a chair

nothing is as sad and erotic as an empty chair in the parlor. mean, plush, and empty.

Untitled Project on Sibling Actors, Part 9: Who has the laughing hand?

Objects are more successfully grasped at than are people; people always seem to manage to slip away. Brother considers the infinite spaces. He tries to see far beyond the horizon, beyond the sharp bits of glass wall that all mirror his gray projection. What will finally conquer him is the composite picture into which these jagged cuts will assemble. Then he will feel monstrous. Not that he has not done his own time in thinking himself to be a monster. Sister, in a way the direct product of Mother, hanging on by a mutual limb of self-loathing and self-adoration, has already become accustomed to feeling quite monstrous at times. It is early evening. We are back to the house, where the Yardley siblings are in their yard, again. A sunset swirled with unspoiled hollandaise sauce and egg yolk, dwindling before the twinkling eye.
Charlotte:
--I feel supremely disillusioned.
Laurent:
--You what?
--Here, right here, my character is feeling very disenchanted with everything onto which she had latched herself, before her emigration from Greece. Then, in the penultimate scene, she does get everything she had dreamed of having in her travels, but it is unbearable to her. I think that sort of irony fuels her feebleness and her own sense of martyrdom when submitting herself to the rape. Well, I suppose you cannot volunteer to be raped...It's sacrificial.
Laurent:
--If I ever become theistic again, it will be because of irony--not that my turning myself back into God would be ironic, but that my understanding of my own bigger ironies and those pertaining to others and of those that overlap myself and others would cause me to affirm a God of some kind.
Maybe God is the reason things do not happen the way the Yardley siblings expect! If they were more supreme, it seems they could bend their reality more to their liking if they tried hard enough. There is money, though, and it keeps flowing across the Atlantic and into their pockets. Plus, the two are performers. So, reality is bending all the time and given new structures as seen fit. Laurent lights another cigarette as Sister listens intently. How quick the two are able to switch from enemies of the midday to Brother and Sister again, obsessed with themselves and with the other!
Laurent:
--Until then, all of irony will be read as absurdity.
Charlotte:
--I've actually thought the same thing several times and have decided that kind of ontological introspection is an ultimately ironic and despairing thing. Absurd? Not quite. That axe never quite drops--the sound of one hand laughing.
Laurent nods his head:
--So is absurdity more brutal?
--I'm not sure. But I think…I think that absurdity sounds like something that can be ignored, dismissed, written off. Something to wink back at from a chair, while keeping with the daily flow and routine. I don't know the true heart of the word, but I do think it's pretty brutal. Do you agree?
--I think so, yes.
Laurent:
--You've given this script a lot of thought. How did the phone call go? You did call, right?
Charlotte:
--In my experience, well, the director has said very little. Communication was in some accord through the medium of casting agents and through the writer. She always seemed to be very brooding, not gloomy, but very introverted. You can imagine how stressed I was as I picked up the phone to dial her number. Surprisingly, she spoke so much she made my head spin. Her mouth was motorized by machine and it was wired to a postmodern, neurotic mind that was short circuited by its own mania and self-consciousness. I believe she's very excited for the project.
Laurent smiles, realizing he forgets how fully-realized his sister can be in her analyses. That is the thing, though, we are much better are analyzing others than we are ourselves. It is not only Charlotte's needle of social awareness, but her eloquence that captivates Laurent. Sister should try to write, just like Laurent, except that this would further stifle Brother's voice. Poetry has been his territory, after all, and he needs territory.
Charlotte:
--She wants to come by tomorrow to chat and get to know me.
--Catherine Broussard coming to our house. Man, oh, man.
--You'll have to be on your best behavior.
--Meaning?
--Don't bore her.
--I'll just act naturally.
--No, don't do that.
--I'll just act very enthused for your upcoming work. I'll also say things, such as "any character who really, righteously embraces her martyrdom is so erotic to me."
Sister dips her head down and purses her lips:
--That sort of remark won't get us anywhere.
As if Laurent and Charlotte want to go anywhere. No, they are much more comfortable here in their little palace. This is not to say that neither of them are driven by want. Boy, do they want! What they both want is to end a scene with the laughing hand.

Untitled Project on Sibling Actors, Part 8: Poached eggs, You belong to me!

