"Wow," Reynolds said as he and Gorey walked into the theatre, "this place is nice. Wonder why they were gonna shut it down. Do you think maybe there was a murder here? Or maybe, like, there's a Phantom beneath the stage who haunts anyone who tries to perform here and often falls for leading women?"
Gorey stopped in her tracks and looked at him, shaking her head. "You just really say anything that comes into your head, don't you?" she asked, the both of them chuckling. They continued to walk down the lane that led between the seats, Gorey dragging her fingers atop every chair as they passed by, Reynolds a bit behind her, just watching, admiring. He was happy to see her feel comfortable, as it wasn't a state he often got to see her in. It was nice. "So is this where it happened?" "Mhm," Gorey replied, nodding, "we used to perform our school plays here, make it seem classier than it was, and that's the same stage, same catwalk, same lighting rig. Everything's the same...except me. It's weird, you'd think being here would be...I don't know...offputting? But it really isn't, it's actually quite comforting." "Well," Reynolds said, approaching Gorey as she turned to face him, "I mean, this is somewhere where you spent a lot of your time, have some of your best memories. Just cause one shitty incident occurred here doesn't mean it should make you hate everything about it, right? I mean, look at me, my life was ruined while I hosted a game show, but you don't see me not watching Wheel of Fortune." Gorey smirked and looked at her shoes. She shuffled closer and looked up at Reynolds, who just continued to smile at her. "Thanks for coming," she said quietly, "It's gonna be awkward, you know, to talk to her about this and everything, so it really means a lot to have you here. I hate doing these sorts of things by myself. There's a level of comfort that's required to face the day, and you're providing me that comfort." Reynolds smiled and nodded. For a moment, the theatre was empty, like even the chairs had disappeared, and it was just the two of them now, standing here in front of the stage. Gorey hated herself. She hated that she'd been too meek, she hated that she'd not been stronger, she hated that she had moved too slow. She thought back to kissing him in the car that night after the concert, and all she wanted to do was do that again, right here, right now. She leaned in, getting on her tip toes to reach him, and to her surprise, he wasn't backing away. She placed a hand on his chest and shut her eyes, their faces an inch apart, when suddenly a bright light blasted on, blinding them both. Gorey and Reynolds threw their arms over their faces, completely taken by surprise, when they saw Laura come running down the mobile staircase near the scaffolding, waving her arms. "I'm so sorry!" she said, out of breath, half laughing, "I'm so sorry, that wasn't supposed to happen! Hopefully you can still see." "Not any worse than my sight already was, so I think I'm good," Reynolds remarked, chuckling. "Well then, welcome...to The Baroque!" Laura said, throwing her arms up in a joyous fashion, beaming at them. Reynolds and Gorey exchanged a look, then smiled back at her. They couldn't deny, her enthusiasm was infectious. *** Delilah hadn't had a date in years. She, in reality, wasn't a very sociable person, but what mortician is, really? Standing in front of her body mirror in her bedroom, attaching the ends of her necklace so they clamped together and closed, she admired herself. For someone who didn't go out with people much, she cleaned up well. She was wearing a tight black dress with long floral lace sleeves and doc martens tucked into black stockings. She took her glasses off, then put them back on, then took them off again, and decided to go with contacts in their stead. As she finished putting her contacts in and started clipping her earrings in, she heard the knock at the front door from downstairs and suddenly she smiled. She was somewhat horrified and also somewhat overjoyed with how giddy she was about this whole thing. Delilah raced down the steps and opened the front door, finding Jeff there in a button down salmon colored shirt tucked into black slacks with brown loafers. "Wow," he said, "you somehow look even better than the other day." Jeff then held out a bouquet of black roses for her, which she cocked her head at momentarily before chuckling and taking them. "Sorry they're so gothic," he said, "I guess I don't know what you'd like. I've never been out with a mortician before. This is kind of new ground for me." "You're doing fine," Delilah said, taking them to the kitchen and plopping them into an empty vase before filling it with water and, grabbing her long, black peacoat on the way back to the door, said, "I do like the color black, after all. We're kind of cliche like that." *** Hawley and Clarissa were sitting in the living