Animate Me

by Ruth Clampett

  After lunch I force myself to get into the cartoon groove and work on animating a new scene. I’m drawing away and listening to my iPod when I sense someone’s watching me.

  I look up to see Brooke just inside my cube. She looks rested and has pink cheeks. She also looks apprehensive about being here.

  I peel out my earbuds and set my pencil down. “Hi,” I say softly. I’m so relieved to see her, but nervous as well.

  “Hi Nathan.” She smiles at me sweetly, but it seems edged with sadness. I immediately realize that she isn’t going to hug me. Maybe it’s cause we’re at work, and she’s afraid someone will see. I try to tell myself.

  “How are you? Did you have a good time in Santa Barbara?” I’m trying to not obsess over the idea that everything feels different between us now, and not in a good way.

  She nods. “Yeah, it was nice…really beautiful there. Have you ever been to Barcara?”

  “No, but I considered it once.” I leave out the part where “once” means on Tuesday when I found out she was there with Arnold.

  “Well, the time away gave me time to think about things.”

  “Things?” I ask nervously. This isn’t going well.

  “Yeah, and I think it may be a good idea not to do the coffee visits anymore, so I thought I should drop by and tell you before you go.” She looks down.

  It was one thing to hear this from Arnold, but something else entirely with Brooke. Doesn’t she realize how much this will hurt me?

  Well, she must have no idea. She didn’t even warn me before she ripped the Band-Aid for my obsession off, and now here I am with my disappointment exposed between us.

  I just stare at her with my mouth twisted. I can’t form words, and finally I turn away.

  “Okay, sure,” I finally reply once I’m facing my animation table and not her huge sad eyes. My head has fallen forward and it almost feels like I’m talking to the Bucky drawing I just finished, but he’s distracted because his head’s on fire. I push the drawing away from me and lean into my elbows.

  “Nathan,” she insists, trying to regain my attention. “Don’t act that way.”

  “Act what way?”

  “Like I’ve disappointed you.” Her expression’s worried, taking away all the happy pink coloring from her restful getaway.

  “Oh.”

  I leave it there—no lace trim, or creamy filling…just oh. It’s one tiny word that holds much more than its weight in despair. You don’t think you’ve disappointed me, Brooke? Well, try climbing into this broken heart and tell me if you like the view.

  “Come on, Nathan…I came down here to see you and make plans.”

  “Plans? What do you want to do?” I try a fake enthusiastic voice. I’m battling a weird unsettled feeling. I can’t help it. I turn back to face her.

  “Are you free early Saturday? I have to pick up something at Fred Segal’s and I thought we could get outfits for the party together…then have lunch or something.”

  Pick outfits together? I break into a cold sweat. We slept together and now she wants to go shopping?

  Maybe she thinks I can be her BFF for our own episode of What Not to Wear. I’ve seen that show at my Mom’s house, and I fear she will make me stand in front of those horrifying three way mirrors. I don’t need that experience to know I don’t dress right. Besides I loathe clothes shopping.

  But what stings much more is knowing that I am now merely her shopping buddy. I assume I’m no longer her Starbucks bearing, beer drinking, couch cuddling, cartoon compatriot, buddy/lover. To say that my manhood just shrunk, both metaphorically and in actuality, would be a vast understatement. I try to regain my equilibrium.

  She tips her head wondering why I haven’t responded. Thank God she can’t hear this conversation in my head. Something occurs to me and I speak up.

  “Who’s Fred Segal anyway…is he a friend of yours?” Hell. Maybe she’s planned a gay set-up. I must have been much worse in bed than I could’ve ever imagined.

  “A friend?” She laughs. “Oh, man…I’ve missed you. No, Fred Segal is a chic store in West Hollywood that has all the hippest stuff. A lot of music and film people shop there.”

  “Why would I want to shop there? I’m not hip,” I point out.

  “No, but you could be,” she encourages.

