Tuesday, October 10, 2006

NaNo 2005

Well November is on its way, which means another attempt at NaNoWriMo.  I never did post my ‘novel’ from last year (3109 words), so here it is for anyone who cares.  Beware, it contains some ‘mature’ content… but mostly very immature, poorly written content.  Proceed at your own risk.


     “Run!  Get away!  He’s coming right for you… Don’t just stand there like an idiot.  I said run!”
     “Oh shut up!  No one paid to hear you yell at the screen!”
And the popcorn rained down on Angélique’s head.  She was just thankful that tonight the barrage didn’t include pop.  That was a bitch to get out of rayon.
Fed up with the stupidity of the film, and her own stupidity for getting sucked in and actually caring about one-dimensional stereotypical characters, she crouched and ran out of the theatre.
     She didn’t usually react that way to films, but she didn’t usually go see slasher flicks either.  She preferred romantic and thoughtful foreign films.  But they always reminded her of Darren.  Well, not so much reminded her of him, but didn’t do enough to distract her thoughts.  She was always thinking of him.  What she should have done, should have said.  A futile waste of precious brainpower.  That’s what he would have called all this brooding, but he was causing her to waste all this energy, so it was really all his fault.
“Stupid waster,” she muttered as she ducked into the foyer… and promptly ran into a red flannel chest.  “Oh… sorry.  I didn’t see you there.”
     “Hard to see whatyer not lookin’ at.”
     “Uh, yes I guess it is.”  Angélique took the opportunity to finally look at the wall of a man standing in front of her.  A red flannel checked shirt, jeans, suspenders, and a toque.  Definitely not normal movie garb.  Then it dawned on her.  “Python fan by any chance?”
     He chuckled.  “Fan?  Well, not really.  Just working.  I’m part of the singalong stage cast.  Getting ready for the 9:30 show”  He thrust out his hand.  “Jack.”
     “Angélique” she said, shaking his hand.  “So are you one of the straight lumberjacks, or the poufter?  Oh god, I can believe I just asked that.  It’s just that in the sketch, there’s –“
     “A lumberjack in a dress.  I got it.  Not a problem.”
     “I still feel like an idiot.  I’m not usually so forward… or incompetent… or…”
     “Covered in popcorn?”  He reached out a hand and plucked a perfectly puffed yellow blossom from her hair.
     “Uh, no.  This isn’t my usual look.  I guess I just got a little carried away with the movie and the other ticket buying public didn’t really appreciate my editorializing.”
     “Then you should come to the singalong tonight.  I can get you in.  People love that stuff there.  You can tell the Frenchmen to stuff it as loud as you want.  ”
     “And risk being crushed by a cow?  No thank you,” she laughed.  “But thanks for the invite.  I think I need to go home and clean up.  I don’t think I’ll last long reeking of popcorn.”
     “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.  I’ll be playing all week.”  And with a wink, he strode off into theatre C.

     She stood still for a moment, then pulled her jaw off the floor and took a deep breath.  ‘What an ass!’ she thought.  ‘Just watch him be the gay one.’  Then checking to see that no one was looking, she shook the loose popcorn out of her long mane of auburn hair and quickly walked out to her car.
     She loved her car.  It wasn’t anything special or new, but it was finally hers.  She even admired all the dents she had not-so-lovingly tattooed onto its once brilliant pink surface.  
“You bought a pink car?” her ex had incredulously screamed.  Well, yeah.  It’s a car and it’s pink, but it was much more than just a ‘pink car’.  Darren saw the car as the epitome of demasculisation and refused to ride in it.  Which turned out to be a good thing really.  Now that she had a car, she didn’t need to rely on Darren for transport anymore.  Not that she couldn’t cope without a ride.  She had taken public transit her whole life up until the time she started dating Darren.  But he insisted that she always ‘get a lift’.  The world was a ‘dangerous place’ and public transit was no place for his special girl.  That seemed sweet… for the first few months.  Then Angélique began to really hate his insistence that he control their every outing.
