If there was one thing Eliza Tartt was familiar with, it was hospitals.
That was perhaps the one similarity she and Michelle shared more than anything else, not that Michelle was very well aware of this. The reality of this made Eliza feel sick, ironically, and the last place she ever wanted to be again was a hospital, even if it wasn't for her. After the accident, when her mother died, Eliza simultaneously couldn't wait to leave the hospital, and yet she never wanted to leave. On one hand, leaving meant her life would never be the same again. Staying, however, meant she was closer to the event. Closer to her mother. Like, if she just tried hard enough, she could somehow get back to that moment and maybe change it. In the years since her mother died, Eliza had recognized this was a ridiculous thing to wish. But now, seeing Michelle regularly going to the hospital, it made her nervous. How many more people was she going to have to lose? First her mother, now her best friend? Where would it end? She set her scissors down on her drafting table and sat back in her chair as she heard the door to The Hole opening behind her. She didn't even turn to see who it was. She didn't care. It wasn't like anyone respected her privacy as it was, so why fight it. When she looked to her side a minute later, she realized it was Liam, of all people. "You never come out here," she said quietly. "I know, and I probably should," he replied, biting into the already half eaten apple in his hand and chewing, "it's nice out there. Quiet. Away from everyone. You hermits sure know how to live." Eliza smirked and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "You okay, kiddo?" Liam asked, and she shrugged. "Is anyone?" she asked, "I don't know that I've ever been okay, honestly. I'm not sure I even know what okay feels like." "God," Liam said, "Remind me not to come hang out with you again, you enormous bummer." He smiled at her, to let her know he was kidding, then he pulled over one of the stools and seated himself on it, looking at the puppet she was making on the table. He picked up a few loose sheets of paper with designs on them, measurements and material options, and read through them before setting them back down, sighing and looking at her. "Eliza, I promise you that Beatrice is going to do whatever it takes to make sure Michelle will be okay, alright?" Liam asked, "I know she's your best friend, but you have to have some faith, okay? I promise, she's gonna be fine." "But what if she isn't?" Eliza whispered, and Liam couldn't even answer that. *** "It's so nice to have someone else in the house," Delores said, standing at her stove, making a pot of soup while Michelle sat at the table. Since her health had worsened, she'd taken up to living with Delores - not just to give Keagan and Lexi some space, but also for some help from someone who spent their life helping others - and it was...comforting. Michelle's mother had never been the most loving or affectionate, so to have a woman about the same age as her mother give her that kind of motherly love...it was nice. Michelle coughed and laid her head down on her folded sweatshirt on the table; her voice was weak lately from all the coughing. "What do you think I should do?" Michelle asked, almost wheezing, "there's things they could do, but...what do you think I should do?" "Personally," Delores said, sipping from her stirring spoon, "I would want you to do whatever you can to get better. You need to take some time off from work, first and foremost. I know Beatrice and the show is important to you, and that you're a crucial part of it, but you simply cannot go on doing things the way you're doing them right now in the condition that you're currently in. You'll only worsen yourself, okay?" Michelle nodded, smiling. She shut her eyes, and simply listened to the sound of Delores humming and cooking. It felt so safe being here, and Michelle was so grateful to have such a caring social worker. After a few minutes, she heard a chair scraping on the floor, and opened her eyes to see Delores seating herself at the table across from her, and looking at Michelle seriously. "W...what?" Michelle asked, coughing. "You need to stay here," she said, "it's okay, I have plenty of room, but you need someone to take care of you during this. You need to not feel in the way. I'm more than happy to welcome you into my home. But you also have to do something for me, and that's to continue fighting to get better, no matter what it takes, okay? Cause no kid of mine gives up without a fight." Michelle blushed, and nodded. "Okay, I'll keep fighting," she said weakly. "Now take a nap. I'll wake you up when the soup is done," Delores said. *** Leslie was sitting in her office when the door opened and Beatrice came in, slamming the door behind her, surprising Leslie, who yelped at the loud noise. She put her pen down and looked at Bea, who was now pacing nervously back and forth, chewing on her nails. "Problem?" Leslie asked. "Too many," Bea replied. "Well, let's look at some of them," Leslie said. "Where to even start? I've been outed, my biggest creative partner is in extremely poor health, the show and its