Animate Me

by Ruth Clampett

So when I reach my desk, I’m grateful to have a challenging scene to work on. For all the exuberance of animation, it’s an exacting process that requires complete concentration. I’m hoping this focus will keep me from obsessing about Brooke, but I’m doubtful.

  Joel likes to assign the most physical scenes to me because he says I’m old school Tex Avery in my animation style—adopting the master’s stretch and squash flair. This week’s assignment involves a fight between Bucky and Bernie Beaver after Bernie breaks Bucky’s video game remote control. Before I start, I picture in my mind what I want to do with the characters.

  I may be a quiet guy on the outside, but my work is always full of energy and expression. A surprised eye may stretch a foot long, or an open mouth’s jaw can drop to the ground. I sharpen my pencil, attach the animation paper to the pegs on the light table, and fall into my work. All of my anxiety and excitement flows through my pencil, and the resulting drawings are particularly energetic.

  “Hey dude, what’s up?” Joel leans into my cubicle, and I look up at my desk clock to realize it’s almost noon. I peel out my earbuds while pulling a drawing from the stack that I know he’ll like.

  “Is this what you had in mind for this scene?” Bucky has hit Bernie over the head with the broken remote, and now it’s lodged in his forehead like a horn. Bernie’s eyes are large X’s and Bucky’s smile extends freakishly past the edges of his pointed face.

  “Oh, yeah,” he howls. “That’s perfect! You always make it even better than I’ve pictured it, Tex.”

  Referring to me as animation great Tex Avery is a sure sign that he’s getting ready to ask for something. He usually isn’t so complimentary, and I can hear it in his voice. I raise my eyebrows and tip my head waiting.

  “Listen, no pressure or anything but management is demanding all the animators do seven feet this week since we are behind schedule.”

  The news is worse than I thought. “Damn, that’s over forty drawings a day. We aren’t a factory pumping out widgets.”

  “Sorry. Arnauld is all over my ass because I wanted to redo that scene last week. I’ll bring lunch in for you guys today.”

  I tense up and pop my earbuds back in. That jerk, Arnauld. He always expects us to work faster and get the work done cheaper. “All right, well then I better pick up the pace.”

  By the afternoon my whole body is stiff from bending over the table, and I realize it’s almost four o’clock. This is our magic Starbucks time when a group of us walk over to refuel on caffeine to get us through the rest of the day. The bunch gathers near the elevator and then we pack in when it arrives. I’m squashed in the back corner with rotund Andy, in his Elmo for President T-shirt, pressing into me.

  Nick groans loudly when the elevator stops at the next floor. My heart surges though when the doors part and Brooke is revealed with her hands on her hips, focused on figuring out how she will fit into the overcrowded space.

  “Come on Brooke, we won’t bite,” Nick teases, as he steps to the side and she slides in next to Genna.

  “Yeah sure,” she responds. “Last time this happened, I ended up with a ‘fragile’ sticker on my ass.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t have been me, darling. You’re one tough cookie—anything but fragile.”

  She smiles at him. “So where are all of you going anyway?” she asks, craning her neck and scanning the group.

  “Our afternoon Starbucks run,” he responds. “It’s the only way we can survive the tedium of this animation chain gang.”

  “Oh, you poor, poor animators!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Go work at Disney then. They serve Starbucks in the break rooms. Of course that means you may have to do Mickey Mouse and that princess stuff.”

  “No!” yells out crazy Andy, like he’s just been stabbed in the gut. “Anything but that!”

  “Well, why am I not invited on these coffee runs, huh? Are you too good for me?” Brooke asks.

  “Look, guys, the development queen wants to hang with the hired help. Well, come with us, your majesty,” says Nick.

  She frowns. “I can’t. I have a meeting. A really, really important meeting.”

  “Uh huh…” he says playfully.

  “Your job may depend on me being at this meeting. No worries though, our mutual caffeine fulfillment is far more important.”