     Her new car allowed her to move more independently.  She no longer had to ask Darren for rides, or arrange to get picked up when she went out.   They still went out together, just in separate vehicles.  Darren wouldn’t ride in the ‘chickmobile’ as he called it, and she usually just wanted to practice driving her own car.  So they met places.  And left separately.  And soon enough, just started going separate places.  Well, she tried to go separate places.  Now that she could travel without having to rely on Darren, he kept calling her, always asking her where she was and when she’d be home.  He’d never been like this before, but he’d always driven her everywhere, so he never had to ask before either.  And all this calling was making Angélique feel trapped.  She had never believed Darren when he said she must have just bought the pink car in an underhanded attempt to get rid of him – she had just always really liked the colour and as the display model from the breast cancer promotion it was on sale – but she could see now how her car had really helped her to see the light.  Darren was a controlling, manipulative, jerk… and her pink car had saved her.
     She could still feel the bruise from when he had pushed her into the side of his car.  But the bruise would fade away.  What she would never forget was the blissful sight of Darren getting smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror as she drove away from him forever that night… in her pink car.
     She had decided a few days earlier to leave Darren, but he was out of town and she didn’t just want to leave him a note.  She had dropped by his place while he was gone.  His roommate Bert let her in.  And she picked up all the stuff she’d left there in the months they’d been together.  She had arranged to pick him up at the airport.  In his car of course.  That’s when she had planned to tell him.  On the drive home.  But when he got off the plane, he was a little drunk.
     “You know, I been thinkin’ we should move in together.  You know, save all that drivin’ back and forth.”
     What a romantic thought! Move in together.  Why?  Because I love you and want to be with you always?  No!  I’m too cheap to buy gas, that’s why.
     Angélique had no idea what to say.  There was really no good way to put it.
     “Actually, Darren. I’ve been thinking while you’ve been gone too.  I don’t think this is working out.  I’ve –“  SLAM!  He body checked her into the right fender.
     “You what?  I’ve been busting my butt all these months, pretending to like ballet and even washing your friggin dog, and it’s ‘not working out’?  What the hell does that mean?”
     Darren was never the brightest of the guys she’d dated, and she couldn’t help but laugh at him.  He was the only guy she’d ever met whose language improved when he was drunk.  Too bad his grasp on reality wasn’t affected in the same way.
     “I don’t even have a ‘friggin’ dog.  And even I hate ballet.  Who do you think you’re talking to?”  And that was it.  It was over.
     She was single again, and as she awakened from her reverie and checked her rearview mirror, it dawned on her that the lumberjack was just inside the cinema.  She didn’t really have anywhere to go.  At home she’d only be faced with all the boxes she had yet to unpack.  And she did really love the Python movies.  And singing.
     She checked her hair for stray popcorn, grabbed her hairband off the gearshift, and got out of the car.  One last check.  Lipgloss in the side view mirror.  Then she waltzed right back into the theatre.
     “One for Monty Python, please.”
     “Uh, yeah,” said the cashier.
     “Is there a problem?  Is it sold out?”
     “Uh, no, it’s just.  Weren’t you just in here a minute ago?”
     “Yes, actually, I was.  Why?”
     “Covered in popcorn?”
     “What!”
     “It’s just that’s what the note says: ‘Pass to Python for Popcorn Hair Hottie.’ “
     “Oh.  Well I guess that’s me.  So, I don’t need a ticket?”
     “Nope.  Just tell the usher you’re popcorn girl and go right in.”
Popcorn girl?  No, even better Popcorn Hottie.  A few minutes ago she would have probably just left of embarrassment, but she had to admit, it had been a long time since anyone had called her ‘hot’.  And even if it was only on a Post-it, it still was a good ego boost.  She could even have some fun with this one maybe.
     She wandered over to theatre C and waltzed up to the usher.
     “Ticket please,” he said mechanically.
She leaned in to him, her long hair falling forward.  “Smell,” she said.  The usher just looked confused.  Then putting on her best sexy voice, she whispered in his ear, “I’m Poppy.”  The usher still looked dumbfounded.  Then a wave a realization passed across his face.
“Oh, I get it.  Poppy.  Popcorn and hottie, right?  Ha ha.  Yeah, go on in.”
