Let's Stay Together

by J. J. Murray

  “This happens every November. You know that?” Mr. Hyer in 3B had said. “Are you stupid? You must learn to do preventive maintenance in October!”

  You could cut back on the fiber, too, Patrick had thought. “I will do that, Mr. Hyer.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” Mrs. Albertson in 3A had asked. “I have to go, Mr. Esposito. Where can I go?”

  There’s a McDonald’s on Atlantic two blocks away, Patrick had thought. “It won’t be long, Mrs. Albertson,” Patrick had said. “I’ll have everything fixed in a few minutes. It should be running smoothly any moment now.”

  “I will be running in a few seconds!” Mrs. Albertson had shouted.

  When Patrick had mentioned the McDonald’s, Mrs. Albertson had hung up.

  After his shower and in clothing that did not smell like Dutch American poop, he settled under his covers and read Lauren’s e-mail.

  I’m not an entrepreneur, a writer, anything, he thought. I have value, at least to people who expect their toilets to empty every time, but I’m nothing special. I’m just a guy from Brooklyn.

  Though he knew other people stretched the truth and even lied online, Patrick decided to give Lauren nothing but the truth.

  Lauren:

  Thank you for the compliments, but I am not a writer. I am a buildings maintenance supervisor, which is a glorified way of saying that I’m a handyman.

  I have a staff of me, myself, and I, and “we” keep five apartment buildings in order in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn. Today I saved about two dozen people from having to use the restrooms at McDonald’s. It’s a long story involving a sewer line and a machine called a snake. I’ll spare you the details. I lead such a glamorous life, don’t I?

  I did shower before I started writing this. :~) I use Safeguard.

  For what it’s worth, Boerum Hill can be pretty glamorous. We’ve had a few actors and actresses living here, like Heath Ledger, Michelle Williams, Sandra Oh, Keri Russell, Anne Hathaway, and Emily Mortimer. I never saw any of them, but allegedly, they used to live around here or still live around here.

  They might have lived here for the restaurants on Smith Street. I can’t afford to eat at any of them, not that I would. They have such pretentious names, like Saul, Café Luluc, Bar Tabac, Apartment 138, El Nuevo Cibao, Char No. 4, and Lunetta. Isn’t Lunetta a drug for depression? Why can’t they name their restaurants Eats or Good Food or We Cook for You or We’ll Serve You? I know. Those names aren’t trendy enough. I’d much rather eat at a place called Delicious and Cheap than at Café Luluc any day.

  I look forward to seeing you on the little screen. I will have to buy a larger TV so I can see more of you. ; ~)

  Patrick

  7

  So he’s a Brooklyn man, Lauren thought while munching on some microwave popcorn. And a handyman, a workingman, a friendly, funny, “normal” man. I don’t know many of those. Come to think of it, I don’t know any of those. And despite what I’ve told him, he wants to see more of me. She checked the clock on her computer screen. It’s eight o’clock here, so it’s eleven there. He writes to me at the end of a long day of dealing with human sewage. He ends his day with me. That’s kind of . . . nice.

  And here I am, ending my day with him.

  Patrick:

  After the crap I’ve been through, no story you tell me can smell any worse. Thanks for taking a shower, though. : ) You do smell nice. ; ) I use Dove.

  I haven’t been to New York in a long time. It’s been almost 20 years, I think. I ended up in Brooklyn by mistake once. I took the wrong subway and almost made it to Coney Island before I realized my mistake. I met a lot of interesting people on the subway, though. Maybe I “met” you then, too?

  I did a little summer stage work—a little stage work—in New York half a lifetime ago. I was one of the people who sat in the background and faked talking. I was good at it. It takes skill to make pantomime look realistic. It’s kind of like being in Congress, huh?

