Casey was at the pizzeria.
The live show had concluded, the series was on its seasonal hiatus, and as such, Casey needed regular income again, which meant going back to work at the pizzeria, something she didn't exactly mind, at least. Sitting in the back room, half in costume - the dog head on the couch beside her - and smoking a joint, she couldn't believe the experience she'd been allowed to have this year. She also couldn't wait to go back to work, which was a very new feeling for her. Since working for Bea, her drug usage had decreased, though not stopped entirely, and she felt more like a person than she had in years prior. A knock came to the back room door, and she shouted it was unlocked. The door opened and, of all people, Justine entered. Casey furrowed her brow in confusion and sat a bit more upright, coughing as she put out the joint. "Hello," Justine said, smiling, as she entered. "What...what are you doing here?" Casey asked, waving at the smoke with her hand. "...I came to give you something," Justine said, grinning. *** "I can't even begin to overstate how exhausted I am," Bea said, yawning. Bea, Eliza and Michelle were sitting at a small cafe downtown; Eliza and Michelle were sharing some pastries, while Bea simply sipped from her coffee. They were awaiting Liam, but so far he hadn't shown up. Seemed he'd been particularly busy lately. "It's like, every year of this wipes me out a little bit more than the previous," Bea continued, "not that I'm complaining, please don't think I'm complaining, because I'm not. I recognize I'm extremely lucky to get to do what we do, but it's exhausting nonetheless. Especially being in that goddamned costume so much. Thing is heavy." "You could get a stand in," Michelle said, popping another donut hole into her mouth, "ya know, someone to do the physical labor and then you go in and just ADR all the lines." "Not a bad idea, but I hate giving up any kind of control over Beatrice to anyone else," Bea said, and Michelle nodded. She knew Bea would never go for it, but she figured the suggestion couldn't hurt. Michelle checked her watch on her right wrist and shook her head. Bea, setting her mug back down, looked at them and asked, "are you expecting something?" "We're going to finally adopt a dog today," Michelle said, "we just have to wait until a specified time to go to the shelter." "How are you guys gonna adopt a dog if you don't live together? You gonna pass him back and forth like a child in shared custody?" Beatrice asked, smirking, making the girls laugh. "That's...that's a question we've discussed a lot," Michelle said. Eliza got up and excused herself, heading for the bathroom in the back of the cafe. Michelle leaned in over the table and lowered her voice a bit, Beatrice leaning in as well. Michelle said, "I wanna get a place with her, our own place, because frankly I feel like I'm taking advantage of Delores's hospitality and also I think it's the next step in being in a relationship, but...I don't know how she'd feel about leaving her father." "Why are we whispering if she isn't here?" Bea asked, making them both laugh. Michelle leaned back and shrugged, chuckling. "Well," Michelle continued, "that's my predicament anyway. I wanna ask her, I just...getting a pet together is already a big step, but sharing a living space? It might just be too much change all at once for her." "Let me tell you something," Bea said, leaning back in her chair, lifting her mug to her lips and taking a long sip before adding, "In the blink of an eye Eliza lost her mother. In the blink of an eye, I returned and gave her a new job. In the blink of an eye, it seemed you two got together. I know that all of these have a bit of time to them, but I don't think Eliza's the one you're worrying about. She does just fine with change when it isn't negative." Michelle sighed and nodded, chewing on her nails nervously. "I know, you're right, it's me," Michelle said, "I'm scared. I've never...I've never had this before. I've never dated. I've never lived with anyone but my parents and, well, Delores. I guess I just...I don't want to run her off or something." "If you haven't yet, I doubt you will," Bea remarked. Eliza rejoined them and continued eating donuts, while Bea just gave Michelle the most heartwarming smile she'd ever received. Michelle knew Bea was right. She had to do something. Lately all the change had been for the positive, and that was a trend she was deadset on continuing. *** "Your story about your family, your mother in particular, it just...it got me thinking about my own mom," Justine said, "about how unlucky some people are in life to not have any family, or, even worse, to have family who utilize them for their own nefarious purposes." "And you came all the way to this pizzeria to tell me that?" Casey asked. "No, I could've called to do that," Justine said, reaching for her small pleather backpack and opening it, reaching inside, "no, this is more important. After meeting with you and Michelle and your friend, whatsername, Eliza? Whatever. After meeting with you all, I started to think about the various things you all, and myself, have lived through. Nobody in that room was untouched by trauma. I survived a small plane crash, you were sold to older men, Michelle's mother gaslit her for her illness and Eliza lost her mom in a car accident. All of us have momma trauma." "Cute," Casey said, smirking. "So then, I started researching what y'all do," Justine continued, "about the show, about what you guys do and what it is you help make, and I started to watch it. I even went to the live show one night, unbeknownst to any of you. Felt a little weird, admittedly, being a grown woman and sitting in a theater full of children, but when I do my research I am thorough, dammit." "Are you sure you're okay mentally from that plane crash?" Casey asked, making Justine laugh loudly as she pulled out a wrapped package from the backpack and set it in her lap. "More than okay! And more than more than okay after what you girls did for me," Justine said, "why is why I did something for you. Not the rest of them, just you." That got Casey's attention. She pulled her legs up on the couch and, best she could in the costume, sat cross legged. "What...what did you do?" Casey asked. "I made you a book," Justine replied. *** Michelle and Eliza had left for the shelter, leaving Beatrice alone with her thoughts. It had been a weird season. She'd lost her mother, put on a live show, and watched her two closest female friends forge together on a path to a relationship she never would've expected. All in all, for the first time in a while, it felt like she wasn't the lead character in the story of her own life, and that was nice. Bea finished off the last of the pastries the girls left behind and then finished her coffee, exhaling, resting her chin on her fist as she glanced out the window at the overcast sky. Maybe next season she'd let Michelle do more than just set design. Maybe...maybe it was time to bring her into the writers room for good. She could use fresh perspective, and she was slowly getting a little more comfortable giving up control to those she deemed worthy enough of it. Bea heard a chair scoot out from across from her and glanced up, spotting Liam seating himself, resting his cane on the edge of the table. Bea checked her watch. "God, you're so late," she said, "you missed the girls." "Yeah, sorry about that," Liam said, "uh...I had an appointment that I couldn't reschedule." "Everything okay?" Bea asked, and Liam didn't know how to answer that. Beatrice had already experienced so much loss this year, with her mother, how could he dump his problems onto her as well? Still, they were eachothers oldest friends. That was part of the deal, sharing in the pain. But instead, Liam simply smiled and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "nothing I can't handle." *** The car was parked, and Eliza was ready to climb out and head into the shelter, but Michelle grabbed her wrist and pulled her gently back into the car. Eliza shut the door once back inside and looked at Michelle, confused but curious. Michelle exhaled and ran her hands through her hair. "Okay," she said, "um...Bea brought up a good point, about, ya know, having a dog when we live separately. And, uh...and I think I wanna talk about that." "Well, what's to talk about? Aren't we gonna get a place?" Eliza asked, taking Michelle completely by surprise; Eliza smiled at Michelle's widened eyes and added, "obviously we can't share a pet if we don't share a home. That just isn't right. I might be kind of slow, but I'm not stupid." "And you're...you're okay with that? You're comfortable with that?" Michelle asked, "cause...cause I know leaving your dad might be a big deal and...and being in a new situation could be stressful and I just...the last thing I ever wanna do is put stress of any kind on you, or us as a couple, and-" "Michelle," Eliza said, turning to face her now, "neither of us have ever been with someone else before eachother. But...I can't see myself ever beeing with someone other than you, now. I think I could handle living together. It's not like we'd move out of the city. We have jobs here, and I don't wanna leave my dad completely behnd. Except for, you know...intimate stuff...I'm very happy and comfortable with you and I'd be even happier and more comfortable knowing that at the end of each day, we would still be together in person." Michelle wanted to cry. She'd expected this to be so much more difficult. Things throughout her life had been so difficult that difficult had become the norm for her expectations wise. Eliza held Michelle's hand, and Michelle leaned across the seats, kissing Eliza on the lips, the both of them laughing nervously afterwards. Foreheads against one another, Michelle's hand on Eliza's cheek, she smiled. "Let's go get a dog," she said. *** Justine handed the wrapped package across to Casey, who took it, her hands shaking from anxiety. Justine had made her a book? They'd only met once, and she'd made her an entire book? It felt slim. Small. Casey looked from the gift up to Justine, who was brimming with anticipation at the response, and nodding, indicating Casey should open it. Casey exhaled, pulled the giftwrap open, and let the book drop in her lap, her hands over her mouth in shock. It was a childrens book, just like what Justine normally made, but this one... ...this one featured a little girl who looked a lot like Casey as a child. It also featured a dog, as the two sat in a beautiful watercolor painting of meadow flowers. The title simply read "Beatrice & Casey". Casey couldn't contain herself, and she started to cry. Justine got up and came across the room, seating herself on the couch beside Casey and hugging her from the side, stroking her hair. "It's okay," Justine said, "we live through terrible things that make us stronger people. What you endured is something no little girl should ever endure, and when you told me how Beatrice helped you feel safe in that time of your life, during the most vile acts a person can commit on a child...I just knew you deserved to have a childhood worth remembering, even if its fictional." "This is...the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," Casey said through her tears, trying not to sob uncontrollably, "this is...like...this is amazing. Thank you so much." Casey turned and hugged Justine back, the two girls just laughing and crying together. Even without knowing it, Beatrice was bringing people together. "Listen," Justine said, "I know you're an artist. You shouldn't have to work here. I know it probably feels familiar and safe, but...come work with me. Not FOR me, WITH me. While the show is off the air, we can make books together, we can help other little girls feel safe too. What do you say?" How could Casey turn down an offer like that? She gladly accepted, and turned in her costume scant minutes later. While Casey and Justine headed out to an early dinner to celebrate their newfound business partnership, Eliza and Michelle took their new Dalmation back to Eliza's dads house, where the three of them played with him all afternoon. Beatrice herself, after spending a little time with Liam, went home and found Leslie cleaning, but as soon as she entered the apartment, she told Leslie to pack her bags because they were going on vacation. The last few years had been weird and hard on everyone, and it was time for a break. Liam, however, stayed behind at the cafe, nursing his coffee, just thinking. Thinking about his appointment that day. Hell, about all the appointments he'd had those last few months. He'd been into the doctors office so many times lately, it seemed like. "Even if we'd caught it sooner, it's so aggressive I don't think any kind of therapy would do much of anything," his doctor told him that afternoon, "...are you going to be okay? We have many grief counselors who do wonderful work in helping patients come to terms with these sorts of things." "No, no, I'll be fine," Liam said, waving the doctor away, "I'll be fine, but thank you. I just need a moment to process." "Of course," his doctor replied, before exiting the room, leaving Liam alone in the office. Liam exhaled and thought about his options. He had so much to prepare for. He had to get Beatrice on track with merchandising in a way that would ensure financial longevity, he had to make sure Stephanie would never ever take advantage of Beatrice no matter what, and he had to make sure that Michelle would always be there to keep her grounded. He had a lot of work to do, and only a little under a year to do it. Liam picked up his cane and thought about Marvin, and smiled weakly. At least there was an upside to it, he thought, we'll be together again soon. His thoughts turned back to Bea, to the show, and he chuckled. That's the thing about art, he thought...art made you immortal. Your involvement would ensure you last forever. Even if you only had a handful of months to live.
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It had taken a few weeks to get the live show set up. Promotion, stage rental, hiring one time performers, etc. As for staging and props, they simply utilized the stuff from the show proper, so that saved a bit of time. In between preparation for all this, the shows current season wrapped up with introducing Keagan's puppet, Serena, and the reaction was overwhelmingly positive, which only lifted Keagan's spirits more and more. Soon she was inundated with fanmail for her performance as Serena, from young black girls who couldn't believe they saw themselves on their favorite show. Everything seemed to be going just great, all except for Beatrice.
The signs of her cracking first began to show at her mothers funeral. She invited Liam, Michelle, Eliza and Leslie, if only because she needed that support. But even then, each of them could see she wasn't handling the loss well at all. Hell, the drive for the live show was a direct result of her not handling it well, so it wasn't like it wasn't obvious. But they retained hope that she would come back, stronger than ever, just in time for the show. Unfortunately, as the premiere date drew ever closer, Beatrice seemed to become more and more reserved and unhinged. She would lock herself in her office at work, even away from Liam, and she would spend a good majority of her time at home sobbing in the bedroom. Leslie did her best to comfort her, but it only went so far. Now, with opening night only 24 hours away, nobody knew how she would be when the time to perform came, and quite frankly, it scared them all deeply. Finally, that night before the premiere as they all ate dinner at the pizzeria, Bea and Leslie not attending, Liam asked the hard question. "What do we do if she can't get her shit together?" And nobody seemed to have an answer. *** "She's always been a rock," Michelle said, sitting on Eliza's bed, reading a magazine while Eliza fiddled with one of her trains; Michelle continued, "like, for any one of us, she's always been there to pick us up, so how come none of us know how to do the same for her?" "She's an enigma," Eliza said, adjusting her jewlers loupe over one eye as she carefully adjusted a small piece on the trains wheel, "I never tried to make sense of her because there's no sense to be made, frankly. To be fair, none of us make any sense, but she especially doesn't." "I take offense to that, I like to think I make plenty of sense!" Michelle said, chuckling. "Believe whatever you want, doesn't make it the truth," Eliza replied, both of them laughing. "Well, subjectivity aside," Michelle continued, "I want to do something to help her, but I just don't know what I can do." "Speaking as someone who lost their mom suddenly," Eliza replied, turning around on her stool and pulling the loupe up from her eye, "she needs to process it, even if that's in ways we don't fully understand or agree with. Everyone deals with grief differently. I know when my mom died, I did the opposite of Bea. She throws herself into her work, I pulled away from mine. None of us reacts the way others do and often do we react the way others expect us to." Michelle was impressed with Eliza's statement, the depth of its analysis, realizing she was completely right. Michelle sighed and stood up, plopping the magazine face down onto the bed and walking over to Eliza's stool, where she knelt down and, taking her face between her hands, kissed her. "I need to move props," Michelle said, "We're all meeting at the pizzeria tonight, whether Bea's there or not, so I'll come by and pick you up once I've shifted everything to the stage." "Do you want help?" Eliza asked. "Casey's helping me," Michelle said, "You take some time off, work on your trains, just relax. You deserve it, especially after all the work you put in on Keagan's puppet." Eliza blushed and nodded as Michelle kissed her on the forehead. "Love you, I'll see you later tonight," Michelle said as she headed for the door. "I love you too"! Eliza called out after her, giggling to herself like a schoolgirl with a first crush as Michelle exited. Eliza then pulled her loupe back down and, as Michelle suggested, went back to her trains. She did, in fact, deserve a break. She'd worked harder than most this year it seemed. She'd given so much of her time this year to other peoples interests, it wouldn't kill her to dedicate a day to her own for a change. *** "You ever huff glue?" Casey asked, as she helped Michelle pull Bea's doghouse set onto the dolly and strap it in. "What?" Michelle asked, laughing in response. "When you're alone, doing set building, you ever huff glue?" Casey asked. "No, never," Michelle said, "first of all, before this year I never would've been able to. I've always had bad lungs. But even now, I would't put my new good lungs in direct danger. I waited so long to breath properly, the last thing I wanna do is do potential damage to them." "...we come from very different worlds, you and I," Casey said, shaking her head as they both laughed and wheeled the dolly down the truck ramp and into the parking lot of the performance building. Once it was stopped, Casey lit up a cigarette and took a long puff, before wiping the smoke away with her hand and adding, "sorry, hope it's fine to smoke around you at least." "Oh, I don't care," Michelle said, shrugging, "do you do that regularly, huff glue, I mean?" "Eh, not so much anymore, but as a teenager definitely," Casey replied, "when you grow up with parents like mine you look for any kind of out that'll result in dissociation of one kind or another." Michelle wanted to say something supportive, something to show Casey that, even though their differences were so vast, she could relate to her issues in regards to her mother. But she just couldn't come up with the right words for the statement, so instead she just nodded in solemn understanding. They pulled out a few more set pieces and large props, and by the time they got to having most of the truck emptied, a car pulled into the lot and parked. Liam climbed out, looking somewhat haggard. "You doing okay, buddy?" Michelle asked. "I've done better," Liam said, groaning as he supported himself on his cane and hobbled towards them, "is this everything?" "Yep," Michelle said, as Casey loaded the dolly back onto the truck; Michelle ran her hands through her hair and asked, "hey, uh...have you spoken to or seen Beatrice today?" "Can't say that I have," Liam replied, holding his hand out to take Casey's cigarette as she returned, which she graciously handed him; he took a long drag, then exhaled and handed it back before adding, "but if I do, you'll be the first to know, outside of me, of course. Why? Are you worried about something?" "I'm worried about her," Michelle said, "ever since her mom died, she hasn't seemed entirely...stable." "Well, her mother did die, that changes a person," Liam said. "I know that, I'm just concerned because she's supposed to perform in a live show and interact with children and she can barely manage interacting with her own friends at the moment," Michelle said. She looked between Liam and Casey, then added, "am I the only one worried about her?" "Not at all," Liam said, "but...she's gotta do what she's gotta do. We just need to let her." With that, Liam and Casey started moving the props and sets into the building, while Michelle stood there, shaking her head. She couldn't believe that Liam, of all people, would be so non chalant about Beatrice's rapidly desolving mental health when he'd long since been her biggest supporter. Then again, he did know her the best. He was her oldest friend. Maybe he knew what he was talking about. After driving the truck back to the networks studio lot, Michelle decided she'd grab Eliza and head to the pizzeria earlier than expected, if only because she could use something to eat and normal socialization that didn't revolve around Beatrice, even if only momentarily. As Michelle and Eliza entered the pizzeria, Eliza quickly abandoned Michelle and headed for the little prize shop. Michelle, hands in her coat pockets, headed through the bright, flashing, loud games and came upon, of all people, Lex, at the skeeball. Michelle stopped and watched as Lex nailed each and every single ball. Once she was done, she pulled her tickets from the machine and winked at Michelle. "I have to admit," Michelle said, "I'm impressed." "Well, when I was little, before my dad went to prison, we used to go to this little carnival every weekend that was just outside of town and we'd always have skeeball tournaments. Guess you could say I got pretty good at it," Lex said, counting up her tickets. "Is Keagan here?" Michelle asked. "Yeah, she's over at the light gun area," Lex said, nodding in that direction, as she headed to the prize shop to join Eliza. Michelle nodded, then headed in the direction of Keagan. She found her, holding two lightguns, one in each hand, and playing some kind of alien shooter. As Michelle approached, Keagan smiled, put in more quarters for both players and handed Michelle one of the guns, which she gladly took. "You better be careful, holding a light gun while black," Michelle said. "God, I know right?" Keagan replied, "you get everything moved?" "Yep. How's answering all that fan mail going?" "Exhausting, my hand's cramping like a bitch," Keagan said, "but it's nice to get so many kind replies." "Are you seriously answering each and every one?" "Yep." "Damn, that's dedication," Michelle said. As they lost the game, they set the lightguns