Puzzles, blankets, posters, the parade of endless advertising options that Beatrice and Liam had been subjected to visually today was staggering and, in some cases, outright disrespectful. But Bea had told Steph that she would look into this avenue of revenue, so here she was. She was sitting in a small board room, smoking a cigarette as she and Liam were presented with footage of children scrambling to see all the new potential merchandise that had been created. Course, it was all prototypes, but still. She couldn't deny the fervor these kids seemed to have was impressive, and she did like seeing children happy, but she also knew that it was a double edged sword because while the children got happiness, the businessmen got their pockets lined. After a few minutes, one of the men clicked the television off and looked at Bea and Liam, smirking.
"So," he said, "as you can see, it's highly sought after stuff. I mean, the market is there. Kids are clamoring for something that respects their intelligence the way you do. You don't talk down to them. You talk TO them. That's something they can admire and want to be a part of." "Don't use flattery as a sales technique, it's scummy," Bea said, making Liam hide a small laugh; she took a long puff of her cigarette, then ashed it in the tray on the table and leaned forward, asking, "so...you tell me this stuff is popular, but all I see is the same old merchandise that will eventually wind up in a thrift store once everyone's outgrown the fad. If I'm going to sell my soul, I want it to be for something truly good, something that will stand the test of time." The three business executives, the two men and one woman, looked at one another and spoke quietly amongst themselves before looking back at Beatrice. "We can...we can try something else, we can always find something new," the woman said, "you're right, this stuff is the same old same old and you deserve something better. Something unique. Fresh." "Buzzwords notwithstanding," Beatrice said, "if we're going to make something that bears my likeness, I want it to be something someone wants to keep forever. The doll is a great example. Dolls get passed down from generation to generation. This kind of stuff does not. So let's just think about it for a while, yeah?" After the meeting adjourned, Beatrice and Liam headed out into the hallway. Liam zipped up his jacket while Bea put her cigarette out entirely and sighed. She looked at Liam, who was just smiling at her warmly. "I'm not being a pain, am I?" she asked. "Oh you most definitely are, but I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, "I told you this time we're gonna do things your way, and by god I'm gonna stand by that." Bea blushed. It was good to know that, no matter what, Liam would always have her back. *** "It's getting harder and harder to breath, even with the machines," Michelle said. She and Eliza and Keagan were standing around the craft services table, just snacking away while they waited for production to start back up. Eliza picked up a chip and scooped some dip onto it, then pushed it into her mouth while Keagan ate a carrot stick. "Maybe you should see your doctor again," Keagan said, shrugging, "I mean, if it's getting to be worrisome, then-" "I wouldn't say it's worrisome just yet," Michelle said, "but like, I have these days or long periods within days where my chest is tight or I wheeze a lot. It's not ideal, definitely. That being said, I also am sick of being in doctors offices for the time being." Truth be told, not that Michelle would tell them the truth, she was more scared than anything else. She was scared of going back, of being told this was something they couldn't fix and which would only worsen with time. Something that would eventually kill her. She picked up a finger sandwich and bit into it, chewing, as Beatrice approached the table and picked up one for herself. "How was your meeting?" Michelle asked. "It was what it was, another slew of soulless corporate shills trying to get me to hurt my creative endeavor for the biggest sin, the all mighty dollar," she said; after a moment of chewing, she grimaced, then looked back at Michelle and asked, "Was that too grim? Am I being too dramatic?" "Not dramatic enough, actually," Keagan said. "I've been down this road before, that's the thing," Beatrice said, "you know, back when we were with the pizzeria. I know Liam won't betray me this time around, but that doesn't mean the feeling of uncertainty isn't there. The feeling that someone is just waiting for me to turn my back for a second so they can jam a knife into me and then sell my corpse to kids as the latest trend in toys." "Kids do love corpses," Michelle said, making them laugh. "It's just...corporate America is all so sickening," Beatrice said, eating another sandwich, "they don't appreciate the work, they appreciate what the work can get them. Nobody does it for the sole purpose of creation. Everyone does it for the hopes of creating a franchise, a cinematic universe, whatever the flying fuck that's supposed to mean. We've whored out art for the sake of commodity and, with it, the beauty in ourselves that it was birthed from, proving to everyone that, yeah, art is worthless without money backing it. It sickens me." Someone with a megaphone somewhere on set made an announcement, and Beatrice finished her sandwich and pulled her dog suit head on over her own, sighing. She then gave each girl a hug and headed off to the sound stage. Watching her go, Michelle began to worry. "...You guys don't think she's gonna snap, do you?" she asked. "If she hasn't yet, I doubt she will," Keagan said, "then again pressure does things to a person." "Yeah, like suck your eyeballs out of your skull," Eliza said, and only after she noticed the others were looking at her strangely did she add, "oh, you mean peer pressure, I...I'm sorry, I thought, nevermind." *** "It makes me sick," Bea said that evening, making dinner for herself and Leslie as Leslie sat on the couch, thumbing through a magazine; Bea continued, "like, is that all I'm worth? Money? Is that all people are worth in general? Doesn't art have some sort of function in society beyond simply pulling in dollars, or is everything so shallow, hollow