  I used to sit onstage, mouthing the lines I was practicing for auditions for other plays. If anyone could read lips, it would have made them trip. I had a few walkovers in crowd scenes, and I once got to yell, “Hey!” I was only 19. I had to start somewhere. Then someone “noticed” me in a little Off-Off-Off Broadway (practically in New Jersey) play the summer before I was to graduate from Howard U., called a producer, I did a screen test, and in a few short months, I was in Hollywood.

  Thus ended my “career” on the New York stage, and thus began my movie career. And thus ended my college career, too. I suppose I could go back and get a degree now. It’s something to think about now that I have so much time to think. Believe it or not, I was an English major. Really. I can quote Shakespeare and everything.

  I did the reading for Gray Areas today, and I hated every second of it. My costar Barbie is young and eager, but the director is a certified idiot. He gave me scene 3 to read (which is as flushable as the first two) and introduced me to the actor playing my love interest. Ever hear of Gus Stanley? He’s twelve. Just kidding. He’s only twenty, and . . . (drumroll) he’s gay. I know because I also met his boyfriend today. I have since found out that the man playing the “gay guy” from scene 2 is straight.

  The ironies of show business, huh? What you see is not always what you get. And that reminds me of you know who, and I don’t want to go there tonight.

  So in this show I have to somehow fall in love and have “chemistry” with a gay guy and make it believable. The One Who Shall Remain Nameless Forevermore could have played this role to perfection. (I know! I said I wasn’t going to go there, and I did.)

  Patrick, if this show ever makes it to TV (and I have some serious doubts that it ever will), watch my eyes and read my lips when I’m not talking. You will “hear” me cursing and see me looking for an exit in every scene. I’ve had trips to the dentist that were more pleasant.

  I hope the sewers in Brooklyn give you a better day tomorrow.

  Thank you for caring. Really.

  Lauren

  8

  I got a wink, Patrick thought. A smiley and a wink. And she’s awake out in LA right now, waiting for my next e-mail.

  Patrick’s hands perspired freely.

  Well, maybe she’s not exactly waiting for me to respond. But if I write to her and she writes back again, Lauren Short and I would be “talking.” And in real time.

  Sort of.

  She left me so many openings. But should I wait and write to her tomorrow? That’s been our schedule. I don’t want to sound too eager, do I? I mean, I am eager. I got a wink! Yes! She thinks I smell nice. She thanked me for caring.

  I have to write back.

  “Talking” to her is becoming a physical need.

  He clicked the REPLY button.

  Lauren:

  Don’t feel bad about going the wrong way on a subway. A lot of people end up in Brooklyn by mistake, and most of them still live here.

  What happened to you is not nearly as bad as what happened to the dolphin that got lost and swam up the Gowanus Canal a few years ago. I wonder what that dolphin was thinking. Maybe it wanted to see some of Brooklyn’s fanciest houses before it died. Maybe it was looking for a good slice of pizza. Who knows?

  I grew up a few blocks from here, in the Gowanus Houses. I obviously don’t get out of Brooklyn much. I haven’t been to Coney Island since I was a kid.

  I’ve never seen a professional play or a musical. I’m sure you were an awesome mime. :~)

  I can’t afford to go to the theater on my pay. There are no cheap seats, and if you want to see the stage without binoculars, you have to pay up to $200. I tried to get work on a stage crew at the Brooklyn Academy of Music about seventeen years ago, but I didn’t fit the “profile,” I guess. I am a handyman, not a set designer or an artist.

  I do have some acting experience. That’s right. You’re talking to a former actor. I played one of the Cratchit children in A Christmas Carol at Silas B. Dutcher, P.S. 124, when I was in the third grad
e. I put this acting credit on all my résumés. It has gotten me loads of work. My telephone never stops ringing. . . .

  I didn’t have a speaking part, mainly because I couldn’t do a believable English accent. Once Brooklyn, always Brooklyn. I sang a few carols, though. Badly. I knew the words, but I couldn’t carry a tune. Thus began (and ended) my acting (and singing) career.

