Third Act

After the tension started it got worst with the Brit and the script. I soon left the confines of the Riveria and explored Bixby Park and world of it's own....

The other end of the bar had an over fifty typical bar crow: hairy, long in the tooth and various stains on different part.

      I ordered a cheap drink and nursed it while I watched the game. The crowd grew a little larger and I noticed that my routine was the routine of many. Buy a cheap drink and nurse them until the end of the night. In the harbor city those boys partied. I never witness anyone enter a bar in Pedro and not spend at least a hundred. Not in Long Beach, these bar patrons where penny pinchers with locks on their pockets.

      I finished watching the Lakers game and exited. I walked along Broadway and vowed to return. I liked the bar. It had character and was different than I had envisioned. I returned and fell into slumber; I still had to wake for work the next day but my days seemed brighter. I felt like a man again buying my own drinks and paying my own rent. I laid on the air mattress as it deflated under my weight. I figured I will have to fix that as soon as possible but now I pictured sleep.

     The week went off like all the rest. Everyone working for the weekend and in the evenings I worked out at Bixby Park with my kettle bell, Escrima Sticks and resistance bands. I had jumped in and out of the local gyms by getting passes to test them out. So I combined my work out with going to the gym. That killed boredom and sent me into to sleep quicker. 

     After the work out session I walked to Seventh and purchase a salad from Fresh and Easy. I returned to my small dark room with the moonlight as my company and ate quietly.

     I knew with the Brit it was a matter of time until the official her came. I had seen her insanity peek since my return to Long Beach. Her cursing out of random strangers, terrorizing various wait staff and throwing orange cones at parking attendant made me want to put my head in the sand. She was an embarrassing tumor I felt protruding from my forehead. Anyone with common sense knew their time was coming next. The rabid dog will always attack the one whom pets it.

     It came to a head in her apartment one evening. Before the scrum, we were at the Gay Coffeehouse working on the script. The cold, spring air assaulted my bare skin as I typed pages onto the work of art: we where on page Seventy-five. We had decided to take it to her studio and talk about it, while drinking wine and smoking Kush.

      I had sent her pages before because she wanted to try her hand at writing. I said by all means it’s your script. While she was there we sat down and a read the work.

“Well what do you think?”

I guess my smile could not cover up my over animated facial expression.

“It’s okay. A little stock and predictable.”

“Well it’s my first time.”

     First time or not it was horrible as most who try to under take the art of the three-part screenplay. Most think of it as writing a book and that is where they fall short. It’s science that has to illicit an emotional response through out the read by using a certain framework. Screenplays are some of the most boring wastes of paper unless done right and even then most see the bottom of a trashcan.

     I could see by her face that the critique was not received and hit deep that but thats was what I did. I had been rejected by the best and the truth: take it or quit. She started ranting how this story and screenplay would make her rich and the movie would be an international smash. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the weed but disgust arose within me.

Why will it be a hit? Who says you have the Midis touch? You’re a rookie to this world! Your fantasy is tripping up my reality!

     I loathed new writers who thought of themselves as the new Charlie Kaufmanns before being tested by the waters of failure. Everyone’s idea had been done. Hollywood just repeated itself over and over: like an immortal loop in the universe. Screenwriting was hard, cold reality and not fantasy. One must have their feet firmly planted in the here and now. I learned the hard way fantasy destroyed everyone it touched and turned them  stone with nothing but lost hope and years left in the wake.

     To get a screenplay purchased much less made into a film was incredibly hard, and to pretend as if it was easy was a slap to the face to all those whom undertaken the mission. I explained this to her kindly but it must have sounded like an admonishment. 

     I explained how difficult it was and it did not matter who you had attached. Her contact did not seem as if he was firmly in her corner and favors from girlfriends mean nothing. I was not going to emotionally involve myself in this story. It’s been done before this was a lame, journeyman’s  version.

“You’re smashing my dreams!” She belted.

But you’re a singer. From England! So you’re dream was to be a singing writer?

“It can happen. Why can’t a little girl dream?”

