The Playwright: The Escapades of JM
Barrie
Chapter 11
Peter's Lucky Star
A/N: (May 8, 2005 - MOTHER'S DAY) I've gotten a recent obsession with Eve6, the band. It kind of worries me, though, because I'm listening to them all the time and not all the stuff that calms me down and stuff to write this, and gets me in a nice mood. I don't know when the last time was that I listened to the Neverland soundtrack. I haven't seen the movie in a long time, either, which is also horrible! I need badly to set up something with Courtney this coming weekend so we can watch it together!
(May 15, 2005) Have you ever seen Anchorman? Omg. What a WEIRD movie! It was hilarious, but it was WEIRD. My friend and I had a movie marathon last night and she rented the unrated version (facepalms). I'm not sure if I liked it or not. It was so weird. ...LOUD NOISES!
Just a few chapters to go; only a few more things left to happen. I've planned it to the end, so I know even the last word of the last chapter. Stay with me, there won't be too much more. On this chapter, though, I think it was a bit of a filler. Very fragmented and short. I needed it, though. I needed to set up the rest of the story, and that's what this chapter did. ...REVIEWS!
BARRIEFACT: "A wealthy American woman tried to get in touch with Peter Pan creator Sir James Barrie but he eluded her. In desperation she went to H. G. Wells and asked him for a letter of introduction. 'It would be more than my life is worth,' said Wells. 'But I'll tell you what. Go and sit on his doorstep and make a noise like a crying child. That will fetch him down.' The woman, it is reported, followed Wells's joking instructions, and the trick worked."
Inside: An excerpt from James's play, 3 stories, and 2 snippets of the day.
OoOoO
ZINSCHIEL: Beautiful, aren't they?
JACOB: Most beautiful. They're especially bright tonight. (the pair are lying on the grass watching the stars) Though I have been watching that one over there. (he points) It seems it can't make up its mind. It doesn't seem to want to shine.
ZINSCHIEL: (becomes thoughtful) It's very much like a human being, isn't it?
JACOB: How do you mean?
ZINSCHIEL: Many human beings cannot make up their minds. They go one place, and wish to be in another. They choose one pair of stockings, and wish they had bought the other. They do one thing and are never sure if they have done the right thing. The star doesn't know if it wants to shine or not. If it shines, it wishes it hadn't.
JACOB: But why wouldn't it want to shine? Wouldn't it be happy to see everyone marvel at it? To point and smile and laugh and make love under it?
ZINSCHIEL: It may be shy.
JACOB: Shy, Zinschiel?
ZINSCHIEL: Yes. Have you ever been shy, Jacob, to meet someone, or talk to someone?
JACOB: Many times, yes.
ZINSCHIEL: Then, you're like the stars, Jacob. Afraid to shine.
JACOB: But why, Zinschiel? Why would they be afraid to shine?
ZINSCHIEL: (shakes his head, thoughtfully) I don't know why, boy. That's just the way things are sometimes. That's just the way things are.
OoOoO
"Maybe it's broken, James...here, just let me - "
"No, no, Charles, I'm just broken," James said, frustrated, and not even sure of what was coming out of his mouth.
"Oh, you're broken? Well, I can't have a broken playwright, can I? Here." Charles handed James a rag that he had found in his desk. The one he used to clean up coffee spills on his paperwork and his prized work desk he had bought off in some faraway country no one had ever heard of. James began mopping up the ink that had exploded from his pen with it. Luckily for James, most of it had missed his clothing and leather bound notebook, and only a few tiny spots on his beige pants symbolized the tragedy. Unluckily for the producer, though, most of it had gotten on his office rug and desk.
"I'm sorry, Charles, it just..."
"Don't worry about it, James." He eyed his tainted desk obsessively, though trying hard not to look angry. James was one of his best friends. He couldn't get mad at a best friend; he was too much of a good person. "I've got some extra ink you can put in." He fished around in his desk drawer, and came up with a tiny black bottle. James let it sit there until they were finished talking, to be polite and give Charles all of his attention.
"Thank you."
"Well, anyway, back to business."
