the count dracula regrets that he will not be rising from the grave this evening

My phone rang.
The dulcet tones of the actess known to Scotland Yard as Siobhan Scattergun assailed my ears.
"James will you be in a play?"
"No," I told her plainly.
"I wouldn't ask only I'm desperate," she pressed.
"Your desperateness is undoubted and of no interest to me," I replied.
"We need you," she insisted.
"I don't care," I answered.
"There's been five walkouts," she elaborated.
"I normally cause those," I chuckled.
"Your friends are all gone," she chuckled back.
"By which you mean my enemies," I countered.
"I do," she said.
"Still don't care," I told her.
"Mischa is directing," she averred.
"Ha, ha, ha," I shot back heartlessly.
"John Coleman is in it," she chanced.
"The left ham of the devil? Why don't you just shoot me?" I parried.
"It's a big part James," she cooed coaxingly.
"The character better be a raging heterosexual who rogers the leading lady in the first act," I warned.
"Would it change things if it were?" she wondered brightly.
"No, but I'm just getting kinda tired of you people always asking me to play either Oscar Wilde or Oscar Wilde's feyer elder brother Gropeboube," I explained.
"The play is Les Miserables," announceth she.
"The Les in the title better be the plural form of the French definite article," I mouthed darkly.
"James, everyone is going to be talking about this. You'll be the narrator. You'll be Victor Hugo," proclaimeth she.
"Oh non je ne serai pas," dis je.
"James you're the only one who can act this part," she massaged.
"Irrelevant," I expostulated.
"James will you or won't you help us?" she charged.
"Won't," I answered.
"Will you at least read the script," she pleaded.
"Never, under any circumstances," I told her obliquely.
"Will you think about it?" she begged.
"Not for a moment," I hedged.
"Will you sleep on it?" she cajoled.
"Not for a second," I dithered.
"James I'm begging you," quoth she.
"Siobhan I would rather you hacked my testicles off with a machete," I informed her with all the diplomatic delicatesse I could muster under the circumstances.
There came a sigh from the other end of the line.
"So you won't do it?" she asked as broken hearted as any starstruck waif who ever lived.
"Now you got it," I smiled.