Romance / When Will I Wake Up? -Chapter Three
Chapter Three
The long hot hazy days of summer dragged things out considerably. The rerun season passed as slow as a dump truck caught in the rain struggling up a steep incline overflowing with dirt turned to mud as Josie waited impatiently for June 7th to bring her ultimate vacation with it. Bug-eyed she became glued to the television set since every rerun of The World on a Platter was now a potential tourist template for her to trace. With her face splattered against the screen she took notes of the choicest gourmet restaurants to feast at, the sights, smells, and sounds not to be missed, and every little nuisance she could possibly absorb. Now, more than ever, Josie was putting her working-girl’s feet into the expensive designer high heels of the lucky beautiful people who had walked the privileged streets and hallways where she always wanted to strut her stuff.
Many women wake up at a point in their lives only to discover they’ve outgrown romance, only it wasn’t by choice. Seems the better half has a tendency to cave in to their hubbies’ taking them for granted. Seems lazy-ass men only want to make an effort until they can get away with not doing so. Jessie’s romantic notions had all come back to her now; she wasn’t going to give them up again without a fight. Americanized Jessie only hoped and prayed that overseas things would be different; that foreign men still knew how to treat a woman right-old world charm and chivalry with a dash of modern promiscuity. She had no intention of coming home as pure as the day she left, not if she could help it.
No one gets to have their cake and eat it too. Of course she reluctantly realized it was more than likely every destination the show had already had sent someone to was one she would never set foot in. Still when the Paris episode replayed she hoped she was wrong, the “City of Love” was her first choice even if it was completely out of her sweating hands. The Notre Dame Cathedral, the Arc de Triomphe, the Sorbonne, the fabulous Left Bank, the historic Bastille, the Louvre, not to forget the dance-halls, cafes, restaurants, and shopping. Oh la la the French fashions, food, art, culture, and the most romantic language on the face of the planet; it just doesn’t get any better than that! The little girl within her watched impishly with a mixture of adventure and despair, half the time rallying to new heights dreaming of the heavenly view atop the Eiffel Tower, the other half hitting new lows considering the odds of something that spectacular actually happening. East Bank, West Bank, she imagined dragging her fingers across the River Seine only to be torpedoed before they could dry; walking in awe along the same footsteps as such greats as Hemingway, Picasso, and Stravinsky only to find herself having to settle for stomping on the less beaten path of the unknowns. Similar hope-raising and dashing rollercoaster rides were taken when the London, Venice, and Rome episodes hit the air for their second time. It was pure torture…and delightful pleasure, agony and ecstasy.
Making a long list and checking it thrice, the soon-to-be world traveler made a record of all her favorite possible destinations. Trying to guess exactly how game shows strived for maximum ratings she removed one city at a weekly time from her possible destination. By the time May was coming to a close Josie had all but ruled out Italy, France, England, and Spain. She had no idea of where they might be sending her, she had great expectations nonetheless. Ratings required the show be interesting to keep the beloved audience appeased and Cottonpatch, USA wouldn’t cut it. Neither would the middle of nowhere on the opposite side of the globe. Third world countries were far too depressing. And terrorist hot spots would give the insurance companies liability ulcers. Or at least that’s how Josie saw it.
Little was made evident in the winner’s circle other than the fact she had the right to be tortured. Time trickled through that imaginary hour glass in Josie’s head one single solitary grain at a time, nonetheless it did pass. That exotic city wish list shrank at an alarming rate, 40 cities dwindled down to less than a dozen. On June 1st the show finally called to confirm she would be at home on the 7th. The producer’s assistant told her to wear something nice, a little cleavage and tooth whitening wouldn’t hurt, a lot would be very much appreciated as she would be on camera, but held back on any other details. Her treadmill’s motor would be put to the ultimate test. For the final six days Josie’s daily pacing would be expanded well into the evening hours when her tossing and turning would take over into the daylight hours. Mentally she was in the worst shape of her life; physically things were really starting to shape up. If she didn’t win her dream vacation she could at least beat the creamy white filling out of the show’s hostess.