room, eating popcorn and watching TV, both nestled under the same blanket but at opposite ends. Reynolds had said he would be back later this evening, so the girls took this to mean they had the place to themselves for a bit, and decided the best use of that time would be lounging without a father figure around. As the program went to a commercial and Clarissa muted the TV, she pointed at the screen with the remote. "I wish they wouldn't advertise makeup on TV," Clarissa said, "it puts bad ideas in young girls heads. Everyone thinks they have to look like a model, and if they aren't perfect then they're completely imperfect. It's so distressing the way young girls are being treated right now." "Is it bad to want to be pretty?" Hawley asked, glancing over nervously at Clarissa, following up softly with, "...am I bad for wanting to be pretty?" Clarissa realized now what Hawley was asking, and she shook her head. "No, no there's not, and you have every right to wear makeup and feel confident with it," Clarissa said, "I just...I don't think they should be trying to upsell beauty to little girls, you know?" "My whole life I wanted to be pretty," Hawley said, her voice softening, "I can remember being out with my mom and we would see this really pretty lady, or a girl a little older than me, and I'd just tell her I wanna look like that without thinking twice about how weird that must've been to hear. But it was true. I would kill to have looked like you do, naturally." Clarissa felt her heart hurt. What could she say to this poor, young girl to help her feel better. Suddenly, she got an idea. She smiled and sat upright. "Okay, so," Clarissa said, "once, when I was in 4th grade, I was invited to a dance, and all my friends did makeup and got these super nice dresses - cause, you know, you grow in the entertainment industry and all these moms treat their kids like dress up dolls - and I just went in shorts and a tank top with a strawberry on it and I was easily the most popular person there that night cause all the boys were so super intimidated by all the dressed up girls that they naturally gravitated towards me. Natural beauty exists, and you have that, totally. You're you. That commitment to yourself is enough beauty to catch the eye." Hawley blushed and nodded, looking at her hands nervously. She'd never been complimented like this by a peer, except perhaps Tyler and even then never on this level, so she appreciated it. "But, if you want, I could totally teach you how to do makeup, or do it for you anytime you want!" Clarissa said, unmuting the TV and adding, "it's just girl code, you know? Help out your sisters." Hawley could never expected, just a mere 6 months ago, that she would feel as accepted as she did, and she loved every second of it. Living with Reynolds and his daughter, she felt like she had a loving family, a family who loved who she was and not who she wasn't, and wanted her to feel comfortable, and that kind of support, well, as any queer person knows, it can save a life. *** "I've never been here," Delilah said, looking around at the interior of the restaurant Jeff had decided upon; she continued, "you'd think I would have, considering I've lived here my whole life, but I just...I never really get out. I'm usually at home, either relaxing or working. And I especially don't generally socialize." "You've gotten far too comfortable with the dead," Jeff said, smirking and lifting his wine glass to his lips, taking a long sip. He picked up his menu and started to turn through the pages before adding, "I've never been either, since I'm just visiting, but I figured I'd pick the best sounding thing there was. May as well do something classy." "Actually, I find the atmosphere overwhelming," Delilah said, "I wouldn't normally come to a place like this unless I was taken." "You know, back in LA I am always spending luncheons and dinners at places like this, and you're right, it's oppressive, almost...I have an idea." Jeff stood up and held out his hand, Delilah smiling and taking it, standing up next to him and, hand in hand, followed him back out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. They climbed into his car and then pulled out, heading down the road a bit until they came to a main hub of downtown where all the convenience stores and fast food places were. After a brief deliberation, they settled on an old popular favorite burger place, and pulled in, ordered and then ate their food sitting in the car in the parking lot. "This is much more like it," Jeff said through chewing, "this is the kind of shit you can't do in the industry. You have to eat right, you have to have the right body type, it's miserable! Sometimes a man just wants a burger! God, I can't even tell you how much worse it is for the women I manage too, they come in and they look emaciated. And it's not because they're naturally thing, it's because