My first pitch at a writing conference

Last Saturday was the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators Editors Day at Cal State Fullerton. I was excited to hear presentations from the kind of people who would eventually decide the fate of my book. Over the past months I had attended conferences with advice from successful writers that was very practical. But they aren’t publishers.

What do editors and agents really think about writers? I’ve heard horror stories, although my personal experience has been the silence of unanswered queries or generic electronic rejections. Neither of which causes improvement in my writing.

When I received my name tag, my heart stopped when I saw the appointment time for my pitch session with an agent. When did I sign up for a pitch session? I never prepared for a pitch session. All day long, my hands shook as I scribbled notes from the various speakers. Some of the writers won the privilege of sitting with an editor or agent for lunch. However I was not, but later was grateful when my sandwich was spilling over with cream cheese and cranberries. I barely managed to eat it without wearing it for the rest of the day. And I had the opportunity to meet another blooming writer who was just starting down the path.

Much later, in the sleepy hours of the afternoon, it was my turn to walk down the hallway to the small door, and sit down next to the other rustling victims waiting for their turn. A much too cheerful well dressed lady asked my name and checked me off the list.

Then I sat, waiting.

Finally, the group before mine came out, and I noticed that no one was sniffling. I took it as a good omen as I walked in the door.

My interrogator, I mean agent, was a smiling woman with large glasses that made her appear as a young owl. We shook hands, and my story began. What started as an elevator pitch became a complete synopsis, encouraged by her questions. Even though I was a bit rattled, she encouraged me by sincerely seeking to understand my characters and their journey. She made astonishing suggestions that gave me a new perspective on my project. I never felt at any time that she would tell me to stop writing and do something productive with my life.

When I rejoined my newly met companions back in the lecture hall, I couldn’t stop smiling or writing down notes from my interview as fast as I could. It was all I could do to remain in my seat, not jumping up to return home and start making changes to my manuscript immediately. Why had I been so frightened? My new agent friend cared as deeply as I did about stories. Apparently that was the reason she worked in the publishing industry.

Writing needs feedback to grow just as flowers need water to flourish.

October 6, 2015 1

So long dear friend

I can’t believe I’m standing here in front of all of you. You know much I hate doing this, but the dull ache in my chest compels me to say something. Especially after I only found out that you were leaving through Facebook. Your husband received a job promotion, and you’re leaving all your relatives and friends to move to a new state.

When you and your husband crossed my threshold six years prior, I noticed your clenched jaw and skittering eye contact. A bulging purse hung from your shoulder and your arms were burdened with a thick spiral notebook, a calendar, and your zipped up leather covered Bible. Not once did you glance toward your husband’s eyes, and then I saw the grey cloud that had settled over your marriage.

You chose a chair that sat by itself so that your husband would have to sit across the room. Refusing my hospitality, you brought in your own sealed plastic cup with a hard plastic straw. From time to time you sipped from it, through habit instead of refreshment. You sat rigidly on the edge of the soft cushioned chair, ready to flee if necessary.

Not once during the Bible study did you break your sullen silence. When your husband spoke, your eyes rolled toward the ceiling and your lips pursed into a thin line. I felt as helpless as an actor who enters in the middle of a play without a script. Several times I thought to say something to you, to somehow put you at ease, but I had no remedy for your unspoken malaise.

Over several months, I sought out opportunities after the study to speak with you and peek behind your heavy curtain. The cautious inquiries I sent your way were returned with one or two words. Every week you came with your hat of storm clouds, plodding your way through the marriage muck. I admit I held little hope for you and your husband. But of course against that grim backdrop miracles often happen.

Admitting his lack of knowledge, your husband apprenticed himself to successful husbands. Doggedly he followed them, soaking up truth to replace the rotten lies. He sat reading his Bible for hours, fashioning a sword to saw through his chains. Laying his failures before trusted men, he managed to sort them out and put them away. You were dumbfounded by the changes.

I remember that May evening, fragrant with gardenia and orange blossoms. Hearing a hearty laugh behind my front door, I rushed to admit our guests. Your curving smile looked strange on your face as your glowing husband allowed you to enter first, your arms empty. His strong arms held your books as well as his own. His eyes followed your every movement, shining with new light.

You accepted my offer of coffee and settled down on the smaller couch where your husband nestled close to you. The two of you formed one organism that pulsed with life. We basked in the warmth of your rekindled fire, hoping that it would spread to all of us.

