Animate Me

by Ruth Clampett

  “Maybe.”

  “Take a shower, and get dressed. I’m on my way over.”

  Minutes after we hang up I hear bells ringing again. The mother fucking noise needs to stop. I realize in my stupor that it’s my phone and I finally answer it.

  “Nathan?”

  “Yes, Walter?”

  “I need you to go through all of your art, and look for any examples of how you could have been developing these characters before your time at Sketch Republic.”

  “But I didn’t develop them until I was at Sketch Republic.”

  “I don’t think you’re understanding me Nathan. Do you want to win or not?”

  As I hang up I feel a jolt of reality. Do I want to win? Is he fucking kidding? I have to win. Despite my pathetic state of despair, I haven’t lost sight of the fact that Brooke and B-Girl are everything to me. I sink into the living room chair and imagine my life without my two best girls, and my throat starts to tighten until I feel like I can’t breath. My eyes scan across the cases of collectibles, and note that each figurine and action figure is stoically posed and still as if waiting for their command for our upcoming battle. Are they worried about me? Do they miss Brooke too? I have to imagine they do…who wouldn’t?

  I get up to find my phone and decide to leave a message on the land-line at Brooke’s house.

  “Brooke, if you ever come back to your house and listen to your answering machine, and if you ever care about me and what I think again, will you call me? I thought this was it — you and me, true love and all that stuff. Now you’re gone, and I’m lost.”

  “I’m dying here. Can you call me?”

  • • •

  Dad finds me in the backyard, sitting in a lawn chair in my Scooby PJ bottoms and no top. The near-empty bottle of Jack Daniels is on the ground next to me, but the large bottle of water is my drink of choice now, as I slowly take sips and stare at the shrubs.

  He sighs with resignation, and pulls up a chair across from me. He just sits quietly for a while and observes me. Finally he clears his throat and starts to speak, but before he gets the words out, I hold up my hand to stop him.

  I shake my head firmly, and he leans back silent. Another minute passes.

  “Maybe it was all a dream?” I finally offer.

  “Yesterday?” he asks.

  “No, yesterday was very real. Maybe everything before yesterday was a dream…the part where Brooke was in love with me. I had a great job and a comic book deal…because now they’ve all evaporated into thin air, so maybe they were never real.”

  He looks me directly in the eyes. “Son, the only thing gone is that job. And as it was, you were ready to move on from that. The rest is still abundantly real. They are still yours to have. You just have some fastidious work to do.”

  “I’m not sure I have it in me, Dad. I don’t know if I can fight my way through this without Brooke.”

  Dad pulls his fingers through his hair frustrated. I think I’m making him crazy, but I’m beyond caring at this point.

  “You must pull yourself together and fight, Nathan. You have to do it for yourself, and you have to do it to show her what you’re made of.”

  “But maybe she doesn’t love me anymore. Maybe I’ll never make it up to her. Maybe I’ll live the rest of my life alone.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll put up with this peevish whining today, considering the state you’re in and what you’ve just been through. But then, enough. You need to find your confidence and potent strength for battle, Son, not just wallow in your disappointments.”

  “I have every right to wallow,” I moan, leaning forward with my face in my hands. My elbows dig into my knees and the pain almost feels good. “I could be the fucking king of wallow.”

  “Nathan, what do you imagine Brooke would think if she saw you like this?”

  “That I’m a loser not worth her time.”

  Dad clears his throat and there’s a long moment where I can tell he is weighing his words, making mental flowcharts of my potential responses and the appropriate counter argument for each one.

  “Son, have you forgotten that Brooke is on some type of mission to help you? Does that mean anything to you? Her actions regarding secrecy and walking away from her carefully honed position shows her unwavering commitment to you. It also ensures she won’t make you any more vulnerable to Arnold than you already are.”

  “I can’t imagine why she’s doing anything. I think she hated B-Girl.”

