"I'm not going to just say whatever it is you want me to," Beatrice said, standing in front of the microphone in the recording booth, hands firmly on her hips, "I am not going to just stand here and read out whatever trivial nonsense you put in front of me. If we're going to do this thing, then I'm the one coming up with what comes out of it. These words are coming out of MY mouth, after all."
"She has a point," Liam said, sitting in a chair next to Steph, who had come down here from the studio to give what she considered moral support, but what Beatrice knew was actually damage oversight; Liam put his pencil behind his ear and shrugged, continuing, "I mean, she is the doll, after all." "She is making every single aspect of this process a living hell," Steph muttered, and Liam chuckled. "Yeah, I told you she would," he said, "Don't say I didn't warn you." "Can't you do something?" Steph whispered, frustrated, scratching her forehead. "If you think I have any control over what she does, then you've sorely misjudged our relationship up to this point somehow," Liam said, "that being said, I can talk to her." This interaction was 4 days ago. They hadn't rescheduled a recording session since. *** "If I can write the character on the show, why can't I write the dialogue for the doll?" Beatrice asked, sitting at a table in The Hole with Michelle, while Eliza worked on a puppet nearby. Lately, Beatrice had been taking shelter in The Hole when she didn't want to be found, because she knew nobody was stupid enough to visit Eliza without being invited; Bea bit into an apple and chewed, adding, "I don't want this doll to say the same stupid crap they put into every doll on the market. I want it to be special." "And you have every right to want that and to push for it," Michelle said, the machine on her arm making a beep as she took a long deep breath, and added, "but at this point I think you're wearing them out." "Good, maybe they'll drop the whole thing," Bea said. "What would you have it say? Have you even come up with some lines?" Michelle asked as Eliza started up her sewing machine behind them. "I...I don't...no, I haven't, so I don't know, but that's beside the point. I could easily come up with a slew of things for the doll to recite, if I needed to," Beatrice said, "and besides, it only really needs one line. It only needs one really good line for it to be worthwhile." Bea leaned back in her chair and sighed. She pulled a package of cigarettes from her pocket and then looked at Michelle, who nodded, allowing her to continue. Beatrice rarely smoked, but she'd been doing so more and more lately thanks to the added pressures from all this marketing. She lit up and sat there, puffing for a few minutes while they listened to the whir and hum of Eliza's sewing machine nearby. "I don't want it to be like everything else," Bea muttered, "I want it to be meaningful. Impactful. When they come across it as an adult in life, I want them to be able to look at with the mindset of what it did for them emotionally, and not just be something else they donate to a thrift store while clearing out their moms attic." Michelle nodded, understanding. After all, she'd gotten that from the show when she was in the hospital, so she knew all too well how important it was to connect to something that could, in theory, save you. Eliza shut her sewing machine off and seated herself at the table with them, sighing. "What if you just had one line?" she asked, "Just one singular line that was the best line possible?" Beatrice and Michelle exchanged a glance before looking at her, waiting for her to continue, so she did. "You think about it night and day and eventually you'll come up with one very important line that kids will want to hear on repeat, because it makes them feel comforted and special and heard," she added, "all it takes to help a child is one sentence." Little did Eliza know that this sentence would ruin the next few days of Beatrice's life. *** "What's the one thing you never heard from your parents?" Michelle asked Keagan and Lexi as they sat around the table to eat that night. Keagan, who had cooked again - this time a giant baked pasta dish and some greens - thought about it for a minute before shrugging, while Lexi took a sip of her drink and sighed, sucking her teeth. "That I was more important than money," she finally said. "I guess I don't really have one," Keagan said, "my parents are great." "Mine would be that I mattered more than my mothers career," Michelle said, picking up a fork and scraping some of the pasta onto her own plate; she continued, "all my life all I ever heard was how disappointed she was that my illness siphoned off her time and energy to work on her projects and be the success she knew she could be. It was like I was sick on purpose or something." "Your mom sucks," Lexi said, chomping