. . . . My apartment was off Decatur, near the river. I was between a liquor store and a voodoo supply. I could conveniently shop the odd assortment of wines at Jimmy's or drop in at Rita's for herbs, gris gris and candles. Local real estate could be a mishmash of residential and commercial, eye candy and eyesore. Buildings seemed slightly askew, threatening implosion, cartoon-like: from the inside, seemingly spacious ---- from the outside, smallish, individual frontage mere slits in the block. N'awlins was sinking. The delta was eroding. The buffer zone was going. The big storm was coming . . . . >>

. . . The search could be a long one. The cyber streets and alleyways could be mean and ugly, reducing one to dark exchanges of information. I'd signed on to the www. looking for a simple thing, but the gist leaked through my brain-sieve. Hyper emoticons stalked me; badly dressed avatars tried to dance with me. Time occasionally slowed down and froze, signaled by a giant perpetual hourglass. There were mazes of rooms with strange labels on the doors. I found my way back to Main Street and had a drink. 'Use specific search terms' I wrote in my notebook. 'Don't chat with strangers'. . . . >>

 
 

“Oh, I absolutely love negative ionization. It makes me high!” Marilyn squealed. She wore a low-cut black silk dress and black heels. Her skin well took the sun. The tip of her nose had been shortened and narrowed; concavity below her cheekbones had been enhanced by the extraction of a few back teeth. Short platinum blonde locks contrasted with tan skin, like vanilla frosting on a caramel cake. The mole on the left side of her face seemed an asymmetrical  accent to her physical perfection. “Marilyn, darling, are you sure it’s not the margaritas?” Laughed her small blonde companion. “Truman!”  “Would you believe who’s here tonight? Am I hallucinating, or is that the president of the United States standing near the buffet table?” She laughed. “Perhaps you ARE hallucinating . . . “   >>

I was a writer in the doldrums in Southern California. Financially solvent yet artistically hungry, I was bummed at the thought of proposing yet another sitcom. If I had to write another show about baby boomer lawyers in love or white-bread GenX'ers, I'd go insane . . .  more >        . . . . Under a skylight I crawled on the hardwood floor and arranged three-by-five-cards. Breaking down a novel into key film scenes could be torture. How to effectively condense, yet retain meaning? I agonized. Many screen treatments in any case eventually suffered drastic re-writes; the further into the process one got, the less original meaning likely remained, until a work could appear unrecognizable. Casting-wise, Cate Blanchett and Jeremy Irons might devolve into . . . who knew? I thought the first scene would be of protagonist Claire giving direction on a film set. Scene two would begin a series of flashbacks Claire in the early years, as continuity person and script supervisor on various low-budget location films, including the comic relief of behind-the-scenes on horror films. Relationships would be broken into love scenes, interspersed with her industry climb and disappointments, climaxing in her Cannes win for Sighs And Whispers. I gathered my three-by-five cards, mixed them up, and threw them into the air. I spun and chanted as the cards fluttered to the floor. Not bad! I thought of their re-ordering . . . .  >>

 

. . . . "Lucille, don't look now, but there's a police car behind us." Lucille took a South left turn off an I-40 frontage road, cruising the gauntlet of low rent apartments and duplexes. They viewed a perversion of nature: harsh desert turned lush by extensive watering systems. Some homeowners simply rolled out astroturf. Others landscaped with stone. The streets were named of various shades; they wound up in a subdivision: Pastels. Light pink , green, yellow and blue ranch houses, rustic fencing, and swimming pools predominated on Cotton Candy Way. Butter Cream Court. Robin's Egg Lane. Easter Basket Circle. It was enough to induce nausea and dizziness. "Hey. I wonder where these girls are headed? Maybe we should pull 'em over on a pretense. Feel 'em out. Ask ‘em for their phone numbers! Ask 'em out for drinks! Our shift's almost over you know." "Yup." . . . . >>

 
 

. . . . Steve was suddenly talkative. “Lissen now, I have a little story! “Two guys are house-sitting in Marin County. A rustic little place in Larkspur. Great location. In the woods. Isolated . . .  “The decor left a lot to be desired, but what could they do? It wasn’t their place. Plaid upholstery, rust shag carpet, cheap dark wood paneling. Black velvet paintings of Elvis and bullfighters. Of dogs playing poker. Oh, the horror, the horror . . . “One night they’re sitting on the couch reading, and begin to hear noises outside. Bumping, scratching, and rustling noises resound near the house. They investigate, walking out onto the deck. The noises stop. They go back inside. The noises start again. “One guy goes back outside and says ‘Hey! Is anyone there? Don’t fuck with us. I have a gun!’ he lies. No response. He goes back inside. “Back inside, they resume reading, when . . . “ Thump thump THUMP THUMP go footfalls up the steps and across the deck!" . . . . >>

 
 
 

"Honey, I'm home!"Stuart let himself in and marveled at his surroundings. Minimalist Deco furnishings rested upon shag carpet. White tailored polyester drapes were drawn against the sun. Dark wood paneling and a faux stone fireplace helped to complete the decor.  After a dinner of hot dog casserole, iceberg lettuce and cherry Jello, Stuart and Donna  sat on the plastic-covered couch. Donna wore yellow baby doll pajamas. Stuart wore a t-shirt and boxers. As he clicked the television remote, a dark, intense man came on. " Portrait of a little woman with big dreams, one Annie T. Zimmer by name. A housewife  cursed to wander a physical universe where there is no end to dirt and drudgery. A woman for whom perfection is an impossible dream and who feels criticism like knives. A bitter woman who's never been able to capture realities more intangible than herself - respect, success, acceptance and love. Up ahead, an intersection of her desires, an entrance that leads to opportunity and . . . The Twilight Zone." >>

 
 

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