  “You have no way of knowing that. Just because she acted disinterested with a group she knew were counting on a dramatic reaction, shows she’s cunning and fast on her feet. I refuse to underestimate her abilities, and if I were you I wouldn’t either.”

  “Really?” I ask weakly.

  “You will never know how she really feels about B-Girl until you are together alone and have a chance to talk it out. I sense that won’t happen until she knows you are safe from his treachery.”

  “I guess,” I say uncertainly.

  “Give her some time, Son. She will come to you when she’s ready. Remember she was hit hard yesterday too. It also doesn’t sound like she has a support system like you do. She was exposed and humiliated from the conference room footage. She no longer has a job, whether by her volition or not. Finally she found out that the man she was in love with, kept a very large secret from her, that involved her, for their entire relationship.”

  His words hit me hard, my angry outer shell cracking and falling in small pieces around me. I take a swig of water and sit a little taller in my chair. “What do I do now?”

  “You need to focus on your defense and cooperate with Walter. Go through all of your art and look for anything at all that could help your case. Take rigorous care of yourself during this time of extreme stress…no more binge drinking. Your electrolytes must be completely out of equilibrium.”

  “Everything’s out of whack,” I admit, rolling my eyes.

  “You need to structure your day, workout fastidiously and eat healthy.”

  Damn…my Dad and his practical insanity can be incredibly annoying at times.

  “Eat healthy?” I stretch out my legs and notice the Scooby-Doo on my right shin must have gotten doused with scotch at some point last night.

  Dad stands. “Look, get in the shower and I’ll find something in the kitchen for you to eat. When you’re done, you need to start going through your archives. We’re meeting with Walter in the morning.”

  At first the hot shower feels like a thousand needles penetrating my skin, but after a minute it actually soothes me. By the time I get out and dry off, I start to feel human again…still miserable, but at least human. When I step into the kitchen I smell brewing coffee and peanut butter.

  Arthur looks stern as he shakes his head. “Your cupboards are practically bare, Nathan. The best I could do is peanut butter and jelly. There’s barely evidence here of two major food groups, the other three are completely missing. I’m surprised you aren’t showing signs of malnutrition.”

  I shrug. “I love peanut butter and jelly. And I usually have milk here for my Lucky Charms cereal, but Brooke and I were so busy this week and I ran out. That’s another food group…three outta five, Dad.”

  He just shakes his head, as he pushes the plate towards me and then pours a mug of coffee.

  He joins me at the table and like a papa bear, watches me slowly eat. We don’t talk, but we’re comfortable in the silence. As my head starts to clear I can’t help but appreciate that he’s here trying to help me.

  When I’m done I push the plate away, and briskly rub my face. “Okay,” I say, trying to assure him I’ll be all right, even if I’m not so sure myself.

  “Okay,” he responds relieved. “So are you going to get to work now?”

  I nod.

  “Good boy.”

  I smile at him, and he smiles back when he realizes how that sounded.

  He stands to leave. “I’m going to call you later and if I don’t
hear progress, I’ll be back,” he warns grinning.

  Did my Dad just do a Schwarzenegger-Terminator impression? I can’t help but smile. “Okay. Thanks Dad.”

  He pulls me into a hug. “I love you, Son. We’re going to get through this.”

  “I believe you, Dad. And I love you too.”

  • • •

  As I pull open the first drawer in my home office, my internal struggle starts. I close my eyes wincing. I’m just not sure I can do this right now. I open my eyes and briefly look at the neat stack of drawings. Every sketch makes me think of Brooke, and Starbucks cups, Arnold taking B-Girl, and Sketch Republic going on without me. Resisting the urge to flee, I look over to the window and notice my Wonder Woman figurine perched on the nearby shelf. I get up and walk over to her, admiring her majestic stance.

  With a sudden impulse, I pick her up and carry her back to my desk area. I pose her on top of the bookcase facing where I’m trying to work. A feeling comes over me.

  “Hey, Wonder Woman,” I say in a quiet voice. “I could use a little motivation right about now. Could you help me out?”