When I first met you, you wouldn’t have followed your husband into a grocery store, and now you’re packing up your life and your dreams to follow him across the country into a new life.

September 30, 2015 2

A Desert Lament

If I only knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t be so out of shape.

Sighing, I lay down my Kindle, and push myself out of my sunken couch. My hips protest as I shift from one swollen ankle to the other. I wipe the sweat off my face before my makeup runs into my eyes. My tank top feels like I just came out of the pool. The kitchen beckons me with a pantry full of sweets and a refrigerator slammed with sodas. My mind scolds my stomach, but my stomach always wins. Chocolate cake with Diet Coke- they cancel each other out, right?

Lollie sits intently before me as I slice the cake and return the rest to the fridge. I’ve never given that dog any people food, but he still hopes. His eyes bore into me until I finally go to the laundry room and return with a Milkbone. At least he gets a healthy snack. Always the gentleman, the fluffy Pomeranian gently takes the treat from my hand and goes off to find a place to hide it.

After plopping myself back on the couch, I grab my phone and check the weather app again. 106 degrees. It hasn’t changed in the 12 times I’ve checked it during the past hour. The air conditioner wheezes a faint coolness into the room. If I stand on the couch and put my hand up by the ceiling vent, I can barely feel it. I resist the impulse to do that now as it would take too much energy.

Gazing out the window, I can see the ripples of heat rising from the driveway and the street. The front lawn pants and shrivels up. With the water restrictions, it barely gets enough nourishment to survive. No bird or animal is seen. A woman walks by with her baby stroller. Nature has more common sense than humans, and waits huddled in the shade until nightfall. The heat is an anvil pressing down on our city, the legacy of living in California’s desert region. Coming here from Iowa, it seemed so cheerful and sunny.

What did I know back then? I’d never seen mountains before. The stark sculptured horizons of the desert seemed bold and expressive to my eyes. Most of the year provided temperate weather, at least to a native of snow and ice. I could wear shorts in October instead of jeans and boots. In a giddy rush, I tossed out my heavy coats and sweaters. I welcomed the sun on my face every day in place of cloudy skies. Then summer arrived.

I admit that July and August were hotter than I expected. But when November finally came, I forgot about the heat when I watched the winter weather reports on TV. It wouldn’t be as hot next summer, I convinced myself.

But it always was.

Twenty-five years later, older and more sensitive to heat, I am trapped in my living room for those horrible summer months. Walk the dog? You’re kidding, right? Even at 7:00 a.m. the temperature hovers at 80 degrees with plenty of humidity. Humidity in the desert? I feel betrayed by every movie I’ve seen featuring California. It’s not all beaches and surfing here.

Frantically, my mind makes a list of all the things in our house that would have to be fixed before we could call a realtor. The hole in the garage, the broken tile in the pool, the horrible front porch carpet. With renewed purpose, I jump up and grab a notepad and pen. My husband and I could probably whip through these repairs in about 8 weekends. I pick up my phone again. What temperature will it be at 7:00 p.m.? 101 degrees? It looks like we won’t be able to start any fixing up until after Halloween, and that will have to fit between El Nino rainstorms.

If I had only known what I know now, I would have settled for the smaller house with no yard. I would have ignored my rational mind that argued that the desert was more affordable. Since I could exercise every day, I wouldn’t be a fat blob that I am now. I would have been happy in my tiny condo at the beach.

September 15, 2015 0

The Problem with Meghan

Another story from the world of The College of the Crones:

“I don’t care if Mother forbids us to speak her name!” Bridgette snapped at her sister, Mary. “Meghan was our cousin! We played dolls with her. We played in the fields together.” She stamped her foot on the wooden stool on which she stood, sounding a boom with her silk slipper. The dressmaker’s other patrons, milling around bolts of fabric in the outer room, looked in at the young woman to see what was causing the disturbance. One didn’t scream like a little girl at a fitting. It was a time for stillness and quiet, unless one wanted to get poked with pins. The dressmaker herself, Mrs. Pincer, frowned at her, a task made more difficult by the pins in her mouth.