back in their plastic holsters and turned away from the machine. Keagan pulled her hair back into a ponytail and sighed, hands on her hips as she and Michelle looked around the pizzeria. Each wanted to ask the question, but neither seemed to want to be the one to broach the topic. Finally Keagan bit her lip, and the bullet. "Where is she?" she asked. "Beats me," Michelle said, "Even Liam said he hadn't seen her, which is...worriesome." Truth was, Beatrice had no interest in attending the gathering at the pizzeria. She was too busy hyperventilating at home, while Leslie yet again unsuccessfully attempted to bring her down. It wasn't so much the show that made her nervous, she was nothing if not a season performer at this point. It was more that she was upset that this was the first thing she was really doing without her mother being in the world. Something new, and something different, and even if her mother wasn't there to see it, she should've been around, existing at the same time as the production. After Beatrice finally fell asleep from exhaustion, Leslie sat in the living room, trying to get her wits about her. Tomorrow was going to be rough. She looked over at the Beatrice costume sitting neatly assembled in a chair, the head atop the rest of the costume, and she shook her head. She was starting to see Beatrice as anything other than a way to avoid her issues, and was starting to wonder if even Bea herself could discern the difference between the character and herself. Was it even worth it too? Was it even worth it to be Amelia Burden? Leslie leaned back agains the couch and covered her face with her hands. She thought maybe this live show would just meld the two together even further, and if Beatrice continued to use Bea as an escape, as a means to avoid her problems with the world, what would she be then? Where did Beatrice Beagle end and Beatrice the person begin? This live show worried her, but not for the reasons it worried the others. *** The place was absolutely packed to the gills. The show had sold out, and the stage was set, prepared for the show. The only thing missing was Beatrice, who was hiding out in the trailer in the parking lot, refusing the come out. Liam and Michelle were pacing back and forth backstage, while Eliza sat on a stool and made a lanyard, something she did to ease her anxiety at times such as these. They could hear the murmurings of the kids and their parents in the audience, and Liam knew people would start getting restless soon. Casey joined them, an open beer in her hand, as Liam stopped and looked at her. "You can't have an open container of alcohol in here, there's children," he said. "What, and being in the proximity of it will make them alcoholics? Get real," Casey said, taking a long sip before looking around and asking, "Wait, where's Bea?" "She won't come out of the trailer," Michelle said, shaking her head, unsure of how to approach the situation further, "...maybe we just cancel, refund, offer a public apology?" "We've put too much time and effort into putting this goddamn thing together for her to just decide she doesn't want to do her one part of the job," Liam said. "Her one part IS the job, dude," Casey said, "where's her trailer?" Michelle told her, and Casey turned and headed out of the building. As she hit the parking lot, she spotted it. Turned out she didn't even need directions, as the damn thing was impossible to miss. Casey walked up to the trailer and knocked on the door, but to no avail. Casey then reached into her hair, pulled out a hairpin and unfurled it, picking the lock and letting herself in. Inside, she found Beatrice sitting on the couch, in costume, the dog head in her lap. Casey stopped in her tracks and stared at the sight. "Not gonna lie, that's kind of a disconcerting sight," she said, "are you okay?" "Why would I be?" Bea asked, and Casey approached the couch, dropping to her knees and looking up at Bea. "...look, I probably am the last person to offer advice, especially on missing a parent who actually loved you," Casey said, "but...but you're a parent to most of those kids in there, whether you know it or not. You have a responsibility, not even to the studio but to those kids, to give them what they came here for. YOU. They came here for YOU. There are kids in there who only have one parent, or maybe they have no parents and they live with grandparents or aunts or uncles or whatever, and you're the only guiding light they have in their life. Do you wanna let them down the way all the other adults in their lives have?" Beatrice looked at Casey, then down at the head in her lap and sighed, shaking her head slowly. "Then get that fuckin head on and get in there and put on that show," Casey said, "You gave me a chance, you gave Michelle a chance, you gave everyone here a chance. We've all been through the shit, so it's time for you to get through the shit too. You think your mom would want you to sit in here and cry? Fuck no, dude. She'd want you to go in there and put on the show she knows you're capable of putting on. Do it for your mom, if you can't do it for the children." Beatrice looked at Casey again, sighing more. "It's more that..." Bea started, "doing this marks an era of my life without her." "Dude, she's dead regardless of what you do," Casey said, "If you do the show or not, your mom is still dead. This doesn't change that. You might as well keep doing what keeps yourself, and others, happy, right?" Beatrice hadn't thought it like that, she had to admit. No matter what she did, mope or perform, her mother was dead, and nothing was going to change that. Beatrice picked the head up from her lap and put it on, completing the costume. She stood up, as did Casey, and then hug her tightly, thanking her. Casey just hugged her back, best she could in that bulky costume, and told her it wasn't a problem at all. "Everyone was worried and wanted to help," Casey said, "just...nobody knew how." "How did you?" Bea asked. "Guess being so disconnected from the world helps you see it clearer," Casey said, shrugging, "I'm not gonna feed you some sugar coated bullshit about how your mom is in some great place now, because really, that's insulting. Oh, the place she went to after death is better? How? Her child isn't in it. Her husband isn't it it. Doesn't sound too great to me, frankly. Now, be a good dog, and go do your tricks." Beatrice laughed, nodded, and headed out of the trailer. Casey stood there in the doorway, finishing her beer, and smirked to herself. Of all the people to come to the rescue, they all had to admit, Casey was last on their list. Turns out everyone is good at something. *** 3 WEEKS LATER "I'm going," Michelle said, knocking on Bea's office door. Beatrice looked up from her desk and smiled, gesturing for her to come inside, which she did. As Michelle took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, she asked, "everything okay?" "More than okay," Bea said, "I mean, I'm still very sad, but I'm dealing with it. Anyway, that isn't why I wanted you to come in. I just wanted you to know that next season, production is gonna be a bit different. We're gonna hire more people, so we don't have to solely rely on you, Eliza and Casey for almost everything. You all deserve a bit of a break." "I'm fine with that," Michelle said, "anything else?" "You doing anything tonight?" Bea asked. "Eliza and I are going to dinner," Michelle said, "then we'll probably go to her dads and build some trains together. Nothing too exciting, but it's good, cause we don't really need excitement. I'll see you when I see you, Bea. Have a good weekend." With that, Michelle stood up and exited, leaving Michelle there alone. Liam was the last one to leave, and soon enough it was just Beatrice alone at the studio. She told Leslie she'd be home before 9pm, and here it was, almost 9. She figured she should call and let her know she'd be a tiny bit late. Beatrice picked up her cell phone, but it was dead. She sighed. Beatrice picked up her landline and dialed, getting the machine, so she left a message. She had told Stephanie that she'd help get these budgetary balances figured out before the weekend, and she was almost done, but her stomach was hurting. She could use a snack. Beatrice stood up, pulled her jacket on and headed out of the studio. Just outside was a small cart that was open late, so she ordered some nachos and a drink, then sat down at one of the tables on the patio where employees usually had lunch and munched on her treats. After a minute she heard the sound of a bike approaching the table, and turned to see a young girl, probably about 11, pulling her helmet off. "Hello," Bea said, "can I help you?" "H...hi," the girl said, "can I sit down?" "Of course," Bea said, patting the seat beside her. The girl set her bike against the table, placed her helmet on it and sat down. Bea pushed her thing of nachos towards her, but the girl declined. Bea shrugged and asked, "are you lost? Do you need help?" "I wanted to go to your show, but we couldn't afford it," the girl said, "so I...I looked up where you worked and thought I'd ride over here. I didn't actually think I'd find you." "Well, you did," Bea said, smiling warmly, "do you want anything? An autograph, a selfie?" The girl looked embarrassed, and glanced away. After a moment, she spoke again. "I don't wanna grow up, can you make that happen?" she asked, taking Bea by surprise; she elaborated, "I'm gonna be in all honors classes next year, I'm one of the top students at my school, and so I'll be around all these other smart kids. But they...they all dress like tiny grown ups. They read big books. I can do the same, I just don't want to. I like being a kid. You make me feel like it's okay to continue being a kid, cause you're an adult and look at what you do for a living." "It's absolutely okay to be a kid," Beatrice said, "don't ever let someone convince you otherwise. I was like you, when I was little. I was a very smart girl, and I read a lot and I spent almost all my free time with my parents cause they didn't expect me to behave the way my peers would've. You're not alone in how you feel, I promise. Are you sure you don't want a snack or a...a piece of merch or anything? An autograph?" The girl shook her head. "I already got what I wanted," she said, smiling, making Bea smile too. So Bea and the girl sat there, and they talked about her schooling and other interests and hobbies. Bea told her how she came to be the dog she knew on TV, and the girl shared with Bea her hopeful eventual career plans. In a way, Casey was right. Beatrice was a parent, whether she meant to be or not, to all those kids who needed someone but didn't either have someone or want to approach their own parents for whatever reason. And that was all Beatrice wanted, really, was for no child to feel alone. She'd never really felt alone, and she wanted every child to have that level of dedication in their adolescence from the adults around them. They deserved that much, and so much more. Every person she'd hired had, in some way, helped her learn how to be an even better person, it seemed. Michelle's illness taught her how to approach life with gusto again. Eliza's loss taught her how to cope with her own, and process it even if in albeit somewhat unhealthy ways. And Casey's outright refusal to bend to the worldviews of others taught her that sometimes you just need to do what you have to, whether you want to or not. And now this little girl, this girls disinterest in growing up taught her that it was okay to always be a child on the inside. She really knew how to pick 'em. It was funny, Bea thought, for being the one who was meant to be the teacher, she was the one being taught. "Imagine children getting to meet their idol," Beatrice said, "they get to talk to Bea, ask her questions, get their photo taken. That's all the after event. First we put on a show, and then we have the meet and greet. That's what I want to do. So many children never get to meet their heroes, those who push them to strive for greatness, and I think that's unfair. I don't wanna be distant. I wanna be in their lives. A force of good."
Liam, Steph, Michelle, Casey and Eliza were seated in the meeting room as Beatrice explained her plan, but none of them, truth be told, were sold on it at all. Course, nobody wanted to be the one who said that. "I realize that we're already a force of good, just by being on the air for them, but we can do more. I wanna do more," Bea continued, "because...because some children don't have parents. Some children had bad parents. Some childrens parents die. I want to create an open line of communication, and this is the first step in that direction, I think. No child should feel alone and scared and confused." "I don't disagree," Steph said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, "but I don't necessarily agree that this is the best way of going about it." "A live show is a lot of work, Bea," Liam said, "are you sure you're up for that sort of engagement? Dedication?" "When aren't I?" Bea asked, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. She had a point, she was always up for whatever it took, and nobody could argue that claim no matter what they had to say in response. Bea sighed and shook her head slightly, tossing her bangs from her face, adding, "look, I know it's a lot of work, but it's...it's important to me and these sorts of things are good for what we do. Almost every popular childrens brand has, at one time or another, done a live show of some kind. I hate to use marketing terms, but it 'grows the brand', and so from your perspective, Steph, that's a good thing." "I'm not all about money, you know," Steph replied, sounding hurt, "I appreciate the artistry that goes into what you and everyone else on the network does. I don't have a money boner." "Money Boner is my favorite punk rock song," Casey interjected, making Michelle laugh, which in turn made Casey blush. "I just think there's others factors to consider here. We'd have to put the show on hold while we do this," Steph said, "unless you have that many shows in the hopper." "Our finale is coming up in a few weeks, we start preparations now, then we announce it once the finale is out, then that gives children something to look forward to in the interim while they wait for new episodes," Bea said, "it isn't rocket science, you guys, it's simple economics. We give kids what they deserve, and we continue to make money even while not producing actual content. Not that live shows aren't actual content, but you know what I mean." Once again, nobody could argue with this. Beatrice had clearly done her homework. "I'll run it up the ladder," Steph said half heartedly. "Aren't you top rung?" Casey asked, sipping on her soda. "...yes," Steph replied, before briskly gathering her things and leaving the room. "Weird lady," Casey said upon Steph's exit, shaking her head. *** Keagan was walking through the hall with Serena under her arm, heading for the set department, hoping to run into Michelle, unaware that she was in a meeting. She had already checked The Hole and, upon realizing Eliza wasn't there, figured they must be in the set department, which was why she was headed there now. As she passed by a small group of well dressed white women, she heard them lower their voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. She figured it was best to ignore it. Keagan pushed open the doors to the set department and looked around, then sighed when it slowly dawned on her that neither Michelle nor Eliza were here. Thankfully, however, her gaze caught sight of Liam, of all people. Liam had left the meeting shortly after Steph, and decided to hang out in the set department doing behind the scenes design management. Keagan approached him and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to turn to face her and jolt back a little upon seeing Serena. "Wow," he said, "that's uncanny." "What, do all puppets look the same to you?" Keagan asked, making him chuckle; she then asked, "where's Michelle? Where's Eliza? Where is everyone?" "We had an impromptu meeting," Liam said, sipping his coffee and adjusting his glasses, "Michelle and Eliza probably went to lunch afterwards. Why?" "I just wanted Michelle to actually see the puppet Eliza and I came up with," Keagan said, sighing, leaning against the stage and looking at Serena's face, adding, "...sometimes it feels like I don't even matter. Like everyone else is so much more important to the production than I am, like I'm just here cause I helped Michelle track you guys down." "Hey," Liam said, leaning beside her and touching her shoulder, "you're important, Keagan. Don't think like that. Everyone who works here works here because Beatrice saw their importance, and you're certainly on the ground floor of that. Keep in mind we wouldn't even be here without you and Michelle. You guys are a team, even if she has Eliza these days." "I guess," Keagan said, "it's just hard to feel that way when I'm not even invited to meetings and stuff. I feel so...ancillary." "Yeah, well, that's what a lifetime with Bea is like," Liam said, which cause Keagan to raise an eyebrow. She'd rarely heard Liam speak ill of Bea, and even then, when he did, she could still feel the love behind his statement. Whatever it was he was suggesting, he didn't mean anything mean with it, she knew that much. Liam added, "listen, if I see either of them before you do, I'll let them know you're looking for them. Until then, you wanna stick around here and help me figure out some set work?" "Sure, that sounds fun," Keagan said, grinning. At least, if nothing else, Liam always had her back. *** "You don't really think it's a good idea, do you?" Michelle asked, sipping her soup across from Eliza at their usual luncheon spot. "I don't, but not for the reasons you might think," Eliza said, "cause, uh, one might assume that I'm against it because of the strenous aspects putting on such a live show would be, but that isn't the case. I think she's only doing it as a reaction to the grief of losing her mom. I know because when I lost my mom, I did a lot of stupid stuff too cause I thought they were good ideas since I was clouded with loss, blinded by grief." "Like what?" Michelle asked, wiping her mouth with her napkin and setting her spoon down in her bowl. "Well," Eliza said, clearing her throat, "for a while, and this is so dumb I know but...I used to go to loss groups, for parents who, like, had lost children, and I would pretend that each of the women speaking there were my mom, and were talking about me. I needed to put it into perspective from her side, like, what if she had survived and I hadn't. I know it's really sick, but..." "It's not sick," Michelle said, shaking her head, "you're not sick, sweetie, that's...you said it yourself, you do things that don't really make sense in hindsight after such a great loss. Bea was close with her parents, she's just going through the shit, you know? Same as you were. The difference is, you know how to better channel your emotions into your work, while Bea tries but just lets her emotions take over her work. That's the innate difference between you two." Eliza smiled, looking down at her hands. "I think," she said, "you're the first person to ever told me I'm not sick, other than Beatrice, and my dad, and my dad only said it after the accident because he didn't want me blaming myself. I don't know that I really believes he believes that. Beatrice I believe. You I really believe. Thank you." Michelle smiled back. It was weird, she thought, being in a relationship since she'd never planned on being in one. Actually taking the time to know someone, comfort them when they needed it, boost their self esteem back up. And it wasn't one sided. Anytime Michelle felt distraught and turned to Eliza for help, Eliza returned it threefold. It was a fully functioning, well oiled machine they had built, and she wouldn't give it up for anything else in the world. But it was still strange. Michelle hadn't seen her parents interact much before her father left, so she simply never had any real idea of what a healthy relationship looked like. And yet...and yet she knew she was better at it, far better at it at that, than her mother ever could be, and that was consolation enough. Michelle got out from her side of the booth and slid in beside Eliza, who looked surprised but bit her lip happily. Michelle put her hands on Eliza's face and leaned in, pressing her lips to hers and kissing her, Eliza happily kissing her back. Public displays of affection be damned, they were both just so happy to have one another after a lifetime of having virtually nobody, and they didn't care who knew it. *** Beatrice was sitting at her desk, her feet up on the desk as she tapped her pen against her leg. Her office door opened and Casey slinked inside, shutting the door behind her as she did. Bea looked up at her and smiled weakly, acknowledging her presence as Casey pulled a chair around to the front of the desk and sat down on it the opposite direction. "What are you, a hip pastoral youth counselor?" Bea asked, making Casey chuckle. "Kids, lemme tell you about my boy, JC," she replied, making Bea laugh loudly before she continued with, "actually I just wanted to talk to you about, you know, the live show and all that stuff and...and just see how you were doing. Cause, like, it seems like a lot of work, but, ya know, it's probably worth it. I'm definitely on your side. I don't know why Steph is being such a stick in the mud." "She has a budget to think about. I can't really dismiss her concerns," Beatrice said, "she has an entire streaming network at her disposal to watch over, we aren't the primary thing they produce. We're just one of the more popular ones." "And shouldn't that popularity alone warrant getting what you want? Otherwise what's the point of fame if it can't get you something?" Casey asked. Bea smirked and sat upright in her chair, tossing her pen on the desk. "I like the way you think," Bea said. "Well," Casey said, "I just...I don't see the purpose of driving up subscriber numbers for someone elses service if they won't give you what you want in return. It has to be a mutually beneficial relationship. This feels parasocial, ya know? That shit isn't right." Beatrice nodded, taking in what Casey was saying, knowing full well she was right. She was one of the leading programs on the network, she had every right to demand something now and then. "You can't...you can't bring in millions of dollars and not be compensated," Casey said, "and...and having the ability to continue to make your work isn't the compensation. It's just one part of it. They have to give you more. They have to. You're worth that. This whole fucking thing is worth that. So, if you wanna put on a live show...I wanna help. When I was in high school I roadied for my friends band, and I know a lot about that kind of stuff and I know it isn't the same but...but I wanna help." "...thank you, Casey," Beatrice said, "you're right. And I'd be so glad to have you on the team. