Dreams Come to Life

by Adrienne Kress

  “Well, you at least,” I replied. I didn’t notice how Mister Drew reacted to that, I was too wide-eyed looking around. There were drawings of famous people covering the walls everywhere. And I was pretty sure there were some actual famous people sitting in some of the booths too, not that I recognized them. Men in suits, women in dresses, having dinner before seeing a show.

  I looked up above my head at the caricatures there. I recognized Lauren Bacall. It was really neat. I didn’t actually have this desire to be in one of the drawings, but the idea of having one of my drawings up there? For everyone to see? That made my stomach get excited.

  A waiter in a red jacket approached us. “Drinks, gentlemen?”

  “Get me an old-fashioned,” said Mister Drew. “Buddy?”

  He looked at me and I could tell if I wanted to I could have ordered the same. But I just couldn’t. “A soda?” I asked the waiter. “Coke?”

  The waiter smiled at me like I’d just made the most perfect choice anyone had ever made before and swooped off to get our drinks.

  “Buddy, you gotta start drinking like a man,” said Mister Drew.

  “I, uh, I have some stuff I have to do when I get home. Gotta have a clear head,” I replied. I found it weird. How did what I drink make me more of a man or not? Wasn’t I just a man because I was one?

  Still, somehow I felt bad.

  The waiter was back with our drinks and gone just as quickly.

  “How’s Lambert treating you?” asked Mister Drew, picking up his glass and taking a sip. He closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s beautiful,” he said to the drink.

  I sipped my Coke through a straw.

  “Oh, she’s swell. Letting me work on Cowboy Bendy,” I replied.

  “Good, good. Well, if she gets too big for her britches you let me know. She can be a handful,” he replied.

  I didn’t think that about her exactly. Just serious.

  “Well, I believe you have great potential, Buddy, I really do. I see how hard you work. The way you dash around the studio. Bet you see all kinds of things.” He gave me a wink.

  “Uh, not really, sir, I just like getting the job done.”

  I didn’t exactly know what he meant by “lots of things” but I took a long sip of Coke, trying to calm my tightening throat. It wasn’t a lie anyway, I hadn’t seen anything. Just heard things. Heard conversations.

  About machines.

  And ink.

  Mister Drew leaned forward across the table, kind of like he was going to tell me a secret. “You see anything … interesting … or something you think I should know about, you let me know.”

  “Sure.” Of course then I felt like I should just tell him everything in that moment. Especially about Tom and Sammy. But that would involve Dot. And she liked secrets. Felt that it was necessary. She had to have a good reason even if I didn’t understand it. But in this quick moment I just knew I couldn’t tell him.

  Not yet.

  “Good,” said Mister Drew. He leaned back as the waiter approached our table.

  “Ready to order?” he asked.

  I looked at the menu I hadn’t even opened yet. “Uh …”

  “We’ll have the steaks, medium rare, and don’t skimp on the fingerling potatoes,” announced Mister Drew, handing back his menu. The waiter laughed like Mister Drew had made the best joke he’d ever heard. “And another,” said Mister Drew, tapping his empty glass.

  “Another Coke for you, sir?” asked the waiter, turning to me.

  I was only half done with the one I had.

  Mister Drew laughed. “Come on, Buddy, live a little!”

  “Okay,” I told the waiter.

  “Very good, sir.”

  And he was gone in one of his swoops again.

  As we waited for the food Mister Drew started talking. I don’t mean talking like we’d been having our conversation before. But talking talking. The way he had up in the theater. The way he had the day he hired me. I was starting to get used to it, listening to him go on. He had a lot of personal life philosophies. He had a need to share it. I could listen, even if I couldn’t always understand what he was going on about.

  “It’s why I wrote the book. It’s all an illusion, see. Life. Living. It’s all in here.” He tapped at the side of his head and took a long sip of the new old-fashioned that had materialized in front of him. “People think that there are rules, but rules are things that are man-made. Trying to keep society in order. That’s not bad, but it’s also not something people like us have to worry about.”

  He always did that, said “us.” I wasn’t sure I was people like us. But I liked the sound of it.

