by T. C. Clover
wasting her best lines on such fence posts. “It’s frustrating, but you can survive if you have the right kind of rabbit.”
Richard watched her like a teenager who just got assigned to be her science partner for the day. Litz looked down at the Texas food that littered the long table near the outer wall of the complex. Everything was either fried or covered in corn and chunks of red and green peppers. There was almost nothing on the tablecloth that a New Yorker would consider being good social fare.
“Do you hear that?” Litz asked her co-star with a coy smile and leaned closer to the table of catered food. “There’s something coming from over there.”
Richard leaned forward to listen near the table and closed his eyes to tune out distractions from the party. When he inched closer to the food, something bounced off the right side of his neck and again across the tip of his nose. The film editor opened his eyes to see Litz holding a plate of fried shrimp near her chest and flinging the breaded appetizers at his face. His body went numb with excitement as he checked the room to see if anyone was objecting to this behavior. But the barrage of shrimp kept coming, and the enthusiastic man felt obligated to pick up a tray of breaded veal to mount a defense.
Mike Farr pursed his lips together when he saw Richard and Litz battling each other with the catered food. The director held his breath and watched the NASA people for a moment, deciding that it was too late to ask the actors to behave. Joseph Kerr, the Vice President of Operations for NASA, watched the impromptu food fight with intrigue and began to giggle when witnessing Litz Rack at her jovial best. Mike brought forth a savvy business smile after reading this reaction, feeling grateful that the food would be of use to someone.
When Litz ran out of shrimp, she used the empty aluminum tray to shield herself from flying cutlets of veal. Her eyes scanned the table to a plate of more than a dozen caramel apples, and she grinned with childish anticipation. Richard was out of veal cutlets and decided to pick up a red plastic rack of hard-shell tacos from the far end of the table. His female co-star grabbed a caramel apple by the wooden dowel that stuck out from its center, which caused the whole plate to slide off of the table. Litz shrugged and dropped to her knees as lettuce, tomatoes, and taco meat rained down upon her from the opposite end of the kitchen.
Jennifer Priest stood with her mouth agape as she watched the two adults engaging in a food fight, and felt a piece of taco shell bounce off of her hair. She blew air out of her mouth in a haughty manner, and was about to yell at the television stars, but the director signaled her to let them alone. The producer raised her eyebrows at Mike Farr as if to ask if he was certain, and received back a wink from his right eye. Jennifer returned her gaze to the kitchen and saw Litz trying to hit Richard in the head by lobbing caramel apples at him. She then snapped her fingers, signaling for cameraman Doug to capture the moment with his equipment.
Litz was running out of caramel apples as she dodged the onslaught of taco fodder that fell from above. She inspected the table for something with more texture and found a fruit salad covered in whipped cream. The lively woman ran to the table like a comic book villain toward the decorative, red glass serving bowl of fruit salad. Richard noticed that Litz was upgrading her arsenal and tossed the four remaining tacos from the tray all at once.
Litz had maneuvered through the taco onslaught as well as her dress would permit, but not without getting tomato squares between her breasts and chunks of beef under her collar. She sidled up next to the hefty bowl of fruit salad and slid it to the edge of the table. Richard dropped the empty taco tray and snatched up a medium-sized silver bowl of pudding. He scooped up some of the chocolate pudding and whipped cream into a trembling mound in his right palm. The excited man then waited to look Litz in the eyes, and she obliged him with an adventurous scowl.
The feisty plumber tossed a black plastic serving spoon out of the fruit salad when she saw Richard manhandling the pudding. As her right hand plunged into the fruit salad, Richard pelted her with thick droplets of chocolate filling. She felt a stinging sensation as some pudding got caught in her right eyelash, but most of it hit the abdominal section of her white dress. The unabashed woman refused to back away and flung a softball-sized wad of fruit salad at her co-star. Her first shot covered the left side of Richard’s face, forcing him to set down the bowl of pudding and clean out his eye.
All of the NASA executives and staff had crowded into the living room behind the safety of the sofa and were enjoying the spectacle. Cameraman Doug was sending everything to the network television feed as he filmed the comical exchange.
