Gloves Off: Round XXV

A boy's best friend is his...

Today we’ll take a longer look at Beautiful Children by Victor De Anda

To read the story as originally published, please click here.

Beautiful Children

“Don’t just stand there,” Laura said. “Let’s move inside before we get spotted pinched.”

Carly stared at the green wooden door. It looked as old as the rest of the Wiltern Theatre. Weathered, with hints of white primer underneath. Taped to it was a hand-written sign in black Sharpie: “Artist Green Room - Tom Weyburn.” 

Laura took a swig of her champagne. “Jesus, just open the fucking door already.”

My Comments: First I put the attribution in the middle of your opening quote so that the line ends on the most powerful note. For tension, we should see something at stake. As for the champagne, particularize it. A glass or a bottle? What kind of glass? How does the room smell?

Carly turned the knob and pushed, revealing the green room within. She glared over her shoulder at Laura. “Can we go to our seats now? I’m not getting arrested for this shit.”

“You’ve got the hots for Tom Weyburn, not me.” Laura shoved Carly into the room and locked the door behind them with a click. After checking out the surroundings, Laura stumbled over to the closet. “See? Nobody here.”

My Comments: All good. But the faster we get to Emma, the better. The two characters don’t seem concerned about getting caught, so it’s hard for the reader to feel fear on their behalf. What’s at stake?

Just two hours before, they were camped out in the VIP Lounge, slurping glassfuls of Dom Pérignon and munching on antipasto skewers. Sneaking into Weyburn’s dressing room was Laura’s idea. Just a quick detour, she promised.

The air in the room was stale and Carly was losing her patience with Laura. “I wanted to watch Weyburn perform, not break into his fucking dressing room.”

“It’s your birthday, bitch. You deserve this.” Laura rifled through the shirts hanging in the closet. She found one she liked and stuffed it into her tiny purse. 

My Comments: We don’t need to pop out for the backstory. Keep us in scene. Unpack “stale.” Is it like a used-clothing shop smell? A pipe tobacco smell? As always describe the room according to the describer’s associations. Carly sniffed the stale air, the smell of her fourth-form maths teacher with psoriasis, a smell he tried to cover up with Bay Rum cologne. And unpack the purloined shirt, let’s see it.

Green rooms tend to have stupid amounts of food and booze. Those would be good props to give your characters things to do.

“Now you’re stealing clothes?” Carly scanned the room for any hidden security cameras.

Laura rolled her eyes. “You think Weyburn’s going to miss one shirt? Seriously?”

“Is this what you do at my place when I’m not looking?” Carly said.

“I only borrow clothes from you, babe. I always return them.”

My Comments: First, attribution. You never want the reader to get confused and have to count backward to understand who’s said what. Also, this sequence is a little tennis-matchy. It doesn’t raise tension or at-stake-ness. Instead, consider something more like:

“Did you hear something?” Carly scanned the room for any hidden security cameras.

Laura rolled her eyes. “You think Weyburn’s going to miss one shirt? Seriously?”

“My mother was right about you,” Carly said.

“What did your mum say?” Laura asked. She took another shirt off its hanger, but let it drop to the floor of the closet. “Not that your mum’s anybody.”

“I’m heading to our seats,” Carly said. She checked her watch. “The show started an hour ago, what the hell are we doing here?”

“We’re getting ready for his arrival.” Laura staggered over to the cracked leather couch in the center of the room and began pulling up the seat cushions to check for any hidden treasure. “Once he comes in after the show, you just tell him it’s your birthday. Then I’ll leave the two of you two alone and—holy shit.”

Laura pulled out a fat Ziploc bag full of weed from under a cushion and waved it in Carly’s face. “Jackpot. Time to spark one up.”

“You’re on your own, I’m leaving.”

My Comments: You never really need to say why a character is doing something. Just show the actions. That raises tension and questions in the reader’s mind. The results pay off the action. Let the reader realize the Why. When Carly seems about to leave (attribution!) have her touch the lock to remind the reader that the door is locked from within.

Laura pleaded with her best puppy dog eyes, which were already bloodshot from the joint they had smoked earlier. “It’s Weyburn’s stash, we’ve got to try some. Pleeeease?” Laura grabbed some rolling papers from her handbag. “Don’t be such a buzzkill.”

My Comments: Be careful to not restate something we know.

“I’m the party pooper?” Carly said. “You got us front row tickets for this show and now you don’t even want to see it?”

Laura pinched some weed out of the bag. “Your mum hates me. You can say it.”

Carly reluctantly took plopped into a seat at the makeup table next to the couch. “One more joint. I mean it.”

Laura twisted the ends of her new spliff. “Where’s the party girl I used to know?”

