(photo thanks to Stefano Mazzoni)
“He knew I was somebody, but he couldn’t pin it down.”
Wayne and Drew are in the Lilien’s vast fluffy bed. Wayne leans against her shoulder and says, “He kept ogling me when he thought I wasn’t looking and he bought all the drinks.”
Drew fiddles with the remote. She is pale and thin with her hair hanging loose and her eyes smudged with makeup. But even in a man’s undershirt and boxers, she’s glowing with some secret rapture she hasn’t shared with him. He rests his head heavy on her shoulder like a cat nudging for a pet. “You have to admit it does have a ring to it: Truman Faulkner. Moody and brooding, with little epiphanies of wit. And I played it perfectly. I even wore cufflinks. You should have seen me.”
But when you know somebody, you don’t have to look anymore. The shape of familiar faces stays fixed in the mind so the eyes are free to focus on novelties. Without glancing his way she tells him, “It’s going to catch up to you someday soon, you know. You’ll walk into the room and there will be all the men you’ve every lied to.”
But a body gets hungry for eyes, a body yearns to bask in the spotlight of vision. “I don’t lie.” He wants to yell at her, shake her, demand to know what’s going on. He fluffs his pillows and flops back down. “I play. It’s fantasy and it’s fun for everyone.”
On the Lilien’s 65” plasma, a romance starring Mae Beacon begins with credits written in a girlish scrawl over hand-held footage of Disneyland, an ostensible home movie of our heroine as a child. There she is, a pigtailed blonde in a princess dress posing in front of Cinderella’s castle. An offscreen male voice urges her to back up a little, honey, and when she does, she bumps into a surly-looking kid in a baseball cap; they lean to retrieve her fallen scepter, knock heads and fall down. The offscreen father laughs and yells, “Perfect!”
Wayne expels a lungful of profound disgust. “Well I’ve seen enough already. Remind me what the hell I’m doing here.”
“You’re helping me.” Drew has her eyes fixed on the screen, pen poised above the open notebook on her lap. “It’s in theaters now, but we get to watch it here. They sent me this copy.”
“Well aren’t we special.”
“Shut up and watch. ”
“I’m going to get something to eat.”
“There isn’t anything to eat.”
“Lucky for you I thought of everything.”
The kitchen’s a mess—magazines strewn about, sticky notes scaling random surfaces, skewed stacks of type-filled papers, clothing on the floor, plants languishing in their pots, and a noteworthy layer of dust. It’s the kind of mess a child might make which is strange because Drew is usually so conscientious. Wayne imagines calling the Liliens. He’d say he was a neighbor and that he thought they might have a squatter living in their house and immediately feels ashamed. On his way back to the bedroom with the pizza he brought, Wayne stops at the wet bar to pour himself a couple fingers of bourbon. He stands in the bedroom doorway sipping, watching Drew write furiously in her notebook. He feels like a creep crawling into bed beside her. She even smells different, like rain. He steals a glance at her notebook scrawled with words and deep-etched doodles; on just one page the handwriting fluctuates from pencil to blue ballpoint to black ink, from tight and neat to barely legible. Drew doesn’t seem to notice or care that he’s here so he pulls out a piece of pizza and uses the box as a plate. He might as well watch the movie.
After a neat little age-progression shtick there Mae is, all grown up and looking as cute and lively as a wind-up toy. Drew doesn’t wince when Wayne wipes his hand on the bedspread. He wants to snatch the pen out of her hand and tell her that Mae Beacon is just a stupid, empty cardboard character. He wants Drew to write something about him in her little book.
Mae’s face fills the screen and Wayne groans. “Oh god, she’s chatting to the camera. This is just so made-for-television.”
“I know, but I need your help. You have a visual understanding that I don’t have.” Without taking her eyes from the screen she pulls his glasses from his breast pocket and thrusts them into his hand. “Come on, Wayne. I need you to tell me why she’s so good even when the story sucks.”
It doesn’t matter that it’s said in the kind of coaxing lilt people use when addressing pets or small children; Wayne blooms and expands to fill his side of the bed.
He lies back against the pillows with his hand behind his head. The bourbon is quite fine, nutty and sweet. She still loves him.
