Animate Me (44 page)

“Oh good God, Morgan,” I exclaim. “I can’t believe they did this.”

“Oh, I can. I could feel the angry energy in the building since Monday. And it’s not only because you were so well liked, and he’s trying to fuck you over. It’s that everyone hates him and what he stands for. Monkey Man’s not going to be very happy today.”

I’m horrified but completely awestruck with the sheer brilliance of it. I’m also incredibly honored and inspired that my friends and whoever helped them, did this as a reaction to my downfall.

Dani…clever, clever Dani. Who knew she had hackers, and such ninja skills with perfect timing, up her sleeves? It must have taken a deviously calculating mind to get all those posters up with security cameras apparently everywhere.

“I’m just pulling into the parking structure,” Morgan says. “I’ll send you a photo of one of the posters as soon as I can.”

Over the next few hours my phone is on fire. Images are coming from everyone.

There is even a caricature of B-Girl strangling Monkey Man with her lasso. That one makes me laugh out loud.

But Morgan manages to get my favorite picture: one of Arnold’s office before his arrival. Tiny bananas, real ones…hundreds of them, are lying across every possible surface in his grand office. There’s also a paper adhered to the top of his chair that states,
Monkey Man Sits Here
, with an arrow pointing down.

Nice.
Really nice.

Before lunch I hear more evidence as to how well-planned this was. Evidently poor little Demon Spawn-Alana’s car was somehow blocked at her apartment building by an abandoned junker. So the poor thing was late to work…too late to warn the monkey and prevent him from slipping on that stray peel while entering his banana-clad domain. I’m told that his howl could be heard all the way down to the next floor.

Karma’s a bitch, you asshole. And comic karma, never ends; it just gets more animated.

I’m giddy. The whole drive to the lawyer’s office I grin as my phone buzzes over and over with new messages and jpegs.

My tone gets more serious, though, as I enter the fancy office building and head to the floor that’s completely occupied by Walter’s law firm. Mom and Dad are waiting for me in the reception area, and we’re quickly escorted into his intimidating office suite.

Walter’s all business as we sit down and start our discussion. He eyes the folder I’ve placed on the table. “How did your art search go, Nathan?”

“Well, I found some good stuff that might help.” I open my portfolio folder and pull out drawings I had done of female superheroes over the years. There are even sketches from high school and earlier. I guess I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of heroic women with special powers.

But by far the most compelling works are the drawings I did after seeing young women dressed as Wonder Woman at Comic Con years ago. In the series of sketches, I begin to play with her outfit that clearly shows the beginning of my B-Girl ideas. I put them away so long ago; I didn’t realize how relevant they could be for this case until I unearthed them.

Mom and Dad examine the sketches thoughtfully and then slide them to Walter. I study his expression as he goes through the pile and picks out the best of the post Comic Con drawings to fan across the table’s polished wood surface.

“You were always so talented,” Mom says proudly to me as we watch Walter pick up one of the sketches and compare it to a B-Girl comic cover.

“Good work, Nathan,” Walter says and Dad nods. “This will definitely help.” He studies the work closely. “How interesting that you always dated your work.”

“I read once that you should do that. The writer said it was a sign of genius when people archived and documented their early work as if they knew it would one day be considered significant. I know I’m not a genius or anything, but that sounded smart to me.”

“You
are
extremely smart, Son,” Dad states proudly.

“Well, whatever the reason, that will definitely help us,” Walter says. He turns to my parents. “With this and our other case research, things are looking good.”

“You’re going to hit them hard, correct Walter?” Mom asks in a firm voice. “I want them to understand that we’re not playing around. That little Arnold person will regret messing with our son.”

I smile inwardly, witnessing the power of Diana Evans.
Do not mess with Diana’s family. She will take you down.

People sometimes make the mistake of assuming she’s a mild-mannered Pasadena housewife, when in actuality she oversees the business side of Dad’s work. I heard through one family friend that they’re an incredible team. She stays on top of the business end so Dad can stay focused on what he does best. Evidently she’s a lioness when people don’t treat Dad or his work with respect.

“Absolutely, Diana” Walter responds. “We’re bringing the team to the meeting in force, and we’ll put the fear of a counter-suit in him. I suspect the holding company for Sketch Republic doesn’t know about his plans, and I’ll make sure he understands how much they will appreciate this misdirected and self-indulgent lawsuit. I went to law school with David Stern, one of the members of their board. I see him on the golf course from time to time. We belong to the same Country Club.”

Mom leans back in her chair grinning and Dad smiles as well, then turns towards me.

“See Son, there is more than enough reason to hope for the best.”

I take a deep breath and let some tension seep out of me.

“So Nathan, we have our first meeting with them on Monday. Did Elli give you the details yet?”

“Yes,” I respond. “It’s here, right?”

“I insisted,” he confirms. “You shouldn’t be subjected to going back to the Sketch Republic building after what they did to you.”

I’m sure glad to have Walter and my family on my side.

• • •

I decide to follow Mom and Dad home so I can hang out with them for a while. Mom has promised me a home cooked meal, and I could use some more time away from my empty house.

Once home, Dad insists we take a brisk walk, and I decide not to fight it. He’s probably right that I need to start working out again…something about the endorphins lowering stress levels.

As he charges forward I follow silently. He slows for a moment and turns back towards me. “Are you okay, Son?”

“Yeah, I’m encouraged about the lawsuit, but I just wish I’d hear from Brooke. I know you said to give her time, but it’s making me crazy. What if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

“Then you’ll have to put work into convincing her that she does.”