  Nick turns to Andy. “See…she’s such a tease. And I bet she drinks one of those stupid drinks too, like a half-caf soy caramel macchiato with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla and a Splenda very, very gently stirred in.”

  “Three pumps,” she responds before she makes a grand exit when the door opens on the second floor. My eyes bug out as she steps out to head down the hallway. Her slacks hug her round bottom perfectly, and she turns back with a pivot to look in the car. Our eyes meet for a moment and she smiles, recognizing me. “Later, kids,” she says happily before she turns away. My heart is thundering like a tribal drum.

  Everyone’s chattering so much in line that they don’t seem to notice until we are almost back to the studio that I’m holding two drinks.

  “Are you double fisting these days?” Nick asks, studying my two cups.

  “No,” I say, blushing. “This one’s for someone else.”

  “Really?” Nick asks in an exaggerated voice. “And who, pray tell, would that be?”

  “Ooooo,” taunts Kevin.

  “Does Nathan have a secret luva?” Andy taunts.

  “I didn’t think you wanted people to know about us, Andy,” I respond. Since he is the only one without a coffee, he’s the perfect foil. His purchase was a huge brownie that he usually washes down with his jumbo Coke left over from lunch.

  “Ha! Gotcha,” Kevin laughs and smirks at me. “So you’re his secret luva taking the place of his life-size vinyl doll?”

  Danielle’s eyes grow wide as we step back into the elevator. “He has one of those vinyl life-size dolls? Yucko!”

  “You said it,” Nick agrees. “I wouldn’t put my prize in one of those things.”

  “Hey, don’t knock the doll, dude,” Andy responds. “She’s really good to me.”

  “We should all pitch in and get Nathan one,” Kevin responds. “You two could double date!”

  Thankfully Nick moves off topic and starts talking about the latest botched recording where the voice artist doing Bernie showed up coked out. While they’re distracted, I slip away, grateful for an excuse to escape their torture. I head towards the executive offices, and when I see Brooke’s, I notice that her assistant is away from her desk so I boldly step inside. I’m so nervous I’m trembling, but a flash of courage comes over me, and I go with it.

  Her office is large, with a sitting area including a large couch. Maybe one day I’ll sit there next to her, I happily imagine. The couch faces huge windows that look over the Forest Lawn Mortuary and part of the Warner Bros. back lot. As I step closer to the window to check out the view, I notice something different about her office compared to the other executives I’ve seen. Instead of large framed posters on the walls of Sketch Republic’s productions, she has an eclectic gathering of art in styles that look familiar to me. As I step closer, I realize that they are original works from some of our staff artists. How cool. I wish she had one of mine up, too. I also notice a print I’ve never seen before from one of my favorite animated movies from another studio. My girl must have a bit of rebel in her, I suspect, grinning. No idiotic Bernie the Beaver posters in here.

  It brings me back to the beginning of my infatuation with Brooke. About two years ago, we were at our monthly company meeting in the building’s auditorium/screening theater, and Brooke got up to talk about projects in development to our group of over four hundred employees. It was immediately apparent how smart and clever she was, but it was the warmth in her voice as she talked about the artists and new characters that impressed me so much. I’d never met an executive who seemed to be an actual fan of the work we do. It’s not unusual to have young executives in animation, but Brooke was like fr
esh air blowing through the place. From that moment on, I paid attention to everything I heard and observed about her.

  My growing impression was that she was the coolest girl ever…not just at Sketch Republic, or in Los Angeles, but the coolest girl in the entire world. As a result, my infatuation went from a wispy shadow on an overcast day to a sharp electrical current surging through me. I did a Google search and Facebooked her. I sat enraptured when she spoke at the monthly meeting. I even searched for satellite pictures of her house, hoping to see her stretched out on the chaise lounge in her back yard as we voyeuristically soared over her hillside condo.

  Snapping out of my revelry, it suddenly occurs to me that Brooke could walk back in here any moment and see me stalking. Anxious to complete my task, I take out a black Sharpie from my pocket and write her name on the cup. It looks so ordinary, so I draw a little caricature of her face, which essentially is my B-Girl character. Right as I am about to set it on her desk I hear the rustle of papers.

