Beat 82: That’ll Take the Wind Outta Your Sails
Sheila sucked a few
gallons of snot back into her system, and took a deep breath. “O-okay.
I guess this is it, then,” she said to herself -- though more than loud
enough for Lloyd to hear from the floor below.
She reached into her shirt and pulled out a roll of papers. “Um…sorry you had to see that just now. Things can get a little…uh…weird when I’m
around.”
Lloyd’s eyes darted to
the wall. Sure enough, Deidre’s legs
still dangled from it like a mounted trophy.
“I can imagine. Although I am glad
you made your grand debut. Any more
delay, and I suspect I’d be little more than a smoldering smear.” He turned back to Sheila and nodded. “I’m thankful you decided to step in, Miss
O’Leary.”
“Y-yeah, well…um…you
know…” She pressed her fingers
together. “It’s just -- I-I’m kinda
responsible for this mess I’m in. I
mean, that girl is…well, she’s a part of me.
And I guess I need to start taking responsibility for her.” Her eyes shifted around the room. “But, um, I never thought I’d be doing that
in person. This whole thing is kinda
nuts -- I-I mean, I thought I was just coming here for an audition, and then
all of a sudden I’m drop-kicking my imaginary friend.” She scratched at her temple. “And I think there was something about you
turning into a girl…”
“Oh, so you saw that,”
Lloyd said with a nervous laugh. “Not my finest hour, that.”
Poorly-veiled insults seem to be part and parcel of Miss O’Leary’s dialogue,
Lloyd thought. But he waved a hand
through the air. “No matter. What’s important is that you’re here now, in the
flesh -- relatively speaking -- and the process can now begin in earnest. It may have taken quite some time to get
there, but we ARE there. And we can help
one another ascend to greater heights…provided, of course, you’ve the will to
let me help.”
“And the talent?”
“I don’t think you have
to worry about talent, Miss O’Leary. But
we’ll cross that bridge once we get there.”
“Do you think we can?”
“Honestly? I’m convinced you can do so yourself. But it’s always good to have a bit of
support.”
“I know what you
mean.” Sheila took a deep breath. “I-if you think I have a chance, then I…I’ll
do my best. But I’m gonna need your help
-- and lots of it -- if we’re going to do this.
So…you know, if you don’t mind, then…then…make me a…a…a…”
She fell to her knees
and buried her face in her hands. “I
can’t do it! It’s just too much!”
“Too much? You’ve got that wrong, Miss O’Leary!” Lloyd leapt out of the director’s chair, and
slammed his hands atop the desk. “You’re
so close! You’re only a word -- no, a syllable away! Don’t lose heart now; if you can beat your
imaginary friend, you can best any trial that comes your way!”
“But that’s just it,
sweet cheeks. She can’t beat me.”
Lloyd turned to the
wall -- and sure enough, Deirdre pried herself out of it with a heavy tug. As chips from the wall pattered against the
floor, she floated to the stage and landed a few yards away from Sheila. “As you can see, the two of us may share a
body, but we couldn’t be more different.
There are certain things that only one of us -- only I can do.” She cast a cool eye at Lloyd; to his dismay,
she’d long since regained her composure.
“You say that I’m all offense and no defense? And just what’s wrong with that? I don’t mind going on the attack if it’ll get
me what I want. The problem is that
Sheila here doesn’t. She’s all defense
and no offense; never moving, never acting on her own. Only reacting. Only holding out against whatever comes her
way. She’s not the kind of person that
can cross something off a grocery list, let alone any bridges.”
“You’re quick to
dismiss your other half, Miss O’Leary,”
said Lloyd.
“Can you blame me,
boy? You’ve pretty much got it right --
I was born because a lonely little girl wished for me to be born. And I was born to be strong for a girl that
couldn’t be. It’s been nearly a decade
since. That girl might have filled out,
but she still hasn’t grown up. So why
should I expect anything different now?” She knelt down and cradled Sheila’s chin in
the palm of her hand. “I say it’s time
for a little role reversal. That’s why
it’d be best if I take over from now on.
Sheila O’Leary should be the imaginary one -- the one that should fade
away. And when that’s done, Deirdre
O’Leary will take the world -- and hearts and minds -- by storm.”
Lloyd furrowed his
brow. “Miss O’Leary? Do you agree with that sentiment?”
Sheila raised her head
a few hairs. “I…I-I don’t know. I guess so.
I mean, she has a point…”
“Does she? You just
finished kicking your better half into a wall. And mere moments ago, you seemed resolved to
begin moving forward -- taking responsibility for your own actions, and taking
a stand in your life.”
“Was I?”
“Yes. Er…well…um…”
He rubbed his crown sheepishly.
“I might have inferred a few things here and there.”
But Sheila shook her
head. “S-sorry to get your hopes
up. But Deirdre’s right. I don’t have a chance. Not with you.
Not with anyone.” She held up her
stack of papers and unrolled them…or at least, what remained of them. They looked as if they’d been munched on by a
junkyard dog. “I…I only have half of the
script with me. Without that, this
audition’s pointless. There’s no way
I’ll be good enough, even for a guy with low-standards like you!”
