EPISODE 10, SCENE 71:
Now That’s a Quote!

[Setting: Diner booth. A Classic Rock Weekly phone recorder glows red between two coffee mugs. Lorenzo Champion, err Cheap Whiskey, fidgets with a sugar packet.]

JOURNALIST:
So, Jesus Bootcamp didn’t exactly march up the charts.

CHEAP WHISKEY (laughs carefully):
Yeah, it pretty much tripped on the first verse.
We knew it was risky — half satire, half altar call.
Turns out radio prefers its sinners separate from its saints.

JOURNALIST:
Critics called it “too weird for gospel, too honest for radio.”

CHEAP WHISKEY:
Story of my life. It’s not that it flopped.
It just found its audience in the discount bin.

JOURNALIST:
Album’s still selling, though. Congrats.

CHEAP WHISKEY:
Still has a pulse. It’s like my career’s on life-support — but playing guitar.
Better Than I Prayed For. That’s our feel-good closer.
Even my dog barked on the demo.

JOURNALIST:
My sources say early streaming numbers look … soft.

CHEAP WHISKEY:
(beat too long)
…soft?
Oh, wow. Didn’t know that.
Guess I should stop praying.
(tries to smile, fails)
Maybe people don’t want hope from me — they just want melancholy with reverb.

JOURNALIST:
Too early to judge, of course.

CHEAP WHISKEY:
Nah, let’s judge. It’s more fun that way.
(chuckles, then spirals)
Maybe I’m a one-miracle pony.
First Hot Damn, then Hot Mess.

JOURNALIST:
That’s a quote.

CHEAP WHISKEY:
Why do I talk like this? 
[beat]
Maybe people don’t want better than they prayed for.
Maybe they just want proof God answers somebody else.

[silence -- Lorenzo realizes what he said.]

CHEAP WHISKEY:
Cut that part too, please? 

JOURNALIST:
Oh, of course….
Cheap Whiskey, I’ve heard that you have a bit of an obsession with hair.
That true?

CHEAP WHISKEY:
You could say that. They thought I’d be bald-headed by age 30.
But about that time, minoxodil came out, and I’ve been using it ever since.
At 40, they called it denial.
At 50, they were asking what I was using.
It’s sorta the reason I still wear my hair this long, actually.
It’s not style.
It’s survival.

JOURNALIST:
You attribute that to minoxodil?

CHEAP WHISKEY:
My take? If a man’s hair survives grief, two divorces, and recreational marijuana --
it’s not just an image. It’s a damn miracle.

JOURNALIST:
That is pretty impressive.
A 30-year standoff with male pattern baldness, huh?
You wear it like a man who earned it -- not a man who bought it.

CHEAP WHISKEY:
And all I can say is: ‘Thank you, Champ Hairline!’

JOURNALIST:
And now the tour starts soon, Cheap Whiskey?

CHEAP WHISKEY:
I’m… let’s just say I’m rehearsing my panic attacks more than my set list.
(laughs)
I worry that the buzz’ll wear off before the first encore.

JOURNALIST:
You’re really that nervous about the tour?

CHEAP WHISKEY:
Nervous? Try biblical.
I wake up some nights convinced I’ll forget my own name halfway through Please Call Me Lorenzo. 
I keep a Post-it on the mirror.

JOURNALIST:
That’s refreshingly honest, Cheap Whiskey.

CHEAP WHISKEY:
Too honest. Strike that?

JOURNALIST:
Not a chance. (grins)

[Cut to: Exterior -- diner parking lot]

LORENZO (to himself):
Why did I say that?
Now they’ll headline it: “Cheap Whiskey Admits Panic Before Tour.” 
Perfect.

[Later — phone call, twilight]

LORENZO:
Why did I say that?
Casey, tell me he won’t print that.

CASEY (on phone):
He will.
(pause)
And Champ Hairline just liked the post.

SCENE 72:
Numbers Don’t Pray

[Setting: Marvin deBos’s glass office, mid-morning. Billboard chart glows on a wall monitor.
“Hot Damn & Cheap Whiskey — #19 → #26.”
Below it:
“Jesus Bootcamp — DEBUT #141.”] 

[deBos sips his protein shake.]

CLEM:
We peaked, Chief.
Number 19 ain’t bad.

deBOS:
Peaked? We don’t use that word unless we’re skiing.

CLEM:
Well, our new single’s skiing backward off a cliff.

deBOS (shrugs):
Faith sells until it doesn’t.
I thought I’d test the crossover crowd.

CLEM:
You didn’t even tell the writers.

deBOS:
They’re artists, Clem.
Feelings come with the hair gel.
We’re selling redemption — just… a catchier kind.