and meaningless that it's all simply another hallway towards achieving more cash?" "Honey, I work for public broadcasting, you're preachin' to the choir," Leslie said, flipping a page and adding, "besides, I don't think what they're offering you is all that bad. In fact, they're listening to you, which is a good sign. Like, for once, they're not just taking whatever you make and slapping it on whatever product they want. It has to go by you first. You know how many creatives would kill for that level of control?" "Only happening because Liam wrote an airtight contract," Beatrice said, just as there was a knock at the door. She put down her utensils and headed to open it, while Leslie excused herself to go shower until dinner was finished. Beatrice pulled open the door and found Michelle standing there. She smiled and stepped aside, letting Michelle indoors; after she was in, Bea turned and asked, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" "We need to talk about art," Michelle said. Beatrice nodded and went back to making dinner as Michelle sat on a stool on the other side of the counter. "...my mother hates me," Michelle said, "but I've told you this before. How she saw my illness as nothing more than an obstacle to her success in the art world. She used me to garner sympathy, but it didn't garner her success. In a way, you're the complete opposite of my mom because while you believe in the work you do, you aren't willing to hurt the people around you to accomplish it." "I'd never hurt you, sweetheart, you know that," Beatrice said, smiling as she opened her oven and slid a baking tray inside. "I know that," Michelle said, "but I also know that you want the products created to be meaningful. What if I sat down and helped you come up with some? Eliza can make the doll, but what if I helped you come up with special products too? Things that aren't like the same crap every other kids show has, you know? That would be cool, right? My mom never let me be part of her artistic process, but maybe you would." Beatrice set her utensils down once more and sighed, scratching her forehead. "...let me tell you a story, Michelle," she said, "it's about a young woman in a big city, whose only friend sold her out." 10 YEARS AGO "I'm surprised you wanted to see me," Liam said, sitting at a table in the soon to be defunct pizzeria they'd once unfortunately endorsed together; he sipped his soda from the tall blue plastic cup and licked his lips, adding, "hopefully it's not just to kill me or something." "Please, if I wanted to kill you I'd have done it a long time ago," Beatrice said, "no, I just...I was told about the funds I'd be getting from the sale of this place last week, and I figured we should discuss that, considering we both had stake in it. Did you get the same offer?" "I did, yes," Liam said. "We need to put some aside, you know that," Beatrice said, "but aside from her, I don't want the cash. Do you?" "What, like, do I want your share? Of course not," Liam said, "why would you even-" "Because you seemed to like money enough." "You're so fucking high and mighty, you know that? You're the epitome of the art student cliche. Thinking you're so above it all, that what you make will somehow save the world or save one other person. I'm not gonna deny art has great value, but you created a childrens educational show, Beatrice, you didn't make a goddamned statue that'll be respected for eons to come, alright? You helped kids like themselves and maybe learn to be friends with others. You're not Rodin." "I never said I was," Beatrice said, fire burning inside her, "but you're the one who told me we could make something special from this, and then turned around and sold whatever was special out for some cheap kiddy pizza place! How can you sit there and tell me that you believe in art when you can't even defend what you did! You don't believe in art, not for the sake of art, no, you believe in it as a commodity, like everyone else, and god help me if I ever find out she's anything like you. It'd make me sick." "Well then I guess it's good we'll never have to meet her, isn't it?" Liam asked, standing up and grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. "Where are you going?! Don't walk away when we're fighting!" Beatrice said, standing up and grabbing Liam's arm, turning him back around to face her. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "I'm too tired to do this anymore with you," he said quietly, "it's been years of this now. At first it was...I don't know...oddly enlightening to combat one another with differing viewpoints, because sometimes one of us could get the other to see their points, but...but now it's exhausting. You exhaust me, Bea. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm sorry if I hurt your art. I'm sorry I'll never be the person you thought I was. But, you know, I don't think you're the person you thought you were either, so, maybe we're both liars." And as Beatrice finished telling Michelle this story, Michelle couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew Liam and Bea had a really shaky past, fraught with infighting and somewhat unresolved anger, but to hear the words he had said to her come out of Bea's own mouth...it made Michelle sad. Beatrice leaned on the counter and wiped her eyes, trying not to cry. After a moment, she took a long deep breath. "He wasn't wrong," she finally said, "I'm not the person I thought I was either. But that's the thing, when you're young and idealistic, you don't think you'll ever be anyone else, and you'll argue that point to death with anyone willing to listen. I still believe in the value of art beyond its income bracket, but..." Michelle waited, curious to hear what Bea might say. Bea exhaled and shut her eyes. "...but it's stupid for me to keep fighting a losing battle when everyone else wants me to lose it," she said quietly. "I don't want you to lose it," Michelle said, leaning forward and holding Bea's hand on the counter, adding, "you're my hero, and I think you're right, but I think we can find a way to make merchandise that doesn't feel cheap and shallow and empty. I think we can work together and make something you'd be just as proud of as you are of your