  Oh. Is that it? I’m not hip. Suddenly everything becomes clear, yet still feels dirty. Where’d my beautiful Brooke go that didn’t care so much about that stuff? A few days with Mojo and this is where it leaves us?

  I don’t want to be hip, Brooke. I don’t care about being hip. I just want you.

  “Is this what you want?” I ask quietly.

  “Yes, I want you to come with me. I want to spend time with you. Besides, we’ll have fun.”

  I nod, my resolve outweighing my concerns. “When should I get you?”

  “How about eleven. I’ll be home from my Zumba class and showered by then.”

  I’ll miss the yoga pants, I realize with despair. I agree because what choice do I have? As wrong as this feels right now, I can’t give up yet. Not at least until I learn what’s really going on in her mind and if I still have any chance at all.

  Damn Brooke, evidently while you were away I lost my mojo, and you seemed to rediscover yours…your very own hip Mojo Jojo with the furry back and apparently impressive mind-control abilities.

  • • •

  For dinner that night I make tuna fish on Ritz crackers with cherry tomatoes on the side because I like the way those little red balls explode in my mouth. I’m trying to have a good attitude but even my favorite dinner doesn’t cheer me up. I’m just about ready to go to my studio when the phone rings.

  “Hi Nathan.”

  It’s unusual for her to call during the week so I am a bit alarmed. “Everything okay, Mom?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine. I was just thinking about you and wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  Moms and their intuition. If she’s going to ask, I’m not going to hold back.

  “Well remember that scene where Sylvester thinks he’s flying up to Tweety’s nest and he gets so excited, but then he remembers that he can’t fly, and in despair, crashes to the ground? Well I’m Sylvester, and that pretty much sums up how things are going for me.”

  “Oh no, that doesn’t sound good at all. What happened with Brooke?”

  “She just came back from a romantic few days with her boyfriend and now we can’t have coffee together anymore in the afternoons. It’s the beginning of the end.”

  “But Nathan, you knew from the start that she was with that man. Why are you surprised?”

  “I just thought we were getting closer and had something special. But I must’ve been wrong.”

  “Those things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, Nathan. She may care about him and you too. I could tell she really likes you and I would imagine you’ve gotten even closer since I saw you two together.”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” I offer as I think about her asleep, curled up against me in her bed. My world felt perfect at that moment.

  “Hasn’t she been with him a long time? Isn’t he her boss?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. Don’t say it…don’t say it…

  “It’s complicated Nathan.”

  Damn. She said it.

  “And you know what?”

  Don’t say it…don’t say it…

  “You have to have faith.”

  Ugh. She said it. I knew she would.

  I believe in Pixar, the tenacity of Walt Disney and number two pencils. I’m not so sure about a God who didn’t give me the skills or appeal to win my true love.

  “But Mom, what kind of God would present me a Brooke and then take her away? And then she ends up with a damn monkey, not even someone that deserves her.”

  “A monkey?” she asks bewildered.

  “It’s a long story. Never mind.”

  “Look Nathan, there’s a reason you both are going through this. I don’t kn
ow what it is but I do know it will make you stronger and even better if you finally get together. If you can find your faith it will get you through.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” I moan.

  “You’ll still see her around work, won’t you?”

  “Not really, we’re on different floors. She did ask me to go shopping with her Saturday. What do you think that means. Do you think she thinks I’m gay?”

  “No. She knows you’re not gay. Where do you come up with these things, really! It means she wants to spend time with you away from that Arnold’s world…some place you two can just be, without any pressure or people watching.”

  “Really?” I suddenly feel more hopeful realizing she may be right.

  “Yes,” she confirms. “I really think this can still work out, Nathan. So make the most of your shopping date. Be sweet and kind with her. Be yourself.”

  I hold onto my mom’s words, they wrap around me and hold me up. She makes me want to believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny and my future with Brooke.

  So for added motivation, after I crawl in bed, I wire myself up for the Dr. Wayne Dyer recording about relationships. I don’t fall asleep until he’s convinced me that I can take my destiny into my own hands. I can’t give up yet.