Despite all the excess exercise, sleep deprivation added to her misery. Think it silly, but when you believe your life is about to change in a big way it’s hard to stop thinking about it. Jumpy Josie was as jittery as a ten year-old after twelve cups of coffee. The night of June 6th she didn’t sleep a wink. She hadn’t been so excited with anticipation since last she waited anxiously for Santa to bring her a well-deserved Barbie Dream House. Needles and pins ran across her entire body twenty four-seven. The sleep she did get was more like brief fainting spells. Adrenalin is the ultimate aphrodisiac. While she was awake she felt more active, more alert, and more alive than she had felt in decades. She realized then just what was missing from her wedding…and marriage.
Of course it was all illusion, her reflexes sadly lapsed. Dreams are nice, but when you start dreaming non-stop without actually sleeping, it takes its toll. She washed what dishes she didn’t drop. Dusted what bric-a-brac she didn’t shatter. Ironed what blouses she didn’t melt. And vacuumed around the few furniture legs she didn’t plow into. House cleaning became more of a clean sweep. Half her belongings ended up dented and dinged, the other half destroyed and demolished.
One by one the days on the calendar were “X”d off with each marking growing increasingly illegible just as the clock chimed midnight, until said clock fell victim to Josie’s new cleaning style. At last the soon to be unforgettable date arrived, Josie having few personal belongings left unscarred. Despite the vast majority of her possessions now being trashed, the morning sun of June 7th rose to find a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Josie’s wide-eyed face beaming through her kitchen window. Sane or not, that was the question.
Rocking back and forth like a dashboard bobble-head doll in a taxi driven by an escaped mental patient the wrong way down a one-way pothole filled New York City Street, Jaunty Josie’s face and hair style were done up in as professional a manner as she could muster some hours earlier. It took several attempts, applying and removing make-up before our crazed cosmetic artist finally got it right. Or at least until she ran so low on make-up that she dare not try another renovation.
The stringent soon-to-be tourist was penny-pinching all her money for soon-to-be souvenir collecting so going to a saloon was absolutely out of the question. God knows she now had plenty of empty shelf space awaiting new accompaniments. Her inner interior decorator was just biting at the bit to refurnish as much as possible with exotic foreign imports.
Fashion too, had suffered. The frugal fabric of a spokesmodel-style designer-imposter selected outfit had been hanging strategically in her closet for several weeks, accessories updated via a liberal exchange policy pushed to its limits as the potential style-setting thoughts crossed her mind. She was dreaming of being the trend-setter for once instead of the meek lamp following the rest of the herd. She’d herd tales of Levis jeans and inflatable sneakers being worth their weight in gold overseas and was hoping to find just the right envy-inspiring combination to drive the green-faced locals loco. Every other television celebrity seemed to have a fashion, perfume, or furniture line, why not her? Fantasy or reality? The line had been crossed so many times it had been completely erased.
Have patience, my saintly child. Good things come to those that wait, or at least they’re supposed to. Finally the blessed day had arrived and Josie wasn’t about to let a second of it go by unnoticed. Not one bit of her fifteen minutes of fame was to be wasted, not one millisecond. The most strategic location in the apartment to survey the street below was at the kitchen window. Surveillance was essential. Nothing was to be missed, not a God damned thing! The spectacular sunrise rose to find a spectacle of its own. One stir-crazy dazed ding-bat’s face sitting perfectly perched on that window sill, as if set directly on her mark ready to read her cue cards, as if The World on a Platter crew had already yelled “lights…camera…action!”
Victory was at hand! About to be signed, sealed, and noted down in history, or at least in Josie’s memoirs. In her preoccupied mind Josie had planned every single second of her day of triumph, after all she had thought of nothing else for weeks. Josie had rehearsed greetings, smiles, and the most ostentatious order of business imaginable. Every possible scenario, every nuance was considered and prepared for, all possible outcomes strategically covered, or so she thought. Operation gracious hostess/winner was about to commence.
