Wow time just got away from me today. I've been so rapt (pun intended) up in my script I nearly forgot to post.
I wanted to provide an excerpt from the pages I adapted today but I don't know how to make script format in Blogger so I'm going to go post the excerpt on my profile at Script Frenzy where, last year at least, they preserved the format in their platform.
Here's the link to where that excerpt will live once I get it posted. If it isn't there yet check back later. It is interesting to compare the two versions side by side.
Meanwhile I am providing her the excerpt from my short story
Of Cats and Claws and Curiosities which I'm adapting to film script. The one story isn't going to be enough so I'll proceed on to
Making Ragdoll Babies and Million Dollar Maybes when I've completed
Of Cats. Both stories feature the same three characters who I think of as my three weird sisters and the events in
Rag Doll Babies take place a few weeks after
Of Cats.
The reason for that will be made clear in the following excerpt
I've posted the entirety of both stories in serial outtakes before and the links to them can be found
here.
[
Previous to this scene Faye had fainted in the back seat of her Chevy Belaire driven by her twin sister Julia and a passing state patrol car had escorted them to this diner where Faye had been brought in by the female officer and provided with a bowl of ice water and a rag by the waitress to cool her face and neck. Meanwhile Julia and Faye's sister-in-law Wilma had remained outside to secure the car
This scene opens with Julia and Wilma arriving at Faye's table inside]
“Well, land’s sakes Sister! Looks like you’ve taken a
shower with your clothes on. Did that meter-maid have to throw water in
your face to revive you?”
“Really, Julia, you exaggerate.” Faye lifted the cloth
from her face. “Try it. It’s quite refreshing.
“Thanks just the same, I’ll pass.” Julia pushed the
bowl of ice water away and slid into the booth beside Faye. “A nice tall
wine-cooler over ice is the ticket for me. What an invention! Even
the name sounds refreshing.”
“It will be the ticket for you all right.” Wilma
dabbed at a film of sweat on her lip with a fresh linen handkerchief. “A
ticket for drinking and driving, most likely. As you are already called
to the attention of the police it seems an unwise choice.”
“Oh shwise, shmise! A wine cooler has less alcohol in
it than that cough syrup you swig.”
“That is a prescription. But you digress.
Driving under the influence of alcohol is against the law.”
Faye was relieved to see the waitress approach. Those two
could continue such exchanges endlessly, unsheathing insults like cats spoiling
for a fight--or settling on ones lap to sleep.
“I’ve orders to give you ladies first class service.”
The girl flashed a grin at Faye and with casual brushes at errant, rusty-hued
tresses said, “At your command m’lady.” Pad and pencil ready in
exaggerated pose she deferred to Faye with elevated brow.
Faye ducked her head to hide another blush, stammering her
order for a cola and chocolate-cream pie. What is it with these
insinuating winks and grins implying non-existent alliances? She only
half-heard Wilma order unsweetened iced-tea, an unadorned bagel; Julia request
cottage-cheese, fruit cocktail and the wine cooler she’d likely been jesting
about before Wilma’s lecture.
“So’s you know who to ask for, my name’s Sandra. I
work this here section.” She encompassed the nearby tables with a wave
and brushed at her hair again. “It’s quiet now, but the dinner crowd’ll
be here soon. Be busy then. But you ladies got my undivided.
Just wave.” She gathered up Faye and Cassie’s iced-tea glasses and the
bowl of ice water in which Faye had deposited the cloth. With swift
swipes of a damp rag, condensation rings from the glasses and splatters from
the compress vanished.
In Sandra’s absence Faye focused on the view out the window,
afraid Julia or Wilma might see her discomposure and twit her. Squinting
at the sun-flashes off passing wind-shields, she recognized the Chevy by its
distinctive outline rather than its garish color scheme, for glare reduced the
purple to muddy gray. A disparity kept her eyes straying to its
silhouette--ah, no reflections of people or buildings on its windows as on
other cars along the curb.
“The windows are down!” She turned toward Julia in
alarm.
“But of course!” Julia replied. “Who wants to
return to that oven on wheels to the aroma of baked cat?”
“A crack would have sufficed.” Wilma said.
“Toasted cat. Roasted cat. What’s to
choose?” Julia pulled the front of her tank-top out and fanned herself
vigorously with a Nickel, a local want-ad paper she had picked up at the
entrance where they were displayed under a sign proclaiming ‘FREE’ in foot-high
letters.
“But Sister, it’s inviting passersby to help themselves.”
“Don’t be silly. We’ve got clear line-of-sight.
If anyone did abscond with one of our fancy-sacks, how far could they
get? Relax!” She gave Faye’s knee a constraining pat.