  • • •

  Saturday morning I get up early and take a run, eat some Fruit Loops and then shower and shave. I give myself a pep talk as I put on some of that cologne my mom gave me for Christmas. I’m looking my best and ready to go see Brooke.

  When I pull up to her place she’s waiting by the gate. Either she’s really excited to see me or she doesn’t want me to go inside. I try to convince myself the former when I see the big smile on her face.

  “Hey you!” she says as she slides into her seat. “Looking forward to our outing?”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to being with you,” I reply smiling.

  “What’s this?” She asks, pointing to the cup holder section of my car.

  “Well, I know I can’t get you your macchiatos at work anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can’t other times,” I insist.

  “Oh, Nathan,” she sighs happily, wedging her foamy drink out of the cup holder to take a sip. “You even did a drawing for me!” She holds it up and studies it with a big grin on her face.

  “Yeah, it’s me post-shopping at the hip store.”

  “Oh, it’s great! You’re so clever. Thank you.”

  “Guess what else?” I grin as I reach in the back, grab the bag and set it on her lap.

  “Krispy Kreme doughnuts!” she squeals.

  “You didn’t…how could you? Now all my Zumba-ing is for naught.” She tears open the bag and pulls out a doughnut, immediately taking a bite.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, grinning. But as I watch her close her eyes in anticipation of that warm sugary rush of perfection, I’m not sorry at all—not one little bit.

  “Mmmm.” She closes her eyes as she chews. She has the most sublime expression on her face. “So good…”

  As we wind down the hill towards the land of hip, she feeds me bites, in-between hers. I watch her lick her sticky fingers, her eyes dancing as she reaches into the bag for more to share.

  I feel alive again, like a remastered cartoon print where every color is brighter and more vivid, every detail sharper. We laugh and joke in our own bubble, sugar flakes falling over us like snow on this brilliant California day.

  Animate Me / Chapter Seventeen / Magic Jeans

  “I was hiding under your porch because I love you.” ~Dug, from Pixar’s “Up”xvi

  “So you’re trying on a ‘cute’ outfit at this Fred place?” I ask as we turn onto Melrose Avenue. “Cause if they have dressy yoga pants, that’d be my suggestion.” I grin, and as I glance over, I see she’s grinning too.

  “Hmmm, maybe they have some stretchy black velvet ones,” she teases.

  “Yeah, fancy ones like that. Now, we’re talking,” I agree.

  “Well, my personal shopper picked a few things so we shall have to wait and see.”

  “Personal shopper? What does that mean?”

  “If left to my own devices, I would wear jeans and hoodies everywhere. So Arnauld has this woman who works at Fred Segal’s put things together for me. It annoyed me at first, but I have to admit that it saves me time because I don’t like shopping for clothes much.”

  Svengali Arnold strikes again.

  “Well, that makes two of us,” I agree. “My idea of clothes shopping is stuffing a few things in my cart at Target on the way to the video game aisle.”

  “So is that why you looked so thrilled about this outing when I first asked?”

  “Well, let’s just say I can think of other ways I’d rather spend our time together, but I’ll get through it.”

  • • •

  “What do you think?” Brooke asks as the salesman holds up a pair of men’s jeans with really narrow legs. I’d be very irritated with how close this guy is standing to Brooke, but when we approached his area he was practically grabbing another guy’s butt, so I’m not overly concerned. Besides he spent a little too much time assessing my body to figure out what style and size would work on me, so I’m pretty sure he’s pitching for the other team.

  I’m having trouble focusing because there are so many distractions here in Fred’s collection of individual boutiques. To start with, our salesperson’s name in this one is not Joe or Bill or Dave, but Ransom. What the hell, kidnapper dude? I really wish he was out somewhere on a casting call rather than trying to help Brooke make me hip.

  I turn back towards her to see that she’s holding up a tiny pair of jeans.

  “Is that one of those pairs of skinny jeans? Seriously, I get claustrophobic just looking at them. I may as well just wear tights and go for the superhero look.”