Then he laughed.  It was at that point she remembered exactly why she had stopped dating younger men.  They never got it the first time.  Their brains always seemed to work like old computers.  It took them forever to compute, and even then they didn’t always even appreciate the simple beauty of the program.  At least Lumberjack wasn’t younger.  Or at least he didn’t look it.
     Come to think of it, he was the only theatre employee who didn’t look adolescent.  Is that a requirement of all theatre employees?  That whatever their age, they always look about 17, and have really bad acne?  She chuckled as she considered that her little tease was probably the most action the usher would see in weeks.  Yeah, he could sneak girls in and that might get him some action, but realistically who’s at the theatre to pick up on a Monday night?
     Then again, who would think to meet a Lumberjack at the movies.  She ducked up the theatre stairs, and grabbed an aisle seat.  Then the first actor came out to introduce the event.  And it dawned on her.  Her lumberjack wasn’t really some great adventurous Canadien.  He was an actor.  An actor who worked the Monday shift.  At Monty Python singalongs.
“Great,” she groaned.  Well, at least she got in free and she could sneak out early before he saw her there.  The lumberjacks weren’t until much later in the film.  She’d have lots of time to escape.  Or so she thought.
“Hi,” someone whispered behind her.  “I was hoping you’d come.”
     With all the shuffling of the audience, she couldn’t tell where the voice came from until she felt the tall mass crouching down beside her.  Lumberjack was there on the stairs.
     “Oh, yeah.  Well I like Python a lot,” she began whispering.  “Eric Idle wrote such great lyrics.  But Michael Palin’s really my favourite.”
     “SHHH!” hushed the people in front of her.
Lumberjack laughed quietly,     “I can see how you get popcorn in your hair.  We haven’t even started and you’re ticking people off.”
     She wanted to just sink in her seat, but the upholstery was sticky, so instead she made to get up.
     “Oh, don’t go.  Just ignore them.  They’ve been here five times already anyway.  I gotta go get ready.  Will you be here after?  I want to take you for coffee.”
     “Uh—“ she began, not sure how to decline without further pissing off the hushers.
     “You do drink coffee don’t you?  It’s okay.  They have tea and stuff too.  And really good coffee cake.  But it doesn’t actually have any coffee in it, in case you don’t drink it.  Pretty stupid name for it then really.”
     She giggled.  She had been going to sneak out, but his rambling was just so cute.  He was nervous.  Well, either that or he lacked conversational skills, but going to coffee and confirming that would at least make her feel better about not really going out with him.  It was only coffee.  And cake.  But cake doesn’t have to mean anything.
     By the time she had finished rationalizing everything, he had gone and the opening credits were running.  “Always look on the bright side of life,” they sang.  Why not?  She decided to just settle in and enjoy.  And go for coffee.  For cake.
     The show was cool.  And after they went next door for coffee.  She felt a little odd walking into the café with a Lumberjack, but the staff all greeted him as he came in, so it wasn’t too bad.  They grabbed a bistro table near the coffee bar and the barista leaned over and asked for orders.
     “I’ll have my regular.  And…”
     “Oh, a skinny decaf mocha please.”
The barista popped back behind the machinery, and the steam powered beast came to life.  A few minutes passed in silence, then their orders arrived.
     “Thanks… So.”
     “So.”  At this rate she’d never find out if he could converse.
     “What’s your ‘regular’?”
     “A double tall extra hot doppio with caramel drizzle.  And a coffee cake.  Not the healthiest of post-show snacks, but you gotta have some vices, right?”
     “Yeah, I guess.”
     If he considered coffee and cake to be vices, she hated to think what he thought of all the standard vices.  Not that she had many.  She was pretty much clean now that she’d dumped Darren.  Stupid men.  Could that be an addiction?  She could just see it now:
     “Hi.  My name is Angélique and I’m a stupidmanaholic”
     “Hello Angélique.”
     “I have been an addict for 14 years, since high school.  I always had lots of guys ask me out, but I only ever chose the dumbest ones.  I know I have a problem and I want to change.   I want –“
     “So,” he said quizzically, snapping her out of her reverie, “what’s your sign?”
     “My sign?  Really?”
     “Well, not really.  I just couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.  And you’ve just seen me in this really dumb theatre thing, so I’ve been trying to think what to say to sound intelligent.”
     “Well, I don’t think of Python as dumb theatre.  I actually considered doing my thesis on their contribution to humour.”
     “Oh.”  The dejected look on Lumberjack’s face told her that was absolutely not the right way to go about helping the conversation.
     “Oh.  No… sorry.  I didn’t mean to sound offended.  I was just.  Sorry.  I haven’t done this in a long time.”
     “You mean talk to people?”
     “No.  I mean date.  Oh—“
     “Hey, it’s okay.  I’m good with calling this a date.  Besides this has been the longest conversation I’ve had with a woman in a long time.”
     “Really?”  Okay.  This doesn’t sound good.  What’s the exit strategy?  Finish the coffee, then leave.  Or spill some coffee and sneak to the WC and out?
     “Yeah, but that sounds really lame doesn’t it?  I mean, it’s the longest English conversation I’ve had with a woman recently.  I’ve been working overseas… not many English speakers.”
     “Oh.  I see.”  Okay.  That’s better.
Then awkward silence.  Sips of coffee.  And toying with the coffee cake.  And more silence.
     “Good coffee,” she said.  Vainly trying to jumpstart the conversation.
     “Yeah.  I come here all the time.  The cake’s the best.  Want some?”  He held a fork out on offer.
     “Well, as long as it doesn’t have any nuts in it.  I mean it looks great, but I’m allergic.”
     “Really?  Me too!  It’s nut-free.  And so’s the Danish.  And the chocolate biscotti.  Weird eh?”
     “What?  Biscotti without nuts?”     “No, just that we’re both allergic.”
     “Right.  Look, I don’t know that this is really going to work.  You haven’t spoken to women in a while, I’m just getting over a bad breakup with a guy who wouldn’t let me talk to other guys.  Talking doesn’t seem to be a winning idea.”
     He didn’t agree with her right away.  He didn’t disagree either.  He got up from his chair and walked out the door of the café.  She was stunned.  She’d cut dates short before, but she’d never been the one left at the table.  She stared into her coffee, then took a long, slow sip.  All she could think was that she wished it had had caffeine.
     Then the bell on the café door tinkled and a tall man wearing a plaid shirt was standing beside her.
     “Hi, I’m Jack.  Is this seat taken?  Mind if I sit down?”
He took the seat.  She giggled.  He smiled.  But she kept laughing.
     “Is there a problem?  Did I sit on something?”
     “No,” she tittered, “it’s your name.”
     “Jack?  What’s so funny about that?”
     “You know.  Jack… the lumberjack.”  She laughed again, flashing a big smile.  He couldn’t help but join in, and notice how her brown eyes lit up when she laughed.
     “I’d never really noticed that before.  It is kind of odd.”
Soon she stopped laughing.   She stared into her coffee again.  Jack stared at her.
     “Well?”  He asked.
     “Well what?”
     “Isn’t this the part where you tell me your name?”
     “Oh, sorry.  I’m Angélique.”
     “You sure?  I heard your name was Poppy,” he laughed.  A nice deep chuckle.  “Sorry.  Brad never could keep quiet.  It’s all over the theatre.  Some old broad made a pass at him.  He’s thrilled to finally get at least some action.”
     “Thanks a bunch.  ‘Old broad’, eh?”
     “Hey, his words not mine, Angel.  Can I call you Angel?”  Puppy dog eyes.  
     “Yeah,” she sighed.  She never let anyone call her Angel, but for some reason at this precise moment in time, she really didn’t mind. “As long as you tell me what Jack is short for.”
     “Short for.  Nothing.  My name is just ‘Jack’.  It’s on my Drivers’ License and everything.  Wanna see?”
     “No, just checking.  I guess my ex was really wrong then.  When I left he said I wouldn’t succeed because I ‘didn’t know Jack’, but now that I do, I guess I can’t fail, eh?”  Jack laughed again and stared deep into her eyes.  He leaned forward across the table.
     “Now, how about that cake?”