  “Well, hello, Nathan,” she says happily. “What’s up?”

  “I brought you your coffee,” I respond, trying not to blush. “I mean, I know you wanted to come with us but you had a meeting, so I thought I’d get it for you.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing ever,” she says. “Thank you. So that was you in the back of the elevator. I almost didn’t recognize you without your bow tie and pocket protector.” She grins, and I shyly smile back.

  “Yeah, that was me.”

  “I just stepped out of the meeting to get my projections.” She reaches over and pulls a folder off her desk. I’m mesmerized by her every movement, and the sound of her silver bracelets clinking together is music to my ears.

  She’s a bit taller today. The boots she’s wearing under her slacks must have higher heels as she almost comes up to my chin now. My vision drifts to her delicate neck where a fine chain weaves along her pale skin before falling into the wide neckline of her floaty top. I can’t help but notice that when she bends forward to reach a second folder placed further away on her desk, her shirt falls away from her body. It’s just long enough for me to get a glimpse of her bra and the top part of her beautiful breasts. I blink nervously.

  Folders retrieved, she straightens then lifts up the coffee to take a sip. As she squeezes the cup some foam oozes out onto the lid. In slow motion I watch her tongue slide out between her rosebud lips and lick the foam off the lid with a flourish.

  “Mmmm,” she sighs.

  Oh, her pink, wet, perfect tongue! Between the foam lick and seeing her breasts, I am undone. My blood starts pooling where I don’t want it to, and of course, the beast comes to life.

  I casually try to hold my coffee cup low like a paper shield covering what’s happening in my jeans. Thank God my coffee’s a Venti.

  She looks up at me, smiling, and raises her drink. “If Arnauld saw you got me this, he would insist that you’re flirting with me, but I think you’re just a really nice guy. Which is it?”

  Turning beet red, I sway a bit before I drop my Sharpie and scurry around to try to find it on the floor. By the time I straighten up, she seems to have decided not to press me for an answer.

  “Well, whatever the reason, thanks so much.” She reaches over and grasps my arm for a moment. “I think you’re cool. I’ve got to get back to the meeting, but let’s talk again, okay?”

  “Sure.” I smile big enough to show my teeth and her eyes twinkle knowingly. I grin all the way back to my cube.

  Of course when I get there I discover a surprise taped to the front of my computer. It’s a caricature of me looking particularly geeky with an arrow coming out of my butt cheek. The fast rough sketch has my eyes rolling like I’ve lost my mind. A flying cherub with Andy’s ugly face is holding a bow with one hand and fist pumping victoriously with the other. There are hearts floating around my head. Scrawled at the top are the words, Nathan’s in Love.

  I look around to see if I can figure out who’s in on the joke. Did someone see me take the coffee to Brooke? I think it’s Kevin’s work, but I can’t be sure. All that surrounds me is radio silence. Damn crazy animators, I silently curse knowing I can’t say much really since I’m one of the group and have done many such drawings of them.

  I carefully peel off the sketch and place it in my lower drawer where all the good stuff goes. This one, as infuriating as it is, is a keeper. After all, satire and caricatures work so well because of the truth behind them.

  • • •

  The next day’s coffee run is uneventful, and this time no one questions the second cup. When I get to Brooke’s office, her assistant eyes me suspiciously, but I explain that I’m just dropping off her coffee. When I step into the doorway, Brooke looks up and smiles.

  “For me again?”

  “Sure, it’s no big deal…really,” I assure her, trying to play it cool. Suddenly it occurs to me…what if I’m bothering her?

  “You really don’t have to do this.”

  “You don’t want it?” I ask, trying not to look crestfallen.

  “Oh, it’s not that; I just don’t want to take advantage of your kindness,” she says with a wink and a sexy smile.

  Is she flirting with me?

  My stomach flip-flops as I try to think how to respond. Then I remember a line I heard once.

  “Okay, I’ll make an agreement. I’ll only do it when I want to.”