"Yes, business." James scooted his chair up closer to the desk and waited for Frohman to speak. Charles put his hands down on top of a pile of paper on his desk (which, luckily, hadn't been soiled by James's offensive pen explosion) and gazed down at his knuckles, letting his eyes concentrate on each miniscule crevice in his skin, that had been etched in by age. He thought a little while longer before picking up the conversation from where it had been left off. He let out a breath.
"How many more fairy costumes do we need?" James folded his hands and looked at his own fingers. "Six at least," he said.
"Six?"
"Sure."
"Do we have enough in the budget for six...?" Charles slid a pair of glasses onto his face and took a notebook out of his desk drawer.
"We should. I went to the bank the other day to add to it." James vaguely looked around the room. Charles Frohman's office was one of the most interesting places that he had visited repeatedly in his life. There were framed newspaper clippings and certificates and programs from the hundreds of plays he had produced in his lifetime nailed into the walls, and shelves pounded in in random places holding trophies and photographs and ribbons. Advertisements and play posters and letters were among the most special of things and were posted on the wall behind his desk. It was alright, now, to be staring around the room, because Charles had his eyebrows furrowed and was doing vigorous figuring on a scrap piece of paper. James cast his eyes upon a photograph of he and Charles at his cottage that sat on his desk in a polished frame. It made him think of a few things. For one, the metallic shine of the black wooden frame. Years ago, James had noticed that the same picture frame had sat in the corner powdered in dust. A cobweb had even crossed the dirtied glass. Since Peter Pan had hit theaters and had become the most popular play in London, and soon the country, Charles had treated James like one of his best friends. He'd throw his arm around him at certain moments when he was especially giddy and smile and twirl his cane in the air as though he was the luckiest man in the world. People would stare and smile and tip their hats at the pair of them.
Charles wasn't, in any manner, a mooch. He had respected his partner before Peter Pan of course, but after it, he had made a lot of money and had seen how James could really captivate an audience, and leave them absolutely breathless and have them positively on the edge of their seats during a performance. His respect had increased considerably, and his showoffiness as well. He was the kind of sarcastic, charming man that wanted everyone to look up to him, be jealous of him, and act as though he was a god. Producing James Barrie's most successful play was a way to get him that attention. Things had just changed. He still wasn't a mooch. But he was an attention-seeker. James noticed this, and for once in his life, he had felt very much taller.
He cleared his throat, and Charles glanced up briefly to acknowledge that he had heard. "I'm planning on going to the...my cottage for Christmas." This was the other thing he had remembered from the picture. Charles looked up again.
"Your cottage?"
"Yes. I mentioned it to Emma last night. She shrugged her shoulder when I suggested it." One thing Mary had told James in one of her many useless letters, was that he could have the cottage that they had bought together the summer after their marriage. One of the useless things that she put in her letters came after that when she said that Gilbert had bought her a new one closer to their home.
"So...is that a yes?" Charles was beginning to get worried. That would take away valuable rehearsal time. Even though they had until Spring.
"I believe so. Emma's been...different lately. I think she's beginning to respect me a bit more." He looked up on this, this statement matching his thoughts about Charles that he had developed moments before. Charles had a pained look on his face.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Just until after Christmas. We'll leave that afternoon and I'll be back for rehearsal the next day, I promise."
"Alright, James, I can't keep you from going anywhere with your family." The playwright smiled. Family. This was an interesting word. He'd had one as a child. A gigantic one. But he'd lost it, and now he saw that he'd gained one.
Apparently you see many new things in Charles Frohman's office.
OoOoO
Michael pressed his nose up against a store window, a smile poking into his cheeks, which had turned a soft pink color from the cold. He turned around soon after and looked up at James.
"I want to go in here, Uncle Jim," he said indignantly, like a man. It made James smile.
"No one else wants to go in here, Michael," Jack said impatiently, "Come on, let's go."
"Now, be good, Jack, or Santa Claus won't bring you anything for Christmas." Jack rolled his eyes. George nudged Jack as if to agree with his Uncle Jim and to tell him to get back in line before he was personally executed by him.
"We'll go in, Michael," James said. And that made it final. He too gave Jack a warning signal, in the form of a dangerous stare, and ushered all four boys into the small shop.