[He scrolls through socials.]

deBOS (reading tweet):
“#JesusBootcamp sounds like Vacation Bible School on edibles.”
(beat)
Okay, that one’s funny.

deBOS:
Send out a statement. Something about “creative expansion.”
If Cheap Whiskey calls, tell him I’m in meditation.

CLEM:
You realize he’s gonna lose his mind.

deBOS:
Then he’ll write us another hit about it.
That’s art, baby.

[Faint sound of a phone ringing in another room — cut to Writer’s Room…]

[Same song now plays tinny from a laptop. Lorenzo stands by the console, replaying the chorus, face tight. Casey and Kat watch from the sofa. Morgan stirs in her chair.]

KAT:
You wrote it to heal. 
deBos sold it like a slogan.

LORENZO:
And we let him.
We trusted the guy who calls authenticity a “market angle.”

[Morgan lifts her head, sensing the tension.]

CASEY:
Look — Hot Damn hit #19. That’s a win.
Don’t let the suits steal your surrender story.

LORENZO:
You ever notice how grief comes disguised as progress?
We climb a few notches, and suddenly I’m nostalgic for the basement.

KAT:
Then write from there. That’s where the good songs hide.

[He nods, eyes glassy, hits STOP. Silence.]

[FADE OUT]

SCENE 73:
Filthy Rich?

[WRITERS ROOM – NIGHT]
The fluorescent hum is low. Coffee cups everywhere. Lorenzo is typing quietly until—
Rickles SLAPS a folder on the table.

RICKLES (eyes narrowed):
Alright, Lorenzo.
Let’s settle this once and for all.

LORENZO:
(doesn’t look up)
I didn’t fire you. That was Casey.

RICKLES:
No—THIS.
(leans in)
Did you or did you not make stupid money writing porn letters under a fake name?

LORENZO
(sighs, calm)
Rickles… “porn letters” is a crude description of extremely elegant, emotionally-driven narrative work.

RICKLES:
ELEGANT?!
They were Penthouse Forum fantasies.

CASEY (deadpan):
He’s not wrong.
Those require structure. Pacing. Callbacks.
It’s basically jazz.

Sloane’s eyes widen like she just found out Santa Claus is real and filthy.

SLOANE:
Wait.
You two wrote smut for money?

LORENZO:
We didn’t write smut.
We wrote… confessional fiction.
For a national readership.
And it wasn’t for a living—it was a side gig.
Friday nights. Laptop.
Hot Damn & Cheap Whiskey.
Me and Myra just… riffing.

(beat)
And yes.
It paid… handsomely.

Rickles leans so far forward he’s almost in Lorenzo’s lap.

RICKLES:
How handsomely?
Give me a number.
Just show me how far my jaw should drop.

LORENZO:
No.

RICKLES:
You got rich off fake orgasms, didn’t you?

LORENZO:
Let’s just say…
one sloppy drunken date-night writing session paid more than the whole MONTH at the newspaper.

RICKLES:
(stunned silence)
WHAT?!

LORENZO:
For three years straight.

Rickles nearly tips backward.

RICKLES:
Champ…
you got RICH.

LORENZO (shrugs):
I was drunk.
There’s a difference.

LUNDY:
(nodding with wise weirdo authority)
He ain’t denying he was rich and drunk.

LORENZO:
Look— we made some dime, alright?
The editors kept asking for more.
We were… in demand.

SLOANE:
Under your real names?

LORENZO:
God, no.
We were “Jake & Katie.”

RICKLES:
Your main character was Katie?!

LORENZO:
Katie was a composite.
Part me.
Part Myra.
Part…
(liquid shrug)
Whatever mood we were in.

RICKLES:
You’re telling me—
you wrote erotica
while also covering high-school sports?

LORENZO (smiles):
It was actually the beginning of me learning the golden rule:
Write what you know.
They were real-life experiences —
just told from the perspective of a woman
who thinks like a perpetually horny man.

Casey loses it.

CASEY:
You’re not writing those anymore.

LORENZO:
No, brother.
Now I write with YOU.

A long beat.

LORENZO:
And it’s cleaner.
Harder.
And it’s art.

Rickles throws a pen at him.

RICKLES:
Get OUTTA here with that Hallmark bullshit.

[LATER THAT EVENING}

KAT:
Lorenzo, you’ve never really mentioned it…. Where is Myra now in all this now?

LORENZO: (shrugs) 
Ghosted me.
I tried like hell to stay friends, after the Debra circus, and my first marriage.
I thought maybe honesty could rebuild something in way of friendship.
Turns out, honesty’s only romantic in hindsight.

KAT:
What did she say, the last time you talked?