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go have some words with Stephanie." *** Liam had left for the day, citing a doctors appointment, which meant Keagan now had no companionship in the set department if only because she didn't know anybody else on a personal level. But she simply continued doing the things that he had left her in charge to do, Serena laying on the stage beside her as she sculpted and painted and did whatever it was she could. While she was cutting something, she heard a woman approach the stage and look at Serena. Keagan's eyes turned towards her, instantly recognizing her as one of the women from the hall before. "Is this your puppet?" she asked. "Well, they asked me to help design a puppet to represent the African American community, ya know for any black kids who might be watching, so kind of?" Keagan replied, laughing weakly. "You don't think it's...too black?" the woman asked, and this caught Keagan off guard. She set down her tools. "Too black?" she asked. "You know what I mean, like, it looks like it came from the inner city," the woman replied, "I'm just, I work for the marketing department and I can tell you right now that trying to sell this character isn't going to be easy. White audiences, and let's be honest our audience is predominantly white, don't mind black characters on the condition that they seem white. That they come from well to do families. This is why shows with well off, good natured black families do so much better than ones that feature the opposite." Keagan couldn't believe what she was hearing. She turned her attention fully, now, to the woman. "Let me ask you something," Keagan said, "do you also believe one can be too white? You know, wearing polo shirts and eating at kitschy chain restaurants where they hang ridiculous bullshit on the wall, and only listening to the most musically disinteresting band one can find? Because, surely, if that exists for one group it exists for every group." "Well of course, no one's gonna argue that," the woman said, "but that doesn't matter, because white audiences don't mind that. They revel in that type of second hand self degrading caricature." "The fuck they do," Keagan replied, "they can't handle being portrayed as anything other than perfection. We don't get that option. If we're not white enough, we're too black. There's no fuckin' middle of the road for us, because almost all of our characters are created and written by white folk. You don't see the level of unfairness between those two things?" "I'm not here to argue race relations," the woman said sternly, "I'm simply telling you, from a marketing perspective, that trying to sell this puppet as a character, and any potential merchandise attached to it, will be very very difficult." "I don't exist to make the market easier for you," Keagan said, finally sliding off the stage and standing firmly before the marketing executive, adding, "and neither does this fuckin' puppet, alright? We're people, not merchandise, and that can be said for any character of any race, but especially for those who are often deemed a potential threat to your investor more than others." That's when Keagan glanced around, her eyes darting across the room, realizing everyone was watching them, almost as if they were expecting her to attack this woman like the stereotype would be expected of her. She unclenched her hands, trying to let the anger leave her, refusing to fall into their perspective trap of her people. The woman just smiled smugly, then turned to leave when suddenly she felt a fist connect with her jaw and she stumbled back against the stage, clenching her face. Standing behind her was Casey, of all people, nursing her hand, leaving Keagan in shock. The woman was helped up by a few people and left the area, leaving Keagan and Casey alone together, amidst the remaining crew. "Wow," Keagan said. "Sorry, that was real white saviory of me," Casey said. "No, no, I prefer you did it," Keagan said, "if I did that I'd be sued and fired. All you're gonna get is a mild talk from HR." Casey laughed, and Keagan laughed in response. Neither one felt like the fit in, but perhaps that's where the best friendships blossom. Keagan climbed back on stage to continue her work, and Casey offered to help. Maybe the outcasts could benefit from one anothers company. Besides, whether they were African American or a drug addict, they were each a looked down upon minority, and they weren't about to turn away potential defenders. *** Beatrice found Stephanie in her office, unsurprisingly, doing, also unsurprisingly, paperwork. As she entered, she shut the door behind her, the sound of which caused Steph to look up from her desk and sigh. She shook her head as Bea sat down on the desk and watched her work. "Rough day?" she asked. "Every day is a rough day," Steph said, "what do you want now? I have to have all this budgeting done by this weekend and I-" "I want you to acknowledge what I've given you," Bea said coldly, catching Steph off guard; she continued, "I want you to recognize the success what I created has brought to your network, and give me something in return. Let me put on this live show. It'll be good for the downtime in production, bring in so much extra money, good PR, all that crap you executives love." Steph set her pen down and folded her arms on the desk. "And if I say no?" she asked, "provided the answer is even up to me?" "If you say no then I suppose I will just have to live with that decision, but I'll also be aware of how little I'm valued, and that might change how much effort I put into what I do from hereon out," Beatrice said, making Steph smile wide. "You know what I like about you, Bea," Steph said, "you refuse to be beaten. Anytime something comes up, you rail against it until you win. Your show gets taken from you? You bring it back. You get publicly outed? You embrace it. Your friend almost dies from a medical condition? You donate an organ. That's...that's a level of commitment one has to admire. It also shows how absolutely deranged you are, but it's admirable nonetheless." Beatrice laughed at this half insult, knowing Stephanie didn't fully well mean it to be cruel. "...I have to talk to the budgeting team, the marketing team, all that stuff, but it should be manageable," Steph said, "you're right, you've given us alot and all you're doing is trying to give us, and the kids, more. That's, again, admirable. I don't wanna tell you what you can and cannot do, I don't wanna be what Liam used to be to you. My entire intention, from the very beginning, has been to help you, okay? We just...sometimes we need to find a middle ground. Compromise isn't giving up something you want, it's accepting that you can get part of what you want by not getting all of it. I'm just asking you to compromise with me, Bea." Beatrice and Steph locked eyes momentarily, and Bea nodded. "Fine," she said, "but you know what they say, a good compromise always leaves both parties mad." "Wouldn't be showbusiness if we weren't both wildly disappointed," Steph replied, shaking Bea's hand, both women chuckling. *** Delores was seeing Justine that night, so when Michelle and Eliza arrived back at the house, they knew they had the place to themselves, even if only for a bit. Both were extremely tired and so they opted, instead of doing anything else, to lay upstairs in Michelle's makeshift bedroom. Michelle was laying beside Eliza, spooning her, breathing in the scent of her hair, and thinking about the meeting. After a few minutes, she spoke softly. "I feel jealous when Beatrice gives things to others," Michelle said. "I know what you mean, our attachment feels so personal that it's hard not to," Eliza responded, not opening her eyes, "but she isn't just ours. She's everyones." "I know, that's the thing I have to remind myself of," Michelle said, "Besides, what she's already given us is so much more than whatever she could ever give to someone else." "It's true," Michelle said, as Eliza rolled over to face her; Michelle smiled and pushed Eliza's hair from her face, "she gave me you, after all." Eliza blushed as Michelle kissed her, and together they lay there, in the dark and the quiet. It was something they all, even Beatrice, eventually had to acknowledge, which was that Bea and the character of Beatrice Beagle, were not the same. And while the world got the character, they got the woman who played her, and that was worth so much more. Michelle wasn't a writer, nor was Eliza. In fact, the only person in this room who was a writer, in all technicality, was Beatrice. Yet, she'd pulled Michelle and Eliza into the writers room with her, then locked the door. She'd ordered pizza, gotten drinks, and told them they wouldn't be leaving until they helped her write this episode. Sitting at the large table while Beatrice paced, eating a slice of pizza, Michelle couldn't help but glance over at Eliza, who looked as uncomfortable as she ever had seen her look.
"I wanna present this in as straight forward a manner as possible," Bea finally said, finishing her slice, crust and all, and wiping her hands on a napkin sitting on the table; she continued, "That's the whole idea of childrens entertainment, simplistic but not insulting. Talking to them at their level, not under their level, insinuating they can't understand complex concepts simply because they're younger. Children are far more intuitive than we give them credit for being." "That's all very true," Michelle said, "but I don't...I don't know what to really say that hasn't already been said by a million other childrens shows." "That's the challenge, though," Bea said, "is to come up with saying something that's been said but in a new way. A way that hasn't been approached yet. Because, let's face it, everyone has told kids that their loved ones are somewhere in the sky, watching over them. That they still exist in some way or another. But you don't wanna be the show that outright tells them that's bullshit. You don't want to diminish a childs hope. But to sugarcoat it with such fairytale bullshit...that's almost as bad." Eliza groaned, chewing on her nails. This was something she did when she was particularly anxious, a habit Michelle had become all but far too familiar with. "To be perfectly honest," Michelle said, "I don't know what it is I'm doing in here other than providing emotional support. I just hate my mom, she's not dead. Dead to me, maybe, but not actually dead." "That's what gives us perspective," Bea said, pacing around the table, "we can't just be coming from the place of having dead mothers. We need variation." "Oh, well, let me just go call her and ask when she plans on dropping dead," Michelle said, rather angrily. Bea stopped walking and looked at Michelle, but not angrily, more like with sorrow on her face. Michelle felt bad. She whispered 'sorry' before looking down at her feet. Beatrice just exhaled and shook her head before looking at Eliza. "What did you think, when your mom died?" Bea asked. "That it was my fault," Eliza said, "but that guilt isn't really something that I, ya know, wanna pass onto others. That's not healthy." "I meant more like...do you believe in Heaven or anything?" Bea asked, picking up another slice. "I guess I..." Eliza started, trailing off, thinking, before continuing, "I guess I don't really believe in Heaven, exactly, but...like...energy. You know how even after someone leaves a room, goes back home or whatever, you can still kinda sense them? Their presence was so strong that it left a mark? That's kinda what I believe in. The energy of the person is still here." "That's really beautiful," Bea said, "but I'm not sure it's comforting, exactly. Also kids don't really get metaphysical stuff like that." "You just said not to talk down to them," Michelle interrupted. "I know, I know, but I do have to be aware of their level of perception," Bea remarked, "Something like what Eliza said is beautiful, don't get me wrong - and let's face it, likely the most scientifically accurate as well - but it's just not something that children the age of our viewership would really be able to grasp. We need something a bit easier for them to understand." Michelle groaned, threw her head back and stood up. She excused herself, saying she was going to the bathroom, when in reality, as soon as she got outside the room, she headed straight for the smoking porch out back. Not because she smoked, she didn't, but because she knew it was the last place anyone would think to look for her. Once outside, she sighed and shut her eyes, leaning against the wall. "Rough day?" Casey asked, surprising her. "God, don't do that," Michelle replied, hand to her chest, catching her breath. Casey laughed and stubbed out the end of her cigarette. "You alright?" Casey asked, sitting down on a table nearby. "I...don't know," Michelle said, "...you hate your mom, right?" "I think you know the answer to that." "Do you wish she were dead?" "....yeah, I do," Casey said, "I know that's harsh, but when someone who's supposed to love and protect you does the exact opposite - puts you in harms way, especially for monetary gain - then they're no longer viable for remorse. So yeah I wish she were dead. It would make my life, and possible recovery, all the easier. Why?" Michelle walked to the table and seated herself as well, looking at her nails. "Let's pretend we both had good relationships with our moms," Michelle said, "what would feel if she died? What do you believe in? What happens, where she goes, whatever. All that nonsense." Casey had never really considered a situation wherein she and her mother liked one another, nor had she really considered her personal religious beliefs, particularly because she didn't really have any. Her family had never gone to church, and she'd never felt one ounce of pull towards a religion of any kind. In all honesty, she'd just kinda ignored the concept altogether. But now, being asked to confront both, in one theoretical happening, it made her wonder what she would feel or think. "I guess," Casey said, "if my mom and I had a good relationship, and she died, I would probably just...accept the fact that she loved me while she was here, and the fact that she isn't here now can never take that away. Love is an idea, right? It's a concept. A person might go away, but their ideas never do. They're spread to others. Things like racism and homophobia are taught. Things like love are taught. If she loved me while she was here, that's what I would focus on. She would, in essence, become that love, whether she was here physically or not anymore." Michelle nodded slowly, feeling her eyes tear up. That was...surprisingly beautiful, and certainly not the kind of thing she'd expected from someone like Casey, who didn't exactly strike her as the deep, emotional kind. "I like that," Michelle said, nodding slowly, "I do. That's...very simple, very easy to understand, very pretty. I like that a lot." Michelle stood up and began to head back inside, before turning and looking back at Casey. She wanted to invite her in, get her input heard, but she knew that wasn't really her decision. This was Beatrice's moment. Working through her grief, her loss, and she wanted only Michelle and Eliza there with her. She sighed, continued back inside and headed back to the office. When she re-entered the room, she found Beatrice laying on her back on the table by the pizza box, with Eliza sitting in her chair, her knees pulled to her chest. "Did I miss something?" Michelle asked. "What's the point," Bea said, "why even try to make sense of it, when it doesn't make sense to begin with. The big questions about things like death...eventually you run out of answers. A child keeps asking 'why' and you stop having things to respond with, because we don't know why. We don't know anything or everything. So why even bother trying to make sense of it, explain it, when it's so clearly unexplainable?" "The pain isn't though, and that's what should be focused on," Michelle said, standing behind Eliza, massaging her shoulders, relaxing her, feeling her anxiety melt away with each touch, "that's what children need help with. They understand loss. That makes sense. What was here isn't here now. Very simple. What isn't simple is trying to figure out how to feel about it. Some kids might feel too much and be punished for it, others might not feel a thing and be punished for it. But there's no wrong way to grieve, and no right way either. They need to be told that however they feel is normal, because it's what they're feeling." Beatrice sat up and looked at Michelle, furrowing her brow. "...holy shit you're right," Bea said, "...you're absolutely right. The concept of loss isn't new to them. That's inherent. That's what object permanance is all about. It's something they learn from the moment they're born. They act badly and a favorite toy gets taken away. They understand loss. They don't understand that there are multiple appropriate ways to respond to it." Bea climbed down from the table and let her hair down, looking at Eliza. "You felt guilty, right? Even though you knew it wasn't your fault," Bea said, "and even if it isn't your fault, you have every right to feel guilty because it's how you felt. You can't change the things you feel. The ways you react to things. How do you feel now, though, Eliza? With a little bit of time and distance between the incident and this moment?" Eliza looked away from Bea and up at Michelle, who just smiled and patted her on the head. "I...I guess," Eliza said, "I guess now I just feel glad she was my mom to begin with. Even if we were different, even if we had arguments and disagreements and...and even if we didn't get along all the time, I know she wanted me to be my best, and to be okay, and to be happy. I'm glad she was here, and that she was mine." Beatrice grinned and looked at Michelle. "Love," Michelle said, echoing Casey's sentiment, "is the one thing loss can't take away from us. The person might be gone, but the way they felt about us never is, and that's what we can hold fast to in the toughest moments. That's the lesson to be taught here. That's the sentiment you need to push." Beatrice nodded, then hugged Eliza, and then hugged Michelle. She then exited the room, without saying a word. Michelle sat back down in the chair across from Eliza, and scooted towards her. She reached out, and Eliza gave her her hands. Michelle took them gingerly, and kissed them, making Eliza blush. "Are you okay?" Michelle asked, "This was...kind of intense, I'm not gonna lie." "...it's okay to feel nothing?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded. "Of course it is! Why?" "Because that's how I feel a lot of the time," Eliza said, "I mean, not just about my mom, but about everything. The only time I ever feel anything else is when I'm with you. You make me feel happy. Or, whatever happiness feels like, I guess. When I was growing up, I had this special teacher who taught me emotions on a chart, like, what peoples faces look like when they feel certain ways. I still look to it from time to time to make sense of the people around me. But with you...I always know how you're feeling, and that makes me feel good. To understand another person enough to not need the chart, makes me feel special." "You are special, sweetheart," Michelle whispered, kissing Eliza's hands again, making her blush. "I guess...and I hope you don't take this weird," Eliza said, "in some kind of way, this relationship is almost maternal. Does that make sense? I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable." "I'm happy to be useful in whatever capacity you need in that moment," Michelle replied, "if that's sometimes romantic and sometimes maternal, that's perfectly fine. I love you. I just wanna keep you happy and comfortable." Eliza slid off her own chair and climbed into Michelle's, cozying up on her lap best she could given the space provided, making Michelle laugh. Neither one had ever had a relationship before this, and yet they both knew they didn't want a relationship after. All they wanted was each other. Beatrice would go to her office for the day, and she would write the script. She would take everything that Michelle and Eliza, and unknowingly Casey, had offered and she would turn it into a heartfelt confession about emotions and love that any child could easily comprehend and learn from. And when she was done with it, she would drop it off with Liam for him to check over, and then she would go home. When she arrived, she would find Leslie already making dinner. Beatrice would say hello to her, give her a hug and then adjourn to her home office. Once inside, she would lock the door, and she would sit in the center of the room on the floor. The entire day, ever since her mother had passed only 48 hours prior actually, all she'd managed to think about was how to present this through her work. That was how she processed things. She did it through the puppetry that was Beatrice Beagle. But now...now she was home again. Now she didn't have to work. Now Beatrice, the facade, could melt away and she could be Amelia once more. And it was in that moment that she finally let herself fall apart. She fell onto her side on the floor, hugged herself and sobbed. Even though she wrote this script, she didn't believe any of it. How could she? She'd never been one to cope with loss well. First her dog, then Claire, then her mother. She didn't know how to manage. The fact that she somehow hadn't lost Michelle during her recent health scare was a shocker, and she wa grateful for not having to work through that as well. A few hours later, when she would join Leslie in the living room as she watched game shows at half attention, Bea would nuzzle up against her on the couch without saying a word. Leslie would wrap her arms around her and pull her close, stroking her hair. "How was your day?" Leslie asked as she raised her drink to her lips with her free hand and sipped. "Fine," Bea would reply, before burying her face against Leslie's sweater and speak, muffled, "my mom is dead." "I know," Leslie replied quietly, still petting her head, "I know. That's the one bad thing about moms. They die." Beatrice never allowed herself to grieve her dog. She'd never allowed herself to grieve Claire. Instead she'd always soldiered onwards. But this time, after she'd done her usual coping process of getting her thoughts out via her work, she finally allowed herself to grieve for her mother, because she knew it wasn't healthy to not do so. Seemed like just a week ago she was a little girl, going to the library with her mom, learning and playing and discovering. And now her mom was dead. And no amount of childrens show saccharine could take away the ugliness of the reality of the world. The world didn't care that these people were our mothers. They died anyway. And one day Bea would die too. Perhaps that's what she was really mourning. Her own mortality. With her mother gone, it pushed her closer to the top of the list, and that scared her. She still had so much to do. But she'd do it tomorrow. Tonight... ...tonight she grieved her mother. Beatrice woke up, rolling over to find the other side of the bed empty. This was unusual. Usually she was up before Leslie, unless Leslie had meetings. She stretched, slid to the side of the bed and sat upright, pushing her feet into her slippers on the floor beside the bed. Bea stood up, walked to the dresser and grabbed her robe, pulling it around her before heading out of the bedroom. She headed down the hall, and could smell something coming from the kitchen. Leslie never made breakfast. Sometimes she made coffee (which she could also smell), but breakfast? Unless it was Bea's birthday and she'd somehow forgotten her own birthday. As she entered the living room, she found Leslie sitting on the couch, staring into the mug cupped between her palms. Beatrice stopped and looked at her, and Leslie finally looked up, but didn't say anything.