Waxed, polished, and shined, the hive was all abuzz. Excitement filled the air. She had been a very busy bee indeed. The day before she painstakingly cleaned all the windows, repainted her apartment number on her mailbox and door, and even trimmed a few of the neighbors’ trashcans that dared overhang the street. She would have painted a fluorescent green and orange dotted line from the curb straight to her door if she thought the landlord would stand for it. (She loved highlighting all her textbooks in high school)
Truth is our girl on a mission had no way of knowing exactly when her royal highness, Elizabeth Elway, and her entourage would be crossing her threshold. In her mind she hoped to take command of the situation, but there was also no way a flexible reed such of her would stand up to even the slightest breeze of influence directed her way by Miss Elway or any of her Hollywood staff. Still it was Josie’s imagination and there she could be in charge if she wished it so.
Sitting on guard at window’s edge lookout Josie was making darn sure she would see them coming from a mile away. Her alert head ticked slowly from side to side as if an early bird out to catch the fattest worm. From a distance she must have appeared as Norman Bate’s mother stuffed out on display. Disapproving onlookers showed a mixture of bewilderment with a tad of concern for the crazy lady in the window. She hadn’t been shy about telling her envious neighbors about her good fortune and they weren’t exactly trying to hide their jealousy. Her cordless phone lay faithfully in her lap. Every hour on the hour she performed phone checks to make sure the line was clear and fine. It was a good thing she elected not to open the window or else she likely would have been turned in as a jumper.
She may have appeared nearly motionless to her anti-social audience below, but up close and personal it was obvious that her bobbling head had worked its magic down to the rest of her body. She wasn’t sitting in a rocking chair, but it sure appeared she was, not that she was bucking like a bronco, rather that she was minutely rocking like an old lady afraid of driving her porch too fast; one worried that any sudden movement might just result in her throwing her slipping dentures. It was a hilarious moment picture perfect to be captured for America’s Funniest Home Videos, but it wasn’t. Now as the final hours were dwindling down it was all Juvenile Grandma Josie could do not to pee herself. (She had considered buying a pair of adult diapers, but feared the massive panty line that might have resulted) The ants weren’t merely in her pants; they were in her bra, hair, and just about every other nook and cranny you could imagine. The human tremor continued to rock nervously back and forth in her motionless kitchen chair, every now and again rubbing her arms and legs to sand down her goose bumps, topping off her self-massage routine by tightly hugging herself in order to warm-up and distract from the pressure building on her bladder. The last thing she needed now was to have a foot or leg fall asleep right when the doorbell rang. Jinxed Josie wasn’t about to make her television debut limping and waddling around like a lame duck. She hadn’t practiced walking with a book on her head for nothing. Between rub-downs and phone checks she checked herself in her compact or took another burning swig of whitening mouthwash to make sure her first network impression would be a favorable one. To remain at her post she spat the used portion into a houseplant that was looking more peaked by the moment.
The first few hours before 9 am were easy, she even got to get up, stretch her legs, and take a bathroom break. Nobody was really expected to show up that early, even though traffic might be light it would be rude. But after nine, every minute they didn’t show Josie found a thousand excruciating times more impolite! And the growing crowd of immature imbeciles only made it worse. Down on the pavement below, onlookers and curiosity seekers, mostly kids taught by their envious parents to mock the bragging winner, yelled comments regarding their surprise that window never cracked or shattered like the looming lunatic behind it. But the cuckoo under glass continued to ignore the mocking mob. They weren’t whom she was desperately scanning the street for. The hawk was on the prowl for bigger better looking prey, one celebrity hostess and crew. The tension grew so thick you could taste it. Nerve-racked Josie edged closer and closer to an abandoned anxiety attack with each and every second that passed.
The odds of the window pane being smashed out to blind the crowd below increased exponentially as a surrendering Josie began banging her weary head against it in frustration, he hands assuming the position on the panes just above. Those nice crystal clear windows were now smudged with hand and squished face prints. Just when Josie was about to explode from all that solar radiation frying her face her eager eagle eyes spotted a limousine being tailed closely by a van. It just had to be them! Who else could it be? Who else would drive so damn slow?
The rockfest came to an immediate and abrupt halt. Jubilant Josie immediately snapped to attention as if she had just won the lottery! Like a twitchy-tailed cat high on catnip pursuing her own tail she slid across the kitchen floor scampering out the front door, down the hallway, half flying and half falling down the stairs, spinning out the front door, and spilling out to the curb. The sea of not-so-well wishers parted as the limo driver pulled up to find her flagging them down, panting and patting her hair in attempt to catch frisky kitty’s breath and to get in some last second grooming. It was then she discovered through a last-second glance into her compact that her make-up was nearly as smudged as the warm window she had ironed it on.