into an asparagus she'd picked from a plate before chuckling and apologizing; she said, "Sorry, I just, I've never met your mom so I guess I don't have any problem admitting she sounds horrid." "You're not wrong," Michelle replied. After a few minutes of eating, Michelle cleared her throat and asked again, "So, now, as an adult, if you could hear one thing from your parents, what would it be? What would bolster your self esteem and confidence more than anything else?" Each girl thought about it for a bit, and eventually nobody responded. Michelle grimaced. "Jesus, are we so grim and detached that we can't even have nice fantasies?" she asked, "That's worrisome." But Beatrice, humorously enough, was having the same problem. Across town, in her apartment, she was sitting on the couch with Leslie's legs outstretched across her lap as she chewed her lip and jotted down line after line in a small notebook, frustrated that she too couldn't come up with anything. She sighed and looked around the apartment, feeling empty. The trouble with art being born of pain, she always knew, was that if you have no pain, you have no depth, and thus no art. But she knew that was bullshit. She knew art wasn't solely born of pain, and that pain didn't automatically give one depth. People, and their emotions, were far more complex than that. Beatrice glanced at Leslie, who was eating ice cream out of a single pint container while watching some nature show. "Do you think I'm too controlling?" she finally asked. "God, do I always have to answer you?" Leslie asked, making Beatrice chuckle; Leslie smiled and added, "Naw, I think you're protective of who you are and what you do, and I think you have every right to be. I think what you make represents who you are, because so much of you is put into it, and it only makes sense you'd wanna be protective, and perhaps controlling, as a result of that. Anything that's shoddy looks bad on your part." "Thank you," Bea said, "finally, someone else who really understands. I don't want this doll to be just another doll. I want it to be special and important, and to mean something, you know? I want it to make a difference to a child, not just be an entertaining distraction for a year or so." "Have you come up with anything yet?" Leslie asked, nodding at the pad, but Bea shook her head and slumped back into the couch. "Of course not, why would I?" she asked softly. Leslie sat up and smiled, putting the now empty ice cream container on the floor beside the couch before reaching over and touching Bea's face. Bea looked towards her and blushed. "You will," Leslie said, "I have faith that you will, and that it will be amazing and perfect and so very you. Because you're Beatrice, and you know what you're doing, and what you want. I believe in you, even when you don't." "God you're so saccharin," Bea said, the two laughing as Leslie pulled her in and kissed her. *** "You're pissing them off," Liam said during a shooting break the following day. He and Beatrice had snuck off to the back of the studio, near the dumpsters, so they could share a joint and be alone. Beatrice, still in costume but with the head sitting on her lap, smiled as Liam leaned against the wall and took a long puff. "Good," she said, "I want them to be pissed off. I want them to be so tired of me that they refuse to work with me any further and drop this whole merchandising idea." "I don't blame you," Liam said. "What made you change your mind? How'd you go from being so into the idea of making more money via shilling out to protecting intellectual property?" Bea asked, sitting on the top of the dumpster as Liam pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and thought. After a minute he kicked a crushed can with his shoe and exhaled. "...I was younger, and stupid, and I didn't realize at the time what this meant to you," Liam said, "After meeting your folks, after seeing the grave, I get it now. I wholly get why this means what it means, and why you'd fight tooth and nail to not overly commercialized and thusly sullen it at the behest of capitalism. But also, I think...not having you in my life, being essentially cut off - and understandably so might I add - made me realize you and what you made were far more important to me than money could ever be. Losing Marvin, I guess, really made me reassess what's truly important." "You really miss him don't you?" Bea asked. "More than you could ever imagine. He was my entire world," Liam said, "he..." he started to sniffle, and took a long breath before continuing, "he used to write these little notes in the morning, since he went to work before I did, and uh, and he'd leave them on the pillow so they'd be the first thing I'd see when I woke up." "That is so cute it makes me wanna puke," Bea said, making Liam laugh, nodding. "Yeah, and they were always so fucking