  “I don’t get it,” I replied.

  The steaks arrived just then and I stared openmouthed. I didn’t mean to, and when the waiter laughed I clamped my jaw shut, feeling embarrassed. But they were huge. The biggest pieces of meat I’d ever seen. This could have easily fed me, Ma, and Grandpa for one dinner.

  “Looks fantastic,” said Mister Drew to the waiter, who beamed and then left. Then he turned to me and smiled. “Don’t be scared, Buddy, dig in!”

  “I’m not scared,” I replied as I picked up my fork and knife. But honestly, I kind of was.

  I cut a piece and ate it. It was the most incredible taste I’d had in a very long time. Soft and juicy, just the right amount of flavoring. It seemed almost wrong that food could taste this good and not everyone had the chance to experience it. No. Not almost wrong. It was wrong.

  “They say rules are meant to be broken,” said Mister Drew, chewing hard. “But I say, why not rewrite the rules? Why break them when you can control them? It’s all about having control over our own destinies.”

  I nodded as I scooped up the potato. It tasted different, had a zing to it.

  “Horseradish,” replied Mister Drew without me having to ask. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I replied with my mouth full.

  And then he went on. It was a dinner where Mister Drew wanted to talk deep stuff I didn’t really understand and where all I wanted to do was to taste. I wanted to savor. Keep it all in my memory. I barely listened to him, honestly. I heard the word “vision” again. And more stuff about illusions. But after his third old-fashioned I was pretty sure even Mister Drew wasn’t really keeping up with what he was trying to say.

  By the time we hit the cheesecake for dessert, I didn’t think my stomach could hold any more food. And I certainly didn’t think my brain could hold any more of Mister Drew’s speeches.

  Finally the marathon was over and we were both leaning back in our chairs. Mister Drew had stopped speaking, I had stopped eating. We both just kind of sat there. Full.

  “Now this is living,” said Mister Drew.

  “Or a good illusion of it,” I replied, not really thinking. But I guess all the stuff he’d been saying to me had managed to get into my brain somehow.

  Mister Drew pointed at me and started to laugh, hard. Harder than I’d ever seen anyone laugh before. He leaned forward and bent over and was laughing so hard tears were coming out of his eyes, but the sound of laughter wasn’t. “Oh my, oh, Buddy,” he said, wiping his face with the napkin. “You’re good, kid. You’re a good one.”

  I smiled too, though I felt more unnerved than anything.

  The waiter approached with a thin black book.

  “Whenever you’re ready, sir.” He handed the book to Mister Drew.

  “Great, yes. Buddy?” said Mister Drew, extending his hand over the table.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “You have to sign the check over,” he explained.

  I stared at him. He stared back.

  Then it hit me.

  I slowly pulled my paycheck from my pocket as the waiter handed me a pen. “Uh, how much is it?” I asked.

  Mister Drew opened the little black book. “With tip, let’s say fifteen even.”

  I stared. Fifteen dollars. For one meal.

  “Money comes with responsibility, Buddy
. That’s how it works.”

  “Yes … s-sir,” I stammered, still staring at the number “fifteen.”

  “Come on, kid, we both have places to be,” said Mister Drew. The tone of his voice had gotten serious now, almost annoyed.

  I slowly took the pen from the waiter and signed the back of the check. I handed it to him. “Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “I’ll bring you your change.”

  I stared back at Mister Drew, my heart pumping fast. I hoped he couldn’t see the panic in my eyes.

  “Now that’s what I call a celebration, right, kid?” he asked with a wide smile.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied softly.

  “Now don’t go spending like this every time you get your pay.” He laughed. “That’s not responsible.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said again. I could barely say the words.

  Mister Drew looked over his shoulder. I could tell he was getting impatient. He sighed hard. “Look, Buddy, do you mind if I head back to the office? I’m meeting someone in half an hour.”

  He was just leaving me? I mean, I guess why not, right? Dinner was done. I didn’t need help getting home or anything. “Oh yeah, sure.”