The fickle crowd quickly turned its attention off of Josie and onto the beautiful people about to bless their block with their regal presence. Josie’s most honored guests had arrived. The nonchalant chauffer was the first to exit the length luxury car. He did his best to shoo the fanatical fans back, finally succeeding by threatening to leave if they didn’t. Even without the traditional cap the slick-dressed dude was quite the elegant site all dressed to kill as he glided around to the passenger side to gallantly open the long rider’s door. It was a red carpet moment, only without the floor covering or the paparazzi, except for the held-high camera phone encore. Lip-biting tummy-tightening Josie was expecting her royal majesty, Lady Elway, to make a show-stopping entrance, only to be greeted by a rather nerdy looking pony-tailed wobbling pear-shaped girl with horn-rimmed eyeglasses abridge her pointy nose and Blackberry in hand.
“Miss McGillis I presume?” Questioned the inquisitive yuppie youngster as bent-over ostrich Josie did her neck stretching best to peer around her to see who, if anybody, would be next to exit the limo. But the persnickety pushy skirt blocked Josie’s bobbing and weaving way insisting on an answer. Without bothering to look her in the eye Josie didn’t hesitate to respond with, “Of course it’s me silly, who else would it be?” With that confirmation the preppie princess did an abrupt about-face to say, “It’s her” to the mystery occupant still hidden within the tinted windowed coach. The rude girl suddenly turning her back on Josie nearly scared her to death. She feared she may have come off a bit impertinent in her anxiety to meet Miss Elway as she contemplated impatiently to herself in silence. The crazed fan lion became the lamb and ba ba black sheep would do her best not to utter another peep.
Excited minds can be driven to panic quite easily. Failure to communicate has always been and will continue to be a major concern. Wars have started for less. Contrary to every autograph seeking instinct in her body, sheepish Josie gritted her teeth and remained silent, hands planted firmly at her sides and pad with pen in pocket. Before Jose even uttered her first word the driver had already threatened to leave. Disoriented Josie was deathly afraid is she said the wrong thing the whole kit and caboodle would hop back into their vehicles and speed away at ten times the speed they had arrived in. She’d be left alone with no prize in hand to whack her head against the wall wondering where it all went wrong. That terrifying moment of worse case scenario introverted introspection was when the grand hostess herself finally appeared.
With a spinning move reminiscent of The Four Tops, the man in black, Mr. Chauffer, pulled out an impressive booming box from the front seat and pressed “play.” The theme music from The World on a Platter instantly filled the air. That was the hostess’s cue to make her grand entrance. Taking her assistant’s hand and her mark, Elizabeth Elway now extricated her pampered bottom from her mobile low-roofed mansion away from home. Spellbound and shell-shocked Josie didn’t run up yelling and screaming like the teenage fan within wanted desperately to do. Instead all she could do was manage a polite dainty curtsy, making certain to make no sudden threatening moves. Lady Elizabeth let out an impertinent little girl chuckle with, “I’m not the bloody Queen, not yet anyhow.”
Blushing, subservient Josie quickly apologized for any faux pas and asked, “What should I call you…I mean how would you prefer to be addressed, madam?” Once again Elizabeth giggled with a response of, “I’m not a lady of the evening either. I may have come close in my early years on the casting couch, but that was long ago and far far away.” It may have been funny, the crowd certainly felt amused, but Josie was in no laughing mood. Josie let out as best a fake laugh as she could come up with as the lightning-reflexed assistant took her hand firmly and led her back towards her apartment building.
