Rejected Writers Take the Stage Read online

  Flora gulped. “I’m going to kiss somebody?”

  Doris continued sharply, “If you become our ingénue, that is standard stuff, but the rest of the cast is probably sitting right here, and we are just a bunch of middle-aged women. I had to scrap all that stuff.”

  Lavinia pulled off her reading glasses and looked sternly at Doris. “I suppose that means the love scene of them rolling around naked next to the waterfall is cut as well.”

  Flora interjected again, “I’m rolling around naked?!”

  “Not anymore,” stated Doris. “You’re meeting the Goddess of the Corn.”

  Flora looked visibly relieved.

  “Why did you bother to ask me to write if you just planned to cut everything I wrote?” snapped Lavinia in a high, exaggerated pitch.

  “I didn’t,” responded Doris tartly.

  “What exactly is left in here that I actually wrote?” inquired Lavinia.

  “You did a beautiful job with the opening,” Doris said.

  “So, you are telling me that for all the hours I put into writing this, the only words of mine you have not cut are ‘a girl moved through the’?”

  Doris scanned the script and then nodded. “I liked it. I thought it worked.”

  Lottie started to chuckle as she studied her fuming twin. “Stop ya carrying on Lavinia. After all, your writing can be a little racy for the likes of the wider Southlea Bay community. Doris has to think about all of that.”

  “Exactly,” said Doris. “Now, we really must move on. Here is a piece I added in.” Doris continued to read the part about the meeting between the goddess and the young girl, finishing by saying, “So, Dorothea walked away to the fields with her little dog, Tito, and looking up into the sky as if addressing her maker, she said, ‘Oh God . . .’”

  Lottie squealed. “Here comes my psalm. I took it from a compilation of my favorite psalms in my book, Listening to God with Lottie. You know, I have read excerpts from it many times at our book club.”

  The group nodded, and we all turned the page to read Lottie’s psalms as Doris continued reading out loud.

  “Oh God . . . it looks like rain.”

  Interesting start to a psalm, I ruminated. Though not really a scholar on the finer points of the Bible, I couldn’t help thinking that King David was having an off day when he wrote this one.

  “What?” Lottie shrieked. “Where is the psalm I wrote?”

  “It was too long,” stated Doris plainly. “I thought this was better.”

  “Just the words ‘Oh God’? It sounds like she is saying a profanity.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you if a storm was brewing?” Doris snapped back.

  Lavinia cackled by her sister’s side. “Oh, sister dear, you got left with less than me.”

  “May I remind you all,” Doris said, slamming her script down on the table, “that we are under pressure here to get this show out quickly, and I had to do the best I could.”

  Everyone around the table became silent.

  “I like it,” said Annie as she hooked a twist of blue wool. “It’s short, sharp, and has a dog in it.”

  “Let’s keep going.” Doris picked up her script again. “Suddenly, from nowhere, a green witch appeared.”

  “That’s one of my characters too,” stated Ruby excitedly.

  Doris added, “And then, floating in a bubble of pink happiness, her sister, another witch, arrived. From the trees and bushes, out popped Minchkins, a group of little people that lived in the far reaches of Nebraska, and they told Dorothea to follow the blue sparkly road.”

  “Hold everything,” I chided, as I suddenly put all the pieces together. “This is The Wizard of Oz, without a tornado.”

  “No, it’s not,” snapped back Doris. “It’s The Merlin of Ooze, and besides, we couldn’t afford a tornado.”

  “But it’s a rip-off of The Wizard of Oz,” I stated.

  Doris looked down at her script and sniffed, “Well, maybe it’s a little like it.”

  A little? I thought to myself. It could have been the MGM version, except all the names had been changed, and odd parts from the Rejected Writers’ Book Club had been shoved in different places.

  “That’s all well and good,” I said, wearing my librarian hat. “I’m sure the book is old enough to be in public domain, which means you can use the story, but I’m not sure that the film is, and this is looking an awful lot like that.”

  Doris squared up to me. “Those people at MGM had some good ideas. I just improved on what they started.”