“I don’t think wooing is going to do it this time, Dad.”

“With your current relationship concerns, you are beyond basic wooing now, Nathan. Don’t get me wrong, there must be continual woo-maintenance in a relationship. But a crisis like this calls for something more substantial and dramatic…riding in on a horse, breaking down her door, climbing to the edge of a cliff to catch her before she falls…you get the idea.”

“Horses kinda freak me out but I’d ride one to Brooke if I knew where she was. No one knows.”

“But she’s going to contact her assistant. Didn’t you say so yesterday? You could leave word with her for Brooke. That would be a primary step.”

“I could try that. But you know what’s weird? I’m also mad at her. I’m angry that she’s decided on her own that she’s no good for me. What the hell? I need her right now.”

“I’m disappointed with her too, Nathan. But what this has confirmed for you is that she’s not perfect. At her core, she has insecurities she hasn’t resolved. You always gave her too much power, so now she’s surreptitiously taken on all the blame. I fear she will never get over the guilt for making you vulnerable to Arnold’s unscrupulous scheming unless she really faces her insecurities and issues and works on them.”

“Yeah, she must have been screwy in the head to fall for me in the first place.”

“Nathan,” Dad corrects me with a stern voice. “I don’t want to hear you talk like that. You know you’re a loving and devoted partner. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with you otherwise.”

“All right, sorry.” I look down and kick some leaves gathered on the sidewalk. “I guess you’re right, I
am
a good partner.”

“That’s more like it,” he agrees.

“You know while you are waiting for her, why don’t you write her a letter explaining how you feel. It could be cathartic. And once you’re done you can consider whether you want her assistant to give it to her or not.”

I nod my head and listen as he continues.

“I think you need to start at the beginning and explain to Brooke not just why she inspired you, but your fears all along in telling her the truth.”

His advice makes sense and I nod in agreement. It’s time to tell Brooke the whole truth. Even if it’s too late…it still must be told.

As we continue to walk, Dad changes the subject, and we talk about the cases Walter has already uncovered that support our position. Everyone seems optimistic, and it gives me hope. Walter has also contacted Sharper Edge and established a relationship with their lawyer.

Some comic book companies of late, have begun giving more rights and recognition to the artists that create their characters, while also giving them freedom to develop their own properties on the side. That bodes well for my case, considering any work I did on B-Girl was always at home and not at all related to the shows I worked on.

“Are you really hopeful, Dad, or am I just wasting money fighting this?”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Nathan. This could be an ugly, extended battle in court. But we’ll support you through the case, not just emotionally but however you need us to financially, because we know it must be done.”

“But Dad, I don’t want to take your money…”

“We want to help. I think you know Mom and I have dealt with several lawsuits over the years regarding my inventions. If you don’t fight for your creations, believe me, people will walk all over you…but even worse, it will kill your creative spirit.”

I nod. Dad’s right. I doubt I’ll ever have the heart to create again if I don’t get B-Girl back and Arnold does what he wants with her.

Later at home, I check the calls I’ve missed and marvel with each new round of information from the dramatic day at Sketch Republic. Nick’s message informs me that in the afternoon all four hundred and seventeen Sketch Republic minions were marched into the auditorium to be yelled at. Despite management’s threats, no one got called out, nor did anyone step forward. The whole execution was so flawless that not a single person is identified as mastermind, instigator, accomplice, or implementer of the grandest gesture in the history of animation studios. I conclude that it’s a day that will live in infamy; a story that will be passed on from cartoonist mothers and fathers to geeky sons and daughters, for generations to come.

• • •

Despite the encouraging things that happened earlier, that night as I lie in bed, the melancholy sets back in as I recall how different my life was just a couple of weeks ago when I still worked at Sketch Republic and got to see Brooke and my friends every day. I feel so isolated now.

I also longingly remember how it felt all the times Brooke was here with me. Sometimes I would just run my hand along her sides, and over her hips, filled with disbelief that she was actually here in my arms. I coveted those moments, every one of them.

I toss and turn, dozing off and then fretfully awakening with a start, gasping the still air of my darkened room. The dreams that torment me are fragments, flickering animation frames interspersed with images of Brooke that shift from Black and white, to color and back again. After the third nightmare jars me from sleep, I give up and finally get out of bed.

I continue my sick ritual of checking my cell phone every hour for messages, and the crushing disappointment when there aren’t any. Whatever she’s going through, I just desperately wish she’d call.

After turning on the T.V., I make some coffee and fire up the remote, flipping through all the channels and trying to find the most distracting show as possible to watch. Despite the magic of satellite, there still isn’t much compelling to watch at four-thirty in the morning.

As I sprawl on the couch I look through a sketchbook that had been left on the coffee table until I find an empty page. Remembering Dad’s advice, I slip the cap off a pen and consider the blank slate. There is so much to say that I hardly know where to start.

Dear Brooke…

I sit with my pen suspended in mid-air until I finally give up and lay it down.

How do I explain that it hurts to breathe without her here? That as much as I had initially admired and desired her, I had no idea how truly spectacular she was, and is, until I held her in my arms.

As my thoughts tumble, I grab the pencil lying next to the pen, and start moving it over the page as I think of her. The lines are loose, but I keep circling back until a sketch of Brooke and I at the Hollywood Bowl comes to life. I smile at the happy memory.

I hold it out in front of me, studying the image. Inspired, I continue on, tightening the drawing and adding a few background details. When it’s to a place I’m satisfied, I write underneath: