Authors: Rosen Trevithick
With that, Annabel Fleming walked in.
She saw me and looked like a naughty schoolgirl caught with
chewing gum in class. She stopped walking and, at first, I thought she was
going to turn around and walk straight out again, but she decided to be brave.
She trotted in, looking shyly at the floor. She appeared to be wearing some
sort of tailored shorts over dotty sheer tights. Her hair was held in place
with chopsticks that had pairs of plastic red lips on the ends —
classy.
“You as well?” I sneered. “I thought
you
of all
people, were better than this.”
“Oh, thank you,” she smiled.
“That’s not a compliment. I came here today for a quiet
baked potato with Enid and instead I get four attention-seeking, needy children.”
Then I noticed a broadsheet newspaper, held high above the face of the diner on
the table to the left. I knew exactly whom I would find behind it — the one
member of the troupe who hadn’t showed his face yet — Rafe Maddocks. “Oh for
crying out loud! I wonder who could possibly be behind here ...”
Gareth!
What?
“Gareth?”
What was he doing here? He didn’t even
write
! I had
been sure Rafe would be behind the paper. I certainly hadn’t expected my
husband to be there, sheepishly blinking at me through his unruly, auburn
eyebrows.
“Hi Dee,” he said, waving his fingers awkwardly.
“What the crusty smeg are you doing here?”
“I heard they did excellent baked potatoes,” he fibbed,
blushing.
“Is this him?” asked Annabel, elbowing me in the ribs.
“You told her about me?” asked Gareth, brightening.
“No,” I lied.
“Yes!” grinned Annabel.
I needed to change the subject and I needed to change it
fast. So, I decided to throw a particularly ferocious cat among a particularly highly-strung
bunch of pigeons. “Enid, what did you think of
The Book of Most Quality
Writers
?”
The top flipped off the gigantic can of juicy, jittery worms,
and the writers began shouting from every direction.
“Why did you say ‘The Pig and the Cliff’ was just the same
as all my other work? The protagonist was a
pig
!”
“You obviously didn’t understand ‘Foot’; it’s supposed to be
a mood piece.”
“How can you say ‘I Shot Five Men’ is formulaic? My style has
been tried and tested. Are you aware that one of my books is being made into a
film? Besides, in the next book, the police catch up with the lawyer and shoot
him dead! Then, he comes back as a crime-fighting ghost. Now, that’s not
formulaic, is it?”
“Why did you say that ‘Gnome-man Art More Lovely Than Thou’
is shallow? It’s about biracial dating! It’s progressive!”
“And ‘Hungry’ is not distasteful. It’s called ‘black comedy’.
Heard of that?”
Hang on — ‘Hungry’
?
When had Rafe Maddocks got here?
I looked at him, stretched out between our table and Gareth’s, with his feet up.
He’d obviously been here long enough to make himself comfortable.
Finally, Enid responded, “You have more talent than
judgement, Mr Maddocks.”
“Yes!” he cried, leaping into the air and almost knocking
over his chair.
“That’s not to say that you have great quantities of either,”
she added.
“That reminds me, Dawn,” began Rafe, getting into his
sarcastic stride, “thank you
so much
for bringing up Enid’s review of
Disgracebook
in the Skype interview. Just what I didn’t need.”
Dawn opened her pudgy mouth to object.
Rafe continued, “At least Montgomery had the presence of
mind to change the subject.”
“Rafe?” asked Danger. “Do you have that fiver you owe me?”
“While we’re all here,” began Dawn, ominously, “I could do
with a little help with a writing conundrum.”
I was just about to point out that this was neither the time
nor the place, when I realised that everybody else seemed to like the idea.
Even Enid looked reasonably satisfied.
“Why are
you
smiling?” I asked Gareth.
“This is great! It’s like being in one of your anecdotes!”
I rolled my eyes.
“As most of you will know, Annabel has inspired me to write
a romance novel,” explained Dawn. Her yellow eyes quickly flitted towards
Montgomery and back again.
Annabel clapped her perfectly manicured hands together with
glee, wafting perfumed hand cream around the table.
“It’s going to be great!” Dawn said, blowing her own, discordant
trumpet.
“With Annabel as your inspiration?” laughed Enid, rudely.
The other writers glared at her. Gareth tried to stifle a
chuckle.