  Brooke makes a face at me.

  The salesman, who confuses me again by being the straightest looking gay guy, gives a wry smile. “I don’t blame you. They’re a bit restrictive. I don’t care how stretchy the fabric is.” He reaches for another style and checks the tag for sizing. “What about these? They have a great fit. They’re True Religion.”

  “Holy jeans? Well, that’s a new concept. But they’re still too small looking.”

  “You always wear your jeans baggy, Nathan,” Brooke says. “This is a chance to try something new. Besides, they’ll show off your great butt.”

  Great butt? She really likes my butt! I can’t help smiling.

  The salesperson nods with conviction, and I pretend I don’t notice. He also hands me a dress shirt to try on.

  “Okay, I’ll try them on for you, Brooke.”

  When I tentatively step out of the dressing room I can tell by their expressions that they’re pleased. I’m not sure about the fancy looking shirt with colorful stripes and this freaky print with weird little shapes lining the collar and cuffs.

  “Why are there amoebas on this fabric?” I ask, showing her the cuffs. “It looks like something under a microscope.”

  “Those are paisleys.” She laughs. “You weren’t joking about not being into fashion.”

  “You can say that again,” I say to Brooke. At least she looks pleased…actually, really pleased. Her expression makes me think she’d like to join me in the dressing room for some fun. Well?” I ask holding out my arms. “Is this what you had in mind?”

  Ransom lifts his hand and makes a motion. “Turn,” he says. As I pivot and am halfway around, he stops me and lifts up the bottom of my shirt. “Perfect fit,” he concludes.

  I’m guessing my butt looks great.

  “Yes,” Brooke agrees with a heavy sigh. “You look so handsome, Nathan. None of the girls will be able to resist you tonight.”

  Great, the girls won’t be able to resist me. What about you Brooke?

  My nerves are completely frayed. I have no idea what’s really going on.

  “Okay, we’re done.” I say to Ransom. “I’ll take them.”

  He nods briskly as I he
ad back to the dressing room. I don’t even care at this point what this will cost me, I just need to get out of here and away from Fred’s shrine to fashion. If Brooke keeps admiring me I’m going to pull her into the dressing room so we can make out, and send all the over-priced jeans hanging around us tumbling to the floor.

  Luckily Brooke’s shopping seems less traumatic for her than my experience. She refuses to let me see what she tries on, so her personal shopper, Noelle, sends me to the gift boutique where they have an eclectic selection of art and design books to occupy me. But as I notice her enter the gift shop to find me, it’s evident that she wasn’t in the dressing room too long before she picked something out. Nothing better than a decisive woman, I think to myself.

  “Can I buy you lunch?” She asks coming up alongside me as I flip through a book about deviant art.

  I turn and smile at her, relieved that the earlier heaviness has lifted. I put the book back on the shelf and linking her arm through mine, she pulls me to the café in the next area. We set our bags alongside the table, open the menus, and get situated. As soon as we’re settled, I turn towards her.

  “Can I hold your hand?” I say.

  She smiles softly at me, and I feel her hand graze my thigh under the table until it finds mine. Her fingers curl into my hand and I gently rub my thumb across her soft skin. I feel instantly calmer, happier.

  The waiter comes up and I’m grateful to be able to order a burger, even if it is infused with pesto. Brooke orders one of those girly salads and despite the distraction, doesn’t let go of my grasp. I study her face and the way her lips turn up when I gently squeeze her hand.

  “Brooke, can I ask you something?”

  She nods at me, wide eyed.

  “Is it really important to you how I dress?” I point at the bag with my purchases. “‘Cause no matter what I wear, it’s still me inside. You know I don’t care about clothes and stuff like that.”

  She looks surprised by my declaration. “I’m not trying to change you, if that’s what you think,” she replies. “You just never seem to understand how attractive you are. I thought maybe wearing something special tonight would make you feel good. You were so confident at the Emmys in your tux.”