1313 - Chapter V

A vast, dimly lit room is cluttered with stacks of books, files and papers strewn over the floor, tables and the bed. A parting of the mess reveals the back of a young man bent over a huge desk. He is writing furiously. A bust of Sir Isaac Newton dons a dusty, worn top hat and stands next to a large framed vintage print of Nicola Tesla and his coil. A large telescope pointing out a set of French windows doubles as a coat rack. A crackling sound comes over an antiquated intercom system.

ROSE MAY

            Darling? Harry? Are you there? It's three o'clock and she's not come back 

again today. That's over a week she's been missing.

HARRY

            Yes...curious.  I'll investigate.

Harry jumps from his desk and rifles through his mess, finding some binoculars. He moves to the windows, searching.

EXT.

Gabby walks slowly down the street in a daze, her knapsack drooping over her shoulder.  Her school uniform is more wrinkled than usual and her hair is a tangled mess.  She walks mechanically, without purpose, lost in sadness.

A car full of schoolmates pulls along side her, taunting her before speeding off.

She hangs her head and walks on. Until, seemingly out of nowhere…

HARRY

            Where have you been? My mother is worried sick.

Harry has appeared from over the wall of 1313 and stands blocking Gabby’s way. She is stunned and speechless at the sight of his beautiful face, shoulder-length chestnut hair and big black eyes.

HARRY (continued)

            You sit on the street corner for weeks drawing my house and as soon as             my mother invites you into the garden to get a closer look, you disappear? 

You’ve really upset her.

Gabby, feeling slightly dizzy, straightens her knapsack and finds her voice.

GABBY

            My mother's in the hospital.

HARRY

            I apologize. What’s wrong with her?

GABBY

            She fell and hit her head.  She’s in a coma.

HARRY

            That’s very upsetting. Do you want me to come 

with you?

Gabby is confused by Harry but comforted by his direct manner and thrilled by the intensity of his focus. 

GABBY

            Come with me to the hospital? Are you a doctor?

HARRY

            No...oh, my coat?  No, I wear this when I’m working.  

If you need an advocate, though, I will accompany you. 

Doctors can be a pompous clan with their secret nods and 

wild assumptions.  I hear you’re on your own. 

No father, like me.

GABBY

            We’re living with my aunt.  She’s waiting for me 

to take me to the hospital.

HARRY

            Very well. What’s happened to you mom is very unfortunate 

but you mustn’t stop your drawing, your work. 

We’ll be expecting you.

With that, Harry scampers up and disappears back over the wall. Gabby hears an awkward thump and bump from the other side and a mumbled “fucking hell” from Harry. 

EXT. – LATER

Gabby sits on steps of her aunt’s front porch.  She pulls her sketchpad out and flips through the pages, the drawings marking her history of past events.  She stops at the drawing of 1313, only half-done, and runs her raw, bitten fingers over the page.  Looking up, she soaks in the beauty and peace around her and smiles.  Her aunt appears with a glass of lemonade and joins her on the steps.

MAEVE

            What have you got there?

Gabby quickly returns her sketchbook to her knapsack.

GABBY

      Just some scribbles.

MAEVE

            How are you doing? Everything okay at school?  

How are things going with your finals?

GABBY

            Alright, I guess.  I have calculus next week I’m sure to fail.

MAEVE

            Why don’t you invite some of your friends over to study? 

I don’t mind. I’d love to meet them. Have you given any more 
thought to enrolling at the junior college? It's not that
bad, from what I hear.

Gabby takes a long sip of lemonade then breaks the awkward silence.

GABBY

            Aunt Maeve, do you know anything about that big, 

weird house at the corner of Star and Summer Street?  

It’s got a big stone wall around it and a copper roof? 

There’s lots of amazing plants and trees and...

MAEVE

            Oh, that crazy, spooky house? We used to joke the Addams 

family must live there.  I think it’s an eyesore and I am too spooked 

to walk past it.  It’s so out of place in the lovely, quiet

 neighborhood. My friend, Janet, lives around the corner. 

Janet says the   woman who lives there is a real bitch 

and very strange.  Very anti-social.  Janet says every year, 

about this time, the woman throws a huge party

 and all kinds of crazies show up.  Janet, who never gets invited, 

said one year the police came and arrested one of the guests

who’d been parading around the block stark naked

 banging some kind of African drum, 

shouting about a zombie invasion or something...

