Character Assassin

Character Assassin

She came out from the dark corner at the far end of my study and plonked herself down on the chair where I usually hang my jacket .She was dressed in the fashion of the Roaring Twenties, just as I imagined her. I noticed her glaring at the newspaper between her hands. It was a broadsheet. I figured she had it open at the entertainment section. Her teeth were gnashing. She seemed to be growling. “Grrr…” Or something like that. I knew what she was doing. She was reading the reviews.

“What is the matter?” I frowned. “You look um… livid.”

She stopped glaring at the newspaper and started glaring at me. “Livid? Really? And does that word actually mean anything on your kindergarten lexicon of Baby’s first 300 words? Does it perhaps convey the impression that I am boiling with rage, mad as a cat on a hot tin roof, fit to be tied, frothing at the mouth, ready to slaughter before and behind me, while awaiting brawny men in white coats carrying a strait-jacket custom made for me.?”

I sighed. It had been a long morning at the computer. Five thousand words to be found before lunch. I needed a coffee, and no interruptions. “Bit over the top,” I offered, “but yes, that sounds about right.”

“No it doesn’t, you moron,” she snapped, rather too aggressively, I might add. “Livid means pale like ashes grey like death, but it is the perfect word – because that’s what you have done to me. You’ve done me to death.”

It was hard to listen to her. I could murder a coffee. I stretched my aching neck and decided to end this rather futile conversation. “You are a female character in a 3 Act play. Nothing more. Deal with it.”

“Oh yeah? How about you deal with this?” She began reading out loud, a trifle too loud for my liking. “What can we say about the opening night of Mister Baggins’ latest theatrical offering? The male characters are strong and come across well defined. In particular, the leading man commands the stage. The character, Romanito, has some unforgettable memorable lines –” She slapped the pages together. “Unforgettable? Memorable? Don’t those words mean the same thing? Who writes this crap? And… and… commands the stage? Your script has him ogling my bosom in the first act and slapping my derriere in the second, and how in the name of all the gods could you write what he does to me in the third?”

“Are you finished?”

No. She wasn’t finished. “The women evoke our sympathy and support…” She paused, as if to create a dramatic moment. Not necessary, in my opinion. “Disappointingly, the central character, described in the program as the heroine of the play, is sadly not in the least heroic. If we were charitable, we might say she offers a meagre, miserly morsel of heroism. In fact, there is none to be discerned.”

She carried on reading but started pacing in circles around my station. I sat patiently and let her rabbit on.

“She vacillates between pathetic and bimbo.” She scrunched the newspaper and I could feel her breath on my poor aching neck. “What the hell does that mean? Answer me that, O masterful scribbler of words!”

I folded my arms and kept silent. She continued prowling. “Her sexual magnetism is lost between minus and zero. Every line, every utterance, dies in the dull atmosphere. Kate Blanchet, the actress who plays this so-called heroine, has just finished a very successful season as Lady Macbeth. She did her best, but I am afraid she will struggle in vain to carry this dodo. In his attempt to replace the Colleen Bawn with Suzie the Floozie, maestro Baggins has managed to produce a turgid piece of pusillanimous dog poo –”

Suffering saints, will she ever get off my back?

“And – and- this Katy whatshername? She’s not right for me. How did she get the part? Did she have to sleep with you? Is that it? Why didn’t you give the part to some one young and feisty like that Saoirse Ronan? She’s more me than—”

“Stop!” I shouted. “You’re giving me a headache…”

“And why am I not heroic? How by any stretch of the imagination could the way I end up be considered heroic?”

“Enough! I’ve had bad reviews before. Water off a duck’s back…”

“Oh yeah?” she persisted. “Try ducking this—” Her voice was shaking. Even the newspaper was flapping. “In the final act, when the hapless Suzie is drowned in the toilet bowl by the schoolmaster’s wife, the five people left in the audience clapped and cheered.” She made a ball of the newspaper and threw it on the floor in front of me. Then she came round and leaned her arms on the desk, her eyes like daggers. “Suzie the Floozie is a flop. I want a rewrite. I want some decent dialogue.”

I kept my arms folded and met her stare without as much as a blink. “What I have written, I have written.”

“Who do you think you are? Pontius friggin Pilate? You’re crucifying me, and so are they –” She picked up the ball of newspaper and threw it at me. “I want a rewrite and I want it now.”

I am by nature a mild mannered, even tempered individual, but this situation was becoming intolerable. “As you wish,” I said, not disguising the extreme irritation she had brought upon me. “Let us start with a name change, shall we?” I brought the script up onto the screen and started fingering the keyboard. “Suppose we delete Suzie and type in… how about Betty? B E T T Y Betty the busty street busker. Happy now?”

There was a satisfying look of panic on her face as I started to delete whole paragraphs. “N-no…don’t…”

I punched the keys with a refreshing malevolence. “Or how about Vicki? V I C K I… Vicki the voluptuous vixen. Now that sounds like a foxy lady. Better still; let’s go for Sabrina the Slinky Sexy Siren. Or how about –”

“Alright! Leave it! I get it…” Her arms slumped down by her side. “You’re not— just… leave it.”

It was hard to hide that lovely feeling of triumph. “Good. Let’s hear no more on the subject, shall we? Back to work?”

Suzie’s head dropped. Poor thing. Very downcast. Her thunder had dissipated. Should I have felt sorry for her?

She turned towards the shadows, muttering to herself. “I wasn’t asking for friggin Shakespeare. Just something more appealing than a heap of pusillanimous dog poo…”

I found the coffee pot. Time to chill. I’ll be finished way before lunch. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him shuffling out from the shadows. He was doing his damndest to be unobtrusive. He was carrying a mop and a bucket.

“What is it?” I said sharply. I guess I was annoyed with his shuffling.

“I’m the –”

“I know who you are. The janitor from the end of Act 3, right?”

“Yes Mister Baggins.. I fish Suzie’s head outa the toilet bowl.”

“So how can I help?”

“I’d – I’d like a rewrite…”

END