"...this is uncomfortable," Bea finally said, "this is the sort of tension one only encounters when they're about to be dumped. You're not dumping me are you?" "No," Leslie said, laughing a little, shaking her head, "no, but I do need to talk to you about something." Bea walked towards the kitchenette, grabbed her mug and filled it with coffee before looking back at Leslie. "Um," Leslie said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, as if she'd been crying and trying to hide the evidence, "your father called." That made Bea's stomach drop. *** Delores opened the front door to find Justine standing there. Neither one spoke, but finally Delores threw her arms around her and invited her inside. Justine stepped inside and shivered. She hadn't been in her mothers house since...well...since before the accident. It felt like walking back into a previous life of sorts. Delores shut the door and turned to watch her daughter stop and look at the photos hung on the wall. "God," Justine said, "I was such a dweeb." "You were not!" Delores said, laughing, "you were a normal kid with normal interests!" "There's nothing normal about being obsessed with art supplies," Justine said, "look at me, having an art themed birthday party. The only reason anyone even showed up was because their parents made them come. Absurd. I should've been cooler." "Well, for what it's worth, I think you were plenty cool," Delores said. "You have to say that, you're my mom," Justine replied, smiling. "Believe me, after some of the moms I've met lately, no, being your mom is not simply a prerequisite for appreciating you or being kind," Delores said, the both of them laughing as they entered the kitchen. Michelle was at work, so they had the house to themselves for the majority of the afternoon. Justine sat down at the table while Delores got them some sodas from the fridge, recalling her daughters proclivity for caffeine, and then seated herself as well. Justine's bag was on the table, and Delores's eyes were immediately drawn to it, wondering what could be inside. "What have you been working on?" Delores asked. "I've been doing watercolor illustrations for a new kids book that's coming out next fall," Justine said, "and that's been pretty entertaining. They really didn't have a specific set stylization in mind so it's really my own kind of look, and I always like when I get those projects. Other than that, nothing much. How's work?" "Same old, same old. Case workers only do so much that it doesn't offer much variety," Delores said, "but it's nice to help others find stability or a road they can go down, you know? That gives me a sense of usefulness in the world." "You have someone living here now? A girl named Michelle?" "She's living here at the moment yes," Delores said, "comes from a really bad family, works for a film studio making props. I took her in mostly because she had a very scary medical emergency and..." Delores looked down at the table. "...she reminded me of you," she whispered, "and I missed having you around, so I guess, in some way, having Michelle around was like having you around again." She wouldn't admit it, but that broke Justine's heart a little. *** Michelle dropped her pair of pliars and collapsed on her butt on the stage. She wiped her brow with her sleeved arm and exhaled deeply. She heard the door to the studio open and spotted Liam walking in. She smiled as she scooted towards the edge of the stage while he approached, reaching out and handing her coffee and a gas station sandwich. She took both, setting the seran wrapped sandwich in her lap as she lifted the coffee to her lips and took a long sip. "This is nice," she said, "it's like having my own secretary." "Alright, well, you sure know how to kill kindness," Liam remarked, making her laugh as he looked around, adjusting his glasses and adding, "Where's Casey? She's not here?" "She said she was running late, feeling sick," Michelle replied, shrugging, "whatever. I got this stuff done before without her, I can manage." "Nobody's questioning your abilities. You've more than proven yourself. My concern lies more within the realm of Beatrice giving her a job she isn't even showing up to do," Liam said, leaning against the stage and unwrapping a candy bar. "She's here on time most of the time, so what if she runs late now and then, not everyone can be perfect," Michelle said, and Liam sighed. "You're right, not everyone can be like me," he said, the both of them smirking. The more Beatrice had removed herself from hanging around production, the more Liam had taken her place, and frankly, Michelle liked this. When she was a little girl, her favorite character - aside from Bea, of course - was Liam's, and so to get to hang out with the man behind the cactus...it really brought her a sense of comfort and peace. Now here he was, bringing her coffee and snacks on the regular. This future was certainly something young, sick Michelle never could've foreseen. "Well," Liam said, finishing his candy bar and wiping his hands on a hankerchief, "if she comes in, maybe have a talk with her about her scheduling." "You're not a middle school principal," Michelle said. "Don't crush my dreams," Liam said as he began to exit, making Michelle cackle. Michelle finished her coffee, ate half her sandwich and then went back to sculpting a new prop. After a little bit, the doors to the studio opened and Casey stumbled in, her eyes red and her hair a mess. Michelle didn't judge her by appearance though, lord knows she herself was usually a mess, so. Casey climbed onto the stage and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. "Hello," Michelle said, "you feeling okay?" "...not particularly," Casey said, "...I saw my mom this morning." "Oof. How was that?" Michelle asked as she set down her knife and picking up her pliars again. "...I'm a bad person," Casey whispered. *** "For a while it was hard, you know, to accept being so limited," Justine said, "I was always so active, so agile, even if I didn't play sports or whatever. I liked going for runs, I liked exercising, I loved riding my bike. To suddenly be stuck the way I was...it was scary. I guess I just felt...pathetic. To know this Michelle girl had it so much worse makes me feel even dumber about my issues regarding my mild time based disabilities." "They're not comparative. You were in an accident. She was born with her problems. But you both overcame them, and even if you hadn't, think of all the things you managed to both accomplish while having those issues. You didn't let that stop you. I saw how often you worked. I saw all the books you did artwork for during that time. Michelle built an entire TV set in her rental home basement. Being disabled - whether chronically or for a brief time - doesn't mean you can't do something," Delores said, and Justine nodded. "No, I...I know that. I get that. I'm not saying it would stop anyone," Justine said, picking out a cookie from the tin on the table, "I just...I don't know. It's hard to explain the terror that courses through you when you think your time has come." A moment passed as they sat and drank soda and ate cookies. After a few minutes, Justine smiled. "You always had cookies and sweets around," Justine said, "it's wild how I didn't grow up with more cavities." "Because I made you brush your teeth," Delores replied, the both of them laughing. The thing was...before the accident, Delores and Justine had the kind of relationship other mothers would kill to have with their child, regardless of gender, and after the accident, Delores never understood why Justine stopped talking to her, but she was far too scared to ask now. Really, she was just so very happy to have her back in her home right now. And, despite the break in communication, it really felt like nothing had happened between them, and they'd just fallen right back into that very same pattern they'd always had. "For what it's worth," Justine said, "Michelle is very persuasive." "What do you mean?" Delores asked, and Justine took a bite into the cookie in her hand. "She tracked down my address and came to see me with some friends of hers," Justine said, shrugging, "she just said she felt compelled to help you re-establish communication for some reason she wouldn't explain. But whatever her reason was, it was...it was nice. She's a determined, kind person, and frankly...if you had to attach yourself to someone to replace me momentarily...I'm glad you picked someone who cares so much for you, mom." Delores wanted to cry. She'd have to thank Michelle for her help when she got home that night. Maybe she'd buy a cake. She loved keeping sweets around for the sweet folks in her life, after all. *** "You're not a bad person," Michelle replied, chuckling, "I think we're all in agreement that your mom was the bad person. Just because she makes you feel like shit during your brief and rare interactions doesn't mean she's right. You need to remember that her opinion is just that, her opinion, and not objective fact." "She is right though," Casey said, still laying on her back, "I'm not defending her in any other instance, like...she's shit, you're not wrong, and you of all people would know what it's like to have a shit mom from what you've told me, but...but that doesn't mean what she thinks doesn't have validity or hold water in some instances. She's right. I'm a disgustingly bad person." Casey finally rolled over and looked at Michelle, who was now moving onto painting this current prop, a berry bush that was to be planted right beside Bea's doghouse. "Well," Michelle said, pulling her palette towards her and squeezing some different colors onto it, "for what it's worth, what we do in order to cope might be unhealthy, but it's how we get by and there's no shame in that. I didn't have a good home growing up, so instead I built a whole set in my basement, because the Beatrice Beagle set was the only place that ever felt like home. Is that normal or healthy? Absolutely fucking not." Casey and Michelle laughed a little, as Michelle cleared her throat, dipped her brush into the water can and then applied some paint. "But," she continued, "it's what kept me going completely bonkers. Between her and my health, I had to have something, you know?" "I need help," Casey whispered. "What kind of help?" Michelle asked, "Cause you've got health insurance now through this job, so you could easily get medication or some form of therapy or-" "I need help," Casey repeated, and Michelle nodded, setting her brush down and, sitting cross legged, turned to face her. "How can I help you?" she asked. "....I need to go to rehab," Casey whispered, almost embarrassed. "Then that's what we'll do," Michelle said, smiling warmly. Whatever Casey had done to suddenly be immersed in such positive genuine caring, she wasn't sure, but she sure appreciated it. Maybe the universe was finally giving her a chance to turn around. She and Michelle came from sort of the same situation, were sort of alternate ends of the spectrum of eachother, and it was nice to know that she had a friend who understood her without judgement. That was, as she knew all too well, very hard to come by. She was going to take whatever help was offered. *** Justine held her bag in front of her as she stood by the front door, waiting for her mother to come back from the kitchen. When she finally did, she pushed an entire enormous tupperware into her hands filled to the brim with home baked sweets. Justine just laughed as she clutched it, then let Delores hug her. "This was so nice," Delores said, "please come by again soon." "I wanna give you something, mom," Justine said, putting the tupperware down and opening her bag, pulling out a rectangularly shaped wrapped gift and handing it to her mother; Justine added, as she zipped her bag back up and picked up the tupperware once more, "...I made this for you. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?" "I get off work at 7," Delores said. They hugged once more, and then Justine exited the house. Delores stood on the porch, hugging the gift to her chest and waving, and didn't go back inside until Justine's car was fully out of sight. Once she was no longer visible, Delores headed back indoors and seated herself on the couch. She slowly unwrapped the gift, and then stared at the cover; a beautiful hand painted water color and pastel colored image of a woman, who looked suspiciously similar to Delores, and a little girl who looked almost identical to Justine as a child. The title, shimmering in its glittery font, was thusly "Worlds Greatest Mom". Delores wanted to cry. She couldn't stop smiling. She began to slowly open the book, and flip through the pages, reading the story. Justine had written and illustrated and published this book specifically for her mother, and it told the true tale of a wonderful mother, and her devout dedication to her daughter. Children really were the gift that kept on giving. *** Eliza was sitting at her train set up in her bedroom when someone knocked on her door. She figured it was her father, coming to either ask her what she wanted for dinner, or tell her dinner was ready, so she pulled her noise cancelling headphones off and looked towards the door, saying they could come in. But as the door slowly opened, instead she was surprised to see, of all people, Beatrice standing there. Eliza raised her eyebrows in curiosity, as Bea entered and shut the door behind her. "Um...is there somewhere I can sit?" Bea asked, her voice sounding hoarse and strained, like she'd been yelling all day. "There's a stool over there at my desk," Eliza said, pointing across the room. Beatrice walked across the room and pulled the stool towards the tiny town table set up. She sat down on it and watched as the train headed through the town, then up into a small forest and continued round in circles like that for a bit. "You know," Bea finally said, "when I was a child-" "You don't have to talk," Eliza said, "you sound like you gargled rocks." Bea just smirked and continued, "-I used to live out in the country, and for fun, my parents would take us to a nearby train station." "Us?" Eliza asked. "My dog and I," Bea said, "I didn't have any friends growing up, just my dog. Anyway, we used to go to this small train station, and watch it come in and leave. Rarely did anybody board, it wasn't very exciting, but there was a small, sort of quiet comfort to seeing something just doing its job. I think that's where I got the notion that just doing your job was enough. That if you dedicated your time and effort to something important enough to you, then your time spent on this world was enough, regardless of what anyone else might think. You have your puppets, Michelle has her props, you all know what I mean." Eliza nodded as the train came around a small mountain pass. Silence filled the room as Bea sniffled and wiped her eyes on her palm before continuing. "...but now, I don't know. Maybe it isn't enough. Maybe there's more to it. Sure, having people you love work with you is nice. Having both important things rolled up into one thing, that's a beautiful gift not everyone gets. Most people don't get. Most people don't form close, life long bonds with their coworkers. What we do, Eliza, is very special and beautiful, and I'm so grateful for you and Michelle and Liam and everyone else I get to work with on a day to day basis." "Well, thank you, we love you too," Eliza said. More silence. Bea watched the train as it stopped a station and waited there for a bit, smoke coming from its stack. "My mother died this morning," she finally said, ending the silence, surprising Eliza. "Did...did you come to me cause my mom is dead too?" Eliza asked, and Beatrice finally broke, starting to cry. Eliza scooted her seat over towards Bea's and put her arms around her, hugging her tightly as Bea sobbed. The train started again and continued along its predetermined path. Eliza watched it move, and then shut her eyes, just listening to the sound of its wheels on the track. Eliza rested her head on top of Bea's and continued to stroke her back. It was true, though Bea wouldn't openly admit it, that she'd come to Eliza for that exact reason, but also because Eliza was bar none the most comforting person she knew. More than Michelle, more than Leslie, more than anyone else, she knew that Eliza would know, especially in this particular situation, how to help. Eliza felt like she'd inadvertantly killed her own mother, while Beatrice knew her mothers death was sudden and without warning. And yet, that one thing Beatrice couldn't shake was that feeling...the feeling she had when she awoke that morning. "It's weird," Bea said, wiping her eyes on her arm, "it's so weird, the...the tonal shift in the world around you that you can sense when something has either happened or is about to happen. Maybe it's something only really empathetic people are aware of, but...this morning, before I even knew...I knew. I could tell something was off. The air felt stale, the world was quiet. There was just a sense of...emptiness." "That's how that day with my mom felt," Eliza said, "something about the whole day felt off, and then after it happened, it sort of made sense why. So yeah, I get that." "They always say you never expect it, that it...it just happens, these moments of loss, but I disagree," Bea said, "It's like people who say they saw the person they wanted to marry and knew that was who they were meant to be with, you know? Whether you're aware or not of the life changing event, you know it when it happens. You always know it when it happens." Eliza nodded, and the two sat silently, watching the train make another complete round and coming to another stop. "My mom's dead," Beatrice whispered. "Mine too," Eliza replied. And no more needed to be said. Acknowledgement was hard enough. Casey didn't know if she belonged here.