You’re over thirty! Dreams don’t pay bills. Hollywood eats dreamer and s***s them out into the Valley!

Since we were past the point of uncomfortable, I said what was on my truly mind aided by the wine.

“This idea has been done before. Its’ not new. You’re friend’s husband does not have enough clout to ensure a movie gets made. He’s from New Zealand, this is American, he’s a B actor. You’re writing is not that good. This is no time for castles in the sky.”

Or something like that.

I looked at the craziness filling her eyes.

She’s back!

     The thirst to be famous returned to her like the desire to drink by an alcoholic. She needed something to gain that evil, evil fame. This was her ticket and I was dismissing it. I excused myself and left. I knew this would go nowhere and deep down I knew it would effect my living situation.

      I had to end this before it got worst but tomorrow was another day. We exchanged weak hugs as I left. The Mary Jane made me speak the truth and the wine gave me the ball. I needed both to find room 305. I found the room, pet the barking dogs and feel asleep.

     The next day was Friday and my another payday from the new job. I called the Brit up for a ride to Little Caesar for cheap pizza and to the liquor store for a Forty-ounce. She complied and came up to the apartment, but I could tell the night before had not dissipated. It was still firmly on here mind. I could tell by the disconnected look in her eyes that a storm was brewing.

     Elisa drove me to the pizza place and I picked up the beer at a local liquor store. We went back to the Condo. I offered her some pizza and she declined, so I dove into my beer. The sweet, cool hops touch my lips like liquid magic. I felt new again like a man who had purged himself from the iniquities of the world.

I sat in the dark, sparse lit dinning room with the few of the ocean water and the yellow, glowing sand to my side. The young night sky looked like a closed curtain to a great play about to unfold. The Kraken waited behind to take a bow and start the show.

     I bit into the semi warm cheese from the pizza as it teased my tongue. I watched the Brit stew in the night broth of the thoughts drowning her brain all night.

“I can’t believe you tried to kill my dream!”

The beer stepped forward and did most of the talking. As a matter of fact I killed the beer all thirty-nine ounces (I don’t do foam) and was then fixing a rum and pineapple juice.

“I didn’t kill your dream I just told you the truth.”

“You’re truth! You can’t go around killing peoples dream dude!”

She yelled in her watered down, cockney voice.

“I didn’t kill anything. It’s reality. I live in reality not some pipe dream.”

It was amazing that I was regurgitating the same fifty lines to her that had been regurgitated to me in times past.

      The anger was arising. It had been along time since he and I had shook hand but I feared his entrance. I was new to the condo and did not want to have a tiff with the limey midget. I had to pull the Ace.

“Look I can’t work like this. You’re out of control!”

She snatched up her laptop violently. I had seen this tantrum many time and now it was directed at me. The looney limey stormed out of the condo and took a last verbal shot. It sounded like the echoed voice of the devil,

“Hope you don’t smash your daughter dreams like mine.”

Talk about my daughter! How dare she!

     As a present I sent her a text that read my part on her script was done. I had made a mental contract if she acted up, I would remove myself from the writing. It was not worth the headaches and I had to cut contact to live in peace, or she would infringe on my life the whole three months. We were done again but that was a common event that occurred many times during our time together. It was the cost to be friends with the English mini mate.

      I returned to my room, feeling free, as though I had been shackled to an insane inmate on a Hollywood chain gang. I dressed and went to a small nightclub on Linden called the Basement. I entered before they charged and drunkenly stared at short shirted, Mexican women most night: the nice Spanish chest and beautiful white legs.           From my perch by the bar I sucked in all the sight, as my body swayed back and forth to the music played by the Iranian DJ. My eyes flicked to the strobe light as my mind wondered.

What times is last call at the Falcon? Baracho!

     The next day: I was greeted by the sun and a series of volley ball games below my window. The whistles from points and side outs were like a morning melody. I headed down to Bixby Park to exercise and explore the daytime insanity. I arrived at the exercise area erected by the city of Long Beach. It was a fifteen-minute walk; weaving through the bike riders and the dog owner, onto the beautiful, sun drench streets of the Gay Ghetto.

