Goodnight Tweetheart (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Monday, May 30—9:24
P.M.

MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?

Abby_Donovan: Coffee-stained sweatpants and Phoebe Cates’s red bikini top from FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH.

MarkBaynard: If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a moment of privacy in the bathroom.

Abby_Donovan: So what are you wearing?

MarkBaynard: Burt Reynolds’s hat from SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT and John Cusack’s black coat and tie from GROSSE POINT BLANK.

Abby_Donovan: Good. Maybe you could use a fork to kill me like he killed the president of Paraguay.

MarkBaynard: Would this be a bad time to ask how your lunch went?

Abby_Donovan: Let me put it this way—like you, I am now on sabbatical. Only in my business, we call it “fired.”

MarkBaynard: Your publisher FIRED you? Can they do that?

Abby_Donovan: They can if you’re late on your deadline and they threaten to declare you in breach of contract.

MarkBaynard: So maybe you should start with the appetizers.

Abby_Donovan: It all began with the murmur of discreet conversation followed by the sound of my heart breaking.

MarkBaynard: When did you realize something was wrong?

Abby_Donovan: The minute I saw my agent and editor. Their air kisses were too tragically tender.

MarkBaynard: Was there tongue involved? Because that’s never a good sign with an air kiss.

Abby_Donovan: No tongue. Although I did get the sinking feeling I was about to get screwed.

MarkBaynard: At least they bought you lunch first, right?

Abby_Donovan: It was like one of those breakups on TV where the guy takes the girl to a ritzy restaurant so she can’t make a scene when he dumps her.

MarkBaynard: Did you make a scene?

Abby_Donovan: Of course not. I was a complete adult about the whole thing.

MarkBaynard: So you ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, right?

Abby_Donovan: I used tremendous restraint. Well, except for the Dom Perignon.

MarkBaynard: Ah, the literary equivalent of emptying the mini-bar on your final business trip after your company forces you into early retirement!

Abby_Donovan: I would have stolen the napkins and ordered porn but they didn’t have BOOTY AND THE BEAST or BARELY LEGALLY BLONDE on the menu.

MarkBaynard: Why did they let you go?

Abby_Donovan: Tough economy … blah blah blah … flagging sales throughout the industry … yadda yadda yadda …

MarkBaynard: I hate it when they tell you the truth.

Abby_Donovan: My poor editor is even fighting for HER job. My advance was fairly substantial so this will allow her to put some black back into her books.

MarkBaynard: They want their money back???

Abby_Donovan: Which wouldn’t be a problem if I hadn’t already spent it on shameless luxuries … like food … electricity … kibble for the cats … frappucinos.

MarkBaynard: What are you going to do?

Abby_Donovan: I’m considering suicide by paper cut.

MarkBaynard: Step away from the Chinese takeout menus. How did your agent react?

Abby_Donovan: She called later and made soothing noises about selling the book to another publisher. Which would be a fine strategy … if there was a book.

MarkBaynard: At least SHE didn’t dump you.

Abby_Donovan: I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. I knew it was only a matter of time before the whole world discovered I was a talentless fraud.

MarkBaynard: A fraud whose very first novel made your publisher and agent a slew of cash and almost won the Pulitzer Prize for literature?

Abby_Donovan: “Almost” being the operative word.

MarkBaynard: Abby, the problem isn’t that you can’t write. It’s that you’re NOT writing.

Abby_Donovan: Et tu, Brute?

MarkBaynard: If your agent had a completed manuscript in her hot little hands, what are the odds she could sell it?

Abby_Donovan: Pretty high, I guess. It usually takes New York at least 5 books to figure out you’re a pathetic washed-up has-been.

MarkBaynard: If she sold it, you could pay back your advance to the first publisher and still have enough left over to buy a little kibble, right?

Abby_Donovan: And maybe a frappucino or two.

MarkBaynard: Then take those rocks out of your pockets, call your agent & tell her you’ll have a finished book on her desk by the end of the summer.

Abby_Donovan: Hasn’t anyone ever told you that women just want men to LISTEN to them, not try to solve their problems for them?

MarkBaynard: My wife tried but I was too busy solving her problems to listen.

Abby_Donovan: I don’t even know if I can have a finished book by the end of next year, much less this one.

MarkBaynard: You’ll never find out if you don’t sit your ass down in the chair and try.