show." Beatrice lifted her head and her eyes caught Michelle's. She laughed a little. "I'm glad I remind you of your mother, but in a positive way," Bea said, "You're like the daughter I never had." Michelle felt touched by this sentiment, and smiled back. If only she knew. *** Eliza was seated at her workshop desk in The Hole, sewing something when the door opened. She turned around and glanced at Michelle, coming into the room. Michelle approached the table and stood beside it, waiting for Eliza to finish. When she did, she pulled her goggles back up onto her forehead and looked up at Michelle. "What're you doing?" Michelle asked. "Doll prototypes," Eliza said, "pattern work, stuff like that. Why'd you come in?" "I don't know. Just been having a bad few days, what with my health and then Bea's nervousness over marketing. Guess I just needed somewhere where I could, like, not be bothered by anything for a bit. Nobody comes to The Hole, and so I know I won't be bothered out here." "Well, pull up a seat," Eliza said, as Michelle did just that, dragging a chair over to Eliza's and sitting down; Eliza added, "glad I could be of service to help you hide from the world. Sorry I'm not a more interesting person." "Oh, don't take it that way, please, I like that you're you. I like that I can just hang around you and you won't ask me a million questions. You won't badger me about my health like Keagan or the show like Beatrice. You just, ya know, let me be, and that's what I need," Michelle said. Eliza blushed. "Well," Eliza said, starting to sew again, pulling her goggles back down over her eyes, "if that's all you need, then so be it. My hole is your hole...that came out wrong, sorry." Michelle cackled, then rested her head on Eliza's shoulder and shut her eyes, making Eliza smile. For just a little while, she could appreciate the solitude that The Hole gave them, and the sincerity of Eliza's friendship. For just a little while she could rest easy in knowing that for at least an hour or so, nobody would bother her about work, nobody would argue with her about art, nobody would insist commerce was more important, and she didn't have to worry about her health. She could just simply be. "So how's the doll coming?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged, exhaling. "Well, a childrens entertainment empire wasn't built in a day," she said, the both of them laughing. *** That evening, after Leslie had fallen asleep, Beatrice got back up and she walked out into the living room. She knelt down in front of a short bookshelf and she pulled a large photo album off it, sliding it into her lap as she sat on the floor. She opened it up and she looked inside, skimming through pages filled with memories of her time spent in the city, producing the original show with Liam. Photos of herself and Liam writing new material, on set shoots, a photo of a much younger Eliza working on puppetry, a photo of Liam and Marvin goofing around backstage, and then...that one photo, the one that always got to her. It was Beatrice and Liam standing together on a balcony in someones apartment. She wasn't sure who shot the picture, she just knew someone had taken it and left it on the roll of film in the disposable camera Bea eventually took in to be processed the following week. It was just starting to get dark, the days last rays of light in the sky, and she and Liam were holding hands. Beatrice felt some tears well up in her eyes, and she let them roll down her face. They had something so perfect, something so pure, and all the years they'd lost simply because of an argument. She regretted it now more than ever. She couldn't let this happen again. She had to protect Beatrice, certainly, but she couldn't continue to be as stubborn, because she might lose others by doing so the way she'd almost lost him. She could remember that night with such crystal clarity, the smell of the air, the taste of the wine, and of course, the night that proceeded the next few days, when she became fully aware that she wasn't, in fact, into men, just as Liam came to discover he very much was. Sometimes, as it turns out, two queer people of opposite sexes need to screw one another to discover they don't want what heterosexuals have, and she was grateful to have had Liam for that moment. Even if, a few weeks after that, it changed their lives forever.
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"I don't know how to feel," Beatrice said, sitting in her mothers kitchen while her mother made them some tea; Bea continued, "I don't...I should feel happy, you know, grateful? All I ever wanted was for others to love Beatrice the way I did, and for her to bring them joy the way she did for me, but now that that's happening...I don't know. It feels like they're trying to take something away from me."
Her mother, Gloria, turned away from the kettle as she waited for it to heat up and she opened up a pack of cookies, biting into one. "It's only understandable you'd feel that way, considering Beatrice was a real dog. I think you need to tell them that, otherwise they'll never understand this attachment to what they assume is a fictional character. Be upfront about it." "...they made a doll, and they gave it to this little girl," Bea said, and that caught her mothers attention. "They made a doll??" she asked, "Wow, you've really made it, Amelia." "...no, you don't...you don't understand," Bea said, "you don't know what I saw." 3 DAYS EARLIER Beatrice, Michelle and Eliza were in Bea's car, though nobody but Beatrice knew why. She'd gotten them take out breakfast from McDonalds and she'd even offered to get them lunch and dinner too if they weren't done come days end, but she wouldn't tell them why she'd invited them on this little ride along. After a while of just sitting outside of a house on a normal everyday suburban street, the smell of breakfast sandwiches filling the car, Michelle finally had had enough and looked at Bea. "What are we doing?" she asked, "Shouldn't we be working?" "Technically this is work related," Bea said, "I need to see it. I need to witness it firsthand." "Witness what?" Michelle asked, but before Bea could even respond, the front door opened, and the couple from the meeting walked out with their little