She had been assigned as Michelle's assistant, which meant helping Michelle sculpt, paint and create new set pieces for the show, or doing upkeep on the set pieces they already had. But standing here, trying to coat Beatrice's doghouse in a new sheen of red, she had to wonder if this was really what she wanted to be doing. She thought, with her artistic skill, that she would be doing something more worthwhile for her time. The doors to the area where they worked opened and Liam walked inside with Leslie beside him. Leslie was drinking from a styrofoam cup of coffee, while Liam was carrying more coffee towards the stage where Michelle was. "All I'm saying is that you're spending more money buying coffee than just making your own," Leslie said in between sips. "That's hypocritical, you can't criticize the very thing you're partaking in," Liam said. "Oh to the contrary, watch me," Leslie said, "I'm a television executive, I can make all sorts of bad decisions." Liam laughed as they reached the stage and Michelle scooted herself to the edge, setting her sculpting tools down and reaching out as Liam handed her a cup. He then looked behind her towards Casey, who just hid her face even more from view. Liam shrugged and put the carry container on the stage, pulling his own cup from it. "Michelle, you don't think I'm just a complainer do you?" Leslie asked. "What are you bitching about now?" Michelle asked, making Liam laugh again. "You know, artistic immunity doesn't mean you don't have to respect your superior," Leslie said, smirking. "And how exactly are you superior to me?" Michelle asked, and Leslie opened her mouth to reply, then shrugged and shut her mouth; Michelle nodded, adding, "Exactly." "How're things going?" Liam asked, nodding towards Casey. Michelle glanced back over her shoulder and sighed, then looked back at Liam and Leslie. "It's going," she said, shrugging, "what's with all the coffee lately? You've been on some kind of kick." "Coffee's good, also it's supposed to help reduce the risk of cancer," Liam said, "what, you don't like coffee?" "I don't know that I ever really drank it much before I met you guys," Michelle said. "Look at us," Leslie said, "We're such good influences." Casey would be lying if she said she didn't want to participate, but truth be told, she'd never learned how to make friends and she sure didn't know where to start now. She knew she wanted to know these people, the people Beatrice was apparently so very close to, but she didn't know how to do that. How does one become friends? Do you just walk up, introduce yourself and invite yourself in? That seemed...rude. So instead, Casey did what she'd been doing ever since she was a little girl. Hiding in the shadows. Pretending she couldn't be seen. Hiding had long since become a defense mechanism for her, and she wasn't about to give that up just yet. *** Eliza pushed her glasses up on her face with the bottom of her palm and then stuck her needle between her lips and pushed the puppet under the sewing machine, starting to stitch it at a faster rate. Keagan was sitting in a chair a bit aways from the desk, enjoying the sounds of the machine whirring. "There's something oddly comforting about the noise of a sewing machine," Keagan said, "My grandmother sewed a ton, and I remember her sewing machine was right in the living room, and when I'd sleep over when my mom worked late, I'd fall asleep to the sound of her sewing and humming to herself." Eliza smiled. "That's a nice memory," Eliza said, and Keagan sighed. "Do you ever miss stuff like that? Really little seemingly inconsequential things that you can't get back? I mean, I know you lost your mom, so that's why I figure you of all people would understand what I mean," Keagan said, and Eliza sighed as she stopped sewing and turned to face Keagan in her chair. "I don't know," Eliza said, "I guess I think of it more like...I never leave those moments. I am always in them. That way I can't miss anything. I know that's probably not considered 'healthy' but what is? I prefer to just stay in those moments because, no matter how good my present or my future might become, they'll never top the awesome power of childhood wonderment." Keagan smirked, nodding in agreement. Everyone always talked about Eliza being mentally disabled, but the more time Keagan spent with her, the more she didn't see what they meant. Course, she also knew there was a spectrum of disability, and clearly Eliza was capable of speech and thought on an adult manner when she wanted to be. Keagan finally got up from her seat and stretched for a minute, before heading to the table where Eliza was working and looked over her work. "You think it's about finished?" she asked. "You tell me, it's your puppet," Eliza said, "if there's anything you want added, just let me know." Keagan picked up the puppet, and looked it in the face. In a weird way, she felt incredibly attached to this puppet, as if it were truly an extension of herself. She felt a pang of love in her chest, and she hugged the puppet to her chest, almost feeling as if she were going to start crying. Eliza watched, smiling weakly, as Keagan just appreciated the moment. "You know," Eliza finally said, "people don't respect puppetry anymore. Not in this age of CGI and other visual effects. Practical effects have taken a big hit, but puppetry especially. And it's weird, because as children, we saw puppets as just another living thing. We learned from them. We empathized with them. And then, at some point, we just...lose that ability. We forget the things they thought us as children, and instead become the worst versions of ourselves. Puppets are capable of doing so much for us, but we've turned out back on them. As someone who's had way too many backs turned on her...I guess I refuse to do that to something that's helped me so much." Keagan looked up from hugging the puppet, Serena, and looked at Eliza who was now looking down at her drafting table again. Eliza sighed and pushed her glasses up again, before adjusting the bow keeping her bushy hair in a bun. "I think you're the most human person on this show," Keagan said. "I'd rather be a puppet," Eliza said, smirking a little. Keagan walked up to Eliza's chair and, reaching out, engulfed her in a hug as well. "I hope Michelle knows how lucky she is, having you," Keagan said, "and I hope she never takes you for granted." "She doesn't, and she knows," Eliza said, "...I like hugs." Keagan laughed a little and hugged a bit tighter. Eliza hadn't had a lot of hugs in the last few years, until she met these people and started working for Beatrice again, and now she was being smothered in affection, and she wouldn't have it any other way. *** Michelle and Casey were sitting on the stage, unpacking their lunches. Or, rather, Michelle was unpacking the lunch Delores always made for her, while Casey was having a lunch provided by the studio because she couldn't afford food on her own. As Casey unfolded the sandwich they'd given her, and untwisted the cap on her glass soda, Michelle wiped her mouth on her sleeve and pulled open a bag of chips, then holding it out towards Casey to share, which made Casey smile weakly as she reached within it and grasped a small handful. "Thank you," Casey said softly. "You're pretty handy with these tools, I'm impressed," Michelle said. "Well," Casey said, "um, I'm good with my hands in general. That's why I draw, do art." "That's cool," Michelle said, smiling kindly as she picked up the peach Delores had packed and bit into it, speaking as she chewed, "it was nice of Bea to give you a job, especially cause I really needed help around here." "Maybe she did it more for your sake than mine," Casey said flatly. "Nah, Bea doesn't just do things for me. She only gives jobs to those she sees purpose in, and I think she saw herself in you," Michelle said, "that's why she hired me. Cause of my resiliance in getting the show back out in public consciousness and stuff. But I'm glad you're here, cause I really did need help, cause I can only do so much sculpting and painting and stuff on my own. Plus you deserve it." "Nobody's ever been glad I've ever been anywhere, so...thanks, I guess," Casey said, and Michelle looked at her with those wide, comforting eyes; Casey swallowed her sandwich bite, sighed and then said, "I mean, you heard what I told that woman we met with, what was her name? Anyway. My mom was awful. That's why I spent so much of my time watching TV, and Beatrice always felt so...comforting. Like she was a mom from another place." "She did," Michelle said, nodding in agreement as she took another bite of her peach. "That's why I started drawing, cause she said art was a way to escape and understand pain," Casey said, "so I did just that. I found ways to escape what she was doing to me, or letting others do to me." "Everyone needs an outlet," Michelle said. "I can't help but feel like I don't fit in though, but that's not surprising, I've never felt like I fit in anywhere, so why should it be any different here? Even working for Beatrice, I still feel like an outsider. You all have so much history, chemistry, and I'll never reach that level no matter how long I'm here for," Casey said, "I'll always be the outsider." Casey lifted her drink to her lips and took a very long drink, as Michelle sighed and pulled her hair back in a bushy ponytail. "Let me tell you a story," Michelle said, "I never fit in anywhere either. Even coming here, I still felt that way. I was always a weird, introverted person who couldn't do a lot cause of my medical issues. I mean, I did what I could, I didn't let that define me, but...no matter how much you try not to let something define you, it still does. If something restricts you that much, it defines you. But there's no shame in that. So I accepted I was sick, and instead turned my focus on doing my work here until my health concerns became so great they couldn't be ignored. That's what you need to do. Give all that energy, whether positive or negative, to the art. Ignore the rest." Casey nodded slowly, listening, taking it all in. She looked at her chipped nails in her lap and shut her eyes. "Do you wanna see my sketches?" Casey asked. "Absolutely!" Casey smiled and reached to her backpack, tugging it towards her. It was covered in pins and patches, for alternative bands and various underground horror movies. Casey pulled a large black sketchbook from her bag and handed it to Michelle, who took it and opened it to gruesome drawings of monsters and creatures. She was, disgusted sure, but also impressed. Casey had real talent, especially in terms of design if not handwork. Michelle flipped through it for a bit, and then handed it back to Casey. "You're exceedingly talented," Michelle said. "Each monster is designed after a person who hurt me," Casey said as she tried to stuff the book back in her backpack, only for a kids storybook with a golden spine to slide out as well. Michelle reached forward and picked it up, looking at it, before Casey snatched it away. Their eyes locked, as Casey put the book back in her backpack, and Michelle just continued smiling at her. "I think that's a very therapeutic way to handle it," Michelle said, "What's that book from?" "...I had a babysitter," Casey said, "she used to read it to me, so now I read it when I get overwhelmed. It helps keep me calm. I have really nasty panic attacks a lot of times, and...and it helps. It helps ground me. I know that's so stupid, so childish, but it works. She was the only good part of my childhood." "There's nothing stupid about that," Michelle said, "we all cling to what keeps us safe." Casey nodded, understanding but not agreeing. No matter what nice things Michelle or Bea would ever say to her, she would never believe any of it herself. She knew she was total trash, and would only hurt them somehow. She excused herself, headed to the bathroom in the hall and, after locking herself in a stall, reached into her romper pocket and pulled out a bag of pills. She knelt in front of the toilet, smashed them as best as she could and snorted them, then leaned back on the floor against the stall door and started crying. Beatrice Beagle was a place designed for safety. And Casey was anything but safe to be around. *** Lexi was standing in the kitchen over the stove, stirring some noodles, reheating Chow Mein they'd ordered in the previous night, when she felt something on her shoulder. She smiled and turned, expecting to see Keagan but instead seeing a puppet face and she screamed, half laughing as she put a hand to her chest while Keagan cracked up and sat down at the kitchen table. "That was terrifying, my god," Lexi said, "that was the start to about 18 horror movies." "Isn't Serena great?" Keagan asked, plopping the puppet on her lap as Lexi turned to face her and looked. "She's beautiful," Lexi said, smiling warmly, "Eliza did a great job. Why the name Serena?" Keagan sighed and looked at the puppet, stroking its hair as if it were a cat in her lap. "When I was in middle school," Keagan said, "there was this girl in my math class. She was a math wizard, she always helped me with my homework and stuff, and we weren't really 'friends' but we were friendly to one another. You know, that kind of friendship you can only have while being in school, in its own twisted little ecosystem. Anyway, she was way cool, way smart, real pretty. I kind of had a big crush on her. But then again, I had a crush on a ton of people cause, ya know, hormones. Boys, girls, teachers, didn't matter. Anyway, one day she doesn't come to school, and then for the next few days she doesn't come to school either so I just sorta assume she's sick or something." "Was she?" Lexi asked, turning back to tend to her noodles in the pan. "No," Keagan said, "she'd been killed by her dad. He was a nice guy, until he suddenly wasn't. It just came out of nowhere, a complete psychotic snap, and he lost it. From what I heard, when he finally realized what he'd done to her, her sister and her mother, he felt intense remorse, but I guess the weight of life got to him and he cracked. But the damage was done, and they were gone. All except her mom, who had survived and had to learn to live with half a face." "Jeez," Lexi said, whispering in shock as she turned to look back at Keagan. "Anyway," Keagan continued, "we used to talk about how there were, like, absolutely no good books or movies for young black girls featuring young black girls. Particularly ones who were smart like us. Sure we always got these ghetto girls, or the ones who were streetsmart, and there's nothing inherently bad about those portrayals exactly, but...but we wanted to see girls who were like us. Good with books. Good with sciences and arts. We never saw those. I figured this would be a nice way to make that happen, while immortalizing her." Lexi walked up to Keagan as Keagan put Serena down on the table behind her and hugged Lexi around the waist. Lexi gently stroked her hair and held her. "That's a really beautiful way to ensure horror doesn't define her," Lexi said, and Keagan nodded, crying a little as Lexi added, "and I'm sure she'd appreciate it." Keagan hadn't thought about Serena in forever, but when she was asked to help create a puppet to represent her ethnicity, that was who she immediately thought of. She just hoped that, wherever it was people wound up when they died, Serena could see what Keagan and Eliza had created, and did like it. There was only so much Keagan could realistically do, but damned if she wasn't going to try her hardest to do it. *** There was a little place near Delores's called Chick's, where they sold hot snacks and desserts and drinks. It was an outdoor eating area, and the only people allowed inside were the people working there. Michelle and Eliza had been coming here about twice a week or so, just to get ice cream cones and then sit together outside and eat and talk, almost as if impromptu dates with simplicity. Licking her plain vanilla cone with cookie bits in it, Eliza looked around at all the other people who were here as Michelle stared dead ahead at her own cone and bit into it. "Today was weird," Michelle said. "Every day isn't?" Eliza asked. "I don't know," Michelle said, "that girl, Casey, I wanna help her but I don't know if she can be helped or would even let me." "Not every person is your responsibility," Eliza said, "sometimes, um, the best thing you can do is simply be there for them when they finally ask for help." "And what if it's too late by then?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged, continuing to lick. "...you don't like her the way you like me, do you?" Eliza asked, before quickly apologizing, "sorry, sorry, that was, ugh...that was so dumb." "You never have to worry about that," Michelle said, smiling and reaching across the table, touching her cheek, "nobody is ever gonna take your place. You're the only girl I wanna have ice cream dates with." Eliza blushed, and they both started laughing. There was a certain sense of finality between them. That this was how it was going to be for the foreseeable future, and that fact alone gave them both a sense of security and safety. That, no matter what else came along, they would always have this. Always have eachother. And in an industry where you were never sure if your show was going to be cancelled the next week or not, that level of continuity was something they needed. That...and ice cream. Because ice cream fixes everything. Michelle was in the car, waiting for Eliza. Eliza was still in her bedroom, getting a few things for the little road trip they were about to embark on, and Michelle didn't mind waiting one bit. She tuned the radio, playing around ping ponging from station to station until she landed on a station of nothing but classical music, and she liked that. Nice background noise. Finally the door opened, and Michelle glanced up, spying Eliza hugging her father before heading out, little backpack in hand. She opened the passenger door and climbed in, as Michelle started the car and then leaned towards her, putting her hands on Eliza's face and kissing her, making her laugh.
"Good morning," Michelle said, and Eliza giggled more. "Good morning!" she chirped back happily, "You're in a happy mood." "I am in a mood, certainly," Michelle said, as she started to back out of the driveway and head down the street, "whether it's happy remains to be seen depending on how the day unfolds. We need to stop at the studio real quick though, I need to pick something up." "Okie dokie," Eliza replied, putting one wireless earphone on and listening to her own music to keep calm. Even with Michelle, someone who clearly adored her, she needed to be calm. The companionship was nice, but Eliza constantly had bad thoughts running through her head, and she needed to distract herself no matter what, in whatever way she could. The drive to the studio was short and silent, and when they arrived, Michelle only needed to run inside because she was getting the address from her office, which she'd written down and then forgot there. As she was exiting, she bumped into Bea, and a woman standing beside her. "Oh, hi!" Michelle said, "I didn't know you'd be here on an off day." "I won't be," Beatrice replied, "I'm having a meeting, but I need you to do something for me." "Well, I...I'm having a meeting too, so I can't exactly-" "Just take Casey with you," Bea said, gesturing to the girl standing beside her, "Casey this is Michelle, Michelle this is Casey. Casey's going to be working here but until we can reconvene later today she doesn't have anything to do and anywhere to go, so I need her to tag along with you, yeah?" Michelle sighed and nodded, feeling a bit worn down, but willing to do what Bea asked. Bea hugged her, thanked her, and then looked at her watch, as if she were waiting for someone. Michelle and Casey walked back to the car and Casey climbed into the back as Michelle seated herself behind the wheel once more. Eliza pulled one earphone off and looked back at Casey, who smiled politely. "...are we dealing in human trafficking now?" she asked, and Michelle laughed as she pulled out and headed back down the road. Meanwhile, Bea stood outside the studio, smoking, tapping her foot. Today was always hard. Maybe this year, though, it'd be easier. Finally Liam's car pulled up and she stubbed out her cigarette and climbed into the passenger seat, oohing as she sat. "Wow, seat warmers," she said, "how fancy." "Look you can't be dismissive and appreciative at the same time," Liam replied. "Oh, to the contrary, watch me," Bea remarked, making him smirk as they, too, pulled away. *** Justine was sitting in home office, sipping coffee, staring at her fishtank. The bubbles were hynoptic, and the sound of the water moving ever so slightly, circulating round the tank, brought her an odd sense of calm. She leaned back in her chair and then looked down at her drafting table, where she was currently doing watercolor pages for an upcoming childrens book about a swan. She sighed, took another sip of coffee, and then finally stood up. She placed the mug on the small table beside the drafting desk and grabbed the container of fish flakes, shaking it over the aquarium top so they could feed. As she knelt down and smiled, watching them eat, all she could think about was the crash. How she'd only survived really because the plane had landed in water, and because it had landed tail first, meaning the cabin was pointed up (and the fact that it was a two person biplane), she had plenty of time to scramble out of it and swim to shore with the last of her strength before collapsing. How she managed to do that, especially with her legs as damaged as they were, always remained a mystery, but she was grateful for being alive. Especially in times like this, where she could sit and do the kind of work she loved, watching animals she liked, yes, she really understood the appreciation of life itself now. She sat back down and turned her attention back to her work. A story about a swan. Somehow she was always dragged back to the water. *** "So where are we going?" Casey asked, leaning up between the front seats. "I'm going to meet a woman that's the daughter of my social worker," Michelle said. "Is she really even your social worker anymore?" Eliza asked, "I mean...you have a job, you live with her, isn't she just kind of your friend now?" Michelle hadn't even considered this somehow. After all the years of knowing Delores, it was a bit hard to not think of her as being her social worker. Maybe Eliza was right. Maybe it was time to stop thinking of her as her social worker, and instead just think of her as her friend. Hell, she'd been more of a mother to her than her own mother had been, just in the short time she'd lived with her. They came to a red light and Casey opened up some gum and popped it in her mouth, chewing. "...are you scared?" Eliza asked. "I'm...anxious," Michelle responded, "I'm anxious. Not scared. I just worry that she's going to be mad at me for lying, for convincing her to meet with me, because what if she wants nothing to do with Delores? I mean, the fact that they've not spoken in so long kind of insinuates that she wants nothing to do with her." "But you're curious why, right?