Seinfeld: "Prognosis-NEGATIVE!"
Summary: Flying to London with older Elaine (following the action of "The Number and Address of the Beast", George (the Vampire "Say is it with a y or an I, Elaine?" "Y?" giggle… "If you're Danish, George."), tells her his idea for a new version of the lousy horror film the gang had once been eager to see…
Part I…
The Summer of George...Ending in tragedy, my friends…
The ever-upbeat George Costanza, removed at the height of his successful sports career from his position of grave responsibiliy for the New York Yankees by a strange twist of fate and that idiot Steinbrenner…
["George? You're still upset about that?" Elaine grinned. "It was a brutal stroke of unjust fate and Steinbrenner not being able to remember clearly who I was..." George fumed. "He's right, was unust...Unjust...Sorry, hard to concentrate here." Molly, eyes blinking, tape removed, noting to them.
"Excuse me?" Elaine, frowning.
"It's me, Laney. Put it in the vault." smiling. "Till she wakes up, anyway."
"Susan?" George blinked.
"Just thought I'd check in and see if you were behavin' yourself. Now you know I'm keepin' a eye on you. Say, have you got a mirror, Elaine? I'd like to see."
"More tape…?" the attendant had come by, pausing dazedly to see Molly up.
"Uh, no...That won't be necessary, darling. Thanks." George noted, hastilly.
"But another glass of wine'd be nice." Elaine noted, handling mirror to Molly/Susan…
"Yeah, and one for me...Plus...Say, what did they have for dinner?" Molly/Susan asked.
"We both did the Chateaubriand, it was fabulous." Elaine noted.
"I'll try that. Thanks, miss." shrug to Elaine as the attendant headed off. "She may as well get her money's worth and I haven't eaten in a couple of decades. So...Is my George behaving himself? A real gentleman? And not killing everyone he can?" eyeing George.
"He's been great." Elaine nodded, a bit sour look.
"Elaine. I promised I'd let you guys do as you pleased but I gotta take an interest now and then. I promise I won't be nosying and prying all the time." Molly/Susan, apologetically. "Just every now and then. To let my boy know I care."
"Oh, Susan..." George beamed.
"George, I appreciate it but don't lay it on too thick." Susan noted, slight frown. "I saw you were interested in this one."
"It's only my nature, sweetheart..." sigh.
"Well, at least you're keeping your pledge. For the first day. Say why did this one have tape over her mouth? And why did that attendant ask if you wanted more?"
"Long story...She is breathing..." Elaine noted, eyeing George.
"Yep, still breathing..." George agreed.
"Keep it so. What was that you were doing, telling a story, honey?" fond beam that seemed rather out of place on Molly's face.
"My movie script...'Prognosis-NEGATIVE!'. Well, a movie script I was writing..." George, shrugging.
"Oh, right...I remember. You used to read it to me."
"He did?"
"In spirit, I was dead by then. But it was so sweet how he used to ask how I liked it." Molly/Susan beamed.
"You were there? You heard?" George blinked.
"I was. I did." fondly proud beam. "But only bits. I wasn't able to stay long then. But I remember it didn't stink...That I recall."
"Oh...Sweet. Yeah." Elaine, a bit downcast.
"Elaine..." Molly/Susan sighed. "I'm the one risking my heart here. But I love George enough to care that he has someone while he's trapped here. Don't take it badly. I'm accepting whatever happens between you and George is something I have to accept with grace, cause I love him. As he'll have to accept..." slight smile.
"What? What will I have to accept? Who are you doing it with in the great Beyond? Is it that guy at NBC you said looked like Gene Kelly? I know you liked him."
"George, darling..." Molly/Susan… "You and I have had so many lovers over the centuries, it's really not..."
"Like Hell, it's not! Was it Corbin Bernsen? I know you liked him too. That schmuck...So arrogant when all I did was to give him a good idea for his show!"
"George, go on with your script. I wanna hear..." Molly/Susan smiled fondly. "And I'm not telling till you're here with me, which is likely gonna be a long, long time. So get over it. You know I love you, I sure must."
"I know." sigh.
"And let Elaine know you love her too." slight sigh. "See, I'm trying to be a big person here. It's hard. Elaine, you really have no idea how closely matched George and I are, even though I was the successful one this time out..." Molly/Susan noted.
"Oh, really?" George, annoyed. "I was a major component of the New York Yankees, for a couple of years. And creator/scriptwriter of a hit sitcom! You were what? Russell Dalrymple's assistant?"
"An NBC vice-president, George!" glare.
"Oh, they made anyone a vice-president, then!" he fumed, waving hands.]