“She was our cousin, and a dear friend, but don’t blame Mother.” Mary gently took her younger sister by the hand, their green eyes reflecting each other. “Be reasonable,” she continued, using her most soothing voice. “Think about it. The broken engagement, poor Harold the baker, the birthday party. Everything was perfect- the flowers, the music, the cake. The only thing missing was the birthday girl. Think about how Aunt Margaret and Uncle Edmund felt.”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Mrs. Pincer interrupted. “I’ve finished marking the hem. If you could carefully take off the gown, I’ll take it. It should be finished by weeks end.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pincer,” Bridgette replied, calmer now. Mary smiled up at her, and walked to her back, unlacing the pale green gown and helping Bridgette out of it. It sat on its layers like cupcake icing on the circular wooden pinning stand. The dressmaker pulled it up by the fitted bodice and gently pushed the full skirt through the fitting room doorway.

“But that doesn’t mean she never existed!” Bridgette said through clenched teeth. Her long bouncy blonde curls shook with conviction.

“Let’s get out of here,” her sister insisted, dragging her out of the shop. “I’m dying of thirst. Let’s go get some tea.”

The main street in Riversedge was bustling with fine ladies, some on foot and others in carriages that slowly pushed their way through the crowds. The sisters shook the summer dust off the bottoms of their dark blue silk dresses after they crossed over to the other side of the street. Both sides of the street were full of shops—dress shops, hat shops, bakeries, floral shops, jewelers, and one special shop.

The storefront itself was inconsequential, smaller than the shops on either side of it. It had a bright red door and no windows. A wooden sign hung over the door read, “The Royal Tonic Shop.” Every woman knew its exact location, yet none of them had ever crossed its threshold. Only men were allowed.

Bridgette shuddered slightly as they passed it on the way to the tea room. Was it the tonic that caused Meghan, their usually compliant cousin, to run away in the night?

Mary glanced at her sister, and took her arm, steering them through the maze of horses, carriage wheels, and giggling girls. “Bridgette, you couldn’t have done anything. You know how closed Meghan could be. No one knew this treachery was in her heart.”

“But why, Mary? Why did she do it?” Bridgette shouted over the noise of the street, her eyes welling up with tears. Mary quickly took out her lavender scented hankie and dabbed her sister’s eyes.

“Now, now, Bridgette,” she said, putting her hankie away in her small jewel encrusted bag. “You’re going to make your eyes puffy. Forget about that sad business. It was a tragedy, that’s all.” She sighed, pulling her sister out of the path of oncoming horses.

“I can’t forget about it,” Bridgette insisted, her dainty nose turned up. “Our cousin left her betrothed, her family, and her entire future, content instead to crumble into a hideous crone. Even though all she had to do was get married to be cured.”

“It was her choice,” Mary sniffed, as she adjusted her tiny velvet hat perched on her elaborately braided tawny hair. “Every woman must choose when she becomes eighteen. Marry and take the tonic to remain beautiful, or fall to the crone curse. Meghan knew what she was doing. Obviously living with hunched over, wart-crusted crones was preferable to society life with her family.”

“But what if she knew something?” Bridgette said, stopping as they approached the tea room. “Meghan was always thinking, always reading, even though as a woman it was not her role to do either. What if she made the better choice?”
“Ridiculous!” Mary scoffed. “What woman in her right mind would allow herself to transform into an ugly old woman? The right choice, the only choice, is to marry. That way your husband is allowed to buy the prince’s tonic.”

“That was our choice,” Bridgette agreed. “Even though we were practically forced into it by our parents. Not that my Richard is hard to live with. He gives me everything I desire.”

“And the parties!” Mary sighed. “With my Robert I have invitations to dances and feasts every night. Who would want to miss the prince’s balls? I dance so much I can’t wake until evening the next day. We have the perfect life.”

The women entered the tea room and found an empty table in the back of the large room. Since the inns were considered unsavory for the local nobility, the tea room had opened exclusively for ladies. The establishment had many tables covered with white tablecloths and fresh flowers in exquisite crystal vases. The windows were large and well cleaned, allowing women passing by on the street to see who was sipping tea within. The light was cheerful, and the buzz of women’s conversations droned on throughout the day like contented bumblebees.

After they ordered their tea, Bridgette took a deep breath. Mary could see that her sister needed to unburden her heart, so she resolved not to dismiss her concerns. Instead she settled into her cushioned chair patiently as she waited for the rest of it.

“Meghan’s been on my mind, all these months since she left,” Bridgette shared. “Do we truly know what happened to her? What if some robber beat her and left her for dead? Has anyone even tried to follow her trail?”

“I don’t know,” Mary admitted. “Since no one in the family talks about her, I don’t know what has been done. I can’t imagine Uncle Edmund not trying to find his only daughter. He spent much more time with her than Aunt Margaret ever did.”

“But don’t you think she probably went to the College?” Bridgette asked. A crone dressed in a grey dress with a crisply pressed apron brought them a silver pot with a spicy aroma and two dainty ceramic cups in saucers. The crone’s thinning white hair was pulled back under a white cap. With gnarled hands she poured their tea, and bowed out of their way.

Mary took a tiny sip, mindful of the steaming liquid. “Meghan might have gone to the College of the Crones,” she agreed. “After all, she could read, and she loved to sing. Maybe we’ll see her someday, performing at the prince’s castle.” She sighed as the tea soothed her throat.

Bridgette set down her cup after tasting the sweet, spicy brew. Her flawless face showed rare furrows as she struggled to find the right words. Suddenly she was aware of her action and quickly smoothed her face. “I wonder what it would be like. Choosing your own future, apart from parties and dresses and jewels. Instead of pleasing your husband, serving others with your vocation learned at the College. The crones are healers, actors, singers, and artists. Maybe Meghan knew better than we did, sister.”

Her sister’s eyes widened in alarm. She looked around to see if any of the other women had taken notice of their conversation. But the rumble of laughter and conversations full of hairstyles and wine selections passed by them, unaffected by Bridgette’s heresy.

“Don’t speak that way!” she gasped, reaching for Bridgette’s trembling hand. “We live to serve beauty. Our prince demands it. Beauty is our mother, covering us with her favor. Any other way of life is pure ugliness.”

A crone servant passed their table at that moment, struggling with a tray of tea and cakes, and seemed to gaze at the young women with pity, but Bridgette couldn’t be certain.

September 9, 2015 0

Swimming

The beginning of the school year is time for swimming. By the end of 10 weeks of summer vacation, I’ve finally wound down enough to smile naturally, and then, it’s Back to School.

That wouldn’t be so bad, except all Hell breaks loose. My home starts to fall apart- air conditioner fails, hot water heater breaks, although still under warranty, and showers back up. The cat scratches eight holes into my husband’s $300 Harley seat. My daughter rips her oil pan open under her car, and needs assistance.

And then there’s school. Again air conditioning fails- seems to be a theme. Perhaps we should start school after the 120 degree weather is over, maybe October. No recess due to high heat so no time for a break or to copy off that math homework you forgot. New students, new parents- don’t they read the letter I sent home about signing their child’s homework planner? Back to School Night, because I love to stay an extra 3 hours past my entire day without recess and a slammed lunch break.

It’s as if I’ve been thrown off a high cliff and land breathless in the raging river below. Paddling fiercely, I work to keep my head above water. But in the distance, I can see the bank of Thanksgiving break, and I swim toward it.

September 3, 2015 0

The Hardest Day

Today was the hardest day of the school year. After a grueling week of meetings after meetings spiced with a dash of time actually working on our rooms, it was time for teachers to meet the parents, and the kids hanging on them.

This is a magical, almost Christmas-like, day- kids with new clothes, unscuffed shoes, and bright colored backpacks overflowing with school supplies. It is probably the only day in the entire school year where all your students have a sharpened pencil.

Once inside your room, there is a hush in the air, as your new students size you up for meanness and hawk eye. It’s so much fun to give 3 timed reading tests to each student and call out someone in the back row for off task behavior at the same time. It is important to cultivate the myth that you have x-ray vision and hearing as sensitive as a hound dog. Call it like you see it. If they didn’t do it, they’re probably guilty of something else.

So many important lessons are taught on this special day, such as how to walk up the stairs and how to write your complete name on a paper. It takes me 2 hours to instruct how to correctly make labeled tabs for their binders. No matter how long it takes, my class will do everything Correctly. Routines properly taught from now to Thanksgiving will save my life, and blood pressure, for the remainder of the year.

When the final bell rings, and I escort my new class down to the gate, my job is still not over. The bus kids have to find their way to the right bus in a line of five identical buses with a postage stamp sized number by the door to indicate which route. The after school program kids must be herded reluctantly to the cafeteria. The rest have to locate their parents in the maze of cars and buses.

Some of my former students from last year stop to give me hugs, which makes me smile. They look so grown up and responsible now. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. There’s hope for my new students. I just have to remember- it is the First Day of school.

August 25, 2015 0

Friends

Your friendship starts small. You dip your toe in and cringe. “Too cold!”

Disappointed, she pulls away, giving you time to adjust. After a while, she creeps up again, this time with lacy froth.

Your feet stay in. “It’s not that bad.”

You follow after your new friend as she leaves again. Roaring with laughter, she hugs you tight, almost knocking you off your feet.

“Too much!” you complain, and this time she wrestles you down to the sand. Gasping for breath, you’ve had enough, and you turn away. Gently she holds you, pulling you toward her as your feet sink in the soft sand. Wave after wave, she tries to convince you to come back and play with her.

But you’re finished. It’s time to get out of the ocean and relax in your beach chair. Time to read about other friends’ lives.

August 18, 2015 0

Plain Old Lucy- Scene Five

Back at O’Connell’s Pub in New York. The buyers are at the bar.

CANDY

Here we are, one month later. Lucy, I’m so glad you changed your mind about coming here. Of course, if you want to go somewhere else, we can. But this place is fabulous!

LUCY

It’s okay, guys. You don’t always have to choose the place I want to go to. There’s just something about it. It’s old and a little creepy.

SUSIE

Creepy or not, this pub has been good luck for you, girl. Ever since we came here last month, your business has been through the roof! Not to mention all your orders come in on time. You even designed 2 new styles of jeans that were approved with only one fitting! You’re golden now.

CANDY

All my vendor friends are talking about you, Lucy. All the men want to take you out and all the women want to look like you.

LUCY

Thanks, guys, but we’re all a team. And I can’t really say I’ve had good luck today. When I called the office, Sean didn’t answer. It isn’t like him to be out of the office when we are all in New York.

DAVID

(To Lucy) Cheer up, Lucy. I know you’re used to working with that boy, but you’re going to get a real executive assistant when we get back. You’ll need one. (To their group)Now that we’re all here, I want to make an announcement. Our business at Lucky 17 has grown considerably this past year. We’ve opened 10 new stores on the west coast. I’m going to need some help with those stores. Starting now, Lucy will be my lead buyer and Junior Vice President of Lucky 17.

LUCY

Wow! David, I don’t know even know how to thank you. Didn’t see that coming. Umm, I need to speak with you, privately. You may have to rethink your decision.

DAVID

You’re scaring me! Did Next to the Beach call you in for an interview? I’ll double whatever they’re offering you. But I’d love to talk to you privately. I have another proposal for you.

Just then, Mr. Green enters the bar. He sits down at the booth. The bartender brings him a beer.

LUCY

(looking determined, to David) I’ve to speak with someone first.

She walks over to Mr. Green.

LUCY

I told you already. You can take the glamour back. I don’t need your beauty! I should have listened to my assistant a long time ago. Now I only have one year left. If that’s all I have, I want to make the most of it. Even without the glamour.

MR. GREEN

Well, lassie, that’s why I’m here. I’ve accepted your alternate form of payment, and I’m willing to take back your glamour.

LUCY

Really? I don’t have to give you my life?

GREEN

Not any more. Come sit with me while I undo the magic.

Lucy sits down at the booth. Mr. Green reaches over to the top of her head and yanks an invisible sheet off her.

LUCY

Thank you so much, Mr. Green. Even though the glamour made everyone notice me, I still knew it was fake. Susie and Candy don’t really respect me. David only spent time with me because of the enchantment. I admit it was fun for a while. Now that I only have a short time left, I want to find someone who likes the real me, even if I am plain.

MR. GREEN

(Chuckling) Humans! Think they see everything and they’re so blind! Pity you did not see him while he worked by your side. It’s hard to believe that your faery friend would stand up for a human. He must have cared deeply for you.

LUCY

(Shocked) It was Sean who paid for me

MR. GREEN

Oh, he paid all right. He volunteered to pay your debt with 100 years of service, effective immediately. The way he looked when he realized he was giving up being with you for the last year of your life. Such sacrifice for a faery? Unheard of, at least in the past century. Makes the deal even sweeter.

LUCY

(Almost to herself) He took my place?

MR, GREEN

Well, miss, I must be going. Fare thee well.

Lucy walks over to the bar. She’s still in shock. Everyone ignores her. Her phone rings, and she picks it up.

LUCY

Hello? Yes, this is Lucy Mason. (She listens) What do you mean there’s been an error in processing my lab work? (She listens) Of all the incompetence! (Listens) Of course I’m relieved. Wouldn’t you be? (She hangs up)

(To David) David, the doctor’s office called. There was a mix-up with my blood samples! I’m not sick, just a vitamin deficiency! I’m going to live!

DAVID

(Ignoring her) Candy, let’s toast to your great business! One of these days, I’m going to promote you to lead buyer. (Finally realizing Lucy is talking to him)

Lucy, what did you need?

LUCY

Never mind. (To herself) It was all fake. Oh well, everything is back to normal.

(To herself and audience) I can’t believe you did it, Sean. How could I not see you, listening to me and caring about me- just the way I really was. One hundred years is a very expensive price to pay. (She pauses.) But I think I can do it now. It’s the only way to live a real life. From now on, I’ll be myself, plain old Lucy.

August 14, 2015 0

Plain Old Lucy- Scene Four

Back in the buying offices one week after the New York trip. Susie, Candy, and David are on their phones. Sean is inputting orders on his computer.

Lucy walks in. She looks upset.

LUCY

(Putting his call on hold immediately) Lucy, already back from your doctor appointment? Sean’s got your orders under control. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? After your successful week in New York, you probably need to relax.

LUCY

(To herself) Leave early, coming out of David’s mouth? This whole thing is getting scary. (To David) Thanks, David. I just have to take care of few things. After that, maybe I’ll leave early.

CANDY

(Looking over the partition.) Hi, Lucy! That sweater you’re wearing is fabulous! Did you get it in New York?

LUCY

(Listlessly) It’s a sample they gave me at Hot Jeans.

SUSIE

Hot Jeans giving away their samples? That’s a first. You’ve excellent taste! I didn’t see that style when I was there. Can I write down the style number and call Anna about it?

LUCY

(With a sigh) Sure, Susie. (She goes over to Susie’s cubicle, and Susie looks inside her back neckline.)

Then Lucy sits down in her cubicle. She looks overwhelmed. Slowly she turns on her computer and takes a few papers out of a tray on her desk.

SEAN

(Looking up from his computer, he sees her distress, and turns his chair toward her) What happened?

LUCY

(Trying not to cry) Sean, I don’t know what I’m going to do. How could this be happening now- right when my life is finally going great!

SEAN

(Goes over and gives her a hug) You were fine yesterday- what happened at your doctor appointment?

LUCY

I was just feeling tired. I thought all the attention I was getting was wearing me down, and I caught a bug or something.

SEAN

A lot of attention! You’re the new superstar! Ever since your last New York trip, you and David have been working together nonstop. For a whole week, everyone in the office is following you around like you’re the Queen of England. There is something different about you. What is this all about?

LUCY

It’s so strange that it doesn’t affect you. You’re still my best friend. It’s funny. When they started fawning all over me in the office, I was embarrassed to tell you the reason why. But now it’s too late, too late even for shame.

SEAN

Lucy, what do you mean about “too late?” Tell me what happened in New York. You know you can tell me anything.

LUCY

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. Something about him was creepy, but he was so polite, and somehow knew a lot about me. This is really Mr. Green’s fault.

SEAN

(Suspiciously) Mr. Green- what did he look like?

LUCY

It’s funny- I’m usually so good with faces, but I can’t remember. I know he had a black hat, and wore a dark green wool coat. He saw me at O’Connell’s. He called me over to his table, and told me he could get me noticed by everyone. Even David. I never told anyone my feelings for David.

SEAN

Oh no. Lucy, tell me you didn’t make a deal with this rascal!

LUCY

He seemed like he really cared about my situation. He didn’t even want my money.

SEAN

(Disgusted) Of course he didn’t want your money.

LUCY

How did you know? Do you know this Mr. Green?

SEAN

I know enough to know that “Green” is not his true name! Always meddling with mortals. Can’t mind his own business. Running around stirring up mischief.

LUCY

Sean- what are you talking about?

SEAN

Lucy, I’ve worked by your side for four years. I came here to have a normal life. I would never hurt you. But making deals with our kind is highly dangerous. Tell me you didn’t promise him anything.

LUCY

(Standing up and moving away from him) What “kind” Sean? I don’t understand.

SEAN

(Sighs) Well, we’re not supposed to talk about it. We walk around in the human world every day, blending in. But there are other kinds of beings than just humans, Lucy. My kind, my kindred, humans call them faeries.

LUCY

Seriously? I’ve unknowingly worked next to a faery for years without noticing it? If this is a prank, Sean, I am not amused.

SEAN

Please, Lucy, let it be our secret. I just wanted you to know that I understand what you’re dealing with. It sounds like he sold you a glamour. I smelled magic, but there’s always residual magic in New York, so I just thought it rubbed off on you when you were there.

(He takes Lucy by the shoulders and looks into her eyes) What did you promise Mr. Green?

LUCY

(Dazed and fighting back tears) That’s the problem, Sean. I promised him one year of my life in exchange for glamour. I thought at the time, “What’s one year out of my whole life?”

(She sits back down in her chair and starts to chuckle to herself) It’s a joke really, a horrible terrible joke.

(She looks up at Sean) When I went to the doctor this morning, they ran some tests, and then the doctor pulled me immediately into his private office. I’ve got some rare blood disease, so rare there’s not even a name for it yet.

SEAN

(Reaches over to hug her) Lucy, I’m so sorry. This is what I dread the most about having human friends.

LUCY

The doctor thinks I only have one year left at the most. There is no treatment for it. Will Mr. Green really take away the last year I have?

SEAN

There are certain rules in my world, and they’re never broken. Mr. Green will collect on your debt to him.

(David walks by Lucy’s cubicle)

DAVID

Lucy, are you still here? Please go home. You look exhausted.

LUCY

(Wiping her face quickly) I’m leaving in a few minutes. Thanks for the time, David.

(Lucy’s cell phone rings. She answers it.)

LUCY

Hello. (She listens.) Mr. Green, how did you get this number? (She listens) I see. But things have changed. You need to take your glamour back. (She listens.) You didn’t say anything about “no returns.” I’ve had some horrible news. (She listens.) How did you know? Well, I don’t even want to know the answer to that. (She listens.) I’m not giving you my last year, do you hear me? It’s my last year- it belongs to me! (She hangs up and starts crying.)

SEAN

(Looking serious and determined) Lucy, calm down. I want you to listen to me. You don’t deserve this. I’ll fix this. Trust me, okay?

LUCY

What can you do? He said the deal was unbreakable.

SEAN

He doesn’t know you have a faery friend. Our rules may be unbreakable, but there is always a way for a faery to bend them backwards.

(Fade to black)

August 10, 2015 0

Plain Old Lucy- Scene Three

Setting: In front of an elevator in the Fashion District in New York. The doors are closed.

The doors open, and David and Lucy walk out. He’s carrying a briefcase, jean samples on hangers, and Lucy’s black buyer’s bag.

LUCY

Thanks again, David, for accompanying me to all my appointments. I know my vendors really appreciated having the VP there to approve my orders.

DAVID

It’s the least I could do, Lucy. You shouldn’t have to wait until we return to the office to get your orders signed. Anything you choose will be a best seller.

LUCY

And thank you for carrying my bag and samples.

DAVID

Don’t mention it, dear. These bags are heavy. You shouldn’t have to carry them. It’s my privilege to help you.

LUCY

(To herself) Now this is more like it! My boss following me around like a groupie!

DAVID

I’ll go outside and hail you a cab. Wait inside here where it’s warm. (He leaves)

Lucy’s phone rings, and she picks it up.

LUCY

Oh, hi Sean. It’s so great to hear from you. (She listens.) Yeah, everything’s going fine, but you wouldn’t believe it! David’s been at all my appointments- since the second day we’ve been here. (She listens.) I know- unbelievable, right? Get this- he carries all my samples and my huge bag! (She listens.) No- I’m not dreaming. I’m awake and working! He listens to me, Sean. Not only him, but the others, too. (She listens.) Well, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we get home. I’m flying out tonight, first class with David. He upgraded my ticket. Look for my orders- Susie’s faxing them over to the office with hers. (She listens.) No, I’m not joking. Stop laughing. I’ll tell you all about it Monday. Have a great weekend, bye.

She walks out.

August 4, 2015 0