  I shook my head. There was no reasoning with this woman.

  As we continued to read, we met the Scaredy Lemur, the Man in the Can, and the Merlin of Ooze himself. I shook my head. I was going to have to do a lot of “editing” to make this different enough from the movie version.

  Doris continued to read through the script until she came to the final scene, where she had the Green Witch doing battle with the lead character.

  “This is a great scene,” Ruby said. “I wrote this too.” Ruby jumped to her feet, moving around the table to reenact it for us. “I saw it going something like this,” she said. “Suddenly, Dorothea and the Green Witch circle each other nervously, ready to do battle as the blood-curdling cries of every demon from hell circle overhead.”

  We all watched Ruby, mesmerized as she moved around us.

  “Suddenly, the Green Witch strikes a blow with her broom.”

  Ruby picked up her bread knife and thrust it toward the bushes just as Gladys appeared carrying the food order.

  “Hey, back up!” shrieked Gladys, stepping through the bushes. “The salmon is already dead!”

  Then Gladys started plonking plates down in front of us as she continued to rant. “Most people just come here to quietly eat food. What is it with you lot? You can never just sit still.”

  “I was acting,” Ruby stated calmly as she gathered up her sari and readjusted her turban.

  “Acting up, more like,” Gladys replied. “Now, I have another load I’m coming back with, so be warned. I don’t want to have to fight you off with my dinner tray, ’cause I don’t get paid enough for all your tomfoolery!”

  “Nice acting,” stated Doris curtly, “but I’ve cut the fight scene. Dorothea just throws a bucket of water over the Green Witch instead. I thought that would be cheaper.”

  We finished reading the script, and Flora shook her head.

  “Did I miss my poems?” she inquired.

  “There wasn’t a place for them,” Doris said, slapping the script shut. “I thought we could print them out and hand them to people on the way out of the building.”

  Flora looked disappointed but also preoccupied. “Okay,” she said. “I suppose you know best. Anyway, I have to go. I have a lot to do.” And she stood up.

  I noticed she had barely touched her peppermint tea, and she was wearing makeup.

  The penny dropped, and I realized what was going on. “It’s Dan, isn’t it? Dan is coming to visit you from Oregon.”

  Every eye at the table turned to her as she blushed scarlet.

  “So that’s why you’re all tarted up,” said Ethel curtly.

  “How wonderful,” Annie said, smiling and grabbing Flora’s hand.

  Flora just looked down, saying quickly, “I’m not sure he’s coming. He just said I was getting a surprise this afternoon.”

  “And that’s why you aren’t eating,” said Lottie. “Take it from me. Men don’t like their women too skinny, so if I was you, I’d take a piece of pumpkin pie to go.”

  Flora brushed her off and threw down three dollars on the table. “That should be enough for my tea, and now I really do need to go.”

  After Flora left, Doris continued, “We have to figure out how to find the rest of the cast.” The table nodded in agreement as she continued. “The biggest problem as I see it is men.” She said the word as if it were dirty. “We are definitely low in the men department, and I definitely want the Man in the Can to be male, so we n
eed to brainstorm to see if we can come up with a few.”

  As if on cue, a young, blond busboy arrived through the bushes with a jug of water and started refilling our glasses. Doris wasn’t about to waste any time, and she didn’t hide the fact that she was checking him out. As she did, she started nodding. The rest of the table couldn’t help but be drawn in. I found myself looking at this fresh-faced boy and imagining him in a princely costume on the stage. The boy appeared to sense the attention he was getting and stuttered at Doris, “Is there anything else you need?”

  Doris broke into a broad smile that always looked out of place on her stern face as she noted his nametag. “Kyle? Do you sing?”

  “Sing?” he said, flushing red and nearly dropping his jug. “No, all I do is waiter.”

  Doris narrowed her eyes, as if she, too, were imagining him in a costume on the stage. “But would you be open to doing it?” she asked him.

  “I don’t think so,” he stammered again, clasping his jug to his chest and leaping right back through the ficus, apparently scared half to death by a table of middle-aged women who appeared to be asking him to perform for his minimum hourly wage.