Laurent zips up his trousers after the last drops of urine are shaken out onto nature and faces the patio where Charlotte has called out to him:
--Is brunch ready?
--Yes, come on inside.
As Laurent is walking across the lawn back to the tea table where he left his writing, Charlotte continues:
--You know who just called?
--Would it be that director?
--(A light scoff) No, I'm to call him, remember? And I will, later.
--Then who?
--Charles.
--Our brother?
--Oui, notre frère.
Laurent and Charlotte pause for a bit. Charles, student of business at Yale University who has remained in America, occupied with his studies and internship all this time, has called. Laurent has the suspicion that Mother and Father are behind this phone call and that they mean for him to go back, but at the moment Laurent has no intention of putting an end to his vacation. Charlotte stands there with her hands on her hips, almost gloating over Laurent's silence. Laurent would like to tell Charlotte how this in unfair to him. That he is being singled out and that it is not as if Charlotte is being so productive herself here at their idealistic retreat. Charlotte would only retort that she has work practically begging for her to pick it up, learn it, memorize it, and transform it into an expansive and rewarding product and that she is not wasting herself away like someone she knows.
Laurent:
--What did he say?
--Well, it's all very unprecedented, but I believe he is coming here.
--To stay?
Charlotte:
--Come inside. Brunch is served.