Gabby laughs, spilling her lemonade.

MAEVE

            It’s not funny, Gabby.  They could be dangerous people.  

And please don’t make such a mess.  Anyway, Janet says they’re 

anarchists. I guess the husband died quiet unexpectedly and left the 

woman, Rose, a boatload of money. He was a scientist or inventor 

or something… and a lot older than her. They had one child, a son, 

who was apparently sent away to a very exclusive boarding school 

in Paris? London? Somewhere…when he was quite young.  

Who sends their only child away to boarding school?
Sounds suspicious to me. Anyway, Janet’s never seen the boy, 

he’s all grown up now, of course, but she’s heard he is also very strange 

and is supposedly engaged to some kind of princess who is somehow

 related to the Crown Prince of Morocco? Dubai? Somewhere…

Gabby stops laughing and slowly pours the rest of her lemonade into a potted plant.

MAEVE

            Gabby!  Don’t do that. I made that lemonade for you. 

You’ll kill the plant and I just repotted it.  

I know you’re upset about your mother 

and the doctor’s don’t have a clue… 

we’re both left alone to deal with her mess 

but I’m trying my best, I really am.

Maeve bursts into tears, jumps up and runs back into the house, leaving Gabby alone on the front steps.

GABBY

Fucking hell, indeed.

Adopt an Alameda business. The need is urgent.

Hi, folks…I realize everyone is dealing with hardships during this Covid 19 invasion, but I wanted to still take a moment to ask you a favor. If you live/work/play in Alameda, CA or just have a soft spot for the Isle of Beguile for whatever reason, please support our local businesses in any way you can. 

Pick one or two of your favorite spots, contact the owner and ask how you can pitch in. Yes, order take out. Yes, buy an item online. But, if at all possible, please give them a cash donation! It is literally the only way some of our merchants will make it. Consider it an investment in your future fun.

It was reported this morning that as many as 50% of restaurants in major cities across the country may not survive this shut down. Can you imagine? What will Alameda look like, feel like, if we don’t all do our part to keep it up and running? We’ve all heard the stories on the news. By the time this shelter in place has lifted, many of our great shops and services may not have been able to navigate the shut down. Where will you get your burrito? Your donut? Sit and have a beer with your friends? Get your hair done-did? Buy your kids toys? Procure your lotions and potions? Attend a dance class? Get your car fixed?

Face it. You’ll have to leave the Island!!!!

At this point, there’s no way around it. If we don’t pull together to support all the great local shopkeepers, service providers, artists, butcher, bakers, candlestick makers…our lovely little city will suffer severely. 

We all benefit when we pitch in to make a difference. Take the initiative. Let’s pull together to rise up, flourish, and take pride in our town. Please. 

Love, PC

It's my birthday and I'll cry if want to!

April is my birthday month (woot woot to my fellow rams!)  I usually like my birthday because I take it as a day to dance a jig, have my cake and eat it, too. This year, as we all know, times are different, and I guess just about everyone this year will experience a Covid birthday.

When I say my new age out loud it tastes like a mouth full of rancid molasses and it sounds like a long, slow foghorn in the dark.  I’ve got to get past that. Can I still go out dancing five nights a week?  Naw. Po’ me! Will I ever get to Puma Punku? Not bloody likely.  Will I create a work that inspires the world? HA! That’s a good one.  

But, that’s not the end of the world, right?  By the time this Thing has receded, it will leave about 1.5M people in its wake that will never open their eyes again.  That’s the real world we live in now.

During the week leading up to my birthday, I considered joining the growing number of folks who are calling for a moratorium on birthdays during these virus-times.  Obviously, if you’ve seen me lately, the idea of skipping a birthday year and subtracting it from my age was very attractive.

Then, finally, the absolute ignorance of my “woe is me” hit like a truck full of broken ventilators (thanks for fixing ‘em, Gavin!) on Easter Sunday. This birthday, more so than ever, is a time to relish the idea of surviving yet another successful trip around the sun.

Rather than lamenting all the hopes and dreams that now fade into the proverbial sunset, I am getting off my ass and getting the doable ones done.  In my personal Rite of Spring, I will be transformed and born again.  Not in a Jesus way - in a human being way.  Time will be my new friend, and a welcomed one at that. 