girl who was clutching the doll to her chest as tightly as she could. Michelle couldn't believe it. They were stalking a child for marketing purposes? This was sick. Eliza reached forward and held out a hashbrown in a paper sleeve to Michelle. "You want this one?" she asked, and Michelle smiled warmly, appreciating having her there as she graciously accepted the hashbrown and bit into it. They waited until the family was in the car, and then they followed it down the street. "Why are we doing this?" Michelle asked. "Because I need to see her react to it," Bea said, "I need to know that it's good for her, that she loves it the way I love it. I need to know that putting this doll out won't cheapen Beatrice Beagle." Michelle didn't even bother arguing. She knew she had no leg to stand on after all, so she simply ate her hashbrown and enjoyed the ride. After a short drive, they car pulled over at a school, and the mother got out and helped the little girl out and walked with her into the school. After a minute or two, she re-emerged, re-entered the car and it drove away again. Bea parked outside of the school and waited. "Cool, so now we're just watching a public school?" Michelle asked, "Nothin' creepy about that at all." Beatrice smirked as she picked up her coffee and took a sip. "I wanna sign off, I know it's the right thing to do, and I know it would help us tremendously. Liam said it himself. We need to bring in money outside of subscriptions. The show's not cheap, despite looking that way. There's costumes to be made, props to be built, puppets to be created, and everyone deserves equal pay for their work, and the only way to do that is to sell stuff. I wanna sell this doll, but...I need to know it's worth it first." Michelle got out of the car and walked away for a bit, just trying to wrap her head around Bea's obsession. After a moment, Eliza joined her. As the two walked away from the car a bit, Michelle rubbed her arms, shivering. It was still somewhat cold outside this morning. Eliza took her jacket off and put it on Michelle, who blushed at the gesture. "She's weird," Eliza said, "but I'm weird, and you like weird. I get what she means. These things we create are very personal to us, and we wanna make sure they're personal to others too, you know?" "I get that, I do, this is just..." Michelle said, turning to face her, "...ugh...this is just really uncomfortable. I'm all for being here for Beatrice. Hell, neither of us would be here if it wasn't for the other. But..." "Just let her do her thing, ya know? Let her get it out," Eliza said, "Then she'll write it off, and everything will be good." Michelle nodded, sighing. Eliza was right. She couldn't deny it. Beatrice was an important facet of herself, and she couldn't just let them make a doll of it without seeing firsthand what the kid might act like with it. Beatrice wasn't just a character, it was a literal part of herself. Michelle respected that. Hell, it was part of what drove her to find Bea in the first place. Michelle looked at the car and thought about all of this. They did need the money. She'd stick it out. She looked back at Eliza, who smiled at her. "Your jacket's warm," she said. "I'm glad you like it," Eliza said. "Aren't you cold?" "I don't get cold," Eliza said, "I'm weird like that." Together they walked back to the car and got back in. After settling back into their seats, Michelle sipped her iced coffee and leaned back in her chair, feeling Eliza play with her hair from behind. She blushed. She liked the attention and the friendship Eliza gave her, so she often let her do whatever she wanted. Michelle glanced at Bea, who was nervously chewing her nails. "You okay there cowboy?" she asked. "...I want children to be happy. I was a happy child. Contrary to popular belief, and preexisting notions within pop culture, great art doesn't have to be borne out of great sorrow. I had a wonderful childhood. I love my parents, and they love me. I was successful. I did what I wanted for a living. I wanted to share that joy with other children. I knew there were kids out there, kids like you Michelle, who maybe weren't happy. Who didn't have great lives or good parents. Who maybe needed something more. Something to be there for them." Michelle teared up, nodding slowly. "...but it has to be more than a commercial oddity. It has to be more than just a tax write off. It has to be more than an economic cow. It has to actually mean something. I'm not against merchandising as much these days, so long as that merchandising is tasteful and respected and means something. I don't wanna overdo it, sure, but why can't there be a doll, you know? Beatrice exists on the screen, why can't she exist in the hands of a little girl? She existed in my hands." Michelle furrowed her brow and reached out, touching Bea's arm as Bea wiped her eyes. "She was my dog. She was my real dog. Now I want her to be everyones dog. I want everyone to love her the way I did, the way I do, and I want her to be there for them the way she was for me," Bea said, "this isn't merchandise. This is a gift. I wanna give the kids a gift of love. So even in the darkest nights when they're the most scared, they know they have something with them that loves them, because they hear it every day on the television." Michelle didn't want to push the issue anymore, so she simply acknowledge it and kept quiet. After a few minutes of silence, Eliza piped up from the backseat. "When I make a puppet," she said, "I think about what aspects of myself I want to put into it, because it's easier to draw from real life than create something from thin air. It's weird to put an aspect of myself into, say, a flower pot puppet, but it helps. It helps sort out how you feel about yourself, too." "I guess since I don't make things I have a hard time understanding," Michelle said, "but I'll take your words for it." "But you DO make things, you made an entire set in your basement," Beatrice said, reaching over and touching her hand, "and hell, that's the biggest fan response I've ever gotten, so that says something." Michelle laughed and nodded. She had almost forgotten about the basement set, it'd been so long ago. God, everything felt so long ago now. How had it all come