The Side Car

Her character began to unfold in the stories she was in—a woman who had been wounded and felt a need to strike back at life and the women around her, starting with Lainey. Marnie was an innocent woman who had been used and discarded by a callous, self-involved and driven bitch, and finally become what she hated.

Marnie became Maisie. Maisie hung out at The Side Note lesbian bar, looking for fresh young faces. For story after story she was so far in the background she was nothing but a name.

She didn't go to the cafe much, or at all. The Muse kept her busy even though she showed up in stories less and less. The Muse taught her to whisper in The Author's metaphorical ear, and nag, and nag, and nag.

"Why do we keep telling The Author what to do? What to write? What the story should be?"

"That is NOT what we're doing!" The Muse sat her down and made her pay attention. "The Author makes the stories, not us. I stage the scenes so that the emotions can be explored and the story can be told, but The Author has already decided on the story. The story may change, and then we do it again, but I will never care when that's happened. What we do is be there. I make sure the background is there, and point out inconsistencies, and generally do 'the grunt work' and emotional heavy lifting.

"Above all, we help with focus, and I create the scenes and settings that let The Author access situations beyond The Author's direct experience. And we never let The Author forget that the story must be born. I make The Author's life miserable if the story dies."

"But why?"

The Muse sighed and cupped her cheek. "Come Daughter," she said, with pity in her eyes. "I have work to do."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lonnie hung out at The Side Car cafe, and talked with Saffy and Billy while she waited for gigs.

"Oh, she was a ravisher," said Billy, watching Saffy with shining eyes. "She'd come out with a verse, and it was completely mesmerising. We were all desperately in love with her."

Saffy dinged the bell and yelled "order up!" She came around to the counter, wiping her hands on her towel and watching Billy carrying the order out to the table.

"Billy been telling you stories?"

"Yeah," said Lonnie. "I gather you were quite the inspiration, back in the day."

"Oh, Billy was sufficient cause for inspiration, believe me. Plus, she could write a hot verse or two herself."

"So why were you off on the island?"

Saffy scoffed. "The boys back home found my observations a little too penetrating. Anyway," she asked, "have you got a gig?"

"Yeah, Mom says I'm gonna go butch for a while. 'Minnie.' I'll be ridin' a big Hawg, hanging out at The Side Note, and avoiding anything like a commitment."

Billy patted Lonnie's back on her way by. "Keep pluggin', kiddo."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lonnie became Minnie, the Side Note's hard-abs steel-sinewed heartbreaker. She never forgot her own heartbreak, so she never got involved. What she did forget was the details. She knew her character might fade, hell, she didn't remember anything about her characters' pasts because none of them had a past, per se. Just some major event that shaped their lives, and who really cared? There were so many identities that she didn't really have an identity, just a ball of emotions where a self might be.

Mom met her in the street.

"New gig?" Minnie asked.

"Yep. You'll be Marnie. The details will come to you."

"Where's your assistant?"

"She's on assignment."

"Will I ever meet her?"

"Soon. Do you have the details?"

"Yeah. So I'm now 'Marnie.' Sounds familiar, somehow. I have to meet a girl in The Side Car? Isn't that a little unusual?"

The Muse regarded her with a very steady stare.

"Fine, Ma, I won't ask. I'll just head over, shall I?" She walked up the street, not even wondering where her bike had gone. By the time she reached the Cafe she was pushing fiery locks out of her eyes with delicate fingers on shapely hands that had never encountered a barbell.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Story after story after story. Far too many to put out there. Character after character. Far too many to distinguish. And a dawning understanding of what must come.

The Muse's Daughter stood next to her and wept. The Muse put an arm around her and said "it's almost time."

"Oh good! So I'm not crying for fucking nothing!"

The Muse sighed and smiled. "You're such brat, sweetie! Hang on to that!"

The surround faded. They were standing with Someone on a hill of light.

The Author embraced The Muse. "Thank you! Thank you so much! Are you ready?"

"More than ready, my Darling." The Muse turned to Her Daughter and said "you know it's difficult, and draining, but you'll know what to do. Be attentive, and be strong. Any story can change, so be a good guide. We love you."

The Muse's Daughter watched as time receded, and found herself next to a little one playing with her dolls. A women dressed like a cut-rate Audrey Hepburn was leaving the room.

"Hello," said the little girl. "Are you a grandma?"

"Something like that."

"Your hair is shiny." She held up her fashion dolls. "Momma says I can't tell stories about Barnbie and Stipper gets married because that's not the um, good, um... the truth thing to story about."

"Oh Sweetheart," said The Muse, stroking The Author's hair. "What do you think the story should be?"