“She’s long gone.”

“No she’s not, she’s hiding in there somewhere, I just know it.”

My Comments: This might look harsh, but such smooth back-and-forth dialog undermines the situation: Two women trespassing, stealing, and doing drugs. If anything, it might be good to have Laura say something to the effect of: “What you heard just now, did it sound like a little voice?” To have both characters remark on a faint sound will make Emma seem more organic to the story. In Minimalism you can’t just add a character at the midway point

“Want my advice? Don’t get married.” Carly peeled off her jacket to feel cooler in the dank air. 

“So your ex-husband turned out to be an asshole,” Laura said. “You’ve still got time to get your groove on.”

Carly shrugged. “Not according to the news and the TV. Everything’s going to shit and I can’t even get laid.”

My Comments: Again, careful. Such casual conversation wrecks your tension. They seem awfully comfortable. Consider that in many green rooms there’s a monitor that shows the stage. If you put such a monitor in the room then Weyburn would be present, performing. Carly could describe his looks and body. The camera might even show us two empty seats near the front—where our women ought to be. Keeping Weyburn in the scene—on the monitor—would add a good extra dynamic.

On the monitor, Tom says, “This one is for Emma” and goes on to sing his hit love ballad, Emma. This will stoke the pay-off.

Laura searched her purse for a lighter. “It’s 1999 and the world’s ending, right? You just need to get out more, that’s all.”

“Did I tell you Darren’s already moved in with what’s her face?” Carly said.

Laura frowned like she was sucking on a lemon. “Forget about your ex. You don’t need that dipshit inside your head anymore.”

“No, I don’t. But he keeps finding his way back.”

 “Take it from me,” Laura said. “All I need is some good dope and a bottle of booze.” 

My Comments: Again, pretty chatty. But if at some point Carly saw the stage on the monitor was empty, she could panic. He might be coming back for a costume change. That crisis would resolve a beat later as he reappeared on stage, but it keeps the threat of getting caught very real.

“And look where that’s gotten you.” Carly huffed. “You hot in here? I’m burning up.” 

“Just get naked, girl. That’ll surprise the hell out of Weyburn when he comes back.” 

Carly giggled and spotted a six-pack of Aquafina on the makeup table. “I need something to drink.” She cracked open a bottle and guzzled it. The water was lukewarm, but she didn’t care.

Laura found her lighter and sparked up. She took a few hits and then offered the joint to Carly. “Here, try some. This shit’s good.”

“I changed my mind,” Carly said. “You go ahead.”

My Comments: The dope should’ve been smoked half a page ago. Emma is the magic of this story, so we need to get to her faster, much faster. When Carly refuses to smoke, consider Laura getting physical. Laura chest-bumps Carly and blows the smoke in her face. That would create tension between the two friends.

Laura’s eyebrows arched upward. “Bitch, just take a hit. I dare you.”

“What, we’re back in third grade now?”

“You always were the nice girl in school,” Laura said. “Such a Goody Two Shoes, even in college. How’d that work out for you, huh? I’ll tell you.”

“Shut up.”

“You didn’t even kiss a guy until you were eighteen. Am I close?”

“Stop it.”

“And you lost your virginity when you were twenty-three. Does that sound right?”

“Fuck you, give me that joint.” Carly snatched it from Laura’s fingers. She took a long, slow hit, inhaling as much smoke as she could. Pursing her lips, she exhaled without coughing at all. It felt good. 

“Damn girl, leave some for me,” Laura said.

Carly handed back the joint. “This stuff is smooth.”

Laura studied the blunt’s glowing tip. “Right?” 

My Comments: Enough dialog. Consider going to an action sequence. Laura pins Carly and blows smoke. Or Laura goes to a fire alarm and places her hand on it as if ready to pull it, while offering the joint to Carly. We’ve seen so much dialog already. A sequence of just actions would be a good contrast. And the silence would be justified because Laura is holding smoke in her lungs so she can’t talk.

“Why is it so damn hot in here?” Carly put the Aquafina bottle to her mouth and drank, but lost her grip, spilling water everywhere. The front of her blouse was soaking wet. “Goddamn it.”

Laura sputtered. “You are such a fucking klutz.”

“Shut up,” Carly said, blotting her top with facial tissues.

Laura sat on the couch and leaned back. She took another hit and exhaled, watching the smoke float up through the air. “Wow. Those ceiling squares up there are moving around like Scrabble tiles. You see that?”

My Comments: Not every line of dialog needs to be answered. You’ll get more tension by not answering. Instead show the other character doing something.