this industry has shamed them into having an eating disorder under the guise of attractiveness, but then won't hire them anyway because despite ruining their bodies, they still aren't 'what we're looking for'. I don't know what it is they're looking for, truth be told." Delilah picked up her shake and took a long drink before laughing and nodding. "It's comforting to know that no matter where a woman is in the world, she's being judged. Nice to know you're not alone," Delilah said, wiping her mouth on her napkin and burping, adding, "when I was in college, my friends back home were absolutely mortified because of what I'd chosen to do, they told me 'that's no profession for a lady!' and I'd just say 'well, I'm not a lady, I'm a woman'. Lady insinuates some sort of negative connotation, like someone who's obedient and well behaved, and I may be polite, but I am anything but." "Mortified, cause you're a mortician, I get it," Jeff said, snickering, making Delilah chuckle. "It's part of why I wanted the schools baseball team to be all inclusive, because girls deserve to excel in every single place they can, regardless of what anyone might think," Delilah said, "If a girl wants to play baseball, she should play baseball, and if a girl wants to embalm, she should embalm. It's work. It shouldn't be gatekept based on gender." Jeff set his burger down and looked at Delilah, who was now putting a few fries in her mouth and chewing slowly as she looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Yesh?" she asked, mouth half full of fries. "...can I kiss you?" Jeff asked. "Wow, you're asking?" Delilah said, "Are you sure you work in Hollywood?" Jeff smiled and she laughed as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She put a hand on the back of his head, and held his face against hers for the longest time, loving the affection. It had been years since Delilah had been in any kind of romantic situation, and really, she wasn't aware of just how much she missed it. It felt good to be wanted, to be sought after and attractive to someone. Jeff was right. She did get too comfortable with the dead. Maybe it was time to rejoin the living. *** "These look amazing," Gorey said, leafing through Laura's papers - sketches and designs for the interior design of the theatre, as well as architectural redesigns for the outside, nothing major just small changes to make it safer and a tad more modern - shaking her head at Laura's artistic abilities. "I didn't wanna change too much, I wanted to keep an air of history about it, you know?" Laura said, "but I also do have to bring it up to code within certain modern safety standards, so. I guess going to school for architecture did pay off in some way." "Do you think if I fell from here I'd die?" Reynolds asked, making Gorey and Laura look up at the catwalk above the stage, where Reynolds was balanced precariously on the railing. "Why did you bring him?" Laura asked, and Gorey shrugged. "He needs a supervisor wherever he goes," Gorey said, "part of his court mandated release." "That's not true! They said I got out on good behavior, thank you," Reynolds replied from up in the rafters, making Gorey and Laura laugh. After waiting until Reynolds had headed through the catwalk and began descending the ladder at the other end once more to come back down, Laura leaned into Gorey and lowered her voice. "What's with you two? Cause when I came in, things looked kind of...romantic," she said. "It's...complicated," Gorey said, sighing, "whatever, it's not something I can explain right now. So, what exactly would my part in this venture be, precisely? Cause I haven't done anything theatre related in years, and I'm not sure if any of my skills have atrophied or not." Laura leaned in and, pushing some of Gorey's hair from her face right over her right eye, she saw the scar. "Does it hurt?" she asked. "Whoa," Reynolds said, approaching and kneeling, "you never told me you have a cool scar. I thought we were supposed to be besties. We're supposed to tell one another everything. Is that from the fall?" "Yes, and I'd rather not discuss it," Gorey said, pushing Laura's hand away and standing up, "I'll do whatever I can. Just give me some detailed plans on paper and give them to me the next time you see me." Gorey then stood up and hopped down from the stage, heading back up through the auditorium, Reynolds right behind her. As they exited the big doors and got back outside, Reynolds grabbed her by the wrist and stopped her, but she wouldn't turn to face him. "Hey hey, whoa, what's with the sudden exit?" he asked. "I don't want my deficiency to be my sole defining characteristic," Gorey said quietly, "I've told you that. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to even think about it. If she's going to give me this job out of pity, then I don't want it. I don't want to be treated differently, that's part of what I appreciate about you, you don't treat me differently. I'm your equal, and that's...that's nice." Gorey looked at her feet and finally turned to face him, her eyes remaining on the ground. "...I like you cause you're mean to me," Gorey whispered, "you don't coddle me, you call me out, you joke with me, at me, you don't just pretend like the world is perfect and I'm some little kid who needs to be protected from it at all costs. I'm so sick and tired of everyone acting like I'm not a grown ass adult and am incapable of making my own decisions. Yeah, I'm challenged, I won't deny that, but plenty of challenged people live perfectly normal lives. You give me that normality just by the way you act with me." "I think Laura's the one you should be saying this to, not me," Reynolds said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "cause she's the one who needs to know that the way she acted wasn't a way you feel was appropriate. If you want to work with someone, or be with someone, regardless whether it's platonic or romantic, you need to talk to them and be honest, not just storm off. I know cause I was that way." Reynolds sighed and seated himself on the lip of a cement planter, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag as Gorey sat beside him. "I wasn't open with my ex wife," Reynolds said after a moment, "I'm not sure we were ever really close, to be honest. But I wasn't open with her, and I only got to be less open the longer we lied to ourselves about being happy, and then, after what I did, well...she had every right to hate me. So did the rest of the industry. Maybe if I'd been open, maybe if I'd, you know, talked about how I felt, my life wouldn't have crumbled. You have to be honest with the people you care about." "But if...if you're like hadn't crumbled, you wouldn't be here," Gorey said quietly, causing Reynolds to look at her; she chewed her lip and added, "and if you weren't here...I wouldn't know you, and I like knowing you. You think you ruined your life by not being honest, but really, all you did was make a better life for yourself in the end, right?" Reynolds looked at her, then turned his wrist towards her so she could lean forward and take a long drag off his cigarette before blowing the smoke back in his face and grinning at him, causing him to smirk at her. "I mean," she said softly, leaning in again, "...really...haven't I been worth all the trouble, really?" "It's true, my life was an empty abyss before you," Reynolds said. "I knew it," Gorey replied, fist pumping, giggling, the both of them laughing now. They were close, and yet...yet there was this gap between them. A gap that had been there ever since that night after the concert. Ever since they'd kissed. Reynolds had tried to ignore it, move past it, go back to how things had been. She really was his best friend, and he didn't want to lose that, besides he was involved with Rebecca and that was more than enough for him. He was happy with her. Gorey had a messy life, he couldn't fix it for her, and he'd feel bad if they became involved and then broke up. He didn't want to add to the mess, he just wanted to calm it a little for her. "I guess you're right," Gorey finally said, kicking her legs as they hung off the planter, "I guess I should probably just talk to Laura instead of getting dismissive." "Spoken like a true adult," Reynolds said, "you're certainly outpacing me in that arena." Gorey blushed and rested her head on his shoulder, her busy curly brown hair fluffed up against him, her large circular lenses falling down the bridge of her nose. She sighed and shut her eyes. "I don't like being an adult," she whispered. "Well that's what cool, nobody's forcing you to be," Reynolds replied, and she nodded. *** Jeff pulled the car up to Delilah's and parked. He got out, then headed around to the other side and pulled her door open, allowing her to exit, which she thanked him for. He took her by the hand and, together, walked up to the front door. Standing on the porch, waiting for her to get her keys from her purse, Jeff glanced up at the porch light - which just happened to be shape like a skull - hanging nearby and pointed at it, grinning. "Neat," he said, "It really is the little touches that make a place home, isn't it?" "I try to prove before people walk in the door that I'm all about death," Delilah said, "not to sound gothic or anything." Delilah unlocked the door, then plopped her keys back into her purse before looking back at Jeff. "I had a very nice time tonight," Delilah said, "I don't normally go out, especially with someone, so this was...very welcome. Thank you for asking me, and taking me." "When I met you the other day I just...I don't know, I couldn't get you out of my head," Jeff said, shrugging, "you're just the opposite of every single women I have to interact with on a day to day basis and it's refreshing. Not that