Page 7 of Script Swap
“I can hear you,” Fox snapped.
Bobby, in his infinite wisdom, handed me my program, and I buried my nose in that.
It wasn’t exactlyriveting.I mean, there was the usual stuff.Lots of advertisements for local businesses—it was nice (but not surprising) to see that the Otter Slide had taken out a full page.And then there was Terrence’s introduction.In the program, his title was Creative Director, and the comments were all about the privilege of working with a genius (presumably this referred to Pippi, who had about as much genius as a lunch sack).(Also, mee-aow; I didn’t mean to sound that, uh, catty.) Terrence repeated his comments about making theater history, which, again, seemed unlikely to me.And he wished everyone a great time.
Although I didn’t think the “playwright’s comments” were typically included in theater programs, clearly, they’d made an exception for Pippi.
Terrence’s introduction had been one page, and that had been with a big picture at the top.
Pippi’s ran to eight.
There werelotsof pictures.Interestingly enough, though, for a play that was nominally about Vivienne Carver (and her murderous ways), Vivienne only featured in one.The photo showed Vivienne and Pippi at a book signing.They were sitting next to each other at a table, in some indistinguishable bookstore setting that could have been anywhere.The key detail for me, though, was that Vivienne had stacked her books between her and Pippi to make a surprisingly formidable wall.
I didn’t exactly like Vivienne, what with her trying to murder me.But I couldn’t say I blamed her.
The rest of the pictures were of Pippi (for some reason).Pippi and her family.Pippi and her books.(She wrote a type of mystery called acozy, and let me tell you, she’d written alotof them.No judgment, but it really tells you something about an author when they can churn them out like that, don’t you think?) There was even a picture of a young Pippi in a bikini.It was…disturbing.Not least because she had the exact same haircut back then that she had now.(Also because I happened to glance over and see Mr.Ratcliff snipping the photo out of his program with a pair of nail scissors.)
The short version of Pippi’s “playwright’s introduction” was that she had been inspired by her friendship with Vivienne Carver.Friendshipwas a generous term, from what I remembered, but that didn’t matter since the remaining seven pages concentrated on Pippi’s literary achievements—and included a breakdown of the patronage packages she offered on her website, inviting people to become one of Pippi’s Pen Pals to the tune of twenty-five dollars a month.My role in solving the murders and putting Vivienne behind bars took up a single sentence, wedged between a description of Pippi’s bathroom remodel and some more exposition on Pippi’s patronage site.Pippi managed to use the wordbumblingtwice.
“Deep breaths,” Bobby said as he rubbed my back.
I flipped forward.More ads—God bless Mr.Cheek, he’d taken out a page for Fog Belt Ladies Wear, but it was a black-and-white headshot of himself, approximately twenty years younger.And then we got to the actor bios.
I’m a human being.I’m not perfect.I’ve got an ego (however fragile it might be).So, I couldn’t help myself: first thing, I looked at the actor they’d cast to play me.
Not terrible.
Second take: actually, not bad at all.
Okay, third take—maybe he was a littletoohandsome?Like, I didn’t want Bobby getting any ideas about trading up.
He had my coloring: dark hair, skin that could politely be described asporcelainorivory(or, uh, pale), hazel eyes.Some similarity to the features—the shape of his head, the nose—but he had more of a leading man look than I did.A stronger jaw.On my best days (when my hair was willing to play along, and before I had unlimited access to Indira’s cake, and during those three months in Providence when I went to the gym), I was cute.This guy was a hot tamale.
(I couldn’t help the comparison: movie theater candy!!!)
His name was Kyson Swetz, and if I had to guess, I would have said he was twenty years old.Maybe twenty-one.According to his actor bio, he’d starred in such productions asThe Crucible,Hello, Dolly!, an abridged version ofGrease, andThe Pajama Game.Nobody put it in writing, but my guess was that those had been high school productions.
Movement drew my attention, and I caught a glimpse of Pippi—she was backstage, poking her head out from behind the curtain, and now she smiled and waved.Her blissfully happy family smiled and waved back from the audience.It was cute and endearing, and it made me think of how Mr.Del Real had once told me about how he got rid of moles in his yard by smacking them on the head with a two-by-four.
Dragging my attention back to the program, I went back to the beginning of the actors and read the remaining names.Nora Day was up next.She was playing the part of Vivienne (who, in this lightly fictionalized retelling, was called Marienne), and she was what us writerly types would call a mature woman, although it was difficult to say exactlyhowmature.Some of that was probably makeup.Some of it was the miracle of photography.And some of it, without a doubt, was the clothes.
She was dressed all in black: a black leather jacket, black leather gloves, an enormous black tulle skirt, black leather jackboots.And as an accent, she wore about a dozen silver crosses, all different sizes, all artfully arranged on chains around her neck.Her hair was a severe bob of bleached blond hair, and her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.She could have been fifty.She could have been eighty.She looked like Dolly Parton had fallen in with a biker gang.
“Oh my God,” I said as I scanned her bio.“She was inWomen and Friends?I love that movie.”
Fox sniffed.“Of course you do.You’re a gay man born in the—” The pause was long enough to be insulting.“—nineties?”
“Ha ha,” I said.“Wait, she was inPhantom’s Playground?AndOne Last Jobwas so good—all those great actors pulling off a heist.Oh my God,The Last Starflower?That’s insane.Remember Robert Downey, Jr.’s mascara?That movie was a trip.”
To judge by Bobby’s expression, he didnotremember—probably because he’d been busy being an Outdoor Kid (patent pending).But because he was my one true love, he made a sound like he was impressed.
Fox sniffed again.Loudly.“Bit parts.Don’t worry, though; her head’s big enough I’m surprised she can get through the door.”
There was a pot-kettle situation brewing (I couldn’t help myself), but I let it go.
Next up was Jonni.No last name—kind of like Prince, I guess.She was playing the part of Pippi, who was now called Penny (for legal reasons).She was also a mature woman, although in her case, it was easier to see the, uh, ravages of time.(Nope.Scratch that.I meantthe graceful changes of an aging body.) She had a cap of brassy curls, penciled-on eyebrows, and an abundance of what my grandmother would have calledrouge.In the photo, she wore a feather boa (like Bliss’s) and a beaded skirt, and she looked kind of like if Madame Tussaud’s made a wax figure of a flapper.
Remember how I said I wasn’t a good person?