cheesy, you know, just the most ridiculously sappy things you could think of, but I loved them, because it showed he thought of me, and he cared about me enough to take even just a minute every day to do something he knew would make me feel good. It's not about the time you spend with the people you love, it's about how you spend it. Well, maybe it's sorta both, but you know what I mean," Liam said. "...do you still have those notes?" "Yeah, of course. I keep them in a little scrapbook, you wanna see 'em?" he asked, and Bea nodded. Just then the backdoor opened and a stage producer leaned out, informing them they were needed back on set. Beatrice climbed down off the dumpster and put the head back on, sighing. "After the filming, show me, I'm curious just how much he thought of you," she said. *** "Well," Steph said, "Hopefully we can work past this now, and get this thing on the road. I'm glad you were able to reschedule." "Hey, she's the one who asked me to confirm the date, don't thank me," Liam said. Liam and Stephanie were sitting in the editors booth, watching Beatrice in the recording room. She was pacing, back and forth, scratching her head furiously, like she was having a nervous reaction. Stephanie leaned towards Liam and lowered her voice. "Let me ask you something," she said, "and please, don't be coy, just tell me outright...is she gonna be okay? She doesn't seem like the kind of person who can handle copious amounts of success very well." "She'll be fine, don't worry," Liam said, before leaning forward and pressing a button, letting him speak to Beatrice, "BeaBea, we're ready to roll tape. You okay in there? You need a few more minutes or what? Can we make this thing happen now?" "I'm fine, Liam, thank you," Beatrice replied through her own intercom, just as the door opened and Michelle entered, much to Liam and Steph's surprise. Stephanie turned and looked at Liam, her eyebrows raised from curiosity. "What is she doing there?" "I...I don't know," Liam said, half laughing from nervousness, "maybe she asked her to come in for moral support or something." Beatrice, in the recording booth, turned and looked at Michelle. She walked over and she knelt down, getting on her knees and putting her hands on Michelle's. Michelle looked into Bea's eyes, confused. She had asked Michelle the previous night to come into the booth with her today, but hadn't specifically informed her why, and the entire day she'd been nervous as hell. Bea took a long, deep, slow breath and then locked eyes with Michelle too. "I haven't been around a lot lately," she said gently, "and I apologize. I've been so busy. But I am here because of you, and what you and Keagan did for me, and I want you to be here for this, because what I'm about to say didn't come from me, but I mean it 100%. Do you understand?" "I...uh...not really, but okay," Michelle said, the both of them laughing anxiously as Bea reached up and stroked her hair. "I couldn't be here without you," Bea whispered, before kissing Michelle's forehead and then standing back up, walking back to the microphone. Michelle had never been more confused, or felt as good, in her life as she did right then. Beatrice adjusted the arm of the mic, and licked her lips, before grabbing a bottle of water on a nearby stool and uncapping it, taking a long sip. She then breathed out, then pulled the mic to her lips; she said, "I'm ready, Liam." Liam hit record from the other side of the booth, then grave her a nod, indicating she could go anytime. Beatrice looked at Liam, then looked back at Michelle, then looked back at the mic. "I'm here," she whispered. She did one take. Liam had to leave because he knew where she'd gotten the line from and he couldn't help but burst into tears. He could still remember the day Marvin had left it on the pillow beside him, and it was the last note he'd ever left him. And Michelle...Michelle felt the wind knocked out of her. It could've been something so cliche, so simplistic that a million other dolls had already spouted: "I love you", "you matter", "believe in yourself", but Beatrice, to her credit, delivered the one thing it seemed so many parents couldn't give...herself. She had given herself to children, wholly. She wanted kids to know they were not alone, and that they could depend on her no matter what. Beatrice walked away from the mic and knelt down again, putting her hands on Michelle's face and smiling, tears running down both their cheeks. "I'm here," she repeated. "I know," Michelle replied, "I know." Michelle and Bea hugged tightly, and all the jealousy Michelle had been feeling lately melted away in a singular moment. Fuck, she didn't need a doll. She had the real deal.
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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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