there's anything wrong with those women, they're just...so many of them don't do it for the sake of the art, you know what I mean? The enjoyment of performance. It's purely to be famous, and as such they're obsessive about it. But you know what you love, and you love to do it and you dedicate yourself to it and that's admirable." Delilah blushed and pushed some of her dark red hair from her face and bit her lip. "Um...I know this is forward but, well...the one thing you learn in my line of work is that line is incredibly short and very fragile, so why bother playing it safe, and, uh...do you wanna come inside?" she asked, batting her eyes at Jeff, who looked genuinely surprised. "Uh, that...that's a very generous offer, especially after one date, but um, I..." he stuttered, scratching the back of his head, "I've never felt comfortable doing that on a first date. That just adds a whole new level of awkwardness to something that's already awkward, you know?" "Wow, you really are admirable," Delilah said, shrugging as she opened her front door and walked in, but not before turning back to see him and adding, "...well, maybe after another few dates you'll change your mind. If you do, you know where to find me." With that, she blew him a kiss and shut the door. Jeff stood there momentarily, blushing deeply, smiling like an idiot. He'd never met anyone like Delilah Darling before. Not even his fiance. *** Reynolds opened the front door and walked inside. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch, before hearing someone say something. He walked over to the couch and leaned on the back, glancing over, only to see Clarissa laying there pulling the jacket down off her face and looking up at him annoyed, which made him chuckle. "Hey kiddo," he said. "Watch where you're throwing stuff," she said. "I'm surprised you're still up," Reynolds said. "Yeah well...when you first left, I had trouble sleeping cause you weren't in the house anymore, so I guess now I wait up to make sure you come home," Clarissa said, making Reynolds scruff her hair and nod at her. "I'm always comin' home, that's a promise," he said, before heading down the hall, adding over his shoulder at her, "now go to bed! It's late!" He reached his bedroom, but then stopped. He turned and put his hand on the knob to Hawley and Clarissa's room and turned it slowly, quietly pushing the door open with his shoulder and entering. He saw Hawley asleep on the bed, wearing her black and pink pajama set he'd bought her and looking through a fashion magazine. He smiled and walked in further, then sat on the bed beside her, causing her to rouse and wake up. She sleepily wiped at her eyes. "Oh...you're home," she said. "Yeah, I'm home. Was gonna go to bed but figured I should check in first. How'd your evening go?" "It was okay, we just watched TV," Hawley said. Reynolds nodded, smiling, before tapping her on the arm. "Alright, come on," he said, "Get under the covers, I'll tuck you in." Hawley nodded, put the magazine on the floor by the bed and then crawled under the blankets. As she pulled them up to her neck, Reynolds took them and tucked them in tightly around her, knowing she preferred to feel constricted. After he was finished, he sat on the bed again and put his hand on her face, pushing her bangs from her eyes. "...why are you treating me like I'm a 5 year old?" Hawley asked. "...I don't know. I guess cause you didn't really get to have the early childhood you deserved to have," he said, shrugging, "does it bother you? Me doing these things?" "No I like it, I was just curious," Hawley replied, yawning, "it is kind of actually comforting, yeah." Reynolds smiled at her and ran his hand through her hair, his eyes watering. "You're a good kid, Ellie, and I'm sorry you had a bad family," he said softly, "but hopefully Clarissa and I make up for it." Hawley nodded, blushing and rolling onto her side. Reynolds leaned down and planted a kiss on her head, then stood up and turned to exit, when he noticed Clarissa standing there, brushing her teeth. She waved at him, and he nodded at her, then walked past her and entered his own bedroom. Once inside he sat on the bed and pulled the landline on the bedside table to him, picked the receiver off the base and lifted it to his head. He took a long sigh, and then started dialing. It rang a few times. Then finally an answer. "Hello?" the voice asked, sounding groggy, but John just hung up. He hated doing this. He hated that he might be annoying her, or waking her up, but every now and then...every now and then... ...he just had to hear the voice of his sister.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
About
GRAVE INNINGS is about A funeral home that has sponsored a local little league, the coach who is a disgraced reality show host, a young transgirl and the odd family they create for one another. Archives
May 2024
Categories |