to this? *** "Sounds like you'd already made up your mind," Gloria said, pouring herself and Beatrice cups of tea and walking to the table with them, "so why the need for the spying?" "We weren't spying. We were doing recon. It's totally different," Bea said as her mother set the teacup down in front of her, the both of them chuckling slightly as she added, "and I just...I had to see it myself, first hand. It's one thing for her folks to tell me how she reacted, but it's another to see it with my own eyes." Bea lifted her teacup to her lips and took a long sip as her mother opened up the package of cookies further and pulled some out, placing them on the table in between them. Bea took one and ate it, chewing, then after a few minutes of snacking, she finally sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I guess I just needed to know whether or not the company was using people to lie to me to get what they wanted," she said, "after all, Liam did the same thing. I guess once you've been betrayed by someone you trust so deeply, it makes it hard to trust anyone at all, especially those in the corporate world." Gloria finished her own cookie, then cleared her throat. "Yes, but...he's obviously done a good job of earning your forgiveness," she said. "Right, because he actually knows how much he hurt me. But companies, corporations, they don't care. They just see me as a way to line their bottom dollar. I am nothing more than a machine that churns out a product for them, hence the hesitation," Beatrice said, "so I think I have every right to be suspicious." "So what happened then?" A moment. A long pause. Beatrice sighed and a smile played on her lips. "...the best thing in the world, honestly," she said. *** It'd been 3 hours, and still they sat parked there outside of the school. Michelle checked her watch and sighed. She didn't really have anything else to do today, and yet she felt like she could be using this time more constructively than she was. Michelle finally tossed her hair back and pulled it into a bushy bundle, handing it back to Eliza who started to braid it. Michelle looked at Bea, who was tapping her nails on the steering wheel. "You know, Liam's gonna start to wonder where we are," she said. "So? Not like he's my husband," Bea said, "I'm allowed to do things without him knowing." "I'm just saying maybe we should go back to the studio for a bit, or call in or something," Michelle said, "give someone some idea of what it is we're doing, even though what it is we're doing is kinda creepy and now that I've said it out loud I don't know that I want anyone to know about it, which only furthers the creepiness altogether." Beatrice laughed and adjusted her rearview mirror. "We won't stay much longer, okay? I promise. I just need to-" Everything stopped. Beatrice was staring dead ahead out the windshield, and Michelle followed her gaze towards the schoolyard, where the kids had just been let out for recess. Beatrice undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, telling the girls to stay here until she got back. "This is ridiculous," Michelle muttered under her breath. "Yeah, but you'll have nice braids when I'm done," Eliza said, making Michelle smile. Thank god for Eliza, she thought. Beatrice strolled across the lawn, and approached the wooden fence that surrounded the schoolyard, her eyes scanning the groups of kids until she found the one she was looking for. Ashley Harding was sitting on a wooden bench, eating apple slices and cheese, holding Bea to her chest as she snacked. Beatrice approached cautiously and knelt down. "Hello," she said, making Ashley turn around; she continued, smiling, "Do you know who I am?" "...you're Beatrice Beagle," the girl said, "I recognize your voice." "That's right," Bea said, smiling warmly at her, "I like your doll." "I got it for my birthday!" Ashley replied, holding it out to Bea, who took it from her and examined it; Ashley continued, "it's my favorite doll. It's so soft and it makes me feel safe during bed." "You're not surprised I'm not a real dog?" Bea asked. "I'm not stupid," Ashley said, making Bea laugh as she added, "I know it's a costume! I know what costumes are! Did you...did you make the doll? Did you let me have it?" Bea hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. "No, your mom and dad just love you so much that they found a way to get you a doll nobody else can have yet," Bea said, "I mean, sure they couldn't be made without me, but they're the ones who got it for you. I am happy you have it though, especially if it makes you feel safe and loved." "Do you have any kids?" Ashley asked as Bea handed her doll back, and Bea glanced over her shoulder back towards the car, seeing Eliza braid Michelle's hair, and she smiled. "Yeah," she said, "yeah I do." *** "Well, it sounds like everything went better than expected," Gloria said, "sounds like you'll have a popular toy in stores soon enough. Can't see what the problem is." "I didn't say there was a problem, except for maybe myself," Bea responded, "the problem is me. I'm the issue. I hold everything up because of this attachment to Beatrice, and wanting to share her but also wanting to keep her to myself. It's an odd dichotomy to have." "That's how mothers are," Gloria said, making Bea smile a little and give a short nod; she added, "She may be fictional, but she was based on a real dog, and you were like her mother. It's only understandable you'd be protective. Nothing weird about that at all. Kinda like how your father and I are protective of you." Bea understood, and she couldn't argue. Then again, she didn't know the half of how protective her folks were of her. Replacing her dog when it died, moving her to the country, keeping her somewhat sheltered. They had done so much in the name of keeping her safe, and she didn't even know any of it. But that's the way it should be, really. When you've done something right, nobody will know you did it at all. Parents are often the best at it, if they try hard enough, and Beatrice's tried harder than most. *** Beatrice was lying on the couch as Leslie scooped their food from their take out containers onto plates and brought them into the living room, setting them on the coffee table. She motioned for Bea to scoot, so she sat up and sighed heavily. "Rough day the coal mines?" Leslie asked. "They're gonna make the dolls. I told Liam today it was okay," Bea said. "Oh yeah?" Leslie asked, opening her beer bottle and taking a swig, then wiping her mouth on her sweater sleeve, "and what made you make that decision?" Bea shrugged. "Just seemed like the right thing to do," she replied. Ashley Harding had her 6th birthday today.
