Page 22 of All That Glitters
Their office often moved to the Ocean View Pub, the dive bar with the sun-drenched deck that had become their unofficial headquarters. The place had character, meaning its planks and benches smelled like spilled beer and sand, tracked in by surfersover the decades. Tony would camp out at a sticky table in the corner, his yellow legal pad surrounded by beer-soaked coasters and fried calamari crumbs.
Debbie would sit opposite him, nursing an iced tea and supposedly reading a magazine, but her eyes would track his every move like a secret service agent watching for threats.
A pretty waitress came by one afternoon to drop off a basket of fries, her smile lingering on Tony just a beat longer than strictly professional. Tony’s eyes followed her as she walked away.
“Ahem.”
He looked back to find Debbie tapping her finger on the cover of her magazine, the look in her eyes suggesting imminent bodily harm.
“Something interesting over there?” she asked, her voice deceptively sweet, like honey with a razor blade hidden inside.
He nodded towards the roof of the shack-like pub. “Just checking out the roof.”
Debbie didn’t buy it for a second. “Is the ‘roof’ and her short shorts going to write your script?”
“Probably not.”
“Then write, Harding. “Your vampires aren’t going to decapitate themselves.”
He turned back to his legal pad, but not before she caught the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The truth was, he was starting to enjoy their little routine. Having Debbie there, keeping him accountable, making him laugh, catching him when his attention wandered, it was like having a personal cheerleader and drill instructor rolled into one.
Twenty minutes later, she leaned over his shoulder to read what he’d written, her hair brushing his shoulder as she peered at the screen. The faint, fresh scent of her shampoo and suntan lotion filled his senses, making him forget for a moment what century he was living in, much less what he was writing about.
“This is really good,” she said, pointing at a particular exchange between two of his characters. “I like the way the dialog pops. It feels natural, but in an interesting way.”
“So, keep popping the dialog?”
She nodded. “And stop watching the roof’s legs.”
They did the coffee shop circuit around town, Tony fueled by caffeine and a pathological fear of disappointing his drill instructor. He’d discovered that different venues inspired different aspects of his story. The hipster coffee place with the exposed brick walls was perfect for writing the dramatic tension between the vampire brothers. The sunny café near the beach worked best for romantic scenes. And the 24-hour donut shop was ideal for comedy, probably because everything seemed funnier on a sugar high.
One day at Grind Coffee, Tony was writing furiously, lost in his supernatural world of frat parties and bloodlust. The familiar sounds of espresso machines and indie music faded into the background as he fell deeper into the story. Then he hit a wall with a plot point he hadn’t considered earlier. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling tiles, waiting for inspiration to strike.
After thirty seconds of stillness, a single, perfectly aimed sugar packet bounced off his forehead. He looked across the table to find Debbie grinning at him, another sugar packet in her hand ready to throw in case he didn’t get the message from the first one.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said.
Her grin broadened. “Immensely.”
A second later, he was busy scribbling away at his script.
One crisp morning, Tony and Debbie were jogging on the boardwalk, the sunrise painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that made everything look like a postcard. Despite Debbie’s initial grumbling over being dragged out of bed at dawn, theseearly morning runs had become a fun routine. And Tony enjoyed getting to play drill instructor for a change.
“So I’m thinking,” he said between breaths, “what if the rival fraternity isn’t just a bunch of jerks? What if they’re... I don’t know, something supernatural too?”
“Like what?” Debbie asked, her ponytail bouncing as she kept pace beside him.
“I haven’t figured that out yet. Werewolves seem too obvious. What else is there?”
“Mummies? Frankenstein’s monster?” she offered.
They jogged a little further, then Tony came to a sudden stop. “I got it,” he said, fishing the small notepad he now carried everywhere from his shorts pocket. “Zombies.”
“Zombies?” Debbie said, coming to a stop beside him. “Isn’t that a lot of dead people for one campus?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s perfect. They’ll blend right in with the rest of the students, you know, with their blank, soulless stares. The professors will just think they’re hungover students and ignore them.”
Debbie smiled. “So, now we have The Walking Dead meets Twilight meets Revenge of the Nerds.”