  I don’t even feel like the freak I am as I study her, waiting patiently for her response. “If you could talk, I bet you would tell me to be strong…wouldn’t you?”

  I reach over and tip her head forward like she’s nodding.

  “Can you share a little of your super powers with me? And as long as I’m going down crazy lane, can I ask one other thing?”

  Her little eyes gaze at me intently.

  “Can you look out for Brooke too?”

  I don’t even have to nod her head for her, because just then the light from the window shifts and she kind of glows. I might be imagining it, but it gives me comfort nonetheless. She’s going to help show us the way.

  I reach into the open drawer with new resolve. My heart may be shattered, and I still fear I may never hold my Brooke again, but I’ve got to prove to myself and Brooke what I’m made of. I’m gonna try to fight for my B-Girl like any superhero would.

  I look back at the little heroine and nod. “Okay, Wonder Woman, let’s get this done.”

  Animate Me / Chapter Twenty-Seven / Persuasion

  “As long as these pants are square and this sponge is bob, I will not let you down!” ~Spongebob Squarepantsxxvi

  I’m already awake and have finished my Pop Tarts when Morgan calls.

  “Whoa, Nathan…the inmates have taken over the asylum!”

  “What do you mean?” Morgan needs to get better at this phone stuff. She keeps freaking me out.

  “I’m calling to hear if you knew about the artist uprising at work today?”

  I think back to my conversation with Dani and Nick. Oh no. What the hell did they do? “Uprising?” I ask, the fear evident in my voice. “No, what’s going on.”

  Morgan sounds completely gleeful. “I just got a call from my friend in accounting. She went in a little early cause her month ends are due, and said there are posters of Arnauld as a monkey all over the building. It’s some kind of pro-creative propaganda statement. Maintenance was trying to take one out of the elevator as she rode upstairs to her floor, but it’s completely glued down.”

  Arnold as a monkey? I remember the caricature I had done of him a while back, swinging through the rain forest holding a very small banana. That drawing was in the stack Nick and Dani rescued for me. Fuck…they didn’t…

  “Holy shit,” I gasp.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she says excitedly. “Go turn on your computer, and go to the Sketch Republic homepage.”

  “The public homepage?” I ask, filled with a twisted combination of thrill and terror.

  “Uh huh,” she says smugly. “I’ve got it open on my blackberry. I must say, it’s a fitting tribute to our noble leader.”

  I rush into my studio and flip open my laptop. “Okay, it’s on and warming up.” I can sense her impatience over the phone.

  “So is the homepage open yet?”

  “No, wait a sec.” My fingers fly over the keyboard as I type the web address in my browser. I feel the blood leave my face as the image comes up. It’s my drawing all right, and they’ve added bits of accent colors. The brightest spot is the hot yellow of Monkey Man’s tiny banana. But it’s the copy accompanying the drawing that takes my breath away.

  Welcome to Sketch Republic…where they steal ideas from their artists for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy your stay, but watch your back on the way out.

  I move my cursor over the screen, but none of the links to shows or promotions work. The perpetrators have frozen out the world for anything but their foreboding message.

  “Oh good God, Morgan,” I exclaim. “I can’t believe they did this.”

  “Oh, I can. I could feel the angry energy in the building since Monday. And it’s not only because you were so well liked, and he’s trying to fuck you over. It’s that everyone hates him and what he stands for. Monkey Man’s not going to be very happy today.”

  I’m horrified but completely awestruck with the sheer brilliance of it. I’m also incredibly honored and inspired that my friends and whoever helped them, did this as a reaction to my downfall.

  Dani…clever, clever Dani. Who knew she had hackers, and such ninja skills with perfect timing, up her sleeves? It must have taken a deviously calculating mind to get all those posters up with security cameras apparently everywhere.

  “I’m just pulling into the parking structure,” Morgan says. “I’ll send you a photo of one of the posters as soon as I can.”

  Over the next few hours my phone is on fire. Images are coming from everyone.