As I was saying, the ever-upbeat George Costanza, unjustly removed from his dream job, essential position with the Yankees he'd just led to so many victories… [Molly/Susan eyeing Elaine…]
...Had been spending a summer of rest and recuperation, known amusingly...Nay, drolly...As the "Summer of George" when tragedy struck while doing, as he often did, with no thought for himself, a favor for his dear friend Jerry. Rushing with alacrity to deliver Jerry's latest girlfriend's rather effete invitations to some trivial and meaningless function, George had slipped and severely injured himself…
["Lord, I remember watching that!" Molly/Susan chuckled. "You looked so ridiculous, though I was almost hoping you'd killed yourself..."
George, blinking…Molly/Susan leaning over to hiss.
"When you're dead, you'll get it George. I mean it with Love. As in we'd be together...Again. Don't make me say it too loud, Elaine'll be hurt." eyeing him with nod.
"Yeah, it ain't all roses and fooling around when you're balancing two dames who love you, Costanza." she noted, with shrewd Susan smile.]
Taken by ambulance to one of New York's finest hospitals...Indeed one that had recently treated his own dear mother…
["You know I met the girl who you used to peek at, getting her sponge bath when you went to see your mother in there. She always asks how's the little perv…?" Molly/Susan noted with grin. "She actually liked you, Georgie. She was pretty ill and made her feel better that she was turnin' some one on."
"Oh, really?" faint smile. "Well, glad I could help her..."
"Yeah, you're a real humanitarian, lover." grim stare. "I knew she wasn't exaggerating...Damnit, George."
"Sorry...You know, you and I weren't..."
"Yeah, yeah...I know I was dead, George. I was there, dead. Doesn't mean it doesn't bother me." wave of hand. Hmmn… "This bitch needs to start wearing her glasses...These contacts are not doin' it..."]
The diagnosis was grim. He might never recover the use of his legs, though...By the most supreme of efforts...The most manly courage and perseverance...The…
["Yeah, yeah...You spent the summer in PT." Elaine noted sourly.
"He really was hurt, Elaine..." Molly/Susan, annoyed now. "And you guys could've come more often that summer."
"You were really there, all summer?" George asked.
"And let you chat up nurses and hobble over to see girls get sponge baths alone, without me to knock things over or find some way to get them to see you comin'…?"
Oh...That explains a lot, George thought...
"Course if you'd like to see me getting one, this being first class and Molly here being some kinda hot-shot lawyer, nobody's be that surprised if your zonked attendant gave me one." she glared. "Huh, sweetie? Or would you like me to give her one, you little pervert?"
"Guys? Not so loud. You'll wake some of these effete types up from their fine dining induced comas..." Elaine hissed.
"Right, sorry." Molly/Susan nodded. "And sorry, George...Can't help bein' a lil' jealous." grin. "Though if you'd really like to see a sponge bath…?"
"Hey!" Elaine, shocked. "Susan? I thought you believed in feminism. That's practically...Well..."
"Lesbian rape?" Molly/Susan grinned. "I'm sorry, just jerkin' ma honey's male organ here."]
"George..." Movie Elaine, entering his hospital room with earnest expression of compassion…
"I'd heard about your tragic accident and raced over..."
"Yes, thanks. But I shall recover my bodily functions and..."
["Would you ladies mind?" annoyed George as the two giggled.
"'Bodily functions'...I'd forgotten that line...Oh, go on honey..." Molly/Susan, chortling.]
"…And return to my active life..."
"George...Old friend..." a voice from the doorway. The remorseful face of one Jerry Seinfeld, modestly successful comedian, a rather slight, somewhat prissy fellow, of rather excessive hair display.
"Jerry...See what your selfishness has cost." movie Elaine noted, scornful look.
"Oh, no. My dearest old friend. My bosom companion of my youth." Jerry, aghast, as he entered, moving to the bed with doleful look. "What have I done?"
"No, no, old friend." George, putting up a compassionate hand. "Don't blame yourself. There is no blame to be placed. This...Was simply...Fate."
"Oh, but George." Jerry, still aghast… "But for my request, to lasciviously satisfy one of my shallow relationship partners and her lascivious and trivial need to have her trivial needs met, you would be hale and hearty, up and walking...Perhaps even able to have resumed your essential duties with the world's greatest baseball team. Curse that foolish oaf, Steinbrenner."
"Yes, curse him!" movie Elaine agreed.
"No, no...My dear old friends..." George, raising hand despite the agony of doing so in his crippled condition. "Let us have some compassion for a man who cannot see what he has done. The destruction of his once great baseball team without my steady guidance must be enough punishment."
"You are such a compassionate man, George Costanza." movie Elaine noted.
"Indeed. May we all profit by your noble example." Jerry nodded.
"Hey!" a cry at the door.
"KRAMER!" all called as the lanky oddly-dressed rather doofused fellow entered.
"Hey, George...How you're doing? Say, what kind of a hospital is this? I just saw a freak of nature...An actual pig man...In one of the rooms on another floor. By the way you either gotta get glasses or learn to write, Jerry...You gave me the wrong address."