  Gladys appeared, the same water jug in her hand, and plopped it down, saying, “I don’t know what you said to our busboy, but he’s hiding in the kitchen saying he doesn’t want to come near you all, so you’ll have to serve yourself your own water.” She shook her head, mumbling under her breath, “Cougars.”

  Ten minutes later, there was a rustle in the trees and Gladys returned.

  “I hope you enjoyed your stay at the Amazon Cafe, here in ficus corner,” she said sarcastically. “Anyone for dessert? Unfortunately, the splits are off. The monkey stole the bananas.”

  We ordered drinks, and Gracie ordered an ice cream sundae.

  Later, as we paid our bill, Gladys couldn’t resist one final joke at our expense. When she brought our credit card receipts back to the table, instead of stripy peppermints on the little receipt tray, there was a pile of peanuts.

  Chapter Sixteen

  AN OXYGEN MASK & A PRAYING MANTIS

  Flora hurried out the door and crossed the street. Her stomach was twisting like a pretzel. She was excited and scared and frightened all at the same time. She had been unable to sleep, and eating was out of the question. She had tried to sleep, of course. She had even gone to bed extra early with a cup of hot milk, but her mind had been reeling all through the night, and then she’d been back up at midnight with only one thought: What if he didn’t like her? What if all the romance of the road trip was just that, a holiday romance? He had seen her in an environment that wasn’t real, on the road with a group of other women. Other people who could help fill in the conversation, making jokes with him when Flora got tongue-tied. Flora didn’t know any jokes. How would she be everything he’d expect her to be? Like, interesting?

  A car horn blared, shaking her from her reverie. She’d walked out into the road without even looking, and the car that had slammed on its brakes was about a foot away from her. The man who ran the local supermarket stuck his head out the window, saying, “Watch what you’re doing, Flora! I nearly had you that time!”

  She waved to him apologetically as she walked to the shop. Safely inside, she realized her whole body was actually shaking.

  Mrs. Bickerstaff looked up at her as she entered. “It’s been crazy since you left. I’m glad you’re back,” she said curtly. Then she softened as Flora drew closer. “Gracious me, Flora, dear, you look as white as a sheet. You should . . .”

  Those were the last words Flora heard as she crumpled to the floor and passed out cold.

  Somewhere in the distance, Flora could hear Santa, and there were these little sleigh bells. She felt something cold on her skin. She must be at the North Pole. The snow on her face was cold. She wanted to see Santa, and she wanted a talking doll for Christmas.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. There seemed to be a large polar bear in front of her. No, it wasn’t a polar bear. It was a rabbit. A huge, white, fluffy rabbit. What was that doing at the North Pole? Something wasn’t quite right. Rabbits were supposed to be small, and this one was big, and it leaned in, saying her name over and over again. And it seemed to be wearing cheap perfume and peach-colored lipstick.

  “She’s awake,” the rabbit said. “Flora, love,” it continued, bending close to her, giving her another whiff of the perfume. “Are you okay?”

  Flora realized all at once that she was lying on the floor of the flower shop, and the rabbit was none other than Mrs. Barber from the post office dressed in yet another holiday costume. Flora tried to open her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Mrs. Bickerstaff hovered above her. “I’ve called 911,” she informed them both. “They should be on their way.”

  Flora realized she must have fainted. She tried to get up and make a sound, but her heart was pounding in her ears, and her mind was swimming. She closed her eyes, licked her lips, and tried to gather herself. She heard the bell over the shop door tinkle and then Mrs. Bickerstaff saying, “I think we should get her some water.”

  She opened her eyes again to agree, and for a minute she thought she saw Dan. She blinked a couple of times. He was never far from her thoughts, but it really looked like him this time. Since her mind was now mush, she wasn’t quite sure what was real.

  All at once, he was down on his knees beside her. “Flora,” he said, the concern obvious in his voice. “What happened?”

  Mrs. Barber found her I-work-for-the-government tone. “Please stand back, young man, and let this poor woman breathe. You won’t help her leaning over her, sucking up all her oxygen, now, will you?”