It smelled of rotten vegetables, mixed with a strong scent of lavender. Michael, Jack, and George didn't notice it, but James and Peter sure did. If they did notice it, they didn't show it at all. The five of them split up as soon as they passed through the door, and all began looking around at the various strange things around them. James couldn't figure out what type of store this was supposed to be, and looked at all the shelves at his eye level as he wove through the thousands of shelves and bookcases. Oh! James smiled to himself, and picked up a dark green covered book, Little Mary. He flipped through it, not enjoying it as much as he knew other people had. Of course that was because he knew everything about it; every nook and cranny, every detail, every twist, every turn. But it assured him that his play wasn't a complete failure. Because, there it was, in a store he'd never heard of, on a shelf many other people had looked by before. A warm feeling came over him as he set the book down and continued browsing the store.
A few minutes later, all four boys found their Uncle Jim at the front of the store. All but one had a bag of gifts clutched in his hands. Peter handed James his gift money back, and the playwright accepted it inquisitively. He pocketed it and the five walked home. Peter looked up at James after the other three boys ran ahead and confessed he wanted to go with him shopping alone tomorrow, without his brothers. James smiled, and put his arm around the boy's shoulders. He looked forward to this.
OoOoO
"Who's invited you to a Christmas party?"
"No, they've invited us."
"Us? All of us?"
"Yes, all of us, James."
"Oh. Yes, but whom?"
"A friend of mine." James scratched the backside of his neck. Mrs. duMaurier had so many friends. He'd lost track after she'd mentioned Sophie, Josephine, Maria...
"When?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night? But what about the - we talked about - I wanted the boys to see it in the winter before the snow all melts - !"
"Yes, James, we'll go to the cottage! We'll go the night after tomorrow. Yes?"
"The twenty-second is today...twenty-third is tomorrow - that's Christmas Eve! And I told Charles that I'd be back during the afternoon of Christmas day!"
"Then change what you said, James!" Emma paused for a minute. "Unless we spend Christmas at your cottage and go back this Spring after the play." James considered this a moment.
"Alright."
OoOoO
"He's not?"
"Nope."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"No kiddin'?"
"Nope." Pause.
"Serious?"
"Michael, yes," Jack said, frustrated.
"But then who puts the presents under the tree?" Jack sat down on his feet instead of staying in his initial position on his knees. He leaned back against his bed. Michael sat on the floor in front of him indian-style, hanging on his every word.
"Uncle Jim," Jack said casually, confidently. He reached for a book.
"Uncle Jim can't - " Michael gasped suddenly. "Uncle Jim's Peter Pan!" Jack looked up from the book he'd started to read.
"He's not Peter Pan, Michael." But Michael certainly wasn't convinced and ignored this comment.
"He probably flies around the world on Christmas Eve! He's - well, that means he's Santa Claus too!" Jack blinked, thinking that his little brother might wet his pants soon out of excitement.
"What are you two jabbering about now?" George said, coming into the room and throwing his dirty clothes on Jack's bed.
"Michael still thinks Uncle Jim's Peter Pan."
"And Santa Claus," Michael added brightly. George sighed wearily.
"Let him think what he wants, Jack," he said, and got into bed. "Where's Peter?"
"Who knows?" Jack said, shrugging. "He's probably off with Uncle JIm somewhere." Michael's eyes lit up, and he ran to the window, hopping up onto the cushioned seat beneath it.
"What are you doing now?" Jack asked. He'd given up on reading by then, and thrown his book aside. He joined Michael at the window.
"Seeing if he's flying around," he answered seriously. Mrs. duMaurier came in the room and looked around at the scene.
"Come on, boys, get in bed. It's late."
"Where's Uncle Jim?" Michael said, getting down and going to his bed.
"I'm afraid he's out right now, Michael."
"And Peter?" Jack asked.
"He's out with James."
"See?" Michael practically screamed at Jack. George rolled his eyes, with an impatient "Michael!" and turned to his other side.
"Come on, boys, bedtime. Don't worry about James and Peter. They'll be back by morning, I hope."
OoOoO
James and Peter walked quietly down the dark London roads. Only a few lights flickered in the windows of the houses downtown, and as they walked, James watched a few snap off. It was almost completely quiet, and the wind blew the air around only a bit.
"I'm glad you decided to join me for my walk tonight," he said to Peter. Peter stayed silent for a little while, then spoke to his shoes.
"Do you do this often?" he said, and looked up at the sky.
"Yes. Usually when I have a particularly large load of things to think about."