  Hey, that sounded smooth. I smile as I shift nervously from foot to foot, watching for her reaction.

  She smiles at me then lifts the cup to study today’s drawing of her.

  This time I’ve sketched her on the cup with a “B” on her chest like Superman’s “S” and a cape flapping behind her.

  “How did you know I was a superhero?” she asks teasingly. “That’s top secret information.”

  “Well, I’m one too, so of course I sensed it with my super powers.”

  “Yes, of course,” she agrees, playing along. “How’s the show coming along?”

  “Oh fine. We got stuck with extra footage this week but it’s do-able. At least I like this script…it’s got good timing and some really funny stuff.”

  “That’s great,” she responds happily.

  Wow, this is like a real conversation.

  Then there’s an awkward moment of silence as my mind races with what to say next. “By the way,” I stammer, pointing at the print above her desk. “I love your Iron Giant artwork. It’s a great design with the cold-war propaganda look. I am a huge fan of that film and Brad Bird, the director.”

  “Oh, me, too,” she agrees. “You know I worked with him on The Incredibles when I first got started in the business.”

  We easily fall into a conversation about Brad and his brilliance. I’m doing great until I realize that I’m doing great and that makes me clam up again. She senses I’m struggling, but she seems confused as to why I’m trying so hard.

  I look down at my shoes as I desperately try to figure out what to say next. Defeated, I finally give up.

  “Well, I better get back to work. “

  “Okay, thanks again, Nathan.”

  • • •

  That night, after my dinner of nachos and carrot sticks, I make a list of things to talk to Brooke about so I’m better prepared for our next meeting:

  Are you from L.A.?

  Do you like living in L.A.? This can lead into the loaded question:

  Do you have a roommate? If she’s vague I can ask more directly:

  Is Arnauld your roommate? Scratch that. You can’t ask her that…Besides, these questions are forgettable. You want her to remember you.

  I start again.

  Do you have any tattoos?

  Do you like Halloween?

  What cartoon character are you most like?

  Does Arnauld remind you of Homer Simpson? Scratch that…I don’t want to come off like an asshole.

  Do clowns frighten you?

  What’s your favorite ride at Disneyland?

  Do you
like nachos?

  This leads to me imaging Brooke eating nachos with me, and I become too distracted to finish the list. Just the idea of the melted cheese on her fingers and watching the salsa trail over her lips gets me so worked up that I have to take my shower earlier than usual.

  • • •

  The next afternoon I do a more elaborate drawing of Brooke on her Starbucks cup. She’s charming as usual and there’s a cute little gremlin character from the new show she developed perched on her shoulder.

  I dress a little nicer today, wearing my newer jeans and the green button-down shirt that my Mom says matches my eyes. I even cleaned the dust off my Chucks before I left the house, all with the hope of impressing Brooke.

  This time her assistant rolls her eyes as I approach, but she doesn’t stop me from going right into Brooke’s office.

  “Special delivery!” I say cheerfully since she’s looking tense.

  Brooke glances up. “Oh, hey, thanks so much for the coffee. I can really use it. It’s been a crazy day, and I’m worn out. Please, at least let me pay for it.”

  “No” I insist, feigning offense at the suggestion. “I’ve been taking a class on chivalry, so this is coursework. You’re helping me out actually.”

  “Really? And where does one take such a course?”

  “Chivalry University. It’s up in the attic of this building. They do it for the artists because we are typically so bad at this stuff.” I’m impressed with the crap I can make up on the fly like this.

  “Really? What other classes are you taking up there?”

  “Conversation skills,” I offer, hoping she will never know exactly how much I could use such a class. “Here, can I practice with you? I’m trying to learn to talk to someone besides animators.”

  “Sure, I’ve got a minute. I’m all yours,” she says encouragingly.

  I think for a moment about how she talks to Nick, and I realize that she’s being gentle with me…as if I needed another reason to love her. My mind reels over the previous night’s list, but I’m flustered so I say the first thing that pops into my head.