In their rush to get inside, Josie felt a little as if bodyguards were rushing her away from out of the cross-hairs of an assassin’s scope. Miss Cynthia Roth, assistant to Miss Elway and assistant director of the show explained in a very insisting manner that they needed to scurry back inside before they drew a larger crowd. As always they were on a very hectic schedule and the last thing they needed was more delays. A cheering crowd outside only worked for morning and make-over shows. There was no time for autograph hounds or paparazzi shutterbugs, not when an arranged appearance fee hadn’t been paid in full first. In addition cameraman and crew cost money, even if only drop in the bucket compared to Miss Elway. In all the rush Josie barely caught a glimpse of the cameraman and his assistant opening the side door to their Channel 2 van and hectically snatching out and strapping on assorted technical gizmos.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, the cosmetologist, the lighting director, the special effects wizard, and the rest of the menagerie. You don’t admit to judging a book by its cover unless you happen to hail from Hollywood. Lights, camera, action, and illusion, the camera doesn’t add or remove ten pounds, the make-up artists and craftsmen do…intentionally as commanded. Show business is all about dressing things up to appear as entertaining as possible, typically adding drama and action with splashes of sex, taboos, scandals, violence and intrigue whenever and wherever possible. It’s all about giving the viewers what they most want to see. “Dramatized for effect” is more motto than suggestion.
Promoters always look for the angle; in television that means a way to snatch the ratings from the competition in as merciless a manner possible. The spin on Josie’s life was to be pathetic pitiful poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks finding fame and fortune through sheer determination, luck, and destiny, albeit temporarily. Professional image maker Cynthia went on to explain that the show would be better if they shot the initial greeting with Josie opening her tattered door to be shocked and delighted by Miss Elways smiling countenance. (Door tattering courtesy of assorted smudges of grease, grime, and washable graffiti generously donated by the camera man’s helper) Josie wasn’t about to rock the boat. She did everything they asked without question. She wasn’t about to risk turning her luxury cruise into the voyage of the Titanic.
Josie had already considered herself living in squalor, but she had no idea of how much lower it could actually go, but Tinseltown sure did. The camera man’s assistant had also decked the hall with assorted gutter trash such as empty liquor bottles, vials, condoms, and needles. Nothing like a designer-dressed woman in a tenement hallway to add a strong sense of danger, especially with the proper suspenseful music dubbed in later. Geraldo couldn’t have set a finer stage. Had the show a bigger budget I’m sure a leather-clad tattooed hoodlum or two would have made an appearance, likely Caucasian to maintain political correctness. And so Josie’s episode officially began with the camera focused solely on Elizabeth Elway rapping ever so boldly on the rag-tagged door of Apartment 6B of The Wellford Towers. After the agreed upon third knock Josie opened the door with a look of utter astonishment that she was well-coached on mastering. With a gracious swoop of her right arm a deceitfully delightful Josie welcomed her guest into her humble abode. She had no idea of all the whoopla, bells, and whistles that would be added later, including tears in her eyes and a quiver in her voice. Hollywood magic is no small wonder, especially now in the click of a mouse digital age. Josie might have objected had she noticed their over-done crack-house camouflage, but Miss Tutorial kept her busy with a massive download of last minute instructions. Once the camera was on, that little red light would be all star-struck Josie would notice.
Bologna, bull, balderdash, and down-right bald-faced lies; live it all seemed as real as a three-dollar bill, but taped and edited delay would take care of all the indiscreet discrepancies. The prescribed pre-written dialogue went according to preset verbal cues. Josie wasn’t allowed access to the script, only fed a few lines at a time. She was left in the dark as much as possible. As flustered as she was, she didn’t get to see the big picture at all. Apparently it was easier to swallow that way.
Poverty stricken disaster ridden Little Orphan Josie finally got to go to the big show, or so they would have you believe. For some reason or another it was Josie’s episode that had apparently been selected to be the one going for the Oscar, the Emmy, the Golden Globe, or whatever it could. You know a real relentless tear-jerker that tugs at your heart strings; the one where the lead actress gets to act as if she just lost her father, husband, and baby all in the same horrible plane crash; finding out about her tragic loss on her way home to the flood ravaged family farm from the hospital; after suffering a miscarriage brought on by her newly discovered case of raging AIDs caught by accident volunteering in a third-world country. Lower class Calamity Josie came closest to the down-n-out down in the gutter charity case they needed to boost their ratings.