"So...nearly every night?" James shrugged.
"Yes, I think I could say that." It was quiet between them a little longer. A bat flew onto a lamppost, scratching at the wood, and cleaning itself. "Your grandmother and I talked with each other today."
"Oh?"
"We're invited to a party tomorrow."
"For whom?"
"Some friend of hers. I'm not sure."
"Do we have to go?" Peter kicked a small rock along the cobblestone. James sighed, watching a lamplighter that they passed put out the tiny flames in the street lamps that lined the road. "Yes, Peter," he said. "because your grandmother says so. I wouldn't want you to come, but it's not my decision. I may be able to smuggle the four of you out early, though."
"That's more rude than not bothering to come at all. It's fine, Uncle Jim. If we have to go, we have to go." James was surprised at Peter's sudden flexibility.
"Of course."
REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 10:
XHeartofaDragonX: Hah I thought about you writing in that little thing with Jack. I figured you'd laugh at it since...ya know. Anyway, I'm glad you've started reading/writing - it really means a lot to me. Even if you're not planning on becoming a writer, writing is always good for anybody. And I'm sure you don't want to read a lecture, so I'll end this by saying: XOX good luck with your story, mate! I'm rootin' for yeh!
Kris: I did respond to you on everything in here, since I've been chatting with you online. But just to state it again...I HATE ORLANDO BLOOM.
KatrinaKaiba: Aww you're so nice to me. The bath...yeah, that was part of a roleplay with me and Amy...and I thought it was so cute while we were doing it, so I made a note to include it in my story! (In the roleplay, though, he took off his shirt cuz it was wet and heavy (wink) ) I actually added the beginning part of the conversation between Mary and James when I actually got to that part - I wrote the end part from "Go home to your precious Sylvia, James" until he walked away, while I was in the middle of chapter 6 on vacation haha! I'm not sure if Mary will show up again, but I'm pretty sure I want her to...but the play, Man with Words On His Face, won't be in the story. I already know how I'm going to end the story, and for the sake of my losing the characters, I'm not having the performance of Man With Words On His Face included in it. My family just...I don't know. I don't think any of them know me as well as they think. It's okay, though...I've got my friends to understand me until they really get to know me. Thank you so much for all of this, Tara. You've been a great friend/faithful reviewer.
(and you reviewed my Author's Note:) Well, I love putting you in my stories! Yeah, I have devotion and hope that everyone still loves me and is going to continue reading even if it takes me a while to update lol. I'm glad to hear that you'll keep reading, that makes me really happy!
Lizella: Aww thanks. It's a good thing my James is lovable: I don't want any of you hating him or anything! Yeah, Mary...hah...she's somewhat fun to write. Of course "continue" is my favorite word, so I'll be following through with it. Thanks for readin again, mate! I enjoy your reviews!
H.M. Chandler: Well, you deserve to be on my list of dedicated readers. You truly are one! To address Charles's marriage issue, he kept a very personal personal life. He never married, though, but people think he was in love with an actress that worked at the theater and they were going to get married, until he died on the Lusitania during WWI. So that answers your other question too; no children. Updating soon is hard because of exams and stuff, but I'll be sure to be writing this all the time when summer rolls around or I get half days for exams and I'm bored after I get home at 11:30 and want to write! Keep readin and I'll be sure to keep writin!
oi-oi-oi - Hah yeah, you'll get another honorable mention at the end of this story too (wink) It pays off to continue reading someone's story all the way through since chapter 1! Your grandmother sounds really funny haha! Mrs. duMaurier, I think, I've gotten better at writing since chapter 1. That person who sent that long review that mostly consisted of how bad my Emma duMaurier was out of character (did you see that? I got so mad.) can BURN now. lol. Yeah, Mary'll show up a few more times in this. She's kinda fun to write. Thanks so much for reading again, you don't know how much I appreciate it!
claire - Have you read any of this before? So many reviews, and I just forget every individual person that reads/reviews haha. Thanks for planning on continuing reading, and I'm really really glad you like how I do my characters...sometimes I can't grasp a character, but now they've become like old friends and I can just latch on and ride with them. Thank you again!
Moonjava - Thanks a whole lot! I'm writin as fast as I can without making it horrible and loaded with errors lol.