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded as the light changed to green and she kept driving. "Extremely," she replied, "I just feel like...for all Delores has done for me, I have to do something in return." "That's what makes you a good person," Eliza said, smiling, as she put her hand on Michelle's thigh. Regardless of how things spun out today, Michelle was happy to have Eliza by her side. Never before in her life had she had a relationship, and she certainly hadn't expected her first one to really be as strong and honest and supportive as it was. Though...she was a bit annoyed at Beatrice dumping Casey on her. "Does anyone want gum?" Casey asked. "What kind? It smells like cinnamon," Eliza said. "You have a good nose," Casey remarked, and handed her a piece, making Eliza excited, which made Michelle smile. Maybe Casey's presence wouldn't be so detrimental after all. *** "Been a while since we've been to a really nice place like this," Liam said, he and Bea seated in a lovely dimly lit steakhouse in a booth. Beatrice was looking through the menu while Liam picked up his water glass and took a long sip. He finally sighed and looked at her, then asked, "do you wanna talk about it?" "We don't do enough together," Bea said flatly, "for all the history we have, and the relationship we've got, we don't do enough together." "I mean, I agree, and I'd like to do more like this," Liam said, "doesn't have to be a strictly yearly thing." "It does, actually, because if it were more often, I'd have to think about it more," Beatrice said, "I don't mind being your friend, I don't mind having you in my life, I don't mind working with you, but to have anything more social outside of that, it...it takes me back to all that. Back to that...that moment. I found her file." Liam's eyes widened a bit and he leaned back in his side of the booth, folding his arms after adjusting his glasses. "Yeah?" he asked. "Yeah," Bea replied, "it was just in my closet with some other things. A whole life boiled down to just a few scraps of paper and a photo. Seems weird, right? Like there should be more. But that's all we get in the end, in this situation. I wanted to cry, but I just...I labeled it, hid it and went back to my day." A moment passed as a waitress took an order from a nearby booth, then passed them. "Do you ever think about it?" Bea asked quietly, looking down at her lap. "...sometimes," Liam said softly, "but...and I say this with no judgement in regards to your own way of processing things...I can't let myself regret it. If I start down that path, then I'll start opening up every decision I ever made in my life and how I, in turn, made the wrong one. I just can't do that. What's done is done. It's over." Bea nodded as a waitress finally came to their table and Liam ordered for the both of them. Sitting there, watching him, Beatrice couldn't help but feel like maybe he was right. For so long she'd mourned their life in show business, and all the things that that entailed, Claire included, but Claire was gone. There was nothing they could do to change that, so why dwell on it, especially twenty something years later? Just enjoy the now. Maybe Liam was right about them meeting more often. An anniversary just drags you back to that moment, why not create new reasons to be sociable together? She picked up her water glass and took a long drink. "So I see you hired that girl from the pizzeria," Liam said and Bea nodded. "Indeed," she replied, "I intend to take every broken young lady that I find under my wing." "...is that because you couldn't keep Claire around?" Liam asked, and Bea looked at him, blinking. She'd never even considered that, in all honesty, but he was probably right. It was probably related to that loss. Loss, after all, makes you do wacky things. But instead of recognizing that openly, and discussing it with the only person who could understand her reasoning for having been there the moment it happened, instead she just shrugged and waited for her appetizer. She hadn't had cheese sticks in a while. *** Michelle, Eliza and Casey were all standing on the large roofed porch of Justine's home, waiting anxiously. Michelle wanted to knock, but she was scared to do so, even with the cover story she'd given for her reason for showing up. She knew that the instant that cover story fell away, and Delores was brought up, that things would change drastically. Eliza held her hand, and Michelle felt her nerves melt a bit, so she nodded, shut her eyes for a moment and knocked on the door. After a few moments, it finally opened, and Justine peeked out. "Hello?" she asked. "Hi," Michelle said, smiling brightly, "My name is Michelle, I called about meeting you for a job." "Right! Come in, please," Justine said, moving aside and allowing the girls entrance. As all three passed her, she shut the door and, half chuckling, added, "I didn't realize you were going to bring an entire committee. Please, have a seat. I have some tea, if anyone is thirsty." "Tea would be nice, thank you," Eliza said, and so Justine headed to the kitchen to get some while the girls sat down. Michelle couldn't deny...this wasn't what she was expecting. This house was so...normal. She'd expected someone who'd survived a plane crash to be exciting and adventurous, not recede further into general blandness. But it did. It reeked of the mundane. Lots of seafaring art hanging from the walls - ranging from metal crab sculptures to paintings of seagulls resting on ship sails - and the most boring rugs one could conjure up in their minds. This was the daughter of Delores? Really? The two didn't seem similar at all. Justine finally returned with multiple cups on a tray and set the tray on the coffee table between them, along with a plate of cookies. "You sure know how to entertain guests," Casey said, picking up her mug of tea and, after nesting it between her thighs momentarily, reached into her coat and pulled out a flask. She unscrewed it, poured some into the tea and then started to drink. "You can drink on the job?" Justine asked. "Can I? Probably not. Will I? Definitely," Casey remarked. "Thank you very much for your hospitality," Eliza said politely, and Michelle felt humbled by having such a nice girlfriend. "So what is this book about?" Justine asked, "I always like to get to know the ins and outs of what it is I'm potentially doing artwork for before actually committing to it, if you understand. It helps me paint, not to be cute, a broader picture, a more wide scope, of what it is I'm getting involved in." "Actually, that's the thing," Michelle said, "um...we're not...we're not really with a publishing house. I lied. My name is Michelle, yes, but...but I work for a streaming network that produces mainly childrens content, and...and I was hoping you'd like to talk about the fact that I've been living with your mother now for months. I had major surgery a while back, and your mother took me in to help give me a safe place to heal and recoup, and escape my own mother who's a vile disgusting person, and once she told me she had a daughter, I just...I became curious about why you two never spoke. She told me about the accident, and-" "Why wouldn't she, she tells everyone," Justine said, interrupting, catching Michelle off guard; she sipped her tea and added, "it's her own personal sob story she can relay around to those who might give her sympathy. I didn't even WANT to visit for that holiday, but she insisted, as she does, and so her insistance put me on that plane, and put me on the brink of death." "Hardcore," Casey said. "So forgive me if I'm not immediately interested in rekindling a relationship that burned out ages ago," Justine concluded. "Listen, I know what it's like to hate your mom, I do," Michelle said, "my mother blamed me for all my health problems, told me constantly that my medical debt kept her from truly pursuing a life in the arts. I get it. I really, really get it. And I know that simply being a house guest as opposed to actually being related isn't the same, and obviously you know Delores far better than I do, but...but I think that absence has done her good. She seems...humble. I walked into the kitchen the other night and she was crying, looking at a photo album. She isn't interested in reconciling for the sake of saving face. She genuinely misses you." Justine chewed her lip and thought about this. After a moment, she shook her head. "Yeah, well," she said, taking a cookie from the plate, "either way she's sending lackies out to do her work, when I won't answer her calls, so-" "She didn't send anyone," Michelle said, "she doesn't know I'm here." That, she had to admit, threw her for a loop. Justine hadn't been expecting that one. She put her mug down on the table and looked at Michelle with earnest eyes, her hands now cupped in her lap. "So you just...took it upon yourself to find me of your own volition?" Justine asked. "I have an abusive mother, Eliza's mother died in an accident, and..." Michelle glanced at Casey, who just looked away; Michelle shrugged and continued, "I just...I feel like we can relate and-" "My mother," Casey said, interrupting, clearing her throat, "she...she used to sell me to her male friends when I was growing up. We were poor, and we didn't have a whole lot of money so my mother used to sell me to men for their...interests in me. So, I think, if anyone has any reason to hate their mother here, it's me. I'm curious to know what made you so angry at your mother, because more often than not, it's small and irrelevent. Angry words said at inopportune times, often in the heat of the moment and not said with sincerity. You don't hate your mother. You hate the moment. And it's hard to separate the moment from the mother, and look past that. But I guarantee my mother doesn't look at photo albums of me and cry. If anything, she's just mad she can't use me to make her money anymore." The room filled with an uncomfortable quiet, and Michelle felt her eyes wet with tears, but she didn't want to cry. Eliza sniffled and wiped her nose on her sweater sleeve, and then they all heard Justine start to cry. Justine stood up, walked around the coffee table and pulled Casey's head against her, holding her, petting her. "I'm so sorry," Justine said through tears, "that's so sick. You shouldn't...fuck....you're right and I'm so sorry." And after that, everything was smooth sailing. Fittingly so, considering all the seafaring related stuff in the house. *** Bea and Liam, after lunch, now found themselves sitting at the bar of the steakhouse, sipping on their respective alcoholic beverages but not saying a word. Liam continued deshelling pistachios and eating them as they sat and in a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Seemed that not having to interact with one another much recently had killed their ability to hold a conversation, but there was something Bea did want to ask...though she was scared of how Liam would react. "...could we have made it work?" Bea asked, and Liam glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as she continued to elaborate on her vagueness, adding, "like, realistically, do you think we could've made it work?" "Who knows," Liam said, "I'd like to have the confidence to say yes, but realistically speaking...I don't know. I think there would've been issues standing in the way of accomplishing that. I like to think that Claire would be proud of what we've managed to accomplish though, coming from that situation and feeling so hopeless and helpless." Beatrice nodded, sniffling, looking at her drink. "I think I need to be on anti-depressants," she said quietly, and Liam smiled. "Yeah?" "I worry far too much, think far too much," Bea said, "it isn't healthy to be this sad all the time. I need to do something about it before it truly incapacitates me in some manner or another. I need to start taking responsibility for my health." "I'm proud of you for that acknowledgment," Liam said, patting her on the back. "Here's to the 24th anniversary," Bea said, "wish she could be here." "Here here," Liam replied, both raising their glasses and clinking them before drinking. *** After getting back to the studio, Eliza headed to The Hole to work more on Keagan's puppet, while Michelle stayed in the props department with Casey - keeping her busy until Bea returned like she'd promised to - while they worked on building new pieces for upcoming episodes. Casey stopped painting for a moment and looked at Michelle, who looked up at her from her knelt position. "Everything okay?" Michelle asked, "that was...some heavy stuff." "I just figured it was a good way to shift perspective," Casey said, "not to disparage anything she went through, because, hell, surviving a plane crash regardless of her relaitonship with her mother is rough enough to live with. But I just figured maybe she should see what a truly despicable parent is like." "I'm really sorry that happened to you, for what it's worth," Michelle said. "It's just life," Casey said, shrugging, "it happened. Nothing I can do about it. And I'm sure I deserved it for some reason." Michelle shook her head as she dragged her paint brush down the fence post, wishing she knew what to say. She'd never once dealt with someone with a history of CSA. Still, she felt like maybe just giving Casey a safe space to work in and feel comfortable in was help enough. "Are you and that girl Eliza a couple?" Casey asked, and Michelle nodded, smiling. "Yes we are," she said, "we're looking to adopt a dog." "That's really cute," Casey remarked, putting down her paintbrush into a nearby can of thinner, "does a broken heart good to be around so much love." Michelle smiled more. She was right. It WAS good for a broken heart to be around so much love. That was the one thing Bea had given them all over their time together, and would now give to Casey, and all of them had healed and grown so much from that simple act of kindness. And the saddest part was that, even if Bea recognized this - which she did - she would never be able to grant herself a job well done for it, all because she hadn't been able to give Claire that very same thing. Bea never showed back up at the studio that night, instead opting to go home and be with Leslie for the evening. But she called, she left a message about what Casey could get to work on in her absence, and that they'd find something more permanent at a later date. This anniversary with Liam always messed her up, always made her aware of her failings instead of her success, and maybe he was right to suggest finally putting it to bed. And yet...and yet she couldn't even entertain that idea, because the anniversary was all that they had left of Claire. They'd already lost her. They couldn't lose that too. Yes. One day she would have to face down the past with Claire head on. But today was not that day. Maybe next year. Michelle came down the stairs, one hand clenching at the collar of her robe while the other rubbed her eyes. It was almost 5am, and she had woken up with an upset stomach, so she went in search of some crackers and water. However, as she neared the landing, she could hear the soft gentle crying of Delores in the kitchen. She approached cautiously and peered inside, only to see Delores sitting at the table, looking at a small photo album. Michelle entered and cleared her throat, giving Delores ample time to wipe her face on her robe sleeves and try to catch her breath.
"Are you okay?" Michelle asked, her voice raspy from sleep. "I'm....having a moment," Delores replied, half laughing, "are you?" "I don't feel great, I needed a snack," Michelle said, sitting down at the table, "but...if you wanna talk about it, we can-" "There's nothing to discuss, no, it's okay," Delores said, "I was just...I was thinking about my daughter was all. Some nights it gets to be too hard to ignore. There's some tea on the stove, if you're thirsty. I'm gonna try to go back to sleep, I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well." With that, Delores stood up and, taking the photo album with her, she kissed Michelle's forehead before yawning and heading back up the stairs, mug in her other hand. Michelle looked around the kitchen and sighed. She knew Delores saw her as a surrogate daughter of sorts, as she was a mother stand in to Michelle, but this incident made Michelle want to give something more to Delores than she could. She wanted to give her her family back. But how could she possibly do that? She knew next to nothing about her daughter, and wasn't sure where to begin to look. Another night of uncertainty. *** Justine didn't remember anything about the crash except for hearing her boyfriends screams. It was strange, she was so eerily calm in the face of possible eternal nothingness, and yet her boyfriend was the one screaming like a little girl. His screams, and the difference between the two of them, was the only thing she could recall. The next thing she knew, she was laying in a hospital bed and could barely move. In fact it even hurt to breath. She looked to her side and saw a glass of water, so she reached over, grasping it best she could, and pulled it to her lips where she took long, steady gulps. Once it was empty, she set it back down and coughed a little, before noticing that also on the bedside table where the glass had been was a card. She once again reached for it, struggling to do so, and after getting it in her bandaged hands, she opened it slowly - too much movement hurt - and read the inscription on the inside. It was from her mother, Delores, and it was a whole two paragraphs long. After scanning it, she felt herself tear up and put the card back on the table, face down, and promised herself she'd never speak to her mother again. And she hadn't since that day. She made a lot of promises that afternoon in that hospital bed: get back to good health, never fly again and cut her mother off, and since then...well... ...she was proud to admit she'd stuck true to all of them thus far. *** "I can find her, don't worry," Liam said, and Michelle looked at him with casual uncertainty. She heard Eliza set down a pair of scissors on the table in The Hole and looked behind her momentarily before resetting her gaze on Liam once again. "You can?" "I can find anybody," Liam said, "Michelle, you of all people should know how easy it is to actually track someone down, given what you and Keagan managed to accomplish. Just give me a few days and I can definitely get the information you need." Liam sipped from his coffee cup as he and Michelle went back to watching, from afar, Eliza create a new prop for the show. The Hole had quickly become the hide out for Eliza's immediate friend circle, and she wasn't at all bothered by this. Liam was a close friend, Bea was like a secondary mother, and Michelle was her girlfriend. Her workspace was their safe space. Michelle sighed and tossed her hair. "What if she doesn't want to be found? What if I'm...what if I'm making a huuuuuuge mistake by doing this? For all I know she and Delores hate eachother. I mean, when Delores first told me about her, she said Justine specifically cut ties, and didn't want her help or company any longer. What if I'm fucking that up by reaching out?" Michelle asked, chewing anxiously on her nails. "Your justifications are sound, regardless of the outcome. Besides, as someone who hates their mother, I think perhaps it's imperative that you two speak," Liam replied, "maybe you could both give one another some much needed insight." Michelle nodded, taking in Liam's opinion to heart. Michelle hadn't even heard so much as a peep from her mother since Beatrice confronted her in the hospital hallway. Not that she minded, the less interaction between the two of them the better, she felt. They both went back to watching Eliza as she turned on her sewing machine and began to stitch. Michelle smiled a little. At least, in the moments of sheer uncertainty, she was confident that she had someone in her life who loved her the way she needed to be loved, and she knew she was lucky in that regard. Not everyone had that. "Let me know when and if you find anything," Michelle said, and Liam nodded. "Yeah, of course, you'll be the first to hear about it, besides me obviously," Liam replied, the both of them chuckling. Michelle walked towards the table to talk to Eliza and, watching them converse, Liam thought back to his own family. He'd met Bea's parents now, he'd seen where she'd come from, but Michelle was still such an enigma to him. His own family hadn't been much better though, to be fair. He wasn't nearly as estranged from them as, say, Michelle was, but he did try to keep contact rather to a minimum. He thought back to Justine, and Michelle's inquiries about her whereabouts, and he realized he was somewhat of a hypocrite. How could he justify finding someone who so clearly didn't want to be found? But that's what he did. That's what he had. Found family. What better reason was there, really? *** Justine laid on her couch and exhaled deeply. It had been a long day. She'd done a ton of watercolors, sketches, charcoal drawings, and more for the current kids book in production, and her hands hurt and the last thing she wanted to do was more work. Right now she wanted to rest, relax, maybe watch some sort of history show where she could shut her brain halfway off. She turned the TV on, put the volume to a low rumble, and pulled a pillow over her face. But the rest didn't last long, because only a few minutes later did her landline ring. She groaned, annoyed, and rolled over, reached across the armrest of the couch and gripped the phone from its base on the table beside her and pulled it to her face. "Hello?" she asked, but nobody spoke. She sighed and spoke again, "helllloooo? Is anyone there?" This had been happening for weeks now, on and off. She waited for a few moments, and then hung up. It rang again a few minutes later, only for the same thing to occur. She was beginning to get very frustrated with this, and had even considered outright canceling her phone service or even changing her number, but she knew that wasn't logical. Justine laid there on the couch and stared at the ceiling, thinking about what she should do that evening. She didn't want to work anymore, so maybe she should go out and get something to eat. Peter had always liked going to... ...and that's when the despair set in. As soon as Peter was invited into her mind, everything else went out the door. She felt like she was being dragged down into a tar pit from which, no matter the amount she struggled to do so, she could not break free. He was gone. He had been here. He had been her best friend, her lover, possibly her future husband (they had discussed marriage on a number of occasions in fact, and neither felt remotely opposed to the idea). They'd lived together for a number of years, and to lose him, especially in the way that she had...she often wished she'd just died as well. What was the point of survival, she questioned, if it meant surviving on your own? She knew people hated the whole 'don't let someone else be half of your whole' belief of romance, but that's what they had been. Two halves of a whole. Now here she was, merely a half, and most days she barely felt like that even. She'd started writing a novel in her spare time when she wasn't working on childrens books, but she'd only gotten maybe 15k words deep, and was struggling to get further, not because it was challenging - she was nothing if incredibly artistically inclined - but because it just hurt so deeply to write about things she no longer could experience. Justine rolled onto her side, tugging the pillow into her chest, her face now touching its nose to the back cushions of the couch and she started to cry. Everything had lost its luster. Even the mundane things, like grocery shopping, were now even somehow more dull than they had been with him. Maybe she just wouldn't eat dinner tonight. She hadn't been eating as much since the accident. She was losing weight fast. But, like with everything else, she just didn't care. The next early afternoon, the phone rang again, jolting her awake on the couch, and again, when she answered, there was nobody. She knew there were a few possibilities: either her mother, Delores, calling and then hanging up out of fear, a wrong number, a faulty connection, a prank. But despite all these being such obvious reasons, the one she clung to was the hope, however bleak and ridiculous as it might've seemed, was that it was Peter trying to call her, tell her he was in fact okay wherever it was he had ended up. But she knew that was stupid. It was raining. She made some cocoa and went back to sleep. *** Casey Kochawski was sitting in the backroom of the pizzeria, alone, smoking a joint. The costumes head was sitting on the couch beside her, as she blew smoke into the air, and then waved it away with her pawed hand, dispersing it. The doorknob twisted, and Casey worried, trying to figure out what to do with the joint, but when the door opened, it was Beatrice coming in. She smiled at seeing Casey smoking, and pulled a chair over towards the couch, seating herself and watching Casey watching her nervously. "Uh...I'm...I'm sorry. I shouldn't...I shouldn't be-" Casey said, clearly anxious. "Nah, you're good," Bea said, "smoke 'em if you got 'em. I just wanted to come by and thank you for the piece of art you gave me the other week." "Oh!" Casey said, now smiling, "Yeah, yes! Of course! You're...you're so welcome! I'm so glad you liked it." "How did you even become a fan?" Bea asked, as Casey held the joint out to her and she hesitantly took it, taking a long puff as Casey adjusted herself on the couch. "This costume is so bulky," she muttered under her breath, making Bea chuckle as she added, "um...actually, I watched it when it was originally on too. I grew up poor, so...so we didn't get a lot of TV channels, cause we couldn't get cable or whatever, so I just watched whatever was available, and the channel I watched the most, our local channel, got your show. But I never...I never looked into it or anything, like that girl did, I never recorded and digitized it. I just...remembered it." Bea nodded, listening, waiting for Casey to go on. After a moment, Casey exhaled and continued. "Uh...and...uh...my house was always filled with yelling. My parents hated one another," Casey said, "I was practically ignored, like...like to the point where child services were often involved cause I didn't...I'd go to school without shoes because my shoes would wear out and nobody would get me new shoes and stuff like that. Whenever I did ask for help, my parents would just yell at me, before yelling at one another again. So having your show, someone so gentle, talk to me reassuringly...I don't know. It really helped." Bea wanted to cry. She handed the joint back to Casey and put a hand over her mouth, trying to keep herself from breaking down. Casey turned the joint around in her hand and looked at it for a long minute before continuing to smoke. "I guess, I don't know, I just wanted you to know how much good you did, even if you thought you didn't do any," Casey said, "cause I know the feeling of feeling like nothing I'm doing matters. I mean, here I am, no high school diploma, dropped out in 8th grade, and I'm working here, pretending to be you. But that's kinda exactly what I always wanted. Was to be you, you know? It's like this weird middle path between ashamed and proud." Bea nodded, as Justine took another long drag. Bea finally reached across and put her hand on Casey's knee, the both of them looking into one anothers eyes. "...do you want a job?" Bea asked. "I have a job," Casey said, laughing. "Come work with me," Bea said. "You mean for you?" "No," Bea said, shaking her head, "I mean with me." Casey smiled, and wanted to cry. Even now, as an adult, here was the dog, always looking out for her. *** "Tada," Liam said, leaning over Michelle's current prop in the making - a new rose bush made from plastic - holding out a piece of paper towards her. Michelle got up from her knees and cautiously took it, looking at him as he stayed leaning there. "Okay first of all, you can only say that if you're a magician," Michelle replied, "secondly that's wet paint." "Ah!" Liam shouted, recoiling, now noticing the wet paint on his coats elbows, "god, you couldn't have told me that sooner?!" Michelle cracked up and unfolded the paper, looking at it, before looking back at Liam. "Seriously? That fast?" she asked. "Now I gotta get this dry cleaned, you know you're paying for this right?" Liam asked. "Yeah yeah, sure, whatever, seriously though? It's been like two days, how did you-" "Because, Michelle, I'm good at what I do," Liam said, "dammit, this was my favorite jacket!" Michelle thanked him again and turned to exit. She entered the hall, headed for Bea's office and the landline within it. As she walked past a vending machine, Eliza rose up from her kneeling position, bag of cookies in her hand and started following her. Once within the room, Michelle told Eliza to shut the door, and she did just that. Michelle grabbed the phone from the base, then dialed the number on the paper as Eliza stood and watched, eating from her bag of cookies. A few rings, and then finally an answer. "Hello?" Michelle asked, the excitement in her voice incapable of being masked, a grin spreading across her face, "Hello , my name is Michelle. I'm calling for Justine Stiltskon? Yes, okay hi! Hello Justine. I'm from..." Michelle glanced around and looked at Michelle, who just held up her cookie bag. "...Famous Amos Publishing," Michelle said, both of them trying to stifle their laughter as she continued, "I want to speak to you about a possible illustration job for an upcoming...yes...Yes! Okay, well when do you think we could meet? I would gladly come to your home." Michelle scrambled for a pen and a piece of paper, tucking the phone under her chin as she jotted it down. "Okay, thank you so much, I'll see you then," Michelle said, hanging up and looking at Eliza. Michelle was about to attempt to do something, and she was just hoping she wouldn't regret it. "I'm so glad we started doing this," Michelle said as she clicked her seatbelt in and Beatrice pulled out of Delores' driveway; Michelle continued, "I feel like a lot of times we don't get to see eachother much cause of work, despite working together, so this is a nice way to rectify that. Where do you wanna have breakfast?"