They made wretched Josie sound as if she had just swam ashore naked from some third world country in the aftermath of a hurricane. The lines may have been 99% out of some distant unknown writer’s imagination, but they flew off the hostess’s silver tongue as if God Himself had scribed them in stone. It was quite the show, a phony three-ringed circus of insincerity specifically designed to bring a tear to the viewer’s eye. Deserted by a back-stabbing low-down cheating pimp of a husband, uneducated Josie was left to fend for herself on the mean streets of the big city. After years of scrounging to survive in the gutter, she managed to claw her way out and into a slum. Not exactly a rags to riches story, rather a rags to second-hand clothing one. Josie blushed and hung her head in a mix of disbelief and shame while averting her eyes for most of the back-story, but none of that made it to the camera which was solely focused on Miss Elway’s spell-bindingly sincere narrative.
And then the camera panned to a wider shot showing the disheveled hovel Josie supposedly called home. (The crew had taken some liberties with Josie’s hamper, trash, and condiments in redecorating for the occasion. Wide-eyed, gosh-mouthed Josie just stood stunned into silence) Elizabeth offered her utmost “heartfelt” congratulations to her little abandoned half-starved orphan girl, and Josie accepting her with open arms and a “good-grief” look not to be missed, yet was by the camera. All the propaganda captured perfectly for posterity under the bright light atop the camera upon the cameraman’s shoulder, fluffy microphone hovering like a giant bee just off camera over their heads. Josie did her best to tune out to what they were saying. Only in that way could she stay on mark and keep her frozen smile wide while keeping her trained puppy dog pathetic eyes focused on Elizabeth. Miss Elway did her usual hammy routine of making love to the camera while simultaneously opening her heart for the world to see. Adding some feigning interest in Josie’s inferior interior décor just to point out just how poverty-stricken Josie supposedly was. Nothing like seeing somebody far worse off than you getting their taste of the American pie to warm the cockles of your heart and keep you tuned in. Josie had no idea of just how much humiliation she was going to have to swallow for her dream to come true.
Elizabeth Elway did her best to get nominated for canonization impersonating Mother Teresa as best she could, minus the wrinkles and chastity of course. Sympathy oozed out of her as if it were molasses microwaved to its thinnest consistency. Sticky and gooey mush manufactured solely to feed the public’s insatiable appetite, but overall it felt more like a bright hot light interrogation to Josie. That was just another appalling aspect that would never make it to the television screen. The conjured up spectacle that ended up being broadcast was anything but the truth. Alone the music and sound effects that would be selected for Josie’s episode could make most grown men cry. Extreme close-ups of trash and squalor would have accompanying groans, gaffaughs, shrieks, and squeals added later. Once the sympathetic ohhs and ahhs of a studio audience were dubbed in over close-ups of Josie’s most pathetic faces, the illusion would be complete. The network used prerecorded sound effects taped during a psychologically designed film show specifically engineered to squeeze the most responses from a captive audience-consisting of the most charming and funniest home videos with the cutest babies, puppies, and kittens to the slimiest maggot infested road kills and the most graphically grotesque scared sober traffic fatality clips. Free pizza was served to those who still had an appetite afterwards. Most of Josie’s extreme red-eyed, moon-crater pored nose close-ups occurred when she was told the camera was off. She thought they were on break, but the camera never stopped rolling. The shot that would be her ticket to stardom was the one where she got teary-eyed after brushing a particularly stubborn knot out of her hair. If only they could have tricked her into mincing a bushel or two of onions! Apparently said camera had a stealth mode. It’s a little known trade secret that the famed little red light has an off switch that allows clandestine recording without it!
Agony, like beauty, is also in the eye of the beholder. For some sadists pure torture is sheer entertainment. The drilling was persistent and painful. Elizabeth’s interviewing delight was languishing Josie’s squirming discomfort. After a very intense fifteen minutes of repeating questions until the desired answers, emotions, and reactions could be edited in, the show finally got around to answering the one question Josie had been dying to ask. With a conductive wave of Cynthia’s hand Elizabeth finally released the words Josie’s bent ear’s were burning to hear, “I bet you’re just dying to know what exotic local we’ve chosen especially for you, aren’t you Josie?” Heart-frozen Josie swallowed hard and answered with the widest smile possible under such teeth-grinding, bladder-bursting, foot-shifting circumstances, “Yes indeed I am, Elizabeth!”