And he has to admit that Mae gives good face. If you pressed mute, the story might even seem charming. Sure, the direction is pedestrian and the writing is atrocious but in Mae’s mouth, the words do sound almost fresh, like she’s inventing the cliché on the spot, mixing it up from scratch.
“She is very convincing,” he says. “The longer you look, the more seriously you have to take her.” He swirls and sips his bourbon. “It’s quite uncanny, actually.”
Drew turns to him, eyes brimming. “I knew you’d understand.”
*
Hmmmm. To me, this chapter feels like it’s not living up to its potential. What could it be, I wonder? Did you feel like something was missing?
I really am so smitten with your writing. “Wayne blooms and expands to fill his side of the bed.” Wish I’d thought of that.
I haven’t read the chapters leading up to this, so obviously it’s like opening a book to the middle. A couple of the paragraphs may flow more smoothly if you replace some of the pronouns with proper nouns. (There’s whoopsie in the paragraph beginning “The kitchen’s a mess. . . ” Probably a fragment you meant to delete. I’m glad someone else does that!)
I hope I get to read this someday.
You’re so right about those edits. Since I don’t have a writing group, I’m so grateful when people notice things that need attention in my writing- invaluable external reality check. Smitten is such a good word. I, too, am smitten with your writing.
I don’t know, Anna. (I’m sorry that I’ve been lax in catching up with your chapters up to now- life has been kicking me hard in the past weeks, and I received a rogue admonishment that I should be posting more.)
I don’t see anything glaring here. It read smoothly and I could identify with both characters feelings: Drew (smitten, or obsessed) feeling that visceral need to understand what Mae Beacon is doing, and how- Wayne wanting to spend time being reflected back to himself, in the eyes of his friend. He wants it so much, that he momentarily thinks of retaliation for not getting it. His immediate shame shows that he has real feeling for his friend. I think we are all so glad that no one knows when that happens inside us. It may just be me, but that moment stood out. (So did the one where he wiped his hand on the bedspread! She’s never going to get that stain out!) I like how this one ends.
It is so hard to keep up with posting, isn’t it? My kids are home for summer vacation and every moment spent on the computer is a moment I ignored one of my children. (!! yikes!) I guess I’ve been told that the second part of my novel needs work but I don’t know what work. Just me grasping at straws. I’m glad it worked for you! (And feel free not to pull any punches if I lose you at any point!) I’m so grateful that you take the time. Really.
I - didden’t see anything wroung with this, you
are back on the track of the fun stuff after that
prior visit with Lang. I will be honest, I would not
be reading this if I wasen’t entertained. I don’t
know about other people, but my interest in a
character is at first tied to what they are currently
doing. I had to force myself to follow Drew because
she was a writer. I envision such people as dull.
My own obsession with writing stems from a life
that just isen’t exotic enough to hold my interest,
if a character writes, I assume it is because the
world they live in isen’t fun enough for them, and
I wonder if it will be fun enough for me.
Also, perhaps we are opposites, but I like peering
deep into a character, only after I am given some
evidence that they are worth peering into - perhaps
this is why these character excursions are starting
to make sence - especially when they describe a
character I am eagerly following. If this was my work
I would save the deeper delving untill after my reader
had become invested, as going on about a person’s
feelings has made me drop many a book. I guess I
like action - but am not above a little soul searching
once I’ve gotten to know them.
This reffers mainly to the prior two chapters - as
for this one - watching the movie and dissgussing
the actor had me jumping up and down in antisipation
Mae is the most interesting character in your story,
(to me) perhaps because you have made an exception
and chose not to disguss her in vivid detail - choosing
not to talk about a character often creates a mystery
about them - a characters personal info is always
sweeter to me when it’s hard to get - I’m like a
popratizi - following the trial -
PS - it seems that you have the makeings of a book
here . . . once this is finished you should at least have
a chunk of amber with a good read trapped inside. Use
everything you feel is good, then all you will have to do
is trim it, I feel it has already been shaped.
2&4&12B 9 18A 14B 12A 7&16A&16B 14A 15A&15B
11 3B 3A 13 6 10 8&17A&17B&5&1