(Dozens of people are seated in the Cafe, stuffing their faces with inferior beignets and coffee. Those that aren't are staring toward a back corner, where Drew Brees is talking with his agent.)
BREES: I feel weird being out in public like this. I mean, we're a week away from the deadline.
AGENT: Yeah...
BREES: It's like they're undressing me with their eyes or something.
AGENT: Uh-huh, dreadful thing, that.
BREES: Arliss, are you even paying attention to me???
ARLISS: Why sure, my good boy! I was just admiring a spider that was crawling along the floor over there. To have THAT many legs is a sure sign of evolutionary superiority!
BREES: Uh, yeah, whatever. Why do we have to be out here?
ARLISS: My boy, have you not forgotten or potential Jimmy John's deal? If we play our cards right and can make ourselves visible in the French Quarter, we'll get a sandwich kiosk near Jackson Square. Ha! We'll even hire a temperamental fat bearded guy who looks like that schlub from that book everyone around here adores!!!
BREES: You mean 'Confederacy of Dunces'?
ARLISS (slams fist on table): Exactly! It'll be a hoot!! These saps will eat that right up, on top of our delicious Jimmy John's sandwiches, of course. We run the kiosk for a few months, then we goto the city council again and talk about getting a permanent location in the French Quarter!!
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BREES: I wish we'd gone to Morning Call, honestly. And...Shouldn't we at least wait to talk expansion until after our first Jimmy John's opens and is proven successful? Seems kinda ridiculous to start making future plans when we haven't done anything yet.
ARLISS: Nonsense, my boy! We must strike whilst the iron is hot! That's your problem, Drew. Always waiting to attend to your deals.
BREES: What do you mean?
ARLISS: We could've had this Saints contract business taken care of last year, but no, you didn't want to be aggressive enough in getting one done. I could've kept pushing them during the season, but you were all, "let's not cause a distraction." And you thought, "surely, they'll have to give me a great deal! I won a Super Bowl here and just broke one of the few NFL records people actually give a damn about, so they'll HAVE to reward me." How's that working out for you?
BREES: Isn't this what I hired you for?
ARLISS: Of course! And you also hired me to protect the Brees Brand!
BREES: My "brand"?
ARLISS: Absolutely. I'm going to single-handedly take care of all your needs with this contract. That's why it's taking so long.
BREES: Yeah, but do we really have to take this to the 11th hour? The arbitrator ruled in my favor, so we should just get a deal done. The fans need some really good news to offset everything this offseason...
(Arliss reaches under the table and pulls out a plush.)
ARLISS: Do you see this grave injustice!
BREES: It's a stuffed toy of me.
ARLISS: You? That's supposed to be you??? How do you expect to be taken seriously and respected when these toy makers can't even get a good likeness of you???
BREES: It's really not that back of a deal, Arliss. I just want to play football.
ARLISS: See, this is what I'm talking about. I had to pull you into the sandwich business and now I'm going to have to pull you into the personal branding business. This is where the big bucks are!
BREES: What's this got to do with my football contract?
ARLISS: We get these toys to actually look like you. Listen, I know a guy who used to make the old WWF Wrestling Buddies...
BREES: At least they got the birthmark right, Arliss.
ARLISS: Bah!
BREES: And why are we asking for so much money on this contract? Isn't $100 million over 4 years a little much?
ARLISS: Nonsense. Do you think my wheelchair will grow mechanical legs on its own? No, those cost a lot of money.
(A football crashes on the table, sending the coffee and poorly made beignets up into the air and on the floor.)
ARLISS: What the what???
MORSTEAD: Enough!
(Morstead walks over to the table and sets down between Arliss and Brees.)
ARLISS: What is the meaning of this?!?
MORSTEAD: Oh, you hush, you. Drew, you gotta get this contract thing taken care of! I came all the way back from vacation home in Kathmandu to plead with you!
BREES: We're working on that, Thomas. There's a lot of negotiating that has to be handled, certain qualifiers have to be met...
MORSTEAD: Fiddlesticks, Drew! Fiddlesticks, I say!! Don't you love it here??? Aren't the fans good to you?
BREES: Well, yeah...
MORSTEAD: And won't they elect you mayor someday down the road?
BREES: Well, sure, but...
MORSTEAD: So sign the deal and stay with us.
ARLISS: Do you have ANY idea what this man is worth on the open market, punter boy?
BREES: Open market?
ARLISS: Sure! If the Saints don't acquiesce to ALL our demands, you'll sit out for the year and we'll find you another team.
BREES: But I don't want to play for another team.
ARLISS: The Dallas Cowboys would pay you a lot of money...
(Morstead digs into his pocket and pulls out a roll of hundred dollar bills.)
MORSTEAD: Here.
BREES: What's this?
MORSTEAD: My cats got together and raised some cash for you to show how much they care.
BREES: Wait. Your "cats" got the money? Or did your CATS get the money?
MORSTEAD: My cats, Drew. Duh.
BREES: Oooookay.
ARLISS: Drew, send this man away! We need to draft a statement explaining why you're sitting out for the year...
BREES: No! Fuck the Dallas Cowboys, fuck Jerry Jones, and fuck you, Mr. Arliss! I'll get this deal done myself!
(Morstead shoves Arliss' wheelchair into the path of an oncoming horse-drawn carriage.)
MORSTEAD: Way to go, Drew! C'mon, I'll take you to Morning Call.
BREES: Huzzah!
LATER.... MORSTEAD's APARTMENT - NIGHT
MORSTEAD: Well, that was a close one. Mr. Drew got on the phone with Mr. Benson and they hashed out a nice contract.
Aren't you glad daddy was able to help, Mew Brees?
MEW: Meow.
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