a few more weeks, I'm going to have to

give everybody a few more weeks.

And then what's going happen to me?

I'm going to be broke.

That's what's going to happen to me.

And who's going to take care of me?

You, Ms. Van Volkenberg?

I don't think so.

-Please have mercy.

-$10,000 by the end of the week, or I am shutting this

whole kit-and-caboodle down.

-Thank you, Mr. Stickland.

-Can I ask you something?

Why do you let the guy talk to you like that?

-I don't have $10,000.

-Geez, Louise, if that's all it is--

$10,000.

Problem solved.

There you go.

-Well, I-- thank you.

Thank you!

-Stickland.

Wait.

-Mr. Stickland.

I've got--

I've got $10,000.

It's all there.

You can count it.

-I didn't mean that you had to bring it to me now.

-Well, you must admit that sometimes you're very

difficult to find.

-You're right, Ms. Van Volkenberg.

It's so hard, you know?

I'm addicted to my CrackBerry.

Which ironically would make it easier to reach me.

Oh, I've had it.

I'm going to quit my management company.

Open up a small bar and performance space I've dreamt

of for years.

-Oh!

Even when I was trying to hate you so much, I couldn't help

but think you were a--

a handsome devil, Mr. Strickland.

-Call me The Stick.

-Yes.

-All my friends do.

Why don't you close up your shop for the rest of the day.

I'll buy you a Thai massage.

-A timed massage?

-No.

Thai.

T-H-A-I.

-Oh, a-- a thigh massage.

-A thigh massage.

-OK.

-Wonderful.

-Three's a crowd at this point.

I'll, uh, leave you guys alone.

-Just wonderful!

-Thanks!

And good luck with Arielle.

-Boys and girls, read it and weep.

Or rather, no, listen to it on tape and weep.

-Oh, no, but I just realized, I don't have

anything to play it on.

I don't have a cassette player.

-But you can borrow my Walkman.

Oh, except I left it at Harbin's house, and actually,

he dumped me last night.

-Isn't he the one who made you bring your own milk to his

house because he didn't want to share his milk?

-He said the last straw was that I didn't know

who Derek Jeter was.

I mean, how shallow was that?

-Geez, Zandy.

You get dumped on more than the most oft-used toilet in

Grand Central Station.

-Hey, hey.

Griffin, that's not nice.

I use that toilet all the time.

And how would you feel if people came and used you every

day and peed in your mouth and pooped in your belly?

-Geez, Dave.

When you put it like that, I feel like a grade-A heel.

-It's not nice to Zandy either.

Now, Zandy, I want to figure out a way to get that Walkman

from your ex-boyfriend's house.

What are we gonna do?

Hey, I have an idea.