“There’s a damn good chance I will,” said the cripple.

There was silence in the room.

“Keep in mind,” continued Sigmond Levy, never taking his eyes off his lobster cocktail, talking with chewed chunks of lobster in his mouth, “a substantial royalty is nothing to cavalierly pass up. Having just finished investigating your personal and financial resources”—Levy swallowed—“we have discovered that your debt is rather substantial and your living conditions somewhat barbaric.”

“And exactly what will this substantial royalty be?” asked the cripple.

“One-tenth of the package price,” replied Sigmond Levy, turning to look at the cripple.

“One-tenth!” shouted the cripple.

The lawyer returned to his lobster cocktail.

“Yes, one-tenth,” said the producer.

“That’s not sharing the project fifty-fifty in any way, shape, or form. I thought we were—”

“I don’t recall fifty-fifty ever being mentioned,” interrupted the producer. “In any case, that is our offer. Take it or leave it. We think it’s quite generous. For doing nothing.”

“Think about it,” suggested the producer’s lawyer, chewing.

“I’ll think about it, all right. Just keep in mind what my old friend Sugar Ray Robinson once told me. Sugar Ray said, ‘Fifty percent of something is better than a hundred percent of nothing.’ If I pass on your ridiculous offer, your ninety percent of the package price won’t be worth a red cent. Don’t worry, gentlemen, you’ll definitely hear from me. Probably as soon as I get home. This is very disappointing but, what the hell, I’ve been disappointed before. I’ll see myself out.” The cripple stood, threw his napkin down on the table, grabbed his crutch, and started limping out of the dining room. He hadn’t touched his lobster cocktail.

Before leaving the room, the cripple turned and faced the two men.

“You know something?” he said. “I’m finished thinking about it. I’d rather not do the show than let you two pricks make a lousy dime on the project. As far as I’m concerned you can take your offer, divide it in half, and stick it up both your asses.”

The old cripple opened the dining room door and slammed it closed behind him. Then opened it and stepped back into the dining room. Looking directly at the producer, he said, “And if you and the fat fuck lawyer of yours try to steal my idea, I’ll sue your asses from here to hell and back.” Once again the cripple slammed the door behind him.

The producer and his lawyer looked at each other……and continued eating their lobster cocktails.

The serving maid came into the producer’s dining room and began collecting the lobster cocktail goblets and plates. The producer waited until the maid had gone, then got up out of his chair and began pacing back and forth alongside the dining room table opposite his lawyer.