She had her friends from school, her mom made a cake, and they all played the standard party games, but when it came time to finally unwrap her presents, there was one among them she couldn't have expected. Oh sure, she was given the usual type of gifts one would expect at a 6 year old girls party; easy to read chapter books, dolls, those sorts of things. Even some cute clothing from her aunt. But when her parents gave her what they called 'the big one', she couldn't in a million years have expected what was inside, and only when she'd finally opened the box and only once had the squealing subsided, did she pull out the Beatrice doll. It was soft, it was floppy, and it looked exactly like the Beatrice she'd seen on TV every morning for the past year. Ashley Harding squeezed it to her chest for the rest of the day, swearing to never let it come to harm. The same couldn't be said, unfortunately, for the real Beatrice. *** "Go home, you're sick," Liam said, standing in the bathroom at the office as Beatrice threw up in a stall. "I'm not sick, I have food poisoning, also this is the ladies room," she said from inside the stall. "We have to go look at the prototypes today, are you sure this isn't just an excuse to get out of your responsibility?" he asked. "Right, because I'm an enormous shirker," Beatrice responded, making him chuckle as she added, "I deliberately went out and got food poisoning in order to avoid seeing these dolls they're making." After a moment or two, she finally flushed the toilet and exited the stall. Beatrice stood there, looking at Liam. His hair was greying, thinning a bit. He was wearing a turtleneck, slacks and he was letting his facial hair come in again. He looked nice. Beatrice smiled at him, as she walked to the counter, turned on the faucets and began washing her hands. "I'm...not pleased about it either, for what it's worth," he finally said, "but...they aren't wrong. We need to make money outside of general content delivery, and advertising, as Stephanie said to me, 'is like a wedding ring for the product'." Beatrice turned the faucet off and stared at Liam for a moment, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What the FUCK does that mean?" she asked. "I can honestly say I have no idea, but she said it with such deep conviction that I can't argue with her," Liam replied, "either way, you won't be alone, alright? I'll be there, Michelle and Eliza are gonna come by and see it afterwards, then we'll all have a little roundtable discussion with Leslie and Steph and see how it shakes out, okay? But the worst thing you can do is simply not engage. This isn't like last time, Bea," Liam said, approaching her and putting his hand on her shoulder, "I promise, this isn't like before. I'm doing this for you. Not for me." Beatrice smiled, still wary, but knew Liam really was on her side. She sighed and nodded. "Alright, let's go...watch products get married, I guess?" she asked, making him laugh. *** Eliza was chewing her nails nervously. Lately she'd been having the same recurring dream, one that bothered her, but perhaps not for the reasons one would expect it to. Standing in the hallway of the toy firm, waiting for the others, she couldn't help but remember it. How it woke her up each time, her chest tight with terror, but also...joy? It was difficult to explain, not that she was interested in even attempting to explain it. "Heya," Michelle said, coming down the hall and breaking Eliza's concentration. Eliza turned and, without hesitation, flung her arms around Michelle, who laughed and happily hugged her back, adding, "it's good to see you too! You're here early." "I had nothing else to do," Eliza said, shrugging, brushing her bangs from her eyes, "what's that?" she asked, pointing at a device attached to Michelle's arm. "Oh, uh, it's my mobile BiPAP," she said, smiling as she glanced at the machine strapped to her arm. "What the heck is that?" "It's a type of ventilator, you know, to help me breath," Michelle said, "Just in case I need it. My doctor said I should keep it on my person just on the offchance I suddenly need to use it. I've been straining to breath properly lately for some reason, so, it's just a precationary thing." "That sounds scary," Eliza said, making Michelle shrug. "I don't know, when you live with something long enough you almost forget it's even a thing anymore," she said, "It becomes second nature. I'm not saying that that makes it okay or normal or whatever, I'm just saying that I'm used to it, I guess. It's not weird to me anymore, like it was when I was a kid." The two women turned and started heading down the hall, to the toy development lab. "I think I know what you mean," Eliza said, "after I had my accident when I was a kid, on the playground, I always felt different, but now as an adult, I guess different is my normal. I guess I understand what you're saying in that sense then. ...do you know when they're supposed to get here? I don't think we're supposed to see this first." Michelle shrugged and looked behind them down the hall. Eliza had a point. This was Beatrice's toy, modeled off Beatrice herself. She really should be the first one through the door. And yet she wasn't here, and neither one knew when she might be. Michelle sighed and shook her head. "Come on, let's just go inside the room," she said, taking Eliza by the hand and leading her in, "We'll wait for her there. She'll show up. She always does." Michelle opened the door and let Eliza go first, then followed her inside, only to be surprised by the man and woman sitting together on one end of the table, and a group of two men and one woman sitting together on the other end. The group of three were clearly workers, they were in suits, so that didn't phase Michelle, but it was the other couple that threw her off. Who