“I don’t see anything, you’re fucking stoned.” Carly hobbled over to the bathroom and plucked a hand towel off the rack. She dabbed her face dry and studied her blouse in the mirror. “Now this top is fucking ruined, it’s dry clean only.”

“Just go with it, man,” Laura lay sprawled on said from the couch.

Carly removed her wet shirt and placed it on the bathroom counter. The lacy black bra she was wearing felt damp on her skin, so she slipped it off too. Without warning, a chill ran through her body, as if a wave of cool water had washed over her. The white-tiled walls expanded and contracted like the bathroom was alive and breathing. She grabbed the door jamb for support and poked her woozy head out of the bathroom. “Bitch, what’s this weed been cut with?” What had that weed been cut with?

My Comments: We need a lull here. Carly goes to the monitor and turns down the sound, she walks around the room listening. Again, she says, “Do you hear that?” It will prime the appearance of Emma.

Laura was fast asleep on the couch and snoring like a drunken sailor.

Carly heard someone speaking. A tiny voice spoke.

“Help me,” the tiny voice said, sounding like a cartoon mouse. The voice was female, with a British accent. “Save me.”

The voice sounded muffled, like it was behind something. Carly checked the shower and inside the toilet, but found nothing. It had to be the weed playing tricks on her.  

The voice called again. “I can’t breathe.” 

My Response: This story only works because of Emma. Now you’ve got a discovery process going—the search—and you’re going to pay off the faint sounds you’ve alluded to. Good, great. Would you consider killing Laura? I’m kidding but I’m not. The story might work better if Carly enters the room alone, finds the dope, finds Emma, and it’s Carly and Emma the whole time.

It was coming from one of the bathroom drawers.

Carly yanked them open, one after another. 

Tucked inside the last drawer was a long, cylindrical shape covered in toilet paper, like a mummy. She picked up the object and delicately unwrapped it when her eyes went wide. It was a Fleshlight. 

My Comments: Make the thing another thing before you make it THE thing. See the link, here. What Carly mistakes it for, at first, will tell us about her. Then, as stale spunk dribbles out the open end, she’ll be confused. Let the reader realize what it is. Or, let the Fleshlight introduce itself. “Hello, my name is Emma. I’m molded to replicate exactly the vagina of Stormy Daniels.” Then later, “I’m a Fleshlight.”

“Much better, thank you. I was burning up in there,” the Fleshlight said, its lady parts opening and closing like a mouth would. “You hot too?”

Carly dropped the sex toy onto the floor with a thud. “What the fuck?”

“Ouch!” the Fleshlight said. “Bloody hell, this floor is filthy.”

My Comments: This sequence is magic! I adore it. That’s why all of this needs to begin much earlier. Don’t forget to mention the singer on the monitor. The moment you hear knocking at the door, Carly must look up in horror and see the stage is empty.

Carly looked down at the device. “Are you really talking to me?”

“Of course I am. Give me a hand?”

My Comments: Even sex toys need attribution. And show us the dirty floor. Boot prints? Pubic hairs? What? Piss around the toilet?

Carly picked up the Fleshlight and placed it on the bathroom counter. She had never talked to a sex toy before. seen one up this close before. A memory popped into her head. Near the end of their marriage, Carly’s husband wouldn’t even touch her. No kissing, either. But he had the balls to ask for a Fleshlight on his birthday. Instead, she gave him a divorce. 

“That’s much better,” the Fleshlight said. “My name’s Emma.”

“I’m really high,” Carly said.

“When’s Tom coming back?”

Carly studied Emma’s contours and touched her rubbery genitalia with a finger. A small gob of come oozed out, coating her finger. “Did you and Weyburn—-you know—” 

My Comments: Let the stale spunk ooze out, but don’t name it. Naming it kills the tension. The reader will recognize it instantly and will squirm as Carly puzzles over it, sniffing it. Is it warm? Tom would tell you to particularize your spunk.

“Well of course, luv. That’s what I’m here for. We had a shag about an hour ago. It’s not like he shares me with anyone else, though. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Of course not.” Carly studied her wet finger and pictured Tom Weyburn using Emma to get off, his “O” face filling her vision. She sniffed her finger, a heady mix of citrus and ammonia filling her nostrils.

“You fancy Tom, do you?” Emma said.

“I find him attractive, yes.”

“I thought so. But you’re not like the others at all.”

My Comments: As always, attribution.

Carly frowned. “Others?”

My Comments: Again, you don’t need to answer dialog with dialog. Usually responding with a gesture or facial expression is stronger.

“Many women have snuck into Tom’s dressing room. You’re different though.”

“Really, how?”

Emma’s vaginal lips puckered for a second, as if lost in thought. “You seem sad.”

Carly felt her skin get hotter. “You’re just a toy that Tom uses to get off with and I’m stoned, that’s all.”