Litz surmised that Richard was unarmed, and took advantage of the situation by pelting him in rapid fashion with wads of fruit salad. She closed in on his position and continued to hit the conservative with accuracy. In a final aggressive move, Litz scooped up two handfuls of the sticky material and used her fingers to rub it into Richard’s hair and all over his face.
“Oh my gosh; I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed with a reddening face and hysterical laughter. “Here, let me help you.”
Spectators were enjoying the show with mixed reactions from the living room; most of which involved uncontrollable laughter. Litz grabbed a towel from the table and began to clear off sections of Richard’s face. She couldn’t help laughing at the man because he looked sad and cute with his eyes covered in marshmallows and whipped cream. Richard wore a boyish gaze of rebellious satisfaction as his co-star cleared the mess from his eyes and cheeks. Litz admired him with considerable affection for shedding his formal mask and leaned in for a passionate kiss.
Everyone in the loft went quiet at the same moment as the two natural rivals engaged in unexpected romance. The frenzied woman enjoyed the softness of Richard’s eyes as her lips met his, but the taste of fruit salad was overwhelming. She gave him a rough embrace and drank in a moment of elation with her co-star, attacking his mouth with selfish indulgence. Although the kiss lasted just a few seconds, it seemed to make up for weeks of lost intimacy. Litz realized that the room had gone as silent as a church, and felt the eyes of the world bearing down upon her. She pushed against Richard’s chest with both hands in a display of rejection. The diva then straightened her arms at the elbow, seeming to awaken from a dream. Litz turned toward the small crowd to her right and saw the power of her actions reflected in their awkward faces.
The confused woman closed her eyes with disbelief and dropped to her knees in shame. She hung her head and stared down at the messy white tiles of the kitchen floor. After taking a proper moment to reflect, Litz followed an impulse to punch her co-star between the legs. Richard, and those who witnessed the events in the loft, all seemed to gasp at the same moment. The incapacitated man gazed at his co-star in shock and fell sideways onto the serving table, knocking it over against the wall.
Litz brought her hands up to her mouth in dismay and shook her head, exhibiting vulnerable embarrassment. She looked to Mike Farr and Jennifer Priest with an awestruck demeanor, seeming to ask them what she had just done.
VI. Sloppy Bird
“You know, we all do things that we don’t like, Jazzy,” Mike Farr massaged his actor from across the room, keeping his hands flat on a dark walnut desk. “I remember a time when I had to go to a Mötley Crüe concert, and there were tons of screaming metalheads – it wasn’t a good fit.” He leaned back in his padded black leather chair and stared at the ceiling of his office.
“I thought you were around thirty-nine?” Jazzy surmised after a bit of calculation, raising her tearful face to confront the director. “If you went to a Mötley Crüe concert, that would make you around fifty.”
“Look, I don’t really remember who the artist was…” Mike remarked with a posture of cynicism. “Stop trying to take the focus off of yourself. We have a contract that says you’ll be sharing a specific story with our audience. If you don’t share that story, then I’ll bring out the recording that we have on file from when
you auditioned for the show. And then I’ll take legal action against you for breach of contract. Besides, you know the bounty for winning at the end of the season, right? Whoever has the most value in coins by the time the show runs its course gets the three-million-dollar prize.”
“Why do you have to be so cold to me, Mike?” She pleaded with a sullied demeanor. “There are hundreds of stories that I’d be more than happy to share on your show. This one happens to be very-“
“Exactly!” Mike concurred with a snap of his fingers. “It is very, which is what makes it very… If we decide to use a story with less emotion, then we lose an important and unintelligent modifier. I want people to describe this story the same way that you’re describing it now. When they see our episode that night, they need to walk away and say, ‘that was very…’ Do you understand?”
“No, I really don’t feel comfortable-“ Jazzy started to elaborate but was cut off by her colleague.
“Okay, I’m going to bring the war hammer down on you then,” he threatened with a blank stare, trying to maintain control of the conversation. “Do you think that you’re the only one on this show who has to