Timing is everything. Unknowingly Miss Elway took her own life into her hands and dared speak the words every contestant hates to here, “But first a word from our sponsor.” For another full five minutes she went onto introducing various companies and their fine products completely oblivious to the homicidal rage whelming within Josie’s heaving chest a mere ten feet away. He was so distracted by the brewing storm that the cameraman had trouble keeping focus on Miss Elway. His assistant cowered behind his human shield, knocking him upside the head with the boom of the mike. Lightning could strike at any second. The atmosphere was so charged with the static tension that even the meanest pit-bull would have scampered out of the vicinity, whimpering tail between his or her hind legs. In fact Cynthia made sure she had a clear path to the nearest exit as she made sure not to turn her nervous back on the steaming volcano in her vicinity.
Only the Shadow knows what evil lurks in the hearts of man and woman, unless you happened to be of average intelligence or above and happened to stare Josie’s way. She was fit to be tied, ready to run rogue, and on the verge of completely losing it! Red-faced, snorting, bull-headed Josie was on the very verge of strangling the silver-tongued corporate brown-nosing bitch with her bare hands, but she didn’t. She was raised better than to bite the hand that fed her. Had Miss Elway not had the fortunate fashion sense not to be wearing red that day or things might have turned out very different. Trained to be an obedient good girl, Josie shuffle and stammered, yet stayed heeled and silent as she and her tummy growled beneath her bearing teeth. She held her ground and her temper, miraculously waiting with the patience of a Saint for her destined fortune and fame, even if it wasn’t expected to be more than 15 minutes of said same. Still the pressure was building, Josie’s blood pressure that is. In fact it was hitting new highs. When the long-winded hostess finally finished her promos Josie was amazed she still was smiling, with her white-knuckled clenched hands still remaining lashed to her hips.
Television ain’t what it used to be. These days there’s about as much commercials as there is program. An hour long episode of the show would have nearly 30 minutes of commercials and half of the footage used would be stock footage of famous landmarks and perfect weather. In the few seconds that remained Josie’s beautiful puss would be flashed across the screen only about as half as much as Miss Elway’s. Plus there would be some inserted sponsor’s products added as subliminal ads, typically in Elizabeth’s greedy money-grubbing professionally sharpened little paws. You don’t actually think that when you go to the movies and your favorite actor happens to sip a brand name cola that’s a coincidence, do you? Why else to you think every television show has every actor or undercover cop cruising in brand new cars? (Except for the stunt cars demolished of course) And every medical show is stocked with the latest technology for the same reason. You don’t actually believe all those CAT scanners are hollow tube props do you? Look closely and you will see a brand name or three. Read the small print at the end of the shows for the details if you don’t believe and you can pause it quickly enough. Brand recognition is the name of that game.) Josie’s left eye began to twitch ever so slightly, but steadily.
Money talks all others walk…since they can’t afford decent transportation. If you have the Midas touch you can count on being touched a lot-specifically brown-nosed butt kissing. The sponsors are worshipped as gods. They must be praised, thanked, served sacrifices, and above all else…mentioned. After about a million or so corporate giants were paid their due Elizabeth’s big mouth finally took a deep breath, the vast cavern inhaling as much as it could after expending so much, and then her ladyship announced practically out of the blue, “The far off distant land of adventure specifically selected for you, my dear Josie, is…too long pause for dramatic effect…the wonderful and exciting destiny city of Oslo, Norway!”
Wham, bam, thank you mam! The air suddenly went stale as all seemed to be in a vacuum. Her universe turned eerily silent, not a breath passed, not even her own heartbeat did she hear. Time seemed to come to a standstill for poor pitiful petrified Josie. Before she could react, before the bull could be set lose in the china shop, before she could even begin to evaluate what had just transpired, Cynthia reached over from behind the sofa and handed a befuddled, bewildered, befogged, and befooled Josie a large manila envelope busting at the seams with plane tickets, hotel info, and all other miniscule details supposedly inside. The cautionary preppie princess was extremely careful to keep her scrawny neck out of Josie’s reach. Once the junior executive got Josie to move her arm enough to sign on the dotted line on the clipboard the sound guy magically pulled out from his butt, the entire circus was gone in a flash with one final muttered “Congratulations” from each. With the parting gift of a light handshake from Miss Elway Josie was left sitting on her sofa, stunned, dumfounded, dazed and thinking to herself, “Norway…what the friggin freezing hell!”