Abby_Donovan: I thought you were supposed to be a DEmotivational speaker? You are SO fired. Sniff … sniff …

MarkBaynard: Oh God, you’re not crying, are you? I feel so helpless when women cry. What in the hell am I supposed to do?

Abby_Donovan: You could pat me on the back and murmur, “Poor dear … poor, poor dear” in a soothing tone. Or make me some hot tea.

MarkBaynard: Who do I look like? Julie Freaking Andrews? Screw that. I’m going to the fridge and getting you a nice cold beer.

Abby_Donovan: While you’re there, could you bring me the pint of Chunky Monkey? And a spoon?

MarkBaynard: Drink your beer float & listen to me. When you wrote yr 1st book, did U ever dream it was going to be welcomed by the world w/open arms?

Abby_Donovan: I didn’t write it for the whole world. I wrote it for me.

MarkBaynard: Then that’s what you need to do again. Write yourself another book.

Abby_Donovan: But I know in my heart I’ll never write anything as good as that book.

MarkBaynard: Then write a piece of crap. It doesn’t matter what you write as long as you stop beating yourself up about not writing and start writing.

Abby_Donovan: I don’t love you anymore. I don’t even like you. And I won’t marry you, not even if you do know the name of Veronica Mars’s dog.

MarkBaynard: Does this mean no more tweetsex?

Abby_Donovan: I’ll be too tired for tweetsex. I’ll be too busy writing this stupid book. So you can just wrap your own tongue around your throbbing …

MarkBaynard: That’s my girl. Now go call your agent. Tell her you’ve had a breakthrough.

Abby_Donovan: A breakthrough or a breakdown?

MarkBaynard: Whatever gets you to Chapter Six.

Abby_Donovan: I’m afraid, Mark. What if I can’t do it?

MarkBaynard: We’re all afraid, Abby.

Abby_Donovan: Oh, yeah. What are you afraid of?

MarkBaynard: The same things you are. Taking the wrong chance. Not being there for the people who depend on you.

Abby_Donovan: Is that all you’ve got? No homespun homilies? No motivational mantras? Where did Yoda go when I need him?

MarkBaynard: Back to that swamp in Dagobah to practice his kung fu.

Abby_Donovan: Shifty little muppet.

MarkBaynard: The force may not be with you, Abby. But I will be.

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight House

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Cuddy

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Wilson (except Wilson is a lot nicer than you)

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Cameron

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Foreman

MarkBaynard: Goodnight 13 (who is in no way hotter than you)

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Chase

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart …

Tuesday, June 7—1:56 p.m.

MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?

Abby_Donovan: Rizzo’s Pink Lady jacket from GREASE over Kate Beckinsale’s black leather catsuit from UNDERWORLD.

MarkBaynard: Mrrrrreow!

Abby_Donovan: Why do men love those UNDERWORLD movies so much?

MarkBaynard: I don’t know, but I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the way Kate Beckinsale looked in that catsuit.

Abby_Donovan: So what are YOU wearing?

MarkBaynard: John Wayne’s tweed hat from THE QUIET MAN and the smile the automatic pilot was wearing at the end of AIRPLANE.

Abby_Donovan: I was too self-obsessed to ask where in the world Mark Baynard was the last time we tweeted.

MarkBaynard: VIEW FROM MY iPHONE:
http://twitphoto.com/MB7sth

Abby_Donovan: Oh! OH!!! Tell me that’s not …

MarkBaynard: I’m sitting at the top of Blarney Castle in County Cork, trying to find the words to describe a green that’s utterly indescribable.

Abby_Donovan: You won’t even have to kiss the Blarney Stone since you already have the gift of gab. Or at least the gift of tweet.

MarkBaynard: So how is the writing going today?

Abby_Donovan: VIEW FROM MY LAPTOP:
http://tweetpic.com/2825190614

MarkBaynard: Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Are those the two most beautiful words in the English language—CHAPTER SIX?

Abby_Donovan: No, the two most beautiful words would be THE END. But this is a start. Especially since I’ve already written 15 pages to go with them.

MarkBaynard: Filled with your usual sparkling wit and sartorial brilliance, no doubt?

Abby_Donovan: Oh no. I took your advice. They’re a total load of crap.

MarkBaynard: I’ve never been so proud to be your muse!

Abby_Donovan: Is that what you are? I thought you were my nemesis.

MarkBaynard: Salieri to your Mozart!

Abby_Donovan: Moriarty to my Sherlock Holmes!

MarkBaynard: Prince John to those two brats in the tower!