********************
At the kitchen table, Sister sighs and tosses out leisurely into the midday air in her usual, privileged laugh:
  --Well, as you know, all we ever do is plan total social destruction on these…unsuspecting targets.
  Everything's part of a script. Charlotte speaks while cutting into her poached egg with a new, cold, and calculative manner of a mathematician bent towards the solution of a problem that has eaten an entire month out of her life. Really, she has only had the script in her arms for a couple days.
While it is certainly no longer "morning" morning, the time of day is still closer to the moment of waking from the unconscious, the greatest source of inspiration. Brother and Sister hope that their oeuvre is long sustained after their departure from the stage and that their musical chord is not immediately flattened down by the next generation. What will happen, they both wonder, now? Another party member to contribute to their masterpiece.
Brother and Sister like to perform for each other. They like to wear different personas as they satisfy their ever-changing temperaments. Brother takes to a bowler hat and gives it character. Sister will take the bowler hat and wear it herself. Once one of them finds a role that resonates with a particular mood, the scene is bound almost seamlessly. Here moods are changing rapidly, so it is not very often that a mood, singular and binding of a scene, is carried throughout a whole act, never mind an entire play.
Sometimes they act out against each other and their great acts come splattering down from the swimming pool balcony down to the mosaic below. Sister might throw the bowler hat back at brother's face to hasten the action. Retaliation builds when its execution is passed from one performer to the next. There is only so much stage space and the two of them carry such large egos. The flashes of light from the sky are played--shot down and meant to be seen. They share virtually everything, as if they are connected at their hips from the same, precious cradle of life, their minds erupting upwards into overlapping networks of neuronal processing and transmission, stars that they pretend to spell out above them theatrical frescos of fortune and pain. Both throw the organic outlines of their lives up to the fates. This accounts for the occasional autonomy, which, when it happens, is a marvelous spectacle.
Luckily, the two here at brunch are not joined at the heart, because, as it is, they will too often enchant themselves into believing that it is people onto which they pour their love, when it is, in fact, inanimate objects, heirlooms, trinkets picked up from foreign streets, gifts that have been passed to them from old acquaintances that receive all their affection. Brother and Sister might lend themselves to others, but both fully appreciate the sentiment of giving yourself to yourself. At the heart, the siblings would be all the more reckless. No, they are not joined at the heart. Soon, it will be Brother and Sister and Brother all under the same roof again. Just like old times. Maybe now the audience will get some real heart to heart.
Laurent:
--So Charles is coming next week.
Charlotte pinches off a piece of her baguette and uses it to wipe up the hollandaise sauce and running yolk on her plate. In the kitchen, Martha tells the cook that he has done well and that he can take his leave. Martha comes back out to the breakfast table with more coffee for Charlotte and Laurent. Charlotte grabs a remote off of the kitchen table and points it in the direction of the stereo. She presses a couple of buttons and Jo Stafford starts playing. You belong to me.
Charlotte:
--As I told you. I think it's a fantastic idea.
--You know he's going to give me shit.
Charlotte swallows her mouthful quickly:
--You deliberately think in ways that are self-defeating!
--Oh, please.
--You do, yes you do. He wants a vacation and it's his place here, as well as ours. Honestly, I think he really needs this. His girlfriend dumped him a few weeks ago and he's been real mopey.
Laurent shakes his head after taking a sip of coffee. Brother is finding it hard to act. There is an actress right here, again, again and always. So, making a firm stance is difficult. All of his hesitation is pinching him in the cheek, like sisterly Sister. It will all come back to pinch him again, if he is not careful. Brother takes a few steps elsewhere:
--I want to watch a movie tonight.
Sister bobs in her seat:
--Of course! What sort were you thinking? Been a week since I've been in our theater room.
--Any movie, really. I have--I haven't really given it much thought.
--Some idea, Laurent.
--(through a little chuckle) Yeah, I know. That's me, though, my ideas--
--(with a pat on his hand) I'm only kidding! Let's watch Body Heat. No? Let's watch Vivre Sa Vie. That one neither of us have seen and, so, neither you nor I will be explaining away things that speak for themselves or that you or I would rather discover on our own.
--That sounds good. I actually have not seen a French New Wave film in a hot minute.
--Holy shit, I love her eyes. Anna Karina's eyes. They're just so big and playful and sad...
--I've only seen her in Une Femme est une Femme.
--That is a good film, Laurent. She's so precious in that one. You know what you need? Some Anna Karina to help you get out of this funk. Come on.
Laurent, who cannot help taking a few steps back:
--I just don't want him parading all of his accomplishments in front of us to make us feel trite. Oh, come on, it's likely he will.
--Can't you just be happy for him? It's going to be fun. We should throw a party. No one is going to make anyone feel trite.
--Well, of course we'll throw a party. Does Mom and Dad know?
--We'll have several parties. Who cares if Mom and Dad know anything? I tell you, I'm pretty excited. It's been so long since we've all sat down and really enjoyed ourselves. We can all get high and drunk together.
Laurent cuts into his meal and rethinks his initial response to the news:
--I suppose you're right about-
--Of course I'm right.
--Okay. You're right.
Jo Stafford: Fly the ocean in a silver plane. See the jungle when it's wet with rain. Just remember 'till you're home again: you belong to me.
Charlotte, while taking out a cigarette, lighting its end and placing it in her mouth:
--You're still writing, right? Tell him about your stories, unless you've completely neglected them. Don't you also have a novel you're working on? That's something! It takes time to write and you need time and space to create. Charles can appreciate that you are being creative; our brother has his own literary endeavors, although on the reading end and not the writing.
Laurent breathes in and out heavily while he scratches the scruff on his jaw, which attracts Charlotte's attention:
--(while rubbing Brother's lower cheek) You should shave. You always look your best clean-shaven.
--(swatting away Sister's hand) Right.
--It's true. You do, L.
--That, again?
Sister smiles down at Brother with an antiseptic sweetness:
--How are your eggs? You haven't finished them yet.
--They're fine, but I'm not really hungry anymore.
Charlotte exhales the smoke from her lungs and then puts her cigarette out in Laurent's remains of his poached egg, twisting the cigarette butt back and forth as it punctures through the white and yellow material, its ash mixing with the golden pool of hollandaise sauce and yolk, shamelessly poisoning the flavor and warping the texture.
Laurent:
--That's revolting!
--(chuckling) You were done with it anyway. Look, it had already turned cold.
--I'm going back outside.
Charlotte:
--You put up with so much, L!
--(his voice, exasperated) An egg is a pure thing. Golden, nourishing, and filling, it has the potential to become a new, whole and living organism. This is tasteless--really nasty. It's not natural.
--It didn't suspect to be infiltrated by burnt tobacco! It's not so nasty. Besides, I do not think that this egg was to become anything, except poached and devoured, or not devoured and just left, picked at, like it is there on your plate. This was not a crime against nature. You could say snatching this egg from the mother hen was a crime against nature. I say this is a work of art! Martha, bring my camera from my room, so that I can take a snapshot of the midday that I ruined for Laurent. Laurent, oh, I'm so sorry, don't leave! This was tasteless.
Laurent spits out in mock gratitude:
--Thank you very much.
Laurent scoots his chair back and exits outside as Charlotte slumps in her chair, opening her arms out wide to start singing along with the Jo Stafford track: But just remember, darling, 'till you're home again: you belong to me!