Yep, another rewrite. Had to introduce a new character. Not sure if the character stay and for how long.
Times like these, I keep remember Kevin Bacon’s The Big Picture. Give it a watch and pay attention to how the characters in his scripts react to his edits.
Lawrence Martin watched the newcomer. She came in confidently – a good thing, one-twenty pounds or so, five-six and something, dressed for the weather except for a silk scarf around her neck and over her shoulders with a bunch of scarf wadded up over her chest. The bell jingled over her head when she opened the door. She glanced up at it and smiled.
Her gaze swept the store in an easy motion, what would be called window shopping in a city or mall, before landing on Monique. “Hi, Monique.”
Like her movements, she spoke with a confident, easy grace.
“Hi, Stace. This your first time shopping in our happening burg?”
“Except to drive through finding the farm, using the phone outside, and back out to the highway.”
Martin interrupted with his Yankee drawl in place. “Need a map?”
Monique rolled her eyes. “Stace, meet Larry Martin, proprietor, who’s bullshitting you with that drawl. He’s only been here – how many years, Larry?”
Martin dropped the drawl. “Five so far.”
Monique nodded. “And if he doesn’t cut it out with the crazy accents, it’ll only be five.”
Martin offered his hand. “Someday this town’ll have a talent show and I’ll be in it.” He released Knox’s hand and leaned towards her. “Ever hear the one about the cityslicker lost in Maine?”
Stacey gave Monique a “What’s going on here?” look.
“Just go with it. He won’t let up until he’s got one or two jokes out.” Monique glared at Larry. “One, if he’s smart.”
“So this cityslicker stops at a small town in Maine and sees an old Yankee sitting in front of the general store in a rocking chair whittling a stick with a pocketknife. He says, ‘Lived here all your life?’ and the old Yankee answers without looking up or stopping his whittling, ‘Not yet.'”
Martin slapped the countertop and doubled over laughing.
Stacey gave Monique a “Is it safe to be in here?” look.
“He’s his own best audience.”
Martin pouted at them. “Oh, come on. That’s one of my best jokes.” His eyebrows formed a tent on his forehead like a little boy pleading with his mother for another cookie. “You liked it, right, Stacey?”
Monique came up beside Stacey and placed a protective arm in front of her. “You’re scaring the newcomer, Larry.”
Frank Sinatra poked his head out of the wadded scarf and hissed.
Martin crossed his arms underneath his apron. “Guess I get carried away sometimes.”
Monique snickered. “Sometimes?”
“Sorry, Ms. Knox. It’s Knox, right? Stacey? Can I call you Stacey? Sorry I upset your cat. What can I do you for?”
Monique made a show of browsing the jerky selections. “Looks like a middle-aged Clark Kent still hoping for a date with Lois when he does that, doesn’t he? And don’t worry, he’s safe. One of Larry cum Clark’s his best qualities is his nosiness. Should your phone, internet, and carrier pigeons fail, Larry’s Acra’s reliable community switchboard.” She pointed at Frank. “He she it friendly?”
“Usually.”
Monique reached out slowly. Frank’s blue eyes crossed following her hand approach him. “Good kitty. Good puss puss.”
She rubbed his ears. Frank sank back into the scarf’s folds and quietly purred.
“I didn’t know you had a cat. He she it got a name?”
Stacey made sure Frank rested snugly in the scarf. “Frank Sinatra.”
Larry perked up. “Ol’ Blue Eyes. I get it.” He waited for their acknowledgement.
Monique stood in front of the dairy refrigeration units. “Love the way you’re modernizing the place, Lare.” Her voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “He’s replacing the old equipment a little bit each month. Stay away for two months and you won’t know where anything is.” Her voice returned to its conversational natter. “Or is that your plan, Larry? To keep people coming in?”
He nodded vigorously. “The plans are for internet access in the cafe with a few computers. You know, keep the kids off the streets.” He looked hopefully at Stacey. “What d’you think? Cool, huh?”
Stacey looked out the window to the ghost-town lack of traffic, people, pigeons, anything, and smiled.
Monique shook her head. “Isn’t it endearing when a middle-age man uses ‘cool’ in everyday language? Makes you think he’s one of the bitchin’ boss boys in the band, doesn’t it?”
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