“I’m special,” Emma said. “And you are too, I just know it.”

My Comments: Can Emma know it’s her birthday? Hey, this is magical realism, and it could all be hallucination. I’d love to see a rubber vagina sing “Happy Birthday.”

Carly huffed. “You don’t fucking know me.”

“Oh, but I do. Tell you what.” Emma smiled. “I know it’s your birthday.”

Carly’s face turned into a frown. “What.”

“You want Tom. Am I right?” The lips of the pink vagina began to sing, “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Carly…”

“This was a mistake, I’m leaving.”

“Not so fast,” Emma said. “You can have Tom. As your present.”

My Comments: I’ve taken some liberties here, but Emma needs to grow her part.

Carly struggled to understand. “What the hell do you mean?”

Emma’s lips moved from side to side like she was swishing after brushing her teeth. “Take more of his spunk. It’s the next best thing, right?”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“I’m serious, luv. There’s plenty where that came from.”

My Comments: Delightfully disgusting. But attribution, for example: “I’m serious, luv.” The pink lips spat out a grey gob. “There’s plenty where that came from.”

A warm wave washed over Carly, setting her body tingling. She picked up Emma and stuck her index finger into the flesh-like tube. It was still moist inside. She withdrew a glistened forefinger and examined it, the wetness sparkling in the bathroom light. 

“Imagine you’re with him,” Emma said.

Carly rubbed circles on both her breasts with the wet finger, leaving viscous trails on her naked skin. 

My Comments: Don’t be afraid of whispering. “Imagine you’re with him,” Emma whispered. Or revisiting Stormy Daniels. She slid her fingertips along the internal whorls and nodes that replicated those of porn legend Stormy Daniels.

And it would be sweet to suspect that Emma is getting off on being finger banged by Carly.

“There you go,” Emma said. purred.

Carly reached into Emma’s crevices for more fluid. She traced her belly button with a damp finger. “I do want Tom.”

“You deserve him, darling,” Emma said. murmured.

Carly slid her wet finger along the waistband of her panties and plunged it even lower. She closed her eyes and imagined being in bed with Tom Weyburn, his weight on top of her. His skin pressed on hers, both of them exploring each other’s naked bodies.

My Comments: All good. I just want to sex up your attribution, here.

“That’s it, let go,” Emma said.

A jostling sound interrupted Carly’s reverie, her eyes snapping open. Someone was trying to get into the dressing room.

A knock. A pounding came from the green room door. The knob rattled. Carly’s eyes snapped to the monitor, where the stage was empty. The crowd milled about, pulling on their coats.

Carly propped Emma on the counter and walked out to the couch. Laura was still curled up and snoring with her mouth wide open. The doorknob rattled, followed by a more thunderous pounding on the door.

“Somebody in there? This is my dressing room.” It was a man’s voice.

My Comments: All good. You’ll get extra points if Emma kills Laura.

Still half-naked, Carly tiptoed across the floor and threw the door open. Tom Weyburn stood there, sweaty and surprised. He glanced at Laura passed out on the couch, then at Carly’s shimmering bare breasts. He gave her a puzzled look. “What the hell—“

Carly smiled, holding up her wet finger. “Hi Tom, I’m Carly. We’re going to have beautiful children together, I just know it.”

Tom took a deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “We need to talk about Emma.”

Faint and far away, the singing started. In a soft British accent, “Happy Birthday to you…”

My Comments: A fantastic story, but the fantastic starts pretty late. A drugged-out girl having girl talk with a sex toy is lovely. If anything, I’d like to see the Fleshlight ask for a drink—a girlie cocktail—and a few hits on the joint. Carly and the Fleshlight sit on the sofa and watch Tom perform on the monitor. Carly might even pour her heart out to Emma.

While I won’t tolerate soul-searching tennis-match dialog between people, I might enjoy it between a person and a tug toy. Emma might also admit that she can’t give Tom what he truly wants… kids. As they watch the monitor together, Emma wistfully says, “Did you know he wrote a song for me?”

I recommend you keep the possibility that Emma is a hallucination. That’s the magic of The Haunting of Hill House—yes, there might be ghosts, but Eleanor might just be nuts. Thus, Tom can’t have that closing line where he names Emma. That’s why I used some call-back humor to let Emma close the scene.

You might also consider a quick shock joke. As Carly is applying semen to herself, Emma can say, “Now girlfriend, you’ve got herpes!” At the sight of Carly’s frozen horror, Emma says, “Just pulling your leg. It’s rather my job, isn’t it, leg pulling?” The faint chance of venereal disease needs to be hinted at.

Beyond that, good job.

And, thank you!