merchandise is doing so well that it terrifies me, and I don't know what to worry about first. That's how many problems I have, I can't even figure out which one to focus on." Leslie laughed a little. She always appreciated seeing Beatrice anxious, because she so rarely did, and it reminded her that she was, in fact, a human being. Beatrice tried so hard to be anything other than that, to be perfect and all knowing, and to see her actually full of doubt made her all the more endearing to Leslie. Leslie leaned back in her chair and put her legs up on her desk. "Are you wearing cowboy boots?" Beatrice asked, stopping and looking at her shoes. "I can wear whatever footwear I want," Leslie remarked. "Why do you feel the need to dress up as a mythological figure?" Bea asked. "Asks the woman who wears a dog suit for a living," Leslie replied, cackling, "look, my choice of shoes isn't the issue here, alright? You need to calm down, okay? Just chill out for a second and let's approach these issues one at a time, and we'll make some kind of progress or-" "I can't just slow down!" Beatrice shouted, surprising Leslie. Leslie liked seeing her nervy, but she didn't like seeing her scared, Leslie got up from her desk chair and went around, putting her hands on Bea's shoulders and stopping her from pacing. She made her face her, and looked in her eyes. Beatrice stood and stared Leslie down, her eyes wet with tears. Then, without even realizing she was doing it, Leslie hugged her. They'd tried not to be openly affectionate in public since the incident, but hell, they were at work in an office, and she needed something right now. It was more than worth the risk. As she stroked Bea's hair, she could hear softly crying into her blouse. "...what do i do if she can't get better?" Bea whispered, "...i don't think i can do the show without her." "She's not even IN it," Leslie said, confused. "But she's why it's back at all," Bea added, "she's why it exists at all right now. If she...god, I can't even say it." "She's not going to, alright? She's just having a health scare," Leslie said, "but she'll be fine, trust me. Even if she can't come into the office for a bit, we'll find a way to include her in some capacity. Get her a work station for home or something. She's clearly willing and capable, she built a set in her goddamned basement after all." Beatrice smiled, nodding. Leslie was right. She just had to relax. Michelle was tough. She'd survived childhood with this illness, surely she could survive adulthood. Especially now that, this time, she had such a strong support system surrounding her. All she had to do, for once, is simply not worry. Something Beatrice was, sadly, almost incapable of doing. *** Lexi was sitting in the living room of the apartment when Keagan got home. Shutting the door behind her and tossing her bag on the floor by the door, she sighed loudly before noticing Lexi was sitting on the couch, cross legged, in the dark. Keagan furrowed her brow, but didn't turn the lights on. Instead, she walked around to the front of the couch and climbed onto it beside her. "You okay?" Keagan asked, tracing her fingertips up and down Lexi's arms. "...i can save her," Lexi whispered. "What?" "Michelle, I can save her," Lexi said, turning her head to look at Keagan; her eyes were red, like she'd been crying hard for hours, but she was smiling regardless as she added, "I can do it. I have the money. If there's a treatment that can save her, that can help her, I can pay for it. What good is getting this money if I don't do good with it? My dad was greedy, he went to jail because of money, but now I can take that very same money and put it towards helping rather than hurting." Keagan was stunned. Lexi, since obtaining the money, had seemed like she was focused on shallow, almost superficial things. A better place to live, buying a nicer car, so to hear her state that she could do something for someone else...it threw her. She honestly didn't know how to respond. She was touched, to say the least, but her shock was currently overwhelming any other emotions she could possibly convey. Lexi smiled and looked down at the drink in her hand. "...I have to do it," she said softly, "Michelle's determination to get Beatrice to come back not only got you a career, but it allowed me to take the chance and be with you, bravery via admiration is still bravery regardless of its source. Everything she has ever done has been for the good of others. It's time someone did something for the good of her." "Well, if you think you-" "It's not about what I think. It's the right thing to do. If there's one life lesson to be learned from Beatrice Beagle, it's to help your friends," Lexi said, chuckling, "look at us, adults taking lessons from a kids show." "There's a reason they're popular," Keagan replied, shrugging, the girls laughing. *** Michelle had eaten what Delores had cooked, then had - at Delores's insistence - taken a bath with the lights off, before taking a nap afterwards. When she woke up, she pulled on the robe Delores had given her and stumbled out into the kitchen, surprised to find Delores sitting at the table, eating an enormous slice of cake, her