  I would have enjoyed trying to decipher your lips, though. Do you think any of those plays are on YouTube? I’d like to watch them so I could trip on your lips. That didn’t come out right. I’d like to trip on what you were miming.

  I think I know why they found such a young man to play your love interest in that TV show. You look young. You don’t age. What is your secret? And please don’t say mud baths. I’ve had too many of those to count.

  You should be the writer. You made me laugh after a long, exasperating day. It sometimes seems like the whole world is falling apart, but some laughter and a smile put it all back together again.

  You made me smile, too. Stopped-up sewage does not make me smile. It makes me want to rip out my teeth with pliers and sand my nose down with a belt sander.

  Thank you for caring, too.

  Patrick

  PS: Thanks especially for the wink. No one has ever winked at me. I hope you don’t mind if I wink back twice. . . . ;~) ;~) No, I don’t have something in my eye.

  Patrick waited an hour for Lauren’s reply.

  It didn’t come.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have winked twice.

  He shook his head as he turned out the light and dropped his head onto his pillow.

  What was I thinking? I wrote too much. I shared too much about myself. I should have asked her more questions. She has no real reason to write back now.

  Thus ends my conversation with Lauren Short.

  It was nice while it lasted.

  9

  Lauren waved at only two photographers the following morning, and they took only one picture each and quickly left in separate cars.

  I must be too happy again today, she thought. This is such a strange town.

  She arrived late to the studio and was immediately rushed to wardrobe.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We’re filming promos today,” a clipboard-carrying woman said.

  “We haven’t even read through all the scenes yet,” Lauren said. “We haven’t even had a full dress rehearsal.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” the woman said. “You’re a pro.”

  Lauren had major difficulty getting into the size 7 jeans her character was supposed to wear. If I had a shoehorn and some butter, this would be so much easier to do. In addition to stiletto heels and a loud red top with a plunging neckline, she wore more bling than a rapper.

  This is ridiculous! I’ll ring like a bell whenever I turn my head!

  Then Joanie, the makeup artist, painted her face in broad strokes.

  She’s trying to turn me into a white woman. “Stop,” Lauren said.

  “Almost done,” Joanie said.

  “I draw the line at three coats,” Lauren said.

  “Huh?” Joanie said.

  Lauren left her chair and approached the mirror. “I’ll do it. You’re trying to turn me into a white prostitute.”

  “You’ve never done any HD work before, have you?” Joanie asked. “We’ll be filming in HD, Miss Short. You don’t want any of your pores to show.”

  “I want my skin to be able to breathe, Joanie, okay?” Lauren said. “You’ve added three inches to my face.” And hidden all my beautiful brown skin. “Were you going to do my hands, too?”

  Joanie nodded. “And your neck.”

  That isn’t happening. “I prefer my own color, thank you.”

  “But they’ll be lining up shots while you rehearse,” Joanie said. “Today is promo day. They get on me if I don’t do my job.”

  “They told you to whiten me up,” Lauren said.

  Joanie nodded.

  Such foolishness. Lauren wiped off all the makeup before applying some eyeliner. “If they fuss at you, I’ll take the blame, okay?” She squinted in the mirror. Stupid crow’s-feet. I wish you crows would stop landing on me and doing the Macarena in work boots. “I’m ready.”

  “But, Miss Short,” Joanie said. “They’re expecting you to be . . .”

  Lauren stared at Joanie. “Whiter?”

  “Well, not so dark,” Joanie said. “It’s not my idea. I think you have a beautiful skin tone.”

  “Thank you,” Lauren said. “I’ll take the rap for this.” Lauren picked some lint from her top and squared her shoulders. This delicious piece of dark meat is ready to turn this turkey into a Thanksgiving meal.

  “That’s all you’re going to do?” Joanie asked. “Just some eyeliner?”

  “That’s all I need,” Lauren said. “This face still has some mileage left in it.”