LORENZO:
Nothing worth quoting. Just that she needed space.
Funny thing about space — it echoes when you care too loud.

KAT:
And you kept the door open anyway.

LORENZO:
Of course. INFJs don’t close doors, we just oil the hinges and hope.

[Lightning flash. Morgan barks once from inside, as if agreeing.]

LORENZO:
After Debra left, Myra Lee stayed long enough to say she wouldn’t.

KAT:
That’s a double-blind heartbreak.

LORENZO:
Yeah. You survive betrayal twice — you stop trusting applause.

[He strums a soft chord; the mic picks up the tremor.]

KAT:
You could turn that into a bridge.

LORENZO:
Already did. Working title: “Read Receipts from Heaven.”

KAT:
Perfect. Sing it raw — don’t clean it up.

[He nods, hits record. First rough line spills out, half-whisper, half-prayer.]

SCENE 74:
Tell That To Billboard

[Setting: Writers Room. Candle burning. “Jesus Bootcamp” plays softly in the background. Laptop still showing the #141 debut.]

CASEY:
It’s still a good song, Lo.

LORENZO:
Yeah, tell that to Billboard.
Jesus sent me to Bootcamp — deBos sent me to detention.

KAT:
Maybe that’s the point.
Bootcamp wasn’t supposed to chart; it was supposed to change you.

LUNDY:
Perhaps you shouldn’t have rhymed “altar” with “Walter.”

RICKLES (laughs):
I still think you should’ve called it Jesus Bootcamp & Rehabilitation Facility, Featuring Morgan the Therapy Dog.
(beat)
Catchier.

[They all laugh; tension breaks. Lorenzo exhales, calmer now.]

CASEY:
Lo, you once told me Jesus warned you—‘Nothing good for four months.’
That’s pretty specific.

LORENZO:
He was right.
Thirty years of no car trouble — battery dies the day after Myra left.
My first-ever Uber, mid-January.
Even my car quit on me.

KAT:
Bootcamp started immediately.

LORENZO:
No soda, no shortcuts, no spouse to orbit around.
Just me, Jesus Calling, and a black dog guarding the black dog.

LUNDY:
What got you through it?

LORENZO:
Tracking calories like sins.
Yoga, meditation, brutal honesty.
He said, “If you trust Me, you’ll be grateful later.”
I always believed Him — then the mirror did, too.

SCENE 75:
**MUSICAL NUMBER: Jesus Bootcamp & Rehabilitation Facility**

LORENZO:
Funny how the song flopped, yet the life worked.

CASEY:
Numbers don’t pray. People do.
That’s why it’s still a hit up there.

[He gestures upward. Silence; Morgan sighs in her sleep.]

KAT (smiles):
So Bootcamp wasn’t punishment — it was enrollment.

LORENZO:
Yeah. He called it “Angel Training.”
He said, “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
Maybe it’s the liner-note between me and Him.

KAT (softly):
Then keep it there — but let the light leak through the cracks.
That’s how grace breathes.

[Morgan pads over, curls beside Lorenzo. He rests a hand on her head.]

SCENE 76:
Strut Like a Zoo Lion

[Setting: Writers Room, late afternoon. Coffee mugs, half-packed notebooks, faint buzz of Morgan’s snores under the table. Everyone’s mid-conversation when Kat’s phone pings.]

KAT (reading):
Here we go—official memo from deBos Enterprises….
“We expect the Cheap Whiskey creative division—i.e., you four—to report to Chicago Monday a.m. for one-week residency. Hotel rooms, conference access, production briefings. Corporate attire optional.”

(looks up)
“Optional” my ass.

RICKLES (groans):
Great. Nothing says “creative freedom” like fluorescent lighting and per-diem salad.

CASEY:
Chicago though… decent deep-dish, decent blues clubs.
We’ll survive.

LORENZO:
That’s the part that scares me—surviving.
Marv in his natural habitat?
He’s gonna strut like a zoo lion.

KAT:
At least the zoo lion feeds the band.
You wanted legitimacy—this is what it looks like.

[Rickles flips open his notebook.]

LORENZO:
Okay, logistics.
One van to the airport, one crate for Morgan, a dozen Xanax for me.

CASEY (mock serious):
We present ourselves as “visionaries,” remember.
INFJ chic. Quiet genius, mild anxiety, solid eye-contact.

LORENZO:
Copy that — let the record show, anxiety packed first.

[They laugh. Morgan stretches; Lorenzo gives her a quick scratch.]

KAT (smiling):
Alright then. Monday we trade our flannel for lanyards.
Chicago, here comes the chaos.

[Camera pans around the table—each of them realizing this is the last calm moment for a while. Fade out on Morgan yawning.]

[END OF EPISODE 10]