hair in rollers. Delores merely smiled at Michelle as she entered. "Everything okay?" Delores asked. "I wanted some water," Michelle said weakly, "...where did you get cake?" "Secret hiding spot," Delores replied, getting up and getting Michelle a glass of water as Michelle seated herself at the table. "You hid an entire cake?" "You'd be surprised the enormous things women can hide," Delores said, handing the glass to Michelle before adding, "...that might not have come out right, but you know what I mean." Michelle giggled as she sipped her water. Delores sat back down and, fork back in hand, continued digging into her cake. Michelle sat back in her chair and drank her water, trying to wake up as she watched Delores eat the biggest slice of cake she'd ever seen in her life. "I feel so pathetic," Michelle said, "I feel like I don't deserve any of the help I'm getting. I know that's just my moms hatred of my illness speaking, but still. People have so many things to worry about in their lives without having to worry about me on top of it. I know you're a social worker, you're, like, pre-programmed to care, but still." Delores laughed as she wiped her mouth and set her fork down, looking at Michelle. "Here's the situation kid," Delores said, clearing her throat, "you're sick. You're sick with a lifelong illness, and you were given shitty parents. In fact, the only saving grace in your life is that you somehow weaseled your way into the life of a woman who vanished some fifteen plus years ago, and has only returned as a result of your determination. Your life is not the same as others, which means the circumstances aren't going to be the same either. But you know what? That's good. That's means it's entirely unpredictable, and you get the things, and people, you never expected." Delores reached forward and put her hand on Michelle's arm, smiling. "The people you never expected," she continued, "people who love you, and care about you, and want to help you. I won't tell you that you should be happy, because you have every right to feel however you want. The situation sucks, and far be it from me to try and tell you to hold your head up and smile. Cry all you goddamn want, sweetheart, you're in an unfair situation, and you deserve to grieve over a seemingly 'normal' life. But you should recognize, while acknowledging your emotional autonomy, that you are lucky. We love you. All of us. And we're gonna do whatever it takes to help you. After her plane crash, my daughter didn't want my help. She pulled away from me, and that killed me, because all I ever knew was to help my children. Let me help you." Michelle nodded, crying silently. She wiped her eyes on her robe sleeve as Delores got up and kissed the top of her head as she took her plate to the sink, then exhaled. "I'm off to bed kiddo," she said, "by the way, a package came for you while you were napping. It's on the coffee table in the living room. See you in the morning." With that, Delores spirited herself away upstairs to her bedroom. Michelle got up and, cinching the belt around her robe, headed into the living room. She sat down on the couch and saw a small, brown package sitting on the coffee table. She recognized the handwriting on it right away as Eliza's, and she furrowed her brow, unsure of what to expect. She picked up a small pair of scissors from the table and started opening the package, only to gasp. She reached inside and pulled out a handmade Beatrice doll. Attached to it was a small note, which Michelle quickly detached and read to herself "Michelle, I made this for you. It's special. It's not like the ones you can get in the stores, and it's the only one like it to exist. Now you can have her with you whenever you feel scared. I'm not good at explaining my feelings, and especially bad at explaining my feelings about others to them, but...you're very important to me, like Beatrice is to you, and I want you to feel safe and comfortable during this terrifying time. I hope to see you again soon, either at work or elsewhere. I hope you're feeling better, and if not, I hope this makes you feel better. Your very best friend, Eliza Tartt. PS: squeeze her paw." On the verge of full on ugly crying, Michelle gathered herself best she could and looked at the doll, her hand slowly gripping the paws and squeezing. Eliza hadn't clarified which, so she tried one, and when that didn't work, she tried the other. When she did, the small voicebox inside just barked at her, and Michelle started laughing and crying simultaneously. She vowed she'd get better, if for nothing else than for Eliza. She'd suffered enough loss. Michelle held the doll to her chest tightly and cried in the darkness of the living room. Eliza, lying in her bed at home and staring at a photo of herself, Bea and Michelle in The Hole sometime during production last year, was crying too, but for an entirely different reason. She was hopelessly, helplessly in love, and didn't know how to show it, so she just did what she did best. She made a doll.
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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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