Faye subsided into her corner, her ration of defiance
spent. She devoted attention to the Chevy, alert for any potentially
suspicious move made by occasional passersby. The trickle of late
afternoon customers seeking refreshment and relief from the heat soon became a
torrent, spilling off from the five-o’clock flood of pedestrians rushing by
outside, impeding Faye’s view of the car--her brief glimpses abruptly cut off
by pieces of bodies, purses, brief-cases, shopping bags. She squirmed in
her seat, leaned a smidgen left, right, craned her neck until it ached, all but
stood on the seat to keep the car in sight. By the time Sandra returned
all moves had begun to look potentially suspicious so she was glad for an
excuse to relax her vigil.
Her view funneled between elbow and waist of an angular
woman at a leisured amble amidst the hastening home-goers. Faye watched
her, intrigued by incongruities reminiscent of ‘What’s wrong with this
picture?’ games. Spike-heeled sandals slowed her pace without detracting
from the dancer’s grace of her carriage. Golden curls cascaded down her
back to pool in the hood of a knee-length black rain cape. The cape,
flung over the shoulder to free the right arm which supported a large canvas
bag and held aloft an umbrella, flaunted a lining aglow in the sultry light
with the hew of fresh blood.
With rain-cape and umbrella on a warm, evening identified as
the incongruity, Faye turned back to the Chevy. But something niggled,
fidgeting her eyes to the puzzling woman, whose progress was marked by the
black umbrella displaying a pentagram delineated in a silvery substance that
shot light-arrows into incautious eyes. Like the last word of a crossword
puzzle she couldn’t get because the clue wasn’t in her repertoire, the
inconsistency continued to elude her. Resigned, she shifted focus only to
see the solution.
As is usual when a woman of striking self-possession walks
through a crowd with the svelte grace of a cat, many admiring glances were cast
her way, but only from behind-those facing her kept their eyes carefully
averted, except for one small child who gazed up at her with riveted awe in
spite of admonishing tugs on the arm.
Solving one puzzle created another. Her insatiable
need to watch people was shameless, but so seldom did she leave the seclusion
of the estate, she must soak up sights and sound to savor in the solitude of
long, somnolent evenings. The novel and unique drew her, provided threads
of exquisite mystery for weaving numinous dreams. This woman would wander
wondrous dreamscapes-forever faceless and eternally ethereal.
Feeling regret nigh on mourning when she lost sight of the
woman, Faye turned to her pie for consolation until Julia nudged her and jabbed
her fork at the window. “Will you look at that!”
Faye looked and there was her mystery woman--cape, heels and
umbrella, but now the umbrella was closed and dangling from it…
“My bag! The cat!” Faye jumped to her feet,
knocked her knee against the table, jarring the dishes into a jittery dance. X
“She poked that umbrella in there, pretty as you please and
out came the bag. And staring straight ahead all the while too.
Cucumber-cool.” Julia slapped the table and cutlery chuckled in
counterpoint. “She cased the car, walked by it three times. I wish
I could see her face when she finds out what she’s bagged!”
“Aren’t you going to do anything?” Faye was frantic.
“What’s to do? She hasn’t got anything valuable.
Let it be. It’ll learn her a lesson.” She ignored Faye’s attempts
to get by.
“One should not make a scene in public.” Wilma
cautioned.
“Who’s afraid of a scene?” I’d show you a scene
alright if it’d been my boots she’d hooked. Look, she’s coming this
way. I do believe she’s going to walk right in.” Julia laughed
Aghast, Faye watched the woman walk in, peer about, come
right at them, and seat herself in a booth across the aisle. The riotous
curls framed an ancient face from which peered searing blue eyes like sapphires
embedded in a walnut. Withered lips parted over teeth like fine, white
porcelain as she queried the empty air and nodded sagely at the answer.
“Let me go talk to her.” Faye begged an un-budging
Julia.
“Leave her be. I gotta see this.” Julia said.
“It’s not polite to stare.” Wilma proclaimed.
“It’s not polite to steal either.” Julia said as
Sandra brought coffee to the woman’s table and poured it without exchanging a
word with her. “Ah. She’s a regular.”
“Ladies.” Sandra turned to them. “Anything I can
do you for?”
“We’re fine.” Julia answered, her eyes fixed on the
woman.
Sandra leaned close to whisper, “That’s Estelle Starr, a bit
dotty but harmless. Used to be a performer of some kind. Shows up
in Westmont last year and we took to watching out for her, but in such a way as
saves her pride. She’s partial to riding the bus ‘tween here and
Vancouver. Folk’s here drop tokens and coins in odd places she’s apt to
be. Fancies herself a witch. Always muttering in rhyme and talking
to invisible friends.”
