I realise that I am leaving myself open to being pilloried by the 'Anonymous' brigade with this story. In a previous story, 'A Good Year' I attempted to delineate between the story, and my comments on the writing process, by italicising these comments. But it didn't work and, of course it was all my fault! I should have italicised the comments I was told. Then, in a comment on my story 'Learning to Love' a member of the 'Anonymous' brigade commented that he had stopped reading because Giovanna fucked Malcolm, when the story specifically had her telling him that he would not let him put his cock into her pussy. If Bill Clinton can get away with claiming that oral sex is not having sexual intercourse then Giovanna did not fuck Malcolm.
This story, in line with my aim to continue to write something that is different, is a story within a story. I am again attempting to delineate between the different sections by formatting them differently, so please, if it doesn't work you might just have to read it closely to understand it. I urge that you do that before launching into your tirade against me, and confirming what we already know, that some, but not all, of the 'Anonymous' brigade are illiterate and uninformed dick heads.
I have included in this story only a small selection of the script of a play, enough to convey the meaning of the story. CM
*****
My next door neighbour is a bitch. I have been trying for ages to get to know her without a great deal of success. The reason that I persevere is because she is worth the effort, the pain and humiliation.
The difference between cats and dogs is that a dog, if you feed it will love you to death, if you pat it, its tail will wag and it will look adoringly at you. A cat on the other hand, if you feed it, it will treat you with disdain and more than likely slink off when it's finished, without even acknowledging your existence. Talk to it, it will look down its nose at you, pat it and it will turn its back on you. Unless that is, it feels like it, then it becomes a different matter, it will rub against your leg or whatever part of your anatomy is closest, it will talk to you, it develops a two stroke motor, two strokes and it purrs loudly. But any attempt to prolong this show of affection will probably cause it to lash out with its claws and tell you in no uncertain terms to back off.
My neighbour is a cat. If she wants me to do something for her (a rare occurrence), she is a pleasure to be with, she is friendly, affectionate almost. On the other hand, if I should want something from her, or even if I say hello to her before she speaks, I am treated with disdain, she will not even acknowledge my existence.
She's not just any old cat, not your average moggie, oh no, she's an aristocrat, a Siamese, from her piercing blue eyes that look at you, (me) through hooded lids, to the way that she walks. She has that slinking grace of a catwalk model, with that slow cross-over step that creates a provocative sway to her arse as she walks away from me, (a common enough practise) that causes a barely controllable sensation in my groin. The thing is that she knows the effect that she has on my groin, which is exactly why she does it. Like I said, she's a bitch, and I love her.
Her name is Adrianna Conover and she owns a fashion boutique in a nearby shopping mall. Only it's not your normal boutique, oh no, it's a lingerie boutique that sells top end, and very sexy lingerie. Not the kind of everyday stuff you see advertised in brochures and on TV. Not the kind of stuff that the makers of porn videos try to make us believe is sexy, this is the kind of lingerie that men buy for their mistresses, to be worn briefly, in private.
I even went as far as to invent a mistress, just so that I could buy some of her gear. I even went to one of her fashion shows just to see her parading with other models in her garments. She knew that I didn't have a mistress, and, as she strutted the catwalk, she looked directly into my eyes and half smiled at me. She was enjoying herself at my expense.
In case you've got the impression that I'm some sort of perverted stalker, I feel the need to explain this obsession that I have with Adrianna Conover. I am a reasonably successful, but still amateur, Playwright whose works have been presented by some of the leading theatre companies around Australia. I am also a Director in Residence, an honorary title, with our local theatre company. This particular gig doesn't pay any money, but I do it because it gives me the opportunity of nurturing local talent. It also gives me a small scale barometer for my new works, if they work here I can present them to the major companies with a degree of confidence.
I am currently working on a new play specifically so that I can try to interest Adrianna in joining our company in a starring role. In order to do that I have to observe her, her style, her character, her likes and dislikes, at present I seem to fit into the dislike category, in fact everything about her, so that I can construct a character that is both flattering and not too much of a stretch for her acting talents. These are unknown and untested at the moment.
