Page 14 of Script Swap
Before he could say anything, though, someone said, “We were doing rewrites.”
I groaned.I recognized that voice.
The words came from behind one of the masking curtains, which was now billowing enthusiastically as steps clipped toward us.A moment later, Pippi emerged.She was dressed in what I assumed she thought high-powered Hollywood types wore: black flats, black leggings, a black top, and yes, a black beret.She even had big, black Woody Allen glasses.She still had her hair in that volumized-to-the-max bob, and she wore her violently green eye shadow, and it all clashed horribly, as you can imagine.I think she might have also been leaning into a beatnik vibe because (and I swear I’m not making this up) she was holding what looked like a tiny joint.
Pippi must have caught my gaze because she said, “Don’t go running to Bobby; it’s only a clove cigarette.I’m addicted to the things.”
If I hadn’t known Fox and Terrence were related, I would have figured it out right then from the shared eye roll.
In general, I believed the best practice with Pippi was to avoid her.When that wasn’t possible, my goal was always to keep our interactions as short as possible.And not talk about writing.Or about books.Or about TV shows, podcasts, radio programs, or any sort of story, storytelling, or art in general.So, it took a lot of willpower for me to say, “What rewrites?”
“This play is a piece of art,” Pippi said.She gestured with the clove cigarette in a broad arc.“You know how art is: it’s never finished.”
“Interesting,” Fox said dryly.
“Uh huh,” I said.“Why wasn’t Kyson’s part finished?”
“Because it wasn’t right,” Pippi said.“I was tinkering with it.”
“It had no soul,” Tinny said.I presumed her tone was meant to be ominous; she was still staring into that chunk of rock.“It was flat.It was lifeless.It was dead.”
Pippi’s mouth pursed, and she squeezed the clove cigarette so tightly it looked like she was going to pinch the end off.“Yes, well, we disagreed on theextentof the revisions, especially since certain people who aren’t writers themselves and know nothing of the craft—”
“It was only a few words,” Terrence said.“Tweaks.”
“So, he wasn’t supposed to say what he said last night?”I asked.“About ‘I know what you did and you won’t get away with it, or whatever it is.’”
Terrence shook his head.
“What washe supposed to say?”
“He was supposed to say he was leaving town, running back to his parents, who would take care of their darling baby boy,” Pippi said.
Her tone was prompting, with a hint ofdon’t you remember—and for one disorienting moment, I realized that some part of Pippi actually believed that was what had happened.
“Right,” I somehow managed to say.“Okay.So, why would someone put that in Kyson’s script?”
“I don’t know!”Terrence said.His face was flushed.“To ruin me, obviously!”
I looked at Pippi.
“Well, I don’t know, Dashiell.”
“Just Dash.”
“Oh my goodness!”Pippi glanced from me to Fox to Terrence.“It’s a mystery!Dash, we’re doing it again!”
“No, we’re not—”
“The team is back together!”
“No team.There’s no team.”
“Stay here,” Pippi said.“I need to change hats.And call Christian.Oh my God, where’s a microphone when you need one?”She spread her hands like she was envisioning words on a marquee.“Betrayal at The Foxworthy.No!Betrayed!The Story of Betrayal!!!: The The Worm Has Turned Story.”
“You said ‘story’ twice.And ‘the.’”
“A Pippi Parker Production.With special guest Dashiell Dawson Dane—” She cut off.“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?With a guest appearance byDashiell Dawson Dane.”She pranced a few steps stage left, stopped, and wagged a finger at me.“Don’t go anywhere!”