"A pig man? An actual pig slash man?" movie Elaine asked. "You saw a pig man?"
["Oh, I remember that..." Elaine noted. "Is that the horror twist, George? Does the pig man kill everyone?"]
"I saw him. They tried to conceal him…Probably a government experiment in some kind of weird genetics that they don't want to let get out...But I saw him, with these eyes. Oh, God!" Kramer, emoting.
"Calm yourself, old fellow." George noted with cool aplomb … ["Is it 'aplomb' or 'aplumb'?" George asked.] "While unlikely and probably the result of your own all-too-often overwrought nervous condition..."
"That's me..." Kramer agreed.
"Indeed..." Jerry, Elaine.
"...Such things can and will be investigated and your fears put at rest. Soon as I've recovered my footing, a matter of a few days' steady effort."
"No one better suited than you to get to the bottom of this, old friend." Jerry noted.
"But if they...I mean THEY...Know." Kramer, nervously. "I'm a dead man." squeaking at the end. Elaine patting the clearly terrified wretch...
"Steady, Kramer. Calm." George gently but firmly noted. "You have me...And the rest of us...To protect you. Rest assured, nothing will happen to you. But, should some horrible fate await you, likewise rest assured, your friend George Costanza will see you are avenged."
"That's great..." Kramer, squeaking fearfully. "But I think I'd rather live."
"Tut, tut...Dear fellow. There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow...If it is not now, it surely will come. The readiness is all..." George, kindly smile. "Now, describe this 'pig-man' and where you found him."
…
Meanwhile, in the dim, surprising dank for a modern medical facility, recesses of the famed hospital, the old catacombs of the former establishment it had been built on...A madhouse used by its evil and sadistic operator for unspeakable and unholy experiments on its pitiful and helpless residents in its day…
"So, Mr. Sanger...You've seen some of the results of my research, unorthodox as it may seem. And that it has generated outcomes no one else on Earth can provide..." the tall, gaunt, white-haired man in lab coat, a man of rather fine carriage and precise diction, noted.
["Sounds like my old boss, J. Peterman..." Elaine grinned. "If he could spell 'Science'."]
"Well, Dr. Lang...Your work isn't exactly what we'd call...If in my neck of the woods we used the word...Kosher. But my wife and I are desperate to save our boy, Donald. Ever since his bubble chamber was punctured his condition's been deteriorating." Sanger, glancing nervously about the dank, dim halls.
Couldn't we have done this in his office upstairs? I'd've been perfectly happy with a video...
"Yes...So I've noted as well as seen in his records." Lang rolling eyes at the thought of the obnoxious brat. So he's worse than ever?
"And his temperament has declined a bit as well, with the decline in his condition...Naturally." Mr. Sanger, a normally jovially husky fellow, brought down by his son's sufferings...And general obnoxiousness.
"Naturally...Though I suspect his condition has less to do with his temperament than one might guess." Lang noted.
"What's that mean?" Mr. Sanger, a bit miffed.
"Frankly, Mr. Sanger...If I had an alternative test subject...One of mild disposition...I might feel more comfortable about performing this procedure. However, I don't...And time is of the essence..."
"Yes, Donny hasn't much time left."
"Uh, certainly..."
Actually I mean my grant deadline to actually get some legit funding so I can stop sculking around with people like this for money is almost here, but whatever keeps them happy, Lang thought.
God, Mad Grandpa Lang...It sure was easier in your day. They actually brought 'em to you and let you do as you pleased...Long as it didn't get too messy or noisy, as it actually did, in the end.
A rap at the large wooden door at the top of the catacomb chamber…
Great...No doubt the family in 413b about Mrs. Bernstein again...The woman just needs to have a good enema…
"Sir? A word?" a chubby assistant, in scrubs with head cover, hissed down.
"Pardon me just a moment, Mr. Sanger." Lang excused himself. "You might care to write out your check while I see to what is no doubt a minor..." he looked to see the assistant nervously shaking head no… "...hospital matter, to speed things along, for young Donald's sake." Quickly climbing the stairs...
"The pig man?" Lang hissed at the assistant's nervous explanation. "And someone saw him? Got into his room? How did this happen, Claude?"
Claude nervously moping brow, hands raised.
"But the experiment is now secured again?" raising voice. "And its successful outcome protected?"
Claude offering noncommittal nod...Well…
"Good. But the other matter...Meaning the other 'patient'..." confident tone… Angry hiss to the puzzled Claude whom he carefully maneuvered to the chamber door… "The man, you idiot..." return to confident voice… "Is being...Dealt with?"
"We're looking into it, sir."
"Fine...Fine, Claude. See to it yourself, won't you. Good." return to hiss. "Or you wind up on the pigman's menu, you fool!" he closed door on the hapless Claude.
"Sorry, Mr. Sanger...About Donald..." as he descended the stairs. "I assure you, all is ready for his treatment."