      I got to the park and hit the pull up bars were there was always a line. Sometimes the Rolling sixties Crips came by and work out as a group. The gang didn’t wear the color blue as they did years ago. The members had advanced and now wore Pittsburg Steelers football paraphernalia. 

The Crips and Samoan gang (there are no official Blood gangs in LBC) traded in the colors for sports teams to represent their vicious clicks. Yet, still every once in a while a blue flag would hang from the pocket of a young, ripped bodied, ebony teen on his fifth set of pulls up. 

Author's Note

Many typos as usual. Please let me know if still interesting. Forgive mistakes and let me know what you like and don't

Reviews

[Tree]

The Rollin' Sixties adopted Steelers gear? man, I've been out of the loop, too long. I need to start taking 15 minute walks through the neighborhood, too.

Hammer this was a great read, weaving and winding through your prose makes this reader feel a part of your world. The thing that pops out at me most is the tone you've adopted for your protagonist; melancholy, quiet, broken –––yet hopeful. And the "Limey Brit," what she does, is to provide a contrast against the current life of the protagonist. She is a reminder. Her dreams, valid as they were to her, represented His lost dreams... He saw her future and wanted to spare himself the torture of having to be a part of the Brit's false-hopes, after all, the protagonist has suffered enough, and he reminds her: I deal in reality Now....

Keep working this vein, take it wherever she leads you. Maybe to the mother lode, even. Then go back and snip the frays, and loose edges. Craft, craft, craft. Polish, polish, polish. This story's worth the effort.

[Judas Hammer]

Thank you Diego, that really inspires me, those are strong words of encouragement. You nailed it. I just hope I can keep the pace and present a correct arch.

[Nick.B]

Interesting story, some crazy things, reminds me of a crazy friend I used to know...great job

[Judas Hammer]

God bless the crazy friends, they are fodder for art.

[Nick.B]

True

[TL Boehm]

another wonderful chapter - you are a writer of rapid fire similes that are fresh, unique and make me wish I'd written them. Highly visual, solid dialogue well done.

[Judas Hammer]

thank you so much for the kind words and following the story

[razormuse]

I forgot to rate it ;) 95/100

[Judas Hammer]

long time no see:)

[razormuse]

The storyline is engaging I really enjoyed it. The only thing that stuck out to me was "I" . Trying to write without being repetitive ie: "i" "and" "then" is very tiresome and can be the difference between a sentence that is written quickly or takes several minutes to design. I'm no expert by a long shot, but when I ask someone to review my writing I would hope for constructive critiques. I may be way off base but it's the only thing that hit me as I read your story. Keep up the great work, I can't wait to read more from you.

[Judas Hammer]

thank you for the editing help thank you for the words of inspiration

[quinfinn]

seems this noveau writer was reaching way too far to perceive her dreams. kudos to the narrator for being blunt and realistic. yep, you still weave a fine and engaging tale and have that same "in your face" grittiness which appeals to me...i can find no fault i this piece, save a few very minor spelling errors, but that is inconsequential ....well done!

[Judas Hammer]

thanks quinn

[Silhouette]

Wow, this is so inetresting, I hung onto every word…just amazing =)

[Judas Hammer]

thank you again for following me

[Silhouette]

You're welcome

[Dayran]

As a study into dreams it represents one part of the experience ... it is the part that the ebony teen with the blue flag may understand well. It takes two to make a dream work. One who does the dreaming and another to provide the inspiration, but not before we have tasted the failures of trying to do it alone.

Make another's dream come true and so will yours.

[Judas Hammer]

LOL very wise words, from a wise man.

[Coyote Poetry]

You have known some wild woman my friend. A very interesting story. I hung with the writer's, Poet's and Musicians on the Monterey coast for three years.. A fun bunch of people. They had their own ways. I like the description of the woman, the writing and the discussion. Take guts to reach for dreams. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Gobinder Singh Dhindsa]

Well Done! Keep it up!

[Judas Hammer]

thank you