"I was thinking of this little diner on the other side of town called Lazlos, it's really old but the line cooks are incredible, somewhere Liam and I went for years," Bea said as they drove down the street. Since the show had started production again, Michelle wasn't wrong, she and Bea hadn't had as much time together. Between the shows schedule and their individual recoveries from the surgery, it just felt like they hadn't been seeing one another as often as they'd liked, so when Beatrice approached Michelle with the idea of having breakfast every three days on the way to work, she hopped on that immediately. "Are you ever nervous about burnout?" Michelle asked, and Bea shrugged. "I don't know, kind of? I have the easiest part of the job, I think," she replied, "cause all I really do is memorize some lines and act in a suit. It's not as difficult as, say, editors or prop makers. Eliza's got it way worse than me. But she also could never get burnout, she loves what she does so much. I mean, I guess I do have to write the damn thing, but a lot of times I have help from you or Liam or whomever." "I worry about it, but I don't know why. It's not like my duties are that intense," Michelle said, "if anything, I worry about burnout on a personal level, with people, relationships, stuff like that. Not from work." Bea nodded, completely understanding what she meant. As they came to a red light, Bea lit a cigarette and rolled down her window. "You're still smoking?" "On occasion," Bea said, "I'm trying hard to quit, but it's difficult. When something's been a habit for long enough, it can be a tough crutch to walk without, you know? Anyway, Michelle, I completely understand what you mean. Work is laser focused. I don't doubt myself of my abilities. But I DO doubt myself when it comes to interacting with others and keeping things afloat, companionship wise, yeah...I worry. Lately Leslie and I haven't had a lot of time to ourselves either, and it's been bothering us. I worry Liam and I are growing distant just because we're both so focused on different aspects on the property, and you..." Bea looked over at Michelle, who smiled at her, easing her heart. "...I never want us to stop being friends. So I make a promise to myself every day to make the effort to interact, even when I don't feel like it, because not only does it help further the relationships I have and need, but sometimes, you never know, it might just be something the other person needs as well. Maybe they're not feeling well that day, and your interaction is the bright spot in an otherwise bad afternoon. Everyone deserves attention on some level." The light turned green and Bea started driving again. Michelle thought about what she said, and she understood why she felt that way. If you wind up in childrens entertainment, especially one such as hers where you're teaching kids things, your entire goal is to make a child feel seen, heard, respected, understood and cared for. Why not carry that same belief over to how you deal with the other people in your life? Michelle sighed happily. Beatrice was such a good influence, and it made her want to try even harder. Lazlo's was, as Bea put it, ancient. It's interior was still styled the way it had been in the 70s - its only remodel since it's opening in 1943 - and honestly, this made Michelle love it all the more. She had such an affinity for things that were stuck in time. Seated on opposites of a booth from eachother, Beatrice drinking tea and Michelle sipping coffee as they waited for their plates of food, Michelle couldn't help but wonder about what direction the show might take this year. She put her mug back down after taking a long sip and looked across to Bea, who was doing the papers crossword puzzle. But, before she could speak, Bea spoke instead without even looking up. "I'm thinking of doing a live show," Bea said, "do something on a stage somewhere, where kids can come and meet me afterwards." "I think that's a fantastic idea," Michelle said eagerly, "and you wouldn't be outside your element. You have theatre background, and many other kids shows do this very thing, so I think you're on a good path with this idea. Though...I must admit...lugging the set and all the props around would be kind of a hassle." "Well that's why you hire roadies," Bea said as the waitress finally set their plates down before them. "We're not a rock band, Bea," Michelle replied, giggling. The two ate in somewhat silence, only occasionally discussing the other ins and outs of what a live show could entail. Michelle didn't want to get her hopes up, but she was sure her enthusiasm was obvious enough. After finishing breakfast, the ladies got back into the car and started the drive back across town, towards the studio for the work day. As they drove, Michelle texted Eliza, telling her about Bea's ideas about the potential live show but to also keep it under her hat, to which Eliza, much in character for herself, replied "I don't wear hats." Michelle snickered endlessly to herself about this. She loved this girl very much. The car eventually, about 15 minutes away from the studio, came to another red light, this time thanks to kids crossing the street, heading to school. "You know," Michelle said, still texting Eliza, looking down at her phone, "if you ever wanted to do something with Eliza and me, the four of us could set up like a couples night. That could be fun. I know you're not super social, none of us really are, but-" Michelle looked over at Bea and noticed she was staring intensely at something. She followed her line of sight to the kids crossing the street, and landing on a little girl, maybe 7 years old, walking by herself, a Beatrice Beagle backpack slung over her shoulders. This was recently released merch, and neither had seen it on the street yet, so it was exciting. At least...that's how Michelle saw it. Bea, on the other hand, felt something else entirely. The light turned green, but instead of continuing on their route, Bea turned and followed the path the little girl was taking. "Uhhh..." Michelle said, "wh...what are ya doin?" "We're gonna follow her to school," Bea said sternly. "Okay, not creepy at all," Michelle replied, "why?" But Bea wouldn't answer that. She was dead eyed, focused. Michelle went and quiet and shot a final text to Eliza. "Beatrice has kidnapped me, if anything happens, I love you." She was half kidding, but...sometimes it was hard to know with Bea. *** Eliza heard her phone buzz and she smiled. She knew it was Michelle. She was the only person who texted her. She lifted the jewelers loupe from her eye and picked up her phone, turning the screen on and navigating to her messages where she read the last text, chuckling. The door to The Hole opened, and Eliza spun around in her chair, looking towards the visitor, who just happened to be Keagan of all people. "Can I help you?" Eliza asked, as Keagan cautiously approached. "Um," Keagan started, "uh, I...yeah. I need your help actually. Someone on the show asked me to create a character, a puppet, person of color, to represent the African American community on the series. So I...I came to you to ask if you'd...if you knew..." "Creating characters isn't easy for everyone," Eliza said, "but when you live mostly in your fiction, it's the easiest thing in the world, so I would love to help!" Keagan smiled, and nodded. She didn't know why she'd been so nervous. Eliza had never been anything but kind and willing to help. Keagan grabbed a nearby metal chair and picked it up, setting it down at Eliza's drafting table where she cleared some of her current work and started fresh with a new sheet and her charcoal sketch pencil. Eliza tapped her pencil a little bit, then turned and looked at Keagan before starting to draw. "Something to note," Eliza said, lisping as she spoke, "is that the colors we pick on paper won't be the colors picked for thread. They're two entirely different spectrums. So try not to get too attached to whatever comes out in front of us, cause the final product will be SO much cooler." Keagan nodded, listening, watching. "I...I guess I just," Keagan started, "I didn't know what to do, cause I didn't wanna screw it up, you know? Representation is...it's....so dangerous to handle, even if you're the one being represented doing the representing. I didn't wanna piss off my people." "When I was little," Eliza said, "I was watching a show, and on it, they had a character come visit the family. It was a cousin. It was what they called a 'very special episode', you know? Where they tackle heavy thematic aspects? Well, this cousin they had visit was mentally challenged, and the entire episode was everyone getting angry at her, until the very end, where they finally accepted her because she did something the right way, the 'normal' way. Sometimes representation can be worse than not having it." "That's awful." "It was," Eliza said, "cause, I...I thought I'd be seeing someone like me, but they weren't like me. They were....nothing like me. But I know that's how everyone sees me, and people like me, and it hurts." Keagan felt like crying. She felt so bad for Eliza, and she didn't know how to show her appreciation for her. Instead, she put her hand on Eliza's shoulder and leaned over her, looking at the sketch of a cool looking girl, with braided hair and overalls with patches on them. Keagan liked what she saw, and patted Eliza's shoulder. If there was anyone who could help create true representation, it would be someone who was also under represented herself. *** "Bea, we're, like...SUPER late," Michelle said, checking her watch, "we need to get to the studio. I have things to do, and I'm sure Liam is curious why-" "We're following her," Bea repeated, "once she's at school, then we can go to work." Michelle exhaled and shook her head. She looked down and sighed, checking her phone. No response from Eliza. They came to another crossing, red light, the car stopped. As they watched the little girl head across the street, they saw her trip and fall, before getting herself back up on her feet and continue along her way without even seeming remotely upset. She was traveling alone and seemed confident. Beatrice felt her heart rise in her chest. Michelle felt her phone buzz and she looked down at the phone, only to notice it was Liam texting. "Liam wants to know where we are," she said. "Tell him we're at breakfast," Bea said, and Michelle just did what she was told. After she sent the text, she looked back at Bea, whose face had lightened significantly, watching this little girl head to school, happy as ever. Michelle could sense a softness in her eyes that she'd never seen before, and it was something truly lovely. Almost like a mother watching their child take their first steps. Michelle decided then and there not to question again why Bea was doing what she was doing, and instead just enjoy being taken along for the ride. After a bit, they finally arrived at the elementary school, Mustang Elementary, where the little girl clearly attended. As she entered the school grounds and sat on a bench near the swings, waiting for school to start, Bea pulled over and parked the car, watching closely. "Beatrice?" Michelle asked, "...what is this about?" Beatrice then slowly opened the car door, slipped out of it and started walking towards the school. Michelle, not wanting to let her go alone, grabbed her cane and headed out with her. As they got closer to the fence that surrounded the school, Beatrice's eyes grew more intense. "Bea? What's going on? Why are we doing this?" Michelle asked, but yet again, no answer came. Finally they stopped, and Bea watched the little girl sit there and unzip her backpack before reaching inside and pulling out a book and a little snack container. She opened the container and started eating as she flipped the book cover to the side and began to read. Michelle looked from the girl to Bea, who now had tears streaming down her face, but wasn't making any audible crying noises. Michelle, with her free hand, reached over and grabbed Bea's, squeezing it tightly. "...it's just nice," Bea whispered, "it's nice seeing children love her. Need her. It's nice to know that the merchandise isn't being bought for hipster adults who enjoy the aesthetic, but instead for the intended audience. The targeted audience. The ones who need it most. Beatrice was a source of comfort, and now I'm seeing others realize it too. When Liam first came to me with this idea, I was so confused by it. A backpack? Who needs a backpack? But sometimes school is the worst part of a childs day to day life. Maybe school is where they get bullied. Maybe they don't perform well academically. Maybe they have no friends. And maybe a backpack, featuring their favorite comfort character, is exactly what they need to help get them through the day. The strength one can draw from fiction, especially at such a young age, can sometimes save you in the hardest of times." Michelle nodded slowly, listening, taking it all in. She squeezed Bea's hand, watching her cry a little bit harder. Michelle turned her eyes back to the little girl and thought about it, and how right Bea was. When she'd been sick, especially in the hospital as a child, Beatrice had been there for her, and now every child had that and that...that was a beautiful thing. *** Keagan was pacing back and forth, twirling her hair while Eliza continued to add details and color to the sketches she had been coming up with. Keagan was thinking about kids shows she watched as a kid, and trying to come up with what shows had African American characters, and she had a hard time trying to come up with anything. She stopped and leaned against the wall, chewing on her lip while she twirled her hair and was lost in thought. Eventually she heard the clicking sound of Eliza setting her drafting pencil down on the table and stretching, yawning. "Are you done?" Keagan asked, and Eliza shrugged. "You can tell me," Eliza said, causing Keagan to walk back over to the table and look at the drawings. She was thrilled with what she saw. Advancements on the original design, but still keeping it true to what they'd initially come up with conceptually. The character was black, that was clear even without skin tone, but it wasn't so overtly black that it'd be overplaying tropes. They were just a black puppet, nothing more, nothing less. "This is wonderful," Keagan said, "thank you so much. I love that they just are. There's no...no gimmicks to it. You know, sometimes things go over the top with representation. They're like 'oh if we introduced an Asian character they have to be good with technology or smart with numbers!' and it's just...those are traits, certainly, but not defining ones. They're a person first and foremost. Not a bag of concepts. I like this. They're just a person." "A puppet," Eliza remarked. "Well, you know what I mean," Keagan replied, laughing, "thank you Eliza. When do you think we can start working on it?" "Well, I need to get the right color thread, so maybe we can go shopping sometime this week. Once we have the supplies I can get to work on it immediately," Eliza said, "...any ideas for a name?" Keagan looked at it hard for a long time, thinking, and then smiled. "Serena," she said. "That's pretty," Eliza said, smiling, "where'd you come up with that?" "Just a name," Keagan replied. *** Bea and Michelle never made it to work that afternoon. Now, instead, sitting in a little cafe near the school, eating pastries and sipping tea, Beatrice and Michelle were both thinking back to the days events. Or, event, rather, since they only did one thing. Michelle picked up a donut and took a bite from it as Bea leaned back in her chair, looking out the window, slowly sipping from her mug. Michelle chewed for a bit, then set the donut back down and sighed. "Are you okay?" she asked. Beatrice didn't even respond verbally, she just shrugged; Michelle continued, "cause, if you're not okay, Bea, we can talk about it. I'd like to talk about it. Cause it was...weird." "I'm weird," Bea mumbled. "Yeah, but you're good weird. This was just weird. Talk to me, please." A long moment passed, and Michelle sighed again, knowing her efforts were all for naught. She shrugged, picked the donut back up and started eating again. That's when she noticed tears coming down Bea's face, as she wiped them casually away with her sweater sleeve. Michelle furrowed her brow, but didn't push conversation and instead just sat back, waiting for Bea to speak, which she finally did. "I've made mistakes," Bea said quietly, "things I can't take back or undo. Things that can't be forgiven. So I try so hard to do right, and make good, and help others. I didn't come from a broken home. That isn't how I learned to appreciate life through art, was by escaping into it and finding solace within the imaginary. I came from loving parents who supported my every whim no matter how ridiculous it might've been at the time. So I'm happy that I can maybe help other kids who don't have it as well feel safe and seen. But at the same time, maybe those kids are happy. Maybe they have good lives too. Everyone is so adament on the belief that art, and thus appreciation of it, can only truly come from inner turmoil. But why can't things be born from joy? Why can't things be birthed by love? Why must everything we consider to be important be tinged with sadness? Sometimes art can heal, and be a meaningful window into the soul, and sometimes a painting of a sailboat has no deeper metaphor. Sometimes someone just wanted to paint a sailboat." Michelle nodded, chewing, listening, as Bea took another long sip and exhaled, wiping her face again on her sweater sleeve. "And that's what's beautiful, is that dichotomy. It can be both. Because art is whatever it's seen as, by the one perceiving it. One child might see Beatrice Beagle as a bastion of comfort, the only source of love in their life. Someone who can help guide them into understanding these complicated feelings when the rest of the world has let them down. And then one child might just see a backpack." Michelle felt her eyes tear up, and she reached across the table and held Bea's hand, causing her to finally look at Michelle and smile weakly. "It's hard, you know, to separate the concept of what an artist is from the artist themselves. You become so wrapped up within your own identity as a brand that you forget you were a person first. That's something I'm trying very hard to do, is be a person again. I had a life before Beatrice, and I'll have a life after. It isn't WHO I am. It's just a PART of who I am. Never forget that, Michelle," Bea said, "never forget where you came from, or where you might be going. Art can come from you, but it's never fully you. And that's a good thing." Michelle knew Bea had complicated feelings about her status in regards to artistry, commercialism and the whole shpiel, but it was nice to have it clarified a bit more. And as someone who made things for a living, albeit props, Michelle was happy to be given this advice by someone else in the field whom she so much admired. Eliza probably had been told this as well, she figured. Michelle might not be a little girl anymore, but it seemed Beatrice Beagle still had a lot to teach her about life. And she was willing to listen. *** Michelle sighed as she pulled her coat off and slopped it over the back of the dining table chair, sitting down in it and watching Delores begin to season some meat. Delores glanced at her and smiled, which made Michelle smile back. "Did you have a good day at work?" Delores asked. "I actually never made it to work," Michelle replied, "Beatrice got sidetracked, and we spent the whole day doing something else entirely." Delores stopped what she was doing, wrapped the meat in foil, then slid the baking tray into the oven and turned to look a Michelle as she wiped her hands down on her apron. Their eyes locked, but neither one said anything. Then Michelle started sniffling, and Delores walked over to her, pulled her apron off and tossed it on the counter and pulled Michelle's head against her tummy, stroking her hair. "I had a really weird day," Michelle whispered. "Life is full of weird days, pumpkin," Delores said, "but sometimes it's the weird days that make life make the most sense." Michelle nodded, listening, understanding, agreeing. If there was one thing Delores was great at, it was taking a bad situation and turning it on its head to see the positives. Michelle had to admire that, and it was a trait she was trying to pick up herself. She shut her eyes and relaxed. She'd worry more about things tomorrow. Tonight, right now, she just needed to be. And that was a luxury she was grateful to have, that she recognized not everyone else got. Maybe Delores was right. Life was in fact full of weird days. And she loved those days the best. Casey Kochawski stepped through the doors leading to the back area for performers and tugged at the Beatrice head, pulling it off her and letting her long jet black hair fall over her shoulders. She exhaled and then set the head down on a nearby table before going to her locker and opening, reaching inside and, finding a small bag, pulled out a bottle of pills. She gripped them in her fist and headed to the bathroom, shutting the door and locking them behind herself before laying out three pills on the sink countertop and started to crush them. Once they were pressed into a fine powder, she leaned down and snorted them up her nose, almost screaming from the burning. Casey looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. The lights, the noise, the kids...it was all too much for her to handle, but the pay was good, and hey...