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This is a speculative slice of quasi-commercial, quasi-literary fiction, peppered with loving escapist flourishes. It creates a world that is grounded in everyday realities but tips it hat to the pleasant dreamland of sweet escape. Nice.
Issues:
‘as slow as a…’ = this sentence works as a humorous simile, but some punctuation is needed since it is completely meaningless as it stands. Perhaps lose ‘overflowing… mud’ since this is where the image gets utterly unfathomable. What remains will be funny without overplaying the gag.
A comma is needed after ‘bug-eyed’ but I think the phrase is unnecessary to start the sentence.
‘tourist template’ = this phrase is alien to me, but I do appreciate its poetic quality. The meaning is unclear, however. Do you mean she explored each episode as a newcomer?
‘splattered’ = wrong word here, you mean ‘glued’ or ‘fixed’
‘choicest’ = this is not a word I favour very often, but I think it is acceptable. For the sake of clarity I would choose ‘finest’ or something more common.
‘nuisance’ = nuance? A play on words?
No need to hyphenate ‘working girl’ here. Am I to infer she is a prostitute? The phrase is unclear as to whether you mean a girl who holds down a demanding job or a hooker.
The last sentence of this first paragraph could do with snipping. I would lose the words ‘expensive, high and lucky’ and place comma after ‘people’ followed by ‘those’ (i.e. ‘…people, those who had…’).
‘it wasn’t by’ = not by
‘the better half’ = sounds like the writer talking rather than the narrator. The next few sentences here sound like personal opinion Perhaps make it clear that these are Jessie’s opinions about ‘lazy-assed’ men, simply by using ‘Jessie thought’ or the equivalent.
I’m unsure as to the nationality of Jessie, so ‘Americanised’ is lost on me. Also, you seem to be referring to the fact she succumbed to the lifestyle of the NY fashionista, rather than actually started talking in an American accent and adopting US traits etc. Perhaps something like ‘corrupted’ would be more apropos here.
‘woman’ = with is missing here. Also ‘right-old’ is not a phrase. Perhaps ‘good old’ instead. And ‘worldly’ instead of ‘world.’ If you are changing these, replace ‘with’ with ‘and.’
The story picks up after this, but you are making repeated errors with word choice, writing difficult and awkward sentences. My guessing is that this is in the first draft stage and is still awaiting revision. Since there is a lot that needs attention here, I would recommend posting in smaller chunks so the reviewer can deal with a wider part of your story.
There is a gently witty voice waiting to break out here, and I hope you latch onto it and display more confidence in your writing soon.
Claire_D
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I had a hard time getting into this piece, and I’m not sure why. For one thing, the main character, Josie, lacked depth. There were a few cliches such as slow as molasses and the bit about the roller coaster (mood) going up and down. I would do some general editing as there were some words left out. Keep working on it. It’s not quite there yet but with some good editing, it will be.
I simply love this story. It’s got such a great premise. Here are a couple of notes:
Awkward: Of course she realized it was more than likely every destination the show had already had sent someone to was one she likely wouldn’t see.
These two sentences should be combined – one is incomplete: watched impishly with a mixture of ecstasy and despair. Half the time rallying to new heights dreaming of setting foot atop the Eiffel Tower, the other half hitting new lows considering the odds of that actually happening. (the last one is incomplete…I cut the first one to save credits)
Punctuation: With that the preppie princess turned about to say, “It’s her,” to the… (you left out the ending quotations)
In all I love this story! Minimal mechanical errors are nothing to the storyline. It’s cute, effervescent, and it flows! I can’t WAIT to read the next chapter! Chop Chop, get to work! :) Robin
I thought the story was very well written with plenty of humor. You did a wonderful job of building the tension for Josie as well as making the reader empathize with what she was going through. I found myself anxiously awaiting Josie’s dream destination as much as she was. The descriptions and dialogue seemed realistic. It was as if I were really seeing a glimpse behind the scenes of one those home improvement reality shows. In my opinion, this is definitely a piece that could be published some day. Keep to it!
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