  Lauren walked onto the set, and it wasn’t much of one. We’re filming an outdoor café scene indoors. Great. The budget for this show just shrank to half of what it should be to do this scene right. We should be outdoors! It’s a beautiful day. The natural light out there would make me look even younger.

  “Lauren,” Randy said, eyeing her closely, “you didn’t get to makeup.”

  “I did, Randy,” Lauren said, joining Barbie at a wrought-iron white table flanked by two white iron chairs. “But I didn’t appreciate the paint job. I had to take most of the paint off before it dried.”

  “But why?” Randy asked.

  “I looked ridiculous,” Lauren said. “I didn’t look a bit like myself.” She nodded at Barbie. “She’s not wearing much makeup.”

  “She isn’t the star,” Randy said.

  “Star or not, you will not make me look like a white woman,” Lauren said. “And, anyway, this is only rehearsal and something about promos, right?”

  Randy sighed. “The execs want to see a full scene or two today, so we have to be sharp.”

  “What is the rush?” Lauren asked.

  “Things move faster these days,” Randy said.

  “I haven’t been gone from this business that long, Randy,” Lauren said.

  “Actually,” Barbie said, “you have.”

  Lauren gawked at Barbie’s cleavage, most of which spilled out of her electric blue blouse. Those things will steal any scene I’m in. They look overinflated. She turned back to Randy. “What happened to rehearsing a scene until it’s perfect? We haven’t even blocked these scenes, Randy.”

  “There really isn’t much movement in the first scene,” Randy said. “You’re sitting and talking. What’s to block?”

  Lauren sighed. “There’s plenty to block. Hand movements, gestures, what camera to look at, getting dap—all these need to be blocked. We don’t even know how long we’re supposed to laugh or how long I’m supposed to stare at the white boy’s butt.”

  “Use your best judgment,” Randy said. “Go with the flow.”

  This is so unprofessional, Lauren thought. No wonder some TV shows these days aren’t much better than a high school play. “All right. I’m feeling sharp. Are you feeling sharp, Barbie?”

  “I’m ready,” Barbie said.

  Lauren shrugged. “Let’s do this.” She looked up and saw several microphones. “How sensitive are those mikes?”

  “They say they can pick up your stomach grumbling, girl,” Barbie said. “And try not to fart.”

  Randy pointed at a girl holding cue cards. “We’ll do a quick run-through with the cards.”

  “I don’t need them,” Lauren said. “Barbie?”

  “I’m good,” Barbie said.

  “Okay,” Randy said. “Let’s . . . do this.” He looked behind him. “Are we ready?”

  An army of sound technicians and camera operators nodded.

  “You’re on,” Randy said, and he moved behind the largest camera. “And . . . action!”

  Lauren looked to her right as Mike, the heterosexual white man, walked by. She dip
ped her head slightly to look at his butt. As soon as he was safely out of range, she said, “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  Barbie looked lost. “Um, lookin’ at a cracker don’t cost nothin’, Lauren.”

  “Cut!” Randy yelled. He stepped forward. “The line reads—”

  “I know what the line reads, Randy,” Lauren interrupted. “I can read. I don’t like the line, okay? My character doesn’t like the line. Your viewers won’t like the line. White people won’t like the line. Republicans won’t like the line.”

  Randy shook his head. “But, Lauren—”

  “Look,” Lauren interrupted. “He’s a man. He’s nice looking. A real woman wouldn’t say, ‘He’s nice looking . . . for a white man.’ She might not even say anything at all. She might only make a sound, like ‘mmm-mm.’ ”

  “Mmm-mm,” Barbie said. “He was hot.” She waved at Mike, who was putting on a pair of headphones. “You’re hot.”

  “Thanks,” Mike said.

  He works here? “Is Mike a sound tech?” Lauren asked.

  “He only has one part,” Randy said.

  How low budget is this show? Lauren thought. They have sound techs doing walkovers. “Ever?” Lauren asked.