My original concept was to cast her in the role of a mistress to a wealthy man, a Judge or something like that. A successful mistress has her attributes, the ability to have her lover always wanting more, of creating a fantasy that his wife can never compete with. To establish the reality of this scenario I cast myself as the lover, imagining what it would be like to have her constantly keeping me barred up, (in a state of arousal) of wanting her all of the time and not just when we were together. My vision was of us making love, of her controlling it, teasing me into hardness and withdrawing, only to arouse me again before relenting and allowing me to make love to her, while all the time retaining total control over the whole process. This part of the fantasy kept my hand fully occupied. I have never masturbated so much in my entire life, my teen years included.
A reality check saw me ditch this scenario. The local community would never allow me to present a play that could only be classified as pornographic, and I could not see her allowing me to direct her in anything as degrading as the story of a mistress, no matter that it depicted this occupation in a positive light. I would also find it impossible to direct a play like this without making a total fool of myself by declaring my love for her.
I filed it away on a memory card so that I could read it and jerk off when I was feeling sexually denied.
My next concept was to cast her as a Secretary who falls in love with her boss and he asks her to do something for him that is not only dangerous, but illegal. She at first agrees to his plan, he asks her to do it just after making love to her, this is not set in concrete yet, knowing that following love she would agree to anything. She agrees, but in the cold light of the next day realises that this request is all wrong. How could he say that he loves her yet place her in this dangerous situation. Behind his back she goes to the police. She allows them to talk her into working with them to bring this plan unstuck, and in the process she falls in love with one of the detectives (me). Her boss is caught and she is rewarded by the company CEO and Board with a substantial salary increase and a promotion, but she gives this up for a life as the wife of the Detective. I didn't like this bit, although I could visualise the final scene when I kiss Adrianna Conover (not her character) and she realises just how much I love her, and that she loves me.
Then I hit on a story of a young woman who comes home, following the end of her disastrous marriage, to care for her dying mother. The town has changed radically from the one she left with high hopes, and she realises that she has lost touch with the friends of her past, and that to re-connect she has to find her old self. At her mother's funeral she is shocked to find that her mother had few friends. As she begins the re-connection process she realises that her mother had distanced herself from the few friends that she had, and that her loneliness was of her own doing. It is then that she also realises that her own attitude to her contemporaries, before she left town, has resulted in her having even fewer friends left in town, and she is forced to set about making new friends.
In the play I hinted that Adrianna's attitude to me, if this was indicative of her attitude to other people, was hardly likely to win friends. That to win friends one has to show affection, not on one's own terms, but at all times, to be a dog and love unconditionally, not a cat that shows conditional affection.
I drafted the original script, and put it before the theatre group committee. They accepted it, but were then sceptical when I suggested that we should not cast one of the current female actors in the lead, but instead an untried amateur. I argued that the woman that I had in mind had the looks and style as well as having experienced the same emotions as the main character, so the part would not be a stretch for her. The play was accepted as the next production with the proviso that I was given the task of convincing Adrianna to take the role.
I timed my entry into her world to coincide with her assistant's lunch break. She looked at me for a couple of seconds. "Good afternoon, how may I help you?" No personal recognition, although I knew that she had recognised me.
"Hi Adrianna, as you know I'm Spencer Fletcher, your neighbour. I am actually here in my official capacity as Director in Residence of the Montmorency Theatre Company. I know that sounds pretentious, us being a small local company and all, but I've written a new play and I would like you to read it and tell me what you think of it."
"Why on earth do you think that I would be the slightest bit interested in the scribblings of a small town hack?"
"This small town hack as you put it, has had works performed by the Sydney Theatre Company, Belvoir Street, and several other major companies around Australia, he also has a work in pre-production, with shooting to begin once the Producers lock in the female lead. This work has been accepted for our next production, but before this happens I need feedback on my main character from someone outside the theatre world. There is something wrong with her that I can't place my finger on, and while I have to admit that, externally at least, I have based her on you, it is the internal person that I need help with." This was a blatant ego caress that I hoped would work. The next few minutes were important to me.
"Oh, all right, I'll read your stupid play." She snatched the script from my hand. "If for no other reason than if I don't, you'll continue to look at me with that hang-dog look of yours until I give in." So she had noticed me.
"Thank you, I will respect your feedback, whatever it is."