  Flora still couldn’t speak. All she could do was look at him. He was even more handsome than she’d remembered. His dark wavy hair framed his face, and the deep-green eyes showed such concern. She couldn’t help herself. She felt tears well up in her eyes. Then, suddenly, next to him, there was another face glaring at her, a young woman. Someone she knew but couldn’t quite place. The woman moved toward Flora, ignoring all of Mrs. Barber’s directions, and said brusquely, “Hello, Florence. Do you remember me from the ball in Oregon? You know, I’m Dan’s friend?”

  There was something about the way she said “Dan’s friend” that set alarm bells off in Flora’s mind, even though it was cotton candy. Of course she remembered her. This was the girl who had openly flirted with Dan at the ball he had taken Flora to when they had met on the road trip. It had been obvious then—and was now, as she rested her hand comfortably on Dan’s arm—that a friend was the last thing she intended to be to him.

  Before Flora could respond, Mrs. Barber nodded her rabbit head, her interest apparently piqued. “Oh, you’re the Dan from Oregon, are you?” And then, to make things worse, she added, “We’ve heard all sorts of things about you, but I must say, you don’t look much like I expected, and it’s a shame you don’t work on a farm, but I’m pleased to meet you.” She held out a rabbit paw.

  Flora was mortified. “Please stop; please stop,” was all she wanted to say. Instead, she coughed as Mrs. Barber eyed the woman with Dan distrustfully.

  “And who might you be, young lady?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. Thrusting out a cashmere-gloved hand, she said, “I’m Marcy. I’m here with Danny.”

  “Praying mantis” were the first words that entered into Flora’s mind, and this glossy, fur-clad floozy was preying for sure—preying on her guy!

  Flora was about to try to say something again when the shop bell rang and in came a line of EMTs. They automatically started to clear the way and attend to Flora. Flora looked longingly at Dan as the EMTs asked her questions and took her temperature and blood pressure. This definitely wasn’t the reunion she’d hoped for. Dan just stood there, looking concerned and helpless.

  One of the EMTs stood up and said to Mrs. Bickerstaff, “I wonder if we could clear the room.”

  Marcy tugged at Dan’s arm, responding in a firm voice, “Of course. D
an and I will go.” Then to Dan, “Let’s go and get some lunch, shall we?” Dan looked helplessly from Marcy to Flora, who was now wearing an oxygen mask.

  Before he could even try to object, Mrs. Barber started pushing him toward the door. “Yes, you’d better let her get her breath back. I think going over to the Crab would be the best thing till Flora gets herself together.”

  He was halfway to the door, sandwiched between the rotund Easter Bunny and the fur-clad preying mantis, when he found his voice. “I’ll call you, Flora,” he said, almost desperately. That was all he could say before the newly massed members of the animal kingdom hustled him out of the shop.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A WALKING VEGAS SLOT MACHINE

  As we left the table, my mind was whirring with all I would need to do to edit this script for Doris and the crew. And I really needed to get home to Stacy. We were on the way out the door when Annie suddenly tugged at my sleeve excitedly, pointing toward a table in the corner. Dan was sitting there, alone.

  “Look who’s here!” she exclaimed, her excitement difficult to hide.

  Dan’s head was bent down as he looked at his menu, and she walked right over to him. We all followed her.

  “Dan,” shrieked Annie. He looked up and was quickly on his feet, hugging all of us.

  Doris looked at him over the brim of her spectacles. “I didn’t think I would see you in here today. I thought you’d go straight over to see Flora at the shop.” Her expression reflected her disapproval.

  Before he could answer, Marcy slipped into the seat next to Dan and responded to Doris, “He did go over and see her, but she has some sort of problem going on, so we came here for lunch instead.”

  The whole group was stunned into silence by Marcy’s arrival. We watched, mesmerized, as her glossy blonde hair, blown into a slick bob, swished from side to side as she talked. Dressed from head to foot in money, the jewelry adorning her body shimmered like a slot machine in Vegas. She seemed oblivious to our shocked silence as she talked about her trip up to the island from Medford with Dan.