  Mister Drew threw his napkin on the table and stood with a sharp nod. “Excellent. Keep up the good work, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that it was his turn to swoop away, shaking hands with the waiter and the hostess as he left.

  Everyone laughing.

  I really didn’t know what was so funny.

  “Your change, sir,” said the waiter, coming over and handing me the little black book.

  “Thanks.”

  I opened it. Twenty-five bucks cash. It was still a lot of money. But it had been more. Much more.

  I shoved the bills into my pocket and got out of that restaurant as fast as I could. Took the subway home, keeping my hand in my pocket. Didn’t need anyone swiping the rest.

  I got home just as Ma was clearing the table. Grandpa smiled at me from the sink and waved a soapy hand in my direction.

  “Buddy! Thought you’d be home for dinner,” Ma said when she saw me.

  “Me too,” I replied. Buck up, Buddy, you can’t let them know how guilty you’re feeling. I looked at the dusty curtain, the pile of dirty dishes, the old daybed that Ma slept on. Nope, that wasn’t helping the guilt. “Uh, Mister Drew took me out to celebrate. I got paid today.”

  “Finally!” said Ma. She smiled at me. “I was getting worried.”

  “Yeah, me too. Anyway, here.” I quickly put the pile of crumpled bills on the table.

  “Oh wow, Buddy,” said Ma, staring at it.

  That made me swallow, hard. “Yeah, twenty-five bucks. It’ll be more though, now that he trusts me.” A lie. It’ll be more now that I won’t be having any fancy dinners. “It’s all yours.”

  Ma picked up the cash carefully, smoothing out each dollar. She held out a ten for me to take. “You need something, new clothes. Maybe take one of your new friends for a piece of pie.”

  I wanted to run away I was so ashamed.

  “No, Ma, please. Not this time. Maybe next time,” I said. And then I went to my room as fast as I could. Hid inside. My heart wasn’t racing but it was hurting.

  It was a kind of shame I’d never felt before. I was so angry at myself. And at the world too. All those people in that restaurant, they could all afford to eat there, weren’t having an episode because of one meal. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

  Never again, I told myself. Not until at least I could afford it actually. Not until I could take Ma, buy her a fancy dress. Take Grandpa too, of course. Get him a new suit. A new long-sleeved shirt since he liked them so much.

  Never again.

  Until.

  It was because of the pipes. I know that now. My little corner of the Art Department that no one wanted to sit in. The one far away from any light source. It wasn’t just that it was small and cramped. It was that the pipes in the building ran up the wall and overhead. They made a clanging sound when the temperature changed or when a valve was turned somewhere. But it wasn’t something I thought I should find annoying. After all, our apartment was nothing but slow creaking noises, the constant adjusting of the building’s foundation. I always kind of thought when I was little that the apartment was alive, that it was breathing and sighing, cold in the winter and sweating in the summer.

  So the pipes making the odd noise as I sat and worked in my corner that night really didn’t even make me blink. Didn’t make me look up.

  Until they did.

  It started with a bang. Like the saying. But this time literally. I was hunched over, working on perspective. Drawing lots of lines. It wasn’t going too well; it had been a long day and I was tired. But I was determined. I’d stayed late after everyone else had left. Determined to get this right. And every time I got a little tired or bored, I had this vision of Mister Drew pushing me over the edge of the catwalk. Yeah, maybe that wasn’t exactly the best thing to see, and maybe folks would say he had a strange way of motivating staff, but I sure as heck didn’t think he’d meant it that way. After all, we’d gone out to dinner last week, talked like real friends. It was just a joke.

  That’s all.

  But still, it did work. It’d shaken me up, refocused me. And so there was a moment I was drifting, my eyes getting a little heavy, when suddenly I imagined that I was falling toward the floor of the stage, and at the exact moment I hit it, a loud, forceful bang! clanged over my head. It threw me back so far in my chair I almost tipped over. My heart was pounding, and as the shadows in the Art Department became clear again in my vision, I really couldn’t tell if I’d imagined the sound or if it had been real.

  Until it happened again.

  I stood up instinctively. This wasn’t a furnace feeling frustrated. This was something else. What it was, though, I had no idea.