were these two? Why were they here? Michelle pulled out a chair for Eliza, who thanked her and sat down, before seating herself. "Where is-" the woman in the suit started, but just then the door opened once more and Beatrice and Liam entered. "Sorry, I've been throwing up all morning," Bea said. "She's getting quite good at it," Liam added, making everyone chuckle uncomfortably as they walked past the table to sit down. Beatrice patted Michelle on the shoulder and then kissed Eliza on the top of the head before taking her seat, Liam beside her. "So," Beatrice said, "...what am I looking at?" "Beatrice, this is Bryan and Lindsay Harding. Their daughter Ashley had her sixth birthday this past week, and she was given one of the prototypes as a gift," the woman in the suit said, "We selected a few folks to be given prototypes to see the childs reaction, and I think you're better off hearing those results from the people who endured it first hand, honestly." Beatrice looked across the table, from the woman in the suit to Bryan and Lindsay, and shrugged. "Um, our daughter loves your show, and loves you," Bryan said, leaning forward, cupping his hands on the table, "so we were given the doll and we wrapped it and everything, and I gotta tell ya, the look on her face and the scream she made when she opened it...I'm surprised our windows didn't shatter, honestly. She has taken it with her everywhere since getting it, and she won't not sleep without it and it just...god it brings her so much comfort." "That's all very nice, that's what Beatrice is meant to do," Bea said, "my issue, more than anything, is just how much merchandising can take away from her specialness. If every kid in the country has a Beatrice doll, then she isn't special to anyone, is she? She's special to everyone. That takes away that unique bond one can form that feels personal." "Um, if I may," Lindsay said, pushing her hair back behind her ears and sniffling, "...uh...our daughter has been in and out of the hospital for the last few months, first enduring a battery of tests, then enduring treatment, and no childhood should be like that. We couldn't be there all the time, we both have to work, and she was scared. But now she's not scared. Now she has you." Michelle felt her heart break. Now she could identify with this situation personally. She glanced down at Bea, who was nodding solemnly. "I don't...I'm not trying to guilt trip you, or anything, please don't think that, I'm just saying that I think a child can still have that special bond even if she's everywhere. I don't disagree that merchandising cheapens art. I'm an art major. I went to art school. I'm a painter, I get it. When you start seeing something everywhere you get tired of seeing it anywhere. But we're talking about something that helps children. That brightens up their lives. That brings them...god...the biggest comfort they could need in the worst possible times. Isn't that worth a bit of cheapening?" Beatrice leaned back and folded her arms, sighing. She looked at Liam, and grimaced. Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew what Beatrice meant to her, more than anyone else, and he knew how hard this must be to hear. "On one hand, you're right," Bea said, "you are, I won't deny that. She is special for everyone. She should be for everyone. On the other hand...she's mine. She's me. It feels like prostituting myself, to put it bluntly, if that makes sense." "If I can ask," Eliza asked, surprisingly everyone with her sudden self inclusion, "would it make you feel better if I made the doll and the toy company merely distributed it?" The room went quiet. Bea looked at Eliza, one eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for more explanation. "Well," Eliza said, adjusting her glasses, "um, I make all the puppets for the show, so why wouldn't I be able to make a doll, you know? And this way it'd be closer to you, in terms of who's producing it. Would that make a difference at all?" Bea looked away, glancing across the table again at the couple, then sighed and lowered her head. "That might be okay, yes," she said softly, before standing up and, touching Michelle's shoulder again, whispered, "let's go get some coffee." *** "She was just trying to help," Michelle said as she and Bea sat at a table by a window in a small cafe downtown. Michelle was chewing on a bear claw while Bea sipped from her coffee cup. Bea set her cup down and, tapping her nails on it, looked out the window, exhaling. "I know, I'm not mad at her," Bea said, "...but everyone thinks I'm being difficult. I'm not being difficult. I'm being particular. There's a difference. You know what it's like to have an attachment to Beatrice, you were that little girl one time. That's why I wanted to talk to you about it before anyone else." Michelle felt honored. She'd become so close to Bea that she was now being outright asked for her input. "Well," Michelle said, chewing her pastry and swallowing, then leaning back in her chair, "I...I guess I understand where her folks are coming from, but even though we both lived in the hospital for some time in our childhoods, our lives are still drastically different. My parents weren't there for me. This kid seems to have a dedicated support base. All I had was you. I don't mean that in the way it sounds-" "I know," Bea said, chuckling, "I understand." "-it's just that...because you were all I had, I'm far more attached than any other kid might be, but I recognize my situation was specific," Michelle said, "and, if it hadn't been for my weird attachment, then maybe we wouldn't even be sitting here right now, and she wouldn't have that same kind of attachment that's helping her. Weird how interconnected everything in the world is. One little thing creates all these ripples that effect things so much later down the line." Bea leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, sighing. She looked back out the window and watched a family waiting to cross the street, two adults and two little boys. She finally exhaled, then looked back at Michelle, who was taking another bite of her bear claw and chewing. "I wanted the world to love her as I did," Bea sad softly, "I wanted the world to appreciate her as I was able to. Her