Looking forward, more risks will be taken, more triumphs, as well as trip ups (big and small) will be celebrated, and I will greet more people on the street than ever before!  Well, at least I’ll give it my damnedest. Who cares and why not? As of this writing, I’ve got some time.

I'm proud to say I will not/did not cry on my birthday.  I'm a big (really big) girl now!

1313 - Chapters I - IV

Chapter One

On a Spring afternoon

GABBY sits outside on the curb of a residential street corner, sketching furiously in a large notebook and periodically stealing glances at something in the distance. Across the street, we see the address of a grand house, 1313, with a lush, overgrown garden and a copper rooftop. GABBY stops sketching to look at her watch and moves to quickly gather her things. Standing, we see she is wearing a school uniform. She takes a long, wanting look at the house at 1313 then suddenly takes off on foot, quickly moving past the house, down the block and down the street.

Two women stand in a well-appointed kitchen, arguing.  The older, well-dressed woman, MAEVE, grabs a wine bottle away from the younger, disheveled woman, GRACE. GABBY enters the kitchen, tossing her satchel on to the kitchen table. The two women stop arguing as MAEVE attempts to hide the wine bottle from GABBY. Neither of the women acknowledge GABBY. GRACE grabs the bottle back from MAEVE, dramatically pours herself a very large glass of wine, then storms out of the room in a huff, taking the bottle with her.  Defeated, MAEVE turns her back on GABBY and leaves the room through a different door.

Evening
Still in her school uniform, GABBY sits on a bed in a sparsely furnished, monochromatic room. Daylight is fading as she draws in her notebook. She continues without turning on a light, oblivious to the growing darkness. At the top of her sketch of a very tiny woman holding a very large wine bottle, she writes: My Mom Sucks.

Chapter II

The next day

GABBY wanders the busy, noisy halls of a Catholic high school. Her hair is a mess, her uniform, wrinkled. She looks around, unsure of her surroundings. She is teased by classmates so she goes into the bathroom to hide.  In a stall, GABBY anxiously bites the sides of her fingers that are already red, raw and scabby from compulsive biting. Drawing blood, she rifles through her satchel and finds BandAids. She struggles to wrap and hide her mangled fingers.  Her satchel tips over and the contests spill out, scattering around her feet. Among the candy wrappers, pens, and random items, her wallet falls open revealing a photo of a smiling, handsome man in army fatigues, saluting.

Afternoon.
GABBY slowly walks home from school, passing rows of million dollar homes with razor sharp lawns framed by bright, beautiful flowers and driveways full of expensive, shiny cars.  She stares up at the trees and smiles at the row of crows following her down the telephone lines. Reaching her destination, she sits at the curb, makes herself comfortable and reaches into her satchel for her sketchbook.

An excitable man, FREDDIE, and an elegant woman, ROSE, stand peering out the living room window of 1313, observing GABBY sitting across the street. ROSE is charmed by the sight of GABBY. FREDDIE is suspicious of GABBY and believes she is there stalking ROSE’S son, HARRY.

FREDDIE storms out of 1313 and briskly walks across the street to confront GABBY who sees him coming and fumbles to make a quick getaway.  Amused, ROSE watches from the window as FREDDIE sternly questions GABBY.  ROSE sees GABBY slowly hand FREDDIE her sketchbook. FREDDIE, takes a long look at the sketchbook and shifts from grand inquisitor to friendly salesman, shaking GABBY’s hand. They chat for quite a while as ROSE continues to spy from across the street.

ROSE meets FREDDIE at the door, blocking his reentry into 1313. FREDDIE tells ROSE he is relieved to learn GABBY is not madly in love with HARRY, she’s madly in love with the house! He goes on to fill ROSE in on all the information he managed to get out of GABBY, ending with a detailed and dramatic description of the beautiful sketch of 1313 GABBY is working on.

ROSE smiles knowingly and dismisses FREDDIE, reminding him he needs to get back to his office and start working on hiring the vendors for her party.

Chapter III

The next day

ROSE is out tending her front garden, humming Mozart, wearing a chic outfit with an elaborate hat. She spots GABBY arriving at the corner across the street, preparing to resume her sketching. ROSE squints, looking up at a second-story window of 1313 at the west side of the yard. ROSE then suddenly marches off in the direction of GABBY, tossing her gardening gloves on the ground.

Upstairs bedroom.