  Well, the one thing I did know was that it was none of my business. So I sat back down and focused on my paper.

  That’s when the moaning started.

  It wasn’t like wind in trees. Or like the creak of floorboards when a neighbor needs to use the bathroom. It was like an animal, like when a starving dog howls in the alley. But not like that exactly. Like that, but also like when a cat sees an enemy and releases that sound from deep inside its gut.

  And maybe also the hint of a single low note played on a violin.

  It was not like anything I’d heard before.

  And I was curious.

  I also remembered what Mister Drew had said. That taking initiative was important. It was late, dark-outside-in-the-summer late. Others had gone home, and Ms. Lambert had to turn the lights back on when she realized I was still here. I was doing it on purpose, of course. To show Mister Drew and everyone that I had drive. And with that in mind, if I was the only one left in the building and something strange was going on in Mister Drew’s studio, this studio that meant so much to him, then surely it was my duty to investigate.

  I sat for a quiet moment, listening. Then there was that determined banging noise again and I was up on my feet. I wasn’t going to overthink this, I was just going to do it. Even if it creeped me out a little.

  I wasn’t exactly sure where to start, but I figured the furnace room was as good a place as any, and I made my way over to the elevator. As I descended into the basement, I realized just how alone I was. Each floor was empty, a single light lit, deep shadows otherwise. Maybe this was too ambitious. Maybe I had stayed too late.

  Too late.

  The basement was pitch-black and I had to feel along the wall for the light switch. The knot in my stomach eased a bit when the hall lit up, looking very normal. And I felt more confident as I walked toward the furnace room.

  I’d been there once before, to seek out Wally the janitor because one of the toilets was overflowing. Wally had set up a makeshift kind of office down here, so that’s where you found him if he wasn’t making rounds. But it was after hours now, so of course when I tried the door handle, it
was locked. I hadn’t really thought this through.

  There was a loud bang again. I looked up, and only after did I realize that I’d gone too deep. It seemed the sound wasn’t coming from the furnace after all. Which was good news, seeing as I couldn’t get access to it. Instead, it sounded like it was just above me, one floor up. And almost to confirm that thought, there was another bang right over my head. Some dust floated down toward me from the boards in the ceiling.

  A wail snaked its way down to me now. Like the moan, but more distressed. It sounded far less like an issue with plumbing and far more like an issue with something living. That made the hairs on my arms stand up, but it also spurred me to action even more. If this was someone in trouble, not just a pipe acting up, then I needed to hurry. I needed to help.

  I flicked off the switch as I leapt back into the elevator. I felt nervous watching the walls drop down slowly as I rose up. As the floor of the next level materialized, I noticed my breathing was shallow. And when the elevator lurched to a stop, I was already wondering how sure I was of my plan. But I stepped out into the dark hallway and flicked on a switch. Again, the brightness made me feel a little less unsure.

  The wail came floating toward me again. It sounded like it was coming from farther down the hall. Knowing that I was on the right track made my stomach flip. I couldn’t be sure if it was fear or excitement.

  Probably fear. There was something about being on the Music level that would not, could not, ever make me feel anything other than uneasy.

  There was a loud thud. I waited. Then the moaning began again.

  Well, I was definitely on the right floor this time.

  Wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  As I followed the sound I remembered my first time down here, lost in a maze of hallways. When I turned a corner and came upon a set of stairs heading downward, I felt a sense of dread pour over me.

  Hanging at the bottom of the stairs was a sign with the word “Infirmary” written on it. An infirmary? Didn’t know the studio had one.

  I walked slowly down the stairs as they creaked beneath my feet and into the Infirmary’s foyer.

  The room was fairly large with hard wooden chairs, a bed off to the corner, and a desk covered with charts against the wall. The walls were generally bare except for a yellowing poster placed without much thought near the waiting area. It was a picture of Bendy dressed as a doctor, Alice Angel in a nurse’s uniform, and Boris the Wolf lying on a stretcher, with the title “Bedpans and Bedlam” written across it in that typical Bendy cartoon font.