Dawn continued, “Well, the thing is, I’ve set the mood, the
kissing’s out of the way, the clothes have come off. Now how do I describe ‘it’?”
I almost choked on my orange juice.
“Ah yes, ‘it’!” cried Rafe. “The classic challenge!”
“Why do you have to describe ‘it’ at all?” asked Enid.
“To show the deep connection between the characters.”
“But surely the mood, the kissing and the nakedness show that.”
“It’s not enough. Modern books go further. I want to be
modern!”
“It’s all about setting,” offered Montgomery. “‘He put his
pulsating organ inside her humid vagina’ sounds clinical. However, set the
scene by a misty lake during a devastating sunset, and the same words can sound ... enchanting.”
That little offering seemed to impress Dawn, who gazed at
him lustfully.
Shudder
.
“I always use analogies,” said Rafe. “Never mention organs
or dicks or cocks or knobs or penises or peckers or willies or wangs or
schlongs. Describe a firework going off outside or recall a hot dog getting
battered at a chip shop.”
“Does ‘battered’ really have the right connotations for sexy
time?” asked Gareth.
“I like to find a unique perspective,” offered Danger.
“There’s no sex in
Foot
!” scoffed Dawn.
“I have written other things you know.”
“Such as what?”
“Ideas, romantic shorts, sample chapters ...”
I was surprised that Danger had any perspective on sex
whatsoever; I always saw him as asexual (when I saw him at all).
“For example,” he continued, “I switch the focus to the
lamp, or the condom, or the pubic hair. I once described the experience of a
pube, thereby avoiding the awkwardness of having to describe ‘it’.”
“A very clever idea,” thought Dawn.
“Shall I tell you?” asked Annabel, wriggling in her seat, as
if she was the oracle of writing love scenes.
“Please do!”
“Flowers and horses!”
“What?”
“That’s the key to a good love scene. You liken the woman to
a flower, and the man to a horse.”
“What if it is two men?” asked Danger.
“I always pick a different flower for each woman. You have
to get to know a character before you can really
feel
her flower. The
heroine in
Falling for Flatley
is a dahlia, whereas the china doll is
more of a dandelion.”
“Wait,” interrupted Gareth. “The doll and the gnome
do it
?”
“And what flower are you?” asked Montgomery, with a little drool
dribbling over his slug-like lip. Dawn shot him daggers and then fired the
remaining ones at Annabel.
Annabel flushed and gazed at Rafe, who looked away quickly.
She avoided the question. “And you pick a horse, or horse-like creature, for
the man.”
“Horse-like creature?”
“Yeah, sometimes a unicorn or a donkey.”
“And then you just describe the sex?” asked Dawn.
“No, of course not, you have to use imagery.”
“Imagery? Such as what?”
Annabel kindly gave an example. “His passion galloped toward
her — oh my! She blushed ...” Then she stopped sharing and glared at me.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Why are you doing your eating lemons face?”
“What?”
Gareth chipped in, “She’s right, you’re doing your Brussels
sprout face.”
Was I?
“Do you have a problem with my idea?” demanded Annabel.
“No,” I lied.
“Be honest!” she shouted.
“Well, okay … it’s your use of ‘Oh my!’”
“You think I should have put it right at the beginning?”
“Or ...” I gulped.
Be brave Dee.
“... Not
at all.”
“Not at all?”
All eyes were on me. I took a deep breath. “I’m just not
sure that there’s
any
place for ‘Oh my!’ in modern erotic writing.”
“How many romance novels have you written Dee?” she squeaked.
“None,” I said, softly.
“So, can I continue?”
I nodded.
Annabel straightened up and took a deep breath, then
continued. “Oh my! His passion galloped toward her and she blushed like a
shrinking violet, but he caressed her toe with the top of his finger and then
he lunged, pulling back her petals and pounding her with his rock hard
man-part, like a stallion.”
Dawn, Montgomery and Danger seemed awed by Annabel’s
spontaneous prose. The rest of us looked deeply embarrassed.
“Toe?” queried Gareth.
“I loved the use of ‘lunge’,” appreciated Montgomery.
“And I liked the use of ‘man-part’,” explained Dawn. “‘Cock’
would have been too vulgar for such a beautiful paragraph.”
“Nice try, people,” said Enid.
“What?”
“I can smell a practical joke when I see it.”