They watched Estelle’s animated conversation with her unseen
seatmate, drawn by its dramatic expressiveness. Julia’s mouth twitched
with barely restrained hilarity and Wilma’s lips pursed with pent
remonstrance. Faye, quivering with indignation at her enforced impotence,
had a mind to push Julia off her seat. Such desecration! All to
satisfy Julia’s whim and sooth Wilma’s wounded propriety.
“Westmont attracts her kind.” Sandra went on.
“Ekcentrics, ya know? We got a passel here abouts. We’re partial to
‘em I guess. One runs a cat ranch up on the ridge, drives this hotrod my
kid brother drools over. She’s a raycluse, doesn’t come to town
much. Even so stories of her doings would fill a library. And if
they’re all true she must be ancient cause my gramma tells some she heard as a
girl…”
Her attention riveted on Estelle Starr and the bag, Faye was
barely cognizant of Sandra’s chatter. Her feet fairly itched to march
over there so she could spew out the words of accusation and condemnation that
flooded her mind. But helpless against the concerted front of Julia’s
determination to be entertained and Wilma’s studied obliviousness, outrage
withered and she sank in her seat with a sigh. She filled her mouth with
chocolate to calm herself as she watched Estelle fondle the bag--patting it and
smoothing its creases. Mesmerized by these motions Faye missed the moment
she parted the lips of the bag to peer in.
“There she goes.” Julia’s voice conveyed a smug and
eager expectancy. Sandra broke off in mid-sentence and turned toward
Estelle, briefly blocking Faye’s view. Then with an exclamation of
concern she was hurrying to aid a swooning Estelle as Julia gasped between
exultant giggles, “Did you…ever see such…a sight for sore eyes! It was
better than I’d hoped!”
At Fay’s incredulous, “For shame, Sister!” Julia
chocked back the giggles and managed to look chagrined.
As Sandra rose from a recumbent Estelle to rush off,
stuttering something about blood, paramedics, police and a Halloween Gagger
Estelle stirred, muttering hectically. Stray phrases reached their
ears. ‘…gouts of blood…the bloody business…wicked dreams abuse the
curtained sleep...craft celebrates pale…offerings…”
“Methinks the lady suffers pangs of morbid guilt.”
Julia said.
“As well she should for such mangling of Macbeth.” said
Wilma.
“Ah, our star speaks lofty words.” Julia chortled.
Estelle, struggling to sit saw her bloody hand and
moaned. “What hands are here?…Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this
blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous
seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” She commenced rubbing her
hands together as if under a faucet.
“The wine of life is drawn.” Julia intoned, baiting
her.
Estelle turned sharply with widened eyes, encouraging
Julia’s merciless taunting: “We the three weird sisters be. Let us
meet and question this most bloody piece of work, to know it further. Was
there warrant in that theft?”
“Fears and scruples shake us. In the great hand of God
I stand.” Estelle clutched the ill-got bag with defiant courage.
“Your cruelty shames me Sister, have you no mercy?”
“Fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst
cruelty! Make thick my blood, stop up the access and passage to
remorse. That no compunctions shake my purpose.” Julia intoned.
Wilma winced, “If you must misappropriate the lines, at
least refrain from misquoting them.”
“Thou marvel’st at my words, but hold thee still, things bad
begun make strong themselves by ill.”
During this exchange, Estelle dared again to peek in the
bag. Her shriek quelled the incipient quarrel. “Avaunt! And
quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy blood is cold.”
Julia meowed like a tortured cat. “Thrice the brindled
cat hath mew’d. it will have blood, they say, blood will have
blood.” Her voice became a cadenced growl. “Double, double, toil
and trouble, fire burn and caldron bubble.” At the sound of sirens
wailing in the distance Julia chanted: “By the pricking of my thumbs
something wicked this way comes.” Then to preempt further protestation
from Faye or Wilma she turned to them with: “I am in blood stepped’ in so
far that should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er.”
Estelle was again agitating her hands. “Will these hands
ne’er be clean?…Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of
Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”
“Now does she feel her secret thievery sticking on her
hands.” Julia mocked, not hiding her glee with this impromptu game.
Estelle trembled at the sound of approaching sirens,
moaning, “How isn’t with me, when every noise appalls me?…Make all our trumpets
speak; give them all breath those clamorous harbingers of blood and death…Out,
out, brief candle!” so saying she once more swooned.
“Now you’ve done it Julia.” Faye remonstrated.
“Thou canst not say I did it. Never shake thy gory
locks at me.” Julia shot back.
Sandra returned, ushering in the paramedics. “Still
out poor thing? What a shame. You ladies may want to stay put for a
bit. The press is swarming out there. They got word of another
Halloween Gagger incident already.”
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