OPHELIA OBLONGATA | TRIPPIN' AT DENNY'S DINER

            She never showed in Galveston.  August arrived and Richard waited in a booth with a view of the freeway and the lights of the Los Angeles basin.  Carl was late.  Maybe the absent minded photographer had gotten off at the wrong exit and was waiting for Richard in a different Denny’s Diner.  The troupe was in transit and he shouldn’t have taken this time consuming detour, but he had to have the photos. 

He was beginning to feel like the whole encounter with Annalisa had been a dream.  He needed a photo of her.  Just when Richard gave up hope, Carl appeared and pointed Richard out to the hostess.

            “I’m starving,” Carl announced.

            “What took you so long,” Richard complained.

            “You’re not going to like this,” Carl looked strange.

            “What?” Richard frowned.

            “In every one of these I had to edit out this monstrous looking man in the background,” Carl just spit it out.

            “What are you on, Carl,”

            “I knew you wouldn’t believe it, which is why I brought befores and afters,” Carl picked up the menu.

            “This is not funny.  It’s obvious you added the man.” Richard was annoyed.

           

“It’s quite obvious you don’t know anything about photography.  Anyone can see which photos have been retouched.  You are insulting me for doing you a favor you know I can’t afford.  I’m on a tight budget and you think I’m throwing money away just to mess with your mind,” Carl had enough and started to get up.

            “Sorry, man.  Order the steak and eggs.  I’m buying.  I’ll pay for the photos too.  I know you have money problems and I know you’re not a prankster,” Richard motioned to the waitress that they were ready to order.

            The men ate in silence.  When Carl finished his steak, he pushed his plate away and thanked Richard for the meal.  Then he leaned in to make a comment he didn’t want everyone to hear.

            “This is some satanic shit or Shakespeare’s curse.  At first I thought the image was already on the film or the lens but that would affect the whole roll, not just the shots with Annalisa.  Hell, this play is haunted, right?” Carl sat back and waited for Richard to confirm.

            “No. That’s MACBETH, not HAMLET. Just because a play has ghosts in it doesn’t mean it’s cursed.  A play is only haunted if something comes out of it, follows you home and kills you. There is a play that is really cursed. You’ll die if you read it. It can’t be performed. You can’t touch the script or say the title. If you even talk about it, demons haunt you,” Richard said.

            “Jesus. Then shut up. Ugly guy is probably a demon you summoned,” Carl grimaced.

            The ugly man wore a mustard colored suit and appeared in every photo containing Annalisa, starting with the graveyard scene with Annalisa in the wings.  Carl had been going for the shot where Hamlet contemplates the skull to make an edgy poster advertising the play in Los Angeles. 

The photo Richard would have liked was the one taken in the restaurant booth.  He had his arm around Annalisa.  Even though Carl had removed the image of the man standing behind them, the memory of the man would not leave his mind.  He settled for a close up of Annalisa’s face and ripped up the rest of the photos.

            “Don’t tell me which photo this close up was cropped from.  I wish I hadn’t seen the befores,” Richard grimaced.

            “What if this guy shows up again? You sure you want me to burn the negatives?” Carl asked.

            “Yes.  It’s probably bad luck for me to keep even this one photo, but I’ll keep it for now.  I was beginning to forget.  One thing I could never forget is how she smelled.  She smelled like pears,” Richard put the photo in his wallet, left a tip and paid the cashier.

            In the parking lot Carl took the posters for the next performance of HAMLET from his van.  Richard inspected them before putting them in the compartment on his motorcycle.  Carl had taken a great photo, the classic Hamlet pose with the skull, sans Annalisa in the wings, sans the ugly man.

            “Get some sleep,” Carl suggested.

            “I’m behind schedule.  I have to post these before the troupe arrives.”

            “Hey, maybe monster face is part of a new curse.  Maybe Shakespeare is mad at you for the Miami gig.  Just a thought,” Carl slammed the van door and waved goodbye.

            “There’s more shit in heaven and earth, Carl,” Richard revved his engine and peeled out of the parking lot.

            The rosy fingers of dawn picked pockets of the Los Angeles basin like syrup on a waffle.  Richard plastered the last of the posters on a pole where there was heavy pedestrian traffic.  He decided to get some sleep.  

In addition to the upcoming performances of HAMLET, he had the strange performance in Lake Arrowhead tomorrow.  The same patron who paid a hefty sum for the nude production of HAMLET on Key Biscayne had cherry-picked actors from that and other productions to perform in a mysterious, one evening only event.  Richard didn’t know who the other actors were and he hadn’t been given a script.  They would all be reading their lines from cards held by masked figures in a pit that circled the stage. He’d done theatre of the absurd before and he assumed the patron was trying to impress his wealthy friends by always going a step farther than the latest trend.  He rode his bike towards the mountains and stopped at a motel in the foothills near the turnoff for Lake Arrowhead.

            Richard almost fell asleep but suddenly sat bolt upright and called his mom.  He reasoned that he shouldn’t call her from Lake Arrowhead because she might ask too many questions.

            “What?” he was mortified.

           

“The girl with no last name is here.  She just left with Bobby,” his mom said again.

           

“Where did they go?”

           

“She’s very interested in fruit stands and rocks.  I think Bobby took her to the tubs on Tule River,” Richard’s mom recollected. “He’s you brother, you know, not some serial killer.”

 

~ To Be Continued ~