...who didn't want to be an icon? Or at the very least a fascimile of one? Casey exited, put the pills back away in the locker and then, grabbing the head off the table, pulled it back on over her head before grabbing the door handle and exiting, back out into the chaos of the newly opened Beatrice Pizzera. *** Michelle knelt down, best she could, looking at a dog through the kennel bars until she felt Eliza's hand on her shoulder and she glanced back up, blushing and shaking her head. They had been through this song and dance a thousand times in the last few months it seemed like. They would come here after work three or four times a week, look at the various dogs for an allotted amount of time and then eventually head home without making any kind of decision. Or rather, Eliza would drop Michelle back off at Delores's before heading to her fathers. Sometimes they would extend the outing into the evening, include a late dinner with it, but mostly it was looking at dogs. And the routine was exactly the same tonight it seemed. After the trip to the kennel, they went out to dinner and then Eliza dropped Michelle off at home before returning to her fathers. Entering the house, Michelle could smell the sweet scents of Delores baking, as she tended to do when she had free time; this time, she was hit by the wafting sensation of what smelt like cinnamon rolls. Michelle walked into the cane, steadying herself on her cane, before noticing she was right about her intution. Delores was there, putting the icing on various trays of cinnamon rolls, and when their eyes met, she beamed like a proud mother. "How did it go?" she asked as Michelle took a seat at the dinner table. "Eh," she replied, shrugging, "I just don't know that I'm ever going to find the right one." "Picking out a dog is a lot of work," Delores said, handing Michelle a warm fresh roll before taking one for herself and sitting down across from her, biting into it and speaking while chewing; "but think about the loving that will come as a result. You're not picking out a pet, you're picking out a friend, just remember that." "It also feels so...official," Michelle said, causing Delores to raise an eyebrow in confusion until Michelle exhaled and elaborated, pushing her bangs from her eyes, almost blushing, "like...between Eliza and I. It makes this feel so much deeper and...I don't know...real." "Is that a bad thing?" "Oh, no, not at all, no. All I ever wanted was to have someone love me, and to love someone else, romantically, and if anything, she's kind of perfect for me. It's just...weird is all, I guess. Never thought it would happen. Being disabled kind of made me believe I wasn't able to do a lot of things, or, was going to get a lot of things. Never thought I'd have a real job, especially not one in a field that interested me like I do now. Never thought I'd have a social life of any kind. Definitely never thought I'd find love." Delores smiled, finished eating her roll and then, after wiping her hands on a small towel, reached across the table and touched Michelle's hands. "Just recognize it for what it is and don't make it more than it should be," Delores said, "and what I mean by that is enjoy it, but don't put your entire self worth on it. On any of it, especially romance. So many things are so easily broken. But for the time being, yes, be happy." Delores then stood up and went back to the oven to continue baking, leaving Michelle to think about what she'd said, and wondering how Eliza felt about their situation. Perhaps she'd ask her tomorrow at work. *** Keagan was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling when Lexi entered the apartment. She hung up her coat, tossed her purse and keys on the nearby table, and then noticed Keagan. She stopped at the couch and leaned over, kissing her on the forehead before waving daintily at her. "Are you okay?" she asked. "I got...asked something today," Keagan said, "from someone on the show. I got asked...if I could create a black character. Give the ideas to Eliza, she can make a puppet, introduce it on upcoming episodes, all that. I guess I'm like the token black person on the production team, so. But still, weird." "Are you not okay with that?" Lexi asked, coming around the side of the couch as Keagan lifted her legs up so she could sit, Keagan plopping her legs back down on Lexi's lap once she was seated; Lexi began massaging her feet and followed up with, "I mean, does that sort of thing make you feel uncomfortable?" "It's just a lot of responsibility having to create something that's supposed to represent an entire personhood. Representation is so important these days, I don't wanna be the one to fuck that up, you know? I don't...I don't wanna do it wrong and have some young black girl feel bad about herself because of the way the character I helped create was portrayed or something." Lexi nodded, listening. She pushed her hair back behind her ears, cleared her throat and sighed. "Listen, I'm not black, so I'm not gonna fully get it, but I hear your frustration, your worries, and you have every reason to feel that way. That being said, I don't see how you could screw it up. I don't see how you could, by any means, do something harmful. Just create the kind of character you would've wanted to see when you were a kid, you know? That's the goal. Because I guarantee whatever you wanted then is what someone else wants now," Lexi said, and Keagan nodded, as Lexi laid down on top of her on the couch, making her laugh. Keagan started running her hands through Lexi's silky blonde hair as she buried her face in Keagan's neck. "You're really good at calming people down, you know that?" Keagan asked. "I contemplated going into clinical psychology, but ultimately I figured if I can barely take care of my own brain, who would trust me to take care of theirs," Lexi replied, the both of them cracking up. *** "Can I take you to lunch?" Michelle asked, surprising Eliza in The Hole. She was sitting at her drafting table, sketching something, when Michelle entered, and she'd jumped at the surprise so much that her glasses nearly slid off her face. Once she managed to get them put back on and turned in her chair to properly face Michelle, who was near laughing, Eliza looked embarrassed; Michelle continued, "I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I just wanna take you to lunch. Can we go to lunch?" Eliza nodded slowly, and stood up as Michelle gripped her coat from the back of her chair and helped her put it on. The two walked outside and headed down the street to a nearby Asian soup restaurant, a small place nestled away between bigger, more popular venues, but a place they loved dearly regardless of its popularity. Once inside, and seated at their booth, Michelle looked across the table at Eliza who was cleaning her glasses off. "So," Michelle said, "I need to-" "It's okay," Eliza said, "you don't have to come up with explanations. It's okay if you want to end it." Michelle was taken by surprise, unable to find words to respond with. She laughed, nervously, and shook her head. "What? Why...why would I-" "Because they all do," Eliza said, pushing her big frames back on her face and blinking rapidly a few times, "because eventually they all realize I'm too much, or too much work, or too much effort or I need too much help or...or whatever. Until I met you, I never really cared much, cause I didn't really understand it anyway. I just was happy people liked me, but I never felt the same way towards them. Yeah, it hurts having people leave, repeatedly, but it wasn't a big deal. But this one's gonna hurt, cause I actually think I understand what love is now and what it's supposed to feel like now and so to lose you is gonna-" Michelle quickly grabbed Eliza's hands and squeezed, laughing. "Eliza, take a breath, I'm not leaving you, jeez," she said, "I'm not...I'd never..." and it dawned on her how much she meant that as she said it, "...I'd never leave you. I just wanted to talk to you about the dog stuff. Cause, like, we've been having so much trouble deciding on anything and I just wanted to know if you had any preferences or anything." Eliza looked down at the table and bit her lip. She felt so embarrassed and Michelle could tell. Michelle got up and slid into the booth beside Eliza, touching her face, causing Eliza to recoil even more. "I'm sorry," Eliza whispered, "I'm sorry that I'm so paranoid I jump immediately to the worst conclusions. I just thought...I just thought you might..." "Listen," Michelle said, pushing gently on Eliza's face so she would look at her, as she added, "listen, okay? I can't see any kind of future without you in it, okay? I spent so much of my life afraid to be with anyone because I just didn't think I'd live long enough, and I didn't wanna put whoever I was with through that, but now that I am not gonna die, and now that there is a future ahead of me, that future includes you for as long as you want to be in it. I have absolutely no intention of ever leaving you. You're...perfect." Eliza blushed and looked down at her hands nervously. "I just wanted your help picking a dog," Michelle said, laughing, causing Eliza to laugh as well before she looked up and pressed her lips against Michelle's, kissing her longingly, taking Michelle by happy surprise; after the kiss broke, Eliza giggled. "I like dalmations myself," Eliza said. *** "I tell ya," Liam said, looking at his pizza slice, "it's weird to be in a kids eatery that actually cares about the quality of the food." "Well that was the biggest letdown, wasn't it?" Bea asked, "I mean, let's face it, every single place you've ever gone that was designed for kids, that sells food, has awful food. That pizzeria was terrible. I refused to let myself fall prey to the same issues. That's why I worked extra hard to find excellent chefs." Liam picked up his mug of root beer and took a long sip, before setting it back down and belching, causing Bea to smirk. "You're letting your hair go grey," Bea said. "Yeah," Liam said, running his hand through it, "yeah, Marvin always said he liked it better that way, and why run from aging, right? Embrace the inevitability of the eventual eternal slumber." "God you're a bummer," Bea remarked, the both of them laughing, until they looked to the side of the table and noticed a woman standing there in street clothes, but holding a Bea costume head under her arm. Bea and Liam exchanged a glance, and then finally Bea broke the silence, asking, "uh...can I help you?" "I...I work here, I'm...one of the Beatrices in costume," Casey said, "uh, my name is Casey Kochawski." Casey stuck her hand out, and Bea and Liam both shook it, somewhat cautiously. "Do you need something?" Bea asked, and Casey grinned like an idiot. "I just...I'm a huge fan," Casey said, "and...and that was why I wanted this job, and when I saw you here, you like NEVER come in, and so I just...I had to say hello because you're, like, my hero. Like...I wanna be an artist, but I just...I can't seem to make it happen, and I'm so tired of trying and getting nowhere, but then I think about you, and like how you went away for so long and then came back to great success and I don't know it's kind of inspirational." "Well I'm happy to be an inspiration," Beatrice said, just as Stephanie approached the table and seated herself, sighing. "Hello," Stephanie said politely to Casey, who almost paid her no mind at all. "Um," Casey said, scrambling to get something from her pocket, "this...this is....uh....I drew this, for you. I'm sorry." And with that, Casey turned quickly and raced off to the back area to get in costume. Bea took the paper that had been placed in front of her and unfolded it, while Stephanie picked up Liam's mug and took a long drink from it before smacking her lips. "That girl's on drugs," Steph said. "You think?" Liam asked. "Yeah, speed, definitely," Steph said, "I know, I used to take that back in college to help get me through long nights." "Hey hey, you freeloader!" Liam said, annoyed, as he just noticed Stephanie holding his drink and took it back from her; he then turned his eye back to Bea and asked, nodding towards her, "what did she give you?" "Just a drawing," Bea said, smiling to herself. *** After lunch, the girls went back to the studio and Eliza went back to work in The Hole while Michelle did some general set work, fixing up props and whatnot on stage. After work, Michelle offered to drive Eliza home, but instead drove to Delores's. Sitting outside the house in the parked car, Michelle breathed nervously as Eliza adjusted her glasses and then looked at Michelle, confused. "Why are we here?" she asked. "Delores isn't here tonight," Michelle said, "and...I don't know, I didn't wanna be here alone, so I thought maybe you could stay over. Nothing...nothing, you know...but we could just spend time together and...and cuddle. I don't want to be alone, and after lunch today I want to kind of prove how much I like having you in my life." Eliza blushed. Nobody had ever taken this much interest in her, and she felt so special. "I...I felt weird...creepy...liking you because I'm older than you, I thought people might look at me like I'm a weirdo," Eliza said, "but I'd also never felt anything like that before, and...and I'm glad you're not leaving but I'm also glad you're not asking for more." Michelle raised an eyebrow, curious, but not replying, allowing Eliza the room to speak. "Um," Eliza said, her voice lowering, "I'm older than you by at least a decade, but...well...oh this is embarrassing." "I assure you, nothing about you could be halfway as embarrassing as my entire life," Michelle replied, laughing, which made Eliza feel a little more at ease. Eliza adjusted her frames and exhaled, putting her hands in her lap. "Okay," she said, "Um...I'm very happy with you. I like this. I like all of it. I don't want it to end. But I also don't want it to change. At least in how, uh, we relate to intimacy, if that makes sense? Because, like I said, I know I'm at least a decade older than you, but I'm...a virgin. And...and it isn't because the opportunity never came up or because nobody was never interested or anything but...the idea of that much intimacy scares me. It confuses me. I don't like it. That's being way too close. I don't...I don't really experience sexual attraction, and I don't think I ever want to." Michelle nodded, listening, taking it all in. She had had no intentions of sleeping with Eliza tonight, but this gave her more insight into the woman she called her girlfriend, and honestly, she appreciated it. She carefully reached out and put a hand on Eliza's shoulder, causing her to cautiously look up at her. "We never have to do anything you don't want to, and honestly that doesn't matter to me anyway, I just like spending time with you," Michelle said, making Eliza sniffle. Eliza leaned in, resting her head against Michelle's chest, as she stroked Eliza's hair. It wasn't a typical relationship; one woman had health problems, the other was mentally disabled. One woman was at least a decade older than the other. And yet, within their differences, they found solace and companionship and acceptance. From the outside looking in, things might seem weird and out of place, but to the two of them, whose viewpoints mattered most, life was just perfect. So they went inside and they watched TV and they ate ice cream and eventually Eliza fall asleep on the couch with her head in Michelle's lap, and as she watched Eliza breath gently in her sleep, Michelle couldn't help but feel that maybe picking out a dog wasn't so hard after all. Not if you have the right person to help you. *** Beatrice shut and locked her door - she always locked her apartment door - when she got home that evening. She pulled her peacoat off and hung it on the coat rack by the door before heading into the kitchen, where she yanked open the fridge and pulled out a ginger ale in a glass bottle. Leslie wouldn't be coming here tonight, she was working late and when she worked late she often went to her own place afterwards, so Bea had the whole apartment to herself for the time being. As she unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took a long drink, her mind wandered back to the girl who had given her the drawing earlier that afternoon. Beatrice set the bottle down on the counter and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, then walked back to the coat rack and fished the folded up drawing from the pocket of her peacoat, taking it back to the kitchen where she leaned against the counter and looked at it for a bit, smiling. It was down in a childlike manner, but was clearly done in a professional way, as if she were attempting to immitate a child drawing something. Beatrice had to admit, she thought this girl had some real talent. She then went back to the fridge, pulled a spare magnet from its surface and placed the picture on the fridge, plopping the magnet down atop it to keep it in place. The picture showed a little girl - presumably the artist - at Beatrice's doghouse, reading a book while Beatrice gnawed on a bone. One of the things Bea liked about it was that a lot of the fan art she was presented with often portrayed Beatrice as the walking talking persona they saw on the show, but this girl, Casey, had done the opposite. She'd just drawn a dog. Bea loved that. She put her hand on the paper momentarily, sniffling, before backing away, gripping her glass bottle back in her hand, and heading to the bedroom. Art wasn't dead. Sometimes it was dormant. But it was never dead. |
About
Beatrice Beagle follows a young woman obsessed with a defunct pizzeria and kids show featuring a dog mascot. As she uncovers more about its mysterious past, she becomes sucked into the life of the woman who played the mascot, they both discover just how much they need eachother. Archives
April 2024
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