companionship should be experienced by everyone. That's the thing. At first I...I just wanted to put on a one woman show in small local theatres around the city, using it as a way to discharge my grief and my pain, but why shouldn't others be able to use her in ways that benefit them too? You were able to, and as you said, look at where we are now." "Letting Eliza make the doll might be the best move," Michelle said. "I don't disagree with that, it definitely is more comfortable for me having her do it," Bea said, "...I guess we'll move ahead and see what works and what doesn't. We need to make more money than just whatever subscriptions to the service bring in in order to cover the cost of production after all, and merchandise is like a wedding ring for the product." After a small moment, Michelle furrowed her brow. "The hell does that mean?" she asked. "I don't know, it's something Stephanie told Liam," Bea said, shrugging. "God that's stupid." "Well at least we're all on the same page in regards to that," Bea added. *** Keagan was standing at the stove, stirring a soup in a big pot while Lexi sat the kitchen table, flipping slowly through a magazine. She sighed and looked up, glancing out the window at the driveway. She then looked back at Keagan and tapped her nails on the table absentmindedly. "What would you think about getting a better apartment?" she finally asked. "I dunno, I've gotten kinda used to this place," Keagan said, "It's not much but it's ours, you know?" "Sure, sure," Lexi said, "but we could get something not much different but just somewhat nicer. A bit more room, maybe. I don't know, I'm just throwing out ideas. We make pretty good money, Michelle makes more than both of us considering she works directly with Bea. We could really afford to live in a higher class bracket." "I don't really care either way, so long as we're together," Keagan said, making Lexi blush. Michelle entered the kitchen and sighed, looking at both of them before sitting down at the table and running her hands through her hair. "How were things today?" Keagan asked. "...weird," Michelle replied. "How about your breathing? You doing okay?" Lexi asked, "We could get you better equipment if you'd like." "Naw, for as little as I have to use this thing, I think I'll stick with it," Michelle said, smiling warmly, "but thanks for the offer." Lexi shrugged, then stood up and, taking her magazine with her, exited the kitchen and headed for the living room. Michelle looked at Keagan, who tapped her stirring wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and placed it on the counter. She then walked over to the table and sat down across from Michelle. "What's eating her?" Michelle asked. "Ah, she's being weird about money, don't mind her," Keagan said, waving it off, "so," she continued, "what happened? Was she interested in doing the doll, or?" There was a long pause, and then Michelle nodded. "...I don't necessarily like what your silence insinuates," Keagan said. "It comes with some caveats, but I think it'll work itself out," Michelle said, yawning, "I think I need to go to sleep." "You don't want any soup? I'm making soup." "Save me some, I'll have it when I wake up," Michelle said, leaning in and hugging Keagan before getting up and heading to her bedroom down the hall. In a way, she completely understood and stood by Beatrice's arguments. Beatrice was special to both of them for very different reasons, and she felt like giving that specialness to others would hurt her own attachments to it. But...but maybe it's what the world really needed. Little girls shouldn't have to be scared and alone. They should have the comfort that even just a stuffed dog can bring them. Lying down on her bed after getting into her pajamas, attaching her cannula's into her nostrils and shutting her eyes, all she could think about was how scared she herself had been as a child, and how comforting Beatrice had been for her. Why shouldn't someone else be granted that some sort of comfort? Michelle shut her eyes and exhaled slowly, thinking about Eliza, and about what she might make the doll look like. Maybe tomorrow she'd stop by The Hole and check it out. She was curious about the doll, but she also just liked spending time with her, and if anyone else had a curious attachment to Beatrice, it was Eliza. She of all people would be the only other one capable of understanding. Michelle was grateful to have people who understood. *** Ashley Harding snuggled up in bed with her Beatrice doll as her mother read her a bedtime story and her father watched from the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, smiling at the sight. He had expected Beatrice to be weird - hell the toy people had outright warned him of it - but he hadn't expected her to be as weird about the situation as she had been, and yet in a way he couldn't help but admire her willingness to defend her artistic integrity. That took guts, and wasn't something many people had these days. The ability, the gall if you will, to put their works worth over the worth of money. After Ashley was asleep, Lindsay came out and joined Bryan in the hallway. The two stood there together in the silence for a moment, until she finally looked at her feet and shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears. Bryan reached out and touched her shoulder, massaging it gently. "...what if she doesn't get better?" Lindsay asked quietly, her voice shaking, and Bryan shook his head. "We don't think about that. I know it's an actuality we may have to inevitably face, but right now we don't think about that," he whispered, "right now all that matters is that she feels loved and comfortable and that she has something to make her happy, like the doll." "She loves it so much," Lindsay said, glancing back into the room at the bed Ashley was cuddled up in with the Bea doll. "Of course she does," Bryan chuckled, "haven't you read the reviews? Everyone loves Beatrice Beagle." She smirked, and, hand in hand, they headed down the hallway and into their own bedroom. Tomorrow was another day they had to face. But tonight? Tonight they had a watch dog. |
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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