  There is even a caricature of B-Girl strangling Monkey Man with her lasso. That one makes me laugh out loud.

  But Morgan manages to get my favorite picture: one of Arnold’s office before his arrival. Tiny bananas, real ones…hundreds of them, are lying across every possible surface in his grand office. There’s also a paper adhered to the top of his chair that states, Monkey Man Sits Here, with an arrow pointing down.

  Nice. Really nice.

  Before lunch I hear more evidence as to how well-planned this was. Evidently poor little Demon Spawn-Alana’s car was somehow blocked at her apartment building by an abandoned junker. So the poor thing was late to work…too late to warn the monkey and prevent him from slipping on that stray peel while entering his banana-clad domain. I’m told that his howl could be heard all the way down to the next floor.

  Karma’s a bitch, you asshole. And comic karma, never ends; it just gets more animated.

  I’m giddy. The whole drive to the lawyer’s office I grin as my phone buzzes over and over with new messages and jpegs.

  My tone gets more serious, though, as I enter the fancy office building and head to the floor that’s completely occupied by Walter’s law firm. Mom and Dad are waiting for me in the reception area, and we’re quickly escorted into his intimidating office suite.

  Walter’s all business as we sit down and start our discussion. He eyes the folder I’ve placed on the table. “How did your art search go, Nathan?”

  “Well, I found some good stuff that might help.” I open my portfolio folder and pull out drawings I had done of female superheroes over the years. There are even sketches from high school and earlier. I guess I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of heroic women with special powers.

  But by far the most compelling works are the drawings I did after seeing young women dressed as Wonder Woman at Comic Con years ago. In the series of sketches, I begin to play with her outfit that clearly shows the beginning of my B-Girl ideas. I put them away so long ago; I didn’t realize how relevant they could be for this case until I unearthed them.

  Mom and Dad examine the sketches thoughtfully and then slide them to Walter. I study his expression as he goes through the pile and picks out the best of the post Comic Con drawings to fan across the table’s polished wood surface.

  “You were always so talented,” Mom says proudly to me as we
watch Walter pick up one of the sketches and compare it to a B-Girl comic cover.

  “Good work, Nathan,” Walter says and Dad nods. “This will definitely help.” He studies the work closely. “How interesting that you always dated your work.”

  “I read once that you should do that. The writer said it was a sign of genius when people archived and documented their early work as if they knew it would one day be considered significant. I know I’m not a genius or anything, but that sounded smart to me.”

  “You are extremely smart, Son,” Dad states proudly.

  “Well, whatever the reason, that will definitely help us,” Walter says. He turns to my parents. “With this and our other case research, things are looking good.”

  “You’re going to hit them hard, correct Walter?” Mom asks in a firm voice. “I want them to understand that we’re not playing around. That little Arnold person will regret messing with our son.”

  I smile inwardly, witnessing the power of Diana Evans. Do not mess with Diana’s family. She will take you down.

  People sometimes make the mistake of assuming she’s a mild-mannered Pasadena housewife, when in actuality she oversees the business side of Dad’s work. I heard through one family friend that they’re an incredible team. She stays on top of the business end so Dad can stay focused on what he does best. Evidently she’s a lioness when people don’t treat Dad or his work with respect.

  “Absolutely, Diana” Walter responds. “We’re bringing the team to the meeting in force, and we’ll put the fear of a counter-suit in him. I suspect the holding company for Sketch Republic doesn’t know about his plans, and I’ll make sure he understands how much they will appreciate this misdirected and self-indulgent lawsuit. I went to law school with David Stern, one of the members of their board. I see him on the golf course from time to time. We belong to the same Country Club.”

  Mom leans back in her chair grinning and Dad smiles as well, then turns towards me.

  “See Son, there is more than enough reason to hope for the best.”

  I take a deep breath and let some tension seep out of me.

  “So Nathan, we have our first meeting with them on Monday. Did Elli give you the details yet?”