Abby_Donovan: The Sheriff of Nottingham to my Robin Hood!

MarkBaynard: Blofeld to your James Bond!

Abby_Donovan: Dr. Evil to my Austin Powers!

MarkBaynard: Donald Trump to your Joan Rivers!

Abby_Donovan: Kanye West to my Taylor Swift!

MarkBaynard: Joker to your Batman! Have you been chained to the computer since last we tweeted? Because I’m enjoying that image way more than I should.

Abby_Donovan: Oddly enough, writing again has made me WANT to get out more. I mean, if I don’t start living life, how can I write about it?

MarkBaynard: Doubled our trips to Starbucks, have we?

Abby_Donovan: I’ll have you know I actually volunteered at a charity event for juvenile diabetes in the park on Thursday.

MarkBaynard: Was there a Biff the Bunny suit involved?

Abby_Donovan: Worse. I was assigned to man the Giant Balloon Bouncer.

MarkBaynard: That big inflatable castle that sucks unsuspecting children to their doom?

Abby_Donovan: Shudder! It’s a more ruthless exercise in “Survival of the Fittest” than 8th grade dodgeball.

MarkBaynard: If a 2-year-old can’t survive a 5th grader jumping up & down on their spleen, they’re not going to be of much use to society anyway, right?

Abby_Donovan: Exactly. At least they only peed on each other this time, not on me.

MarkBaynard: I always consider that a good day.

Abby_Donovan: Would your Dylan have survived?

MarkBaynard: I’ve already taught him how to bite the bigger kids in the ankle. After he takes them down with a karate chop to the groin.

Abby_Donovan: Tell me about him.

MarkBaynard: Well, he’s three and a half years old going on Peter Boyle in EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND.

Abby_Donovan: Is he as precocious as his father?

MarkBaynard: More so. Last time I saw him he was kicked back in the La-Z-Boy reading the Harvard Lampoon and chain-smoking unfiltered Camels.

Abby_Donovan: My God, he IS your son, isn’t he?

MarkBaynard: His hobbies include long walks on the beach, eating all the marshmallows out of my Lucky Charms …

MarkBaynard: … and making truck noises that involve a lot of spittle.

Abby_Donovan: He sounds like quite the handful.

MarkBaynard: He is, but I still can’t bear to spank him.

Abby_Donovan: How do you discipline him then? Take away his Penthouse collection?

MarkBaynard: When he acts up, I just sit him on top of the refrigerator. By the time he climbs down, I’ve forgotten why I’m mad.

Abby_Donovan: Does he look like you?

MarkBaynard: He’s no Mini-Me but he did inherit my hopelessly curly hair. Poor kid.

Abby_Donovan: You miss him, don’t you?

MarkBaynard: With my every breath.

Abby_Donovan: How long have you been out of the States?

MarkBaynard: A little bit longer than I originally planned.

Abby_Donovan: When are you coming back?

MarkBaynard: My trip is a little open-ended at the moment.

Abby_Donovan: Don’t you have to be back for the fall semester?

MarkBaynard: Only if I want to keep my job.

Abby_Donovan: I thought tenure meant never having to say you’re sorry. Or unemployed.

MarkBaynard: It’s called a sabbatical for a reason. If it goes on for more than a year, they change the name to “terminated” …

MarkBaynard: Well, that’s enough foreplay for one day. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a second date?

Abby_Donovan: Even if I didn’t put out on the first one?

MarkBaynard: Your nefarious ploy to trick me into asking you out again obviously worked. With luck, maybe I can get halfway to 1st base again.

Abby_Donovan: You’re on. So where do you want to go this time? Is Def Leprechaun playing down at the local pub?

MarkBaynard: I thought I’d come to you this time. Ladies’ choice.

Abby_Donovan: All right, you can pick me up in front of the Plaza on Sunday morning at 10 a.m.

MarkBaynard: Where are we going? Mass?

Abby_Donovan: Sort of.

MarkBaynard: Did I ever tell you that I’m afraid of nuns? Even naughty ones?

Abby_Donovan: Well, drats. I’d better take the habit, the fishnet stockings, and the wooden ruler back to the costume store.

MarkBaynard: You’re a shameless tease, you know. It’s one of the things I love the most about you.

Abby_Donovan: And you’re a shameless flirt.

MarkBaynard: That’s where you’re wrong. I’m blushing even as we speak.

Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Captain Peacock

MarkBaynard: Goodnight Mrs. Slocombe