GRACE sits with a drink looking out a window, watching MAEVE gardening in the beautiful backyard.  GRACE’s face is drawn and red from crying. She drunkenly makes her way into the bathroom and starts opening drawers and cabinets, desperately looking for something.

Outside.

MAEVE gets a call on her cell phone and carefully removes her gardening gloves before answering.  She is happy and excited to hear from the caller and takes a seat on a pretty bench framed in colorful blossoms.  

MAEVE tells the caller her sister is driving her mad because GRACE’s drinking is getting worse and explains she can’t kick her sister out because GRACE has nowhere else to go.  MAEVE tells the caller GABBY is attending St. Joseph’s High School and believes she’s doing well, making new friends. There is a discussion about sending GRACE to rehab and the cost, and MAEVE hints to the caller she could use some extra money to cover for all the extra expenses of having her sister and her niece staying at the house.  The call takes an abrupt turn and MAEVE shouts into the phone about abandonment and betrayal and quickly hangs up, throwing the cell phone into a rose bush.

Back in the bathroom.

GRACE lies on the floor, blood pooling around her head.

Back at 1313.
ROSE has confronted GABBY, who stares up at ROSE from the curb. ROSE is direct and to the point, telling GABBY the next time she wants to come sketch, she must stop sitting in the gutter and do her sketching from the comfort of the front garden. GABBY is in awe of the sight of this very beautiful and confident lady who’s just invited her beyond the rock walls of 1313.

ROSE looks up at the house and points to a second story window, telling GABBY that is her son's floor of the house and GABBY should not be troubled if she should catch HARRY staring down at her from the window - adding he is not a deviant, but just like his dearly departed father, HARRY is a student of the human condition. GABBY nods her head without speaking as ROSE marches back toward 1313, back to her gardening.

GABBY dreamily walks the quiet streets, touching the picket fences and stopping to play with a cat. She is in no hurry to get back to her aunt’s house and her lonely room. She is smiling, lost in a dream, soaking in all the peace and beauty around her.

Chapter IV - The House

Two mature white birch trees mark the corner of Star Way and Summer Avenue and the entrance to the house at thirteen-thirteen.  The trees, like a pair of old hands with thin, spindly fingers reaching up out of the soil, each bear a plaque strung with wire revealing a name. The tree on the left is Cosette.  The tree thirteen feet to the right is Marius. 

The walls surrounding the house reach six feet high and are made of blue-grey and white stones, quarried from the Preseli hills of Wales.  Inset at the front opening of the wall are four Cordovan tiles of gold and green framed in hammered copper, proudly displaying the numbers, one–three-one-three.  Copper, a conduit of heat and electricity, is prominently featured all over the house and grounds. 

Two tired but loyal, 18^th century gas street lamps bookmark the intricate, pre-civil war entry gate of antebellum cast iron corn stalks and honeybees. The gate, almost always left ajar, suggests “enter...or don’t.”

Through the gate, a path of slate gently winds through an overgrown, dense front garden. The garden is seemingly littered with exotic, painted pots of all shapes and sizes bursting with unusual, bright and robust plants and flowers.  A worn, old church pew faces a cracked marble fountain of angels in battle. The chaos of the garden is misleading as a variety of trees and shrubs reveal topiary of animals and odd shapes meticulously maintained.

The house has two distinct entryways.  Mid-garden, the slate path splits to a narrower path leading to the east wing of the house, ending at the foot of a grand, wrought iron spiral staircase. A chain strung across the railings prohibits entry to the staircase by a notice scrawled on the back of an old license plate reading: Stairway to Hell. Six sharp twists lead up to the third story and a row of pretty French windows on either side of a shiny black door. A large brass ship's bell hangs above the door frame.

The main pathway continues straight to the slate steps of the modest-sized front porch.  Just three shallow steps lead to the landing, spared of any clutter so as not to detract from the spectacular, magical front door.

The massive copper portal, three times the size of average front doors, is rounded at the top and streaked with tears of green, brown and gold patina. The smooth surface is pocked with rusty railroad ties, hammered in to form the shape of a large L in broad, cursive font. The massive tungsten doorknob is the head of Api, the bull deity of ancient Egypt.

At the base of the front door, almost imperceptible, hand written in gold leaf as if by an elf, is the tiniest inscription, “No mere mortals beyond this door!”

(To be continued...)