“Practical joke?”
“Very funny. You all decided to make up a really bad sex
scene, to wind me up. I was almost convinced ...”
Annabel looked as though she’d been slapped in the face. “You
think my love scene was bad?”
Gareth gave me an amused look. I rapidly averted my gaze to
avoid laughing. There’s nothing like badly timed eye contact to trigger an
inappropriate laughing fit.
Montgomery leapt to Annabel’s defence. “Enid, humiliating
Annabel might seem like a sport to you, but we won’t stand for it.”
“What didn’t you like about it?” pleaded Annabel.
“What
did
I like about it?” Enid replied.
“I used to be upset by your reviews, but now I can see that
you’re just a spiteful, bitter old woman,” scorned Dawn.
“You think you’re an expert but you’re not! I won’t stand
for it. I don’t care what you think!” cried Annabel, almost in tears. Then
hurriedly, “Do you think it would be better if I changed the stallion to a
unicorn?”
Enid rolled her eyes.
“Annabel, I really appreciated your help,” said Dawn, trying
to calm her.
“You did?” squeaked Annabel.
“We all did,” said Montgomery. “Didn’t we?”
I found myself grunting in agreement along with the rest of
them. As right as Enid was, I didn’t see any point in upsetting Annabel
further.
“You’ve got a talent, Annabel!” said Dawn, mistaken.
“Why don’t you have a try?” Annabel suggested.
Dawn shuffled awkwardly in her seat. She glanced at Enid,
looking decidedly afraid.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. It’s too
soon,” said Annabel, which naturally, Dawn perceived as a challenge.
“No, no, it’s not too soon. I’m sure I can come up with
something.”
All eyes were on Dawn.
“Just remember, horses and flowers,” said Annabel.
“Horse and flowers. Right. Um ...” Then she took a deep
breath. I braced myself. “He hopped into bed like the big donkey that he was
and her snapdragon gobbled up his big-ass sword.”
“Um ...” chirped Annabel. “Yes, it’s getting there.”
“That’s why you’re all so bad!” cried Enid.
The others glared at her like a circular firing squad.
“You’re not honest with each other. It’s just one big mutual
appreciation society. Just tell her that her imagery doesn’t work. That’s all
you have to do, Annie, or whatever your name is. Be honest with her.”
“You don’t think my imagery worked?” wept Dawn. “Why doesn’t
it work? What’s wrong with it?”
“And while you’re here, perhaps you could explain why you’ve
got it in for poor Flatley?” demanded Annabel.
“Tell me, why do you not like ‘Foot’?” demanded Danger.
“Right, that’s it!” I yelled, attracting attention from the
far corners of the room in my rage. “All of you, go home! I did not invite you
here. You’re causing a scene, you’re ruining my lunch, and you’ve made my baked
potato go cold.”
Enid decided to chip in, “It’s a shame that none of this
excitement makes its way into any of your books.”
“How can you say the
I Shot
series is not exciting?
There are loads of bodies!”
“A pig falls off a cliff — that’s exciting. Don’t you care
about animals?”
“I’ll have you know that Emily Whistlefoot thinks ‘Hungry’
is very exciting!”
“Exiting,” said Montgomery. “She said ‘Hungry’
was ‘very
exiting’.”
I grabbed Enid and held her firmly by her upper arms. “Stop
baiting them!”
She nodded, looking a little scared.
“All of you,
out
!” I commanded.
Nobody moved.
Eventually, Gareth stood up. “Right!” he shouted, in his
deepest, most compelling voice. “Dawn, does your husband know that you’re here?
I mean, here, with
Montgomery
. Incidentally, shall we talk about how he
got that tan? Annabel, why don’t you stay and we can talk about how much Rafe
means to you? How about that, Rafe? Is that a conversation that you’d like to
have? Danger, did you find a Netta Lewis clip to wank off to?”
Suddenly, there was a mass exodus toward the door. The
writers stumbled over each other as they hurried to leave, stampeding like a
herd of elephants. The floor rumbled and warped. All five of them tried to get
through the doorway at once, creating a bottleneck. Sometime later they
realised that they needed to exit one at a time.
“Now that
was
exciting
and
exiting,”
remarked Enid.
I gazed at Gareth with amazement. I always knew that he was
perceptive, but it was years since I’d seen him behave so assertively.