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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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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