Where is she pulling these insults from? But he shook his head rapidly. Never
mind that. It seems my rabbit-eared
rival is back to her old tricks. It
seems as if every time I try to start an offense against her, she endures and
returns to her usual composure -- her groove, as it were -- shortly after. Her defenses are almost unassailable -- and
even if she can’t directly attack me with her powers, all she needs to do to
win is force me into a stalemate. He
glanced at the exit -- still shrouded in thorny vines, just the way he liked
it. Or
if I’m unable to make a strong offense, she’ll just whittle Miss O’Leary down
and force her -- and most likely me -- into compliance.
He covered his
mouth. I may have been going about this in the wrong way. Calling in the real Miss O’Leary was a vital
step, no question. But I think -- or at
least hope -- I can see the error of my ways.
I can’t accommodate one or the other here. If I’m to succeed, I have to change my attack
pattern.
I won’t just be striking or supporting one or the other. If I want them to reconcile, I’ll have to be
the one to balance them first. And I
think I know just how to do it.
“Miss O’Leary,” said
Lloyd. “May I ask you a question?”
Sheila lifted her head,
but Deirdre stood up and stepped forward -- and nearly shoved Sheila onto her
side. “A question? For me?
Oh, so you want to know my three sizes?
Careful, boy -- that kind of information just might blow your mind.”
“There’s no need for
that. My question is this: when did you
begin to look like Miss O’Leary?”
“What kind of question
is that?”
“An important
one.” Lloyd crossed his arms. “There’s no denying that the form the two of
you have now is beyond extreme -- but even if it is, there was a point where
the mere concept wasn’t even a consideration. It took
a great deal of time and genetic delegation for her to become the woman she is
today. So in the meantime -- in, at the
basest, the one-year period between your birth and her growth -- what sort of
form did you take?”
Deirdre scoffed at the
thought. “Isn’t it obvious? I just looked like a young Sheila.”
“Did you really? I have my doubts. On the surface your claim is believable, but
I believe I can argue against it.” He
held up a finger. “From an outsider’s
perspective, that makes little sense. If
Miss O’Leary had such little confidence in herself that she couldn’t bring
herself to make a single friend, why would she create an imaginary friend in
her own image? To have a reflection of
her failures drift about her at all times?”
“Who knows? How should I know how a schoolgirl’s mind
works?”
“Actually, given that
you’re inexorably connected to Miss O’Leary, and can speak with her at your
leisure, I’d wager that you should know EXACTLY what she’s thinking at all
times.” He tapped his finger against his
elbow. “The only reason you’d suggest
otherwise is that you’re trying to protect yourself. Lying, as it were. Though I suppose if I wanted the truth, I
could turn to Miss O’Leary. I wonder if
she has a direct answer.”
Sheila lifted her head
a few centimeters -- but before she could say anything, Deirdre held a hand in
front of her face. “As if she could tell
you anything, boy. She’s too busy trying
to stop stuttering!”
“And were I to make a
claim about the truth -- and accurately, no less -- what would that mean for
you? Would your composure begin to crack
even more than it has now? Could you,
the purest offense, withstand a truth bred from mere reason?”
Deirdre kept her grin
intact, but Lloyd could see the tension in her face. “Do your worst, boy. You don’t have a single weapon against me.”
“Oh, but I do.” He gestured toward the faded quill -- once so
full of energy, but now more still than the average brick. “Until recently, Miss O’Leary was willing to
give you free reign, and act under your own forceful discretion. But from the time in which I first appeared
to this very moment, something unexpected has changed the particulars of the
struggle. And that ‘something’ is,
obviously, the appearance of the family matriarch.
“From what I could
gather, Miss O’Leary and the madam regularly have violent interactions. Whether that was by your suggestion or by
virtue of their deteriorating bond, that’s not the important point at the
moment. The key to this struggle is
nestled within the past; once upon a time, the mother and the daughter were
close friends, and only began to diverge as a practical joke went awry. Even so, certain bonds and certain lessons
could hardly be removed -- only concealed.
Hidden. Buried.”
“Elegant words,” said
Deirdre. “But what are you getting at
here?”
“My point is that even
if the mother and daughter should engage in some destructive arguments in the
present, there’s still a strong bond between them -- a bond born in, cherished,
and ultimately idealized in the past.”
Lloyd pressed a hand to his chin; he could still see the tension in
Deirdre’s face, but he’d long since noted the lack of it in Sheila’s. “An imaginary friend offers the chance to
create whatever the mind and heart desire -- either a representation of a
child’s dreams, or the zenith of a child’s standards. It makes little sense for a child to imagine
themselves when they can create something far greater. And at that point, the most ideal form to
imagine...”
He thrust a finger
forward. “Was none other than the madam
herself -- Jane O’Leary!”
Deirdre reeled in
shock. “N-no way! There’s n-n-no way that’s right!” She shivered as if she’d suddenly been dumped
into the arctic, and her back looked ready to give way; even her rabbit ears
started to droop and bend.
“There’s no better
answer. And judging by your reaction,
you’ve given me all the confirmation I need.”
Lloyd folded his arms and smiled brazenly. “Whether you were imagined as a young madam
or an older one, you were created in her image -- a tribute to the woman that
meant so much to Miss O’Leary. It was an
act of love, and respect, even if it would only be beheld by a single
girl. And as such --”
“Wait.”
Lloyd and Deirdre alike
froze in place. Sheila didn’t; with a
few sniffles and a brush at her frizzy bangs, she stood up and looked down at
Lloyd. “Miss O’Leary? What are you --?”
Sheila shook her head
slowly. “You’re wrong. You’ve got it all wrong.”
TO BE HEARTINUED…
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