“Muse, get off the fireplace please,” I said with absolutely no inflection in my voice whatsoever. “The Husband is still cleaning your shoe marks off the mantle from last time.”
“MOV, I have news.” She said news like one might say skin cancer, which, given her penchant for sunny locales and 32-ounce baby oil, would not really surprise me.
“Do you have skin cancer, Muse? If you caught it early, it’s totally treatable—”“No. Worse.”
Long dramatic pause, so typical for Muse.“MOV, they’re not making my movie.”
I had known Muse my entire life. She was nothing if not inspirational. If she wanted to be in a movie, or write a movie, or have anything to do with a movie, it would be a smashing success. Any producer would be crazy to not make her movie.“So the producer I met with is crazy,” she began. “He told me they already did a Muse movie a few years back with Sharon Stone and Andie MacDowell.” Muse made a face like she just stepped in dog poop. Dog poop from a Great Dane. A Great Dane on steroids.
“Oh, Muse, I’m sorry. I know your movie would’ve been much better.”“Are you still talking about that?” asked Muse, distracted. “I’m over it. I have new adventures to plan.”
Muse gave new meaning to the term ADD. “Good for you, Muse! Like what?”“Well, I popped in on Oakley the other day, and—”
“My sister? My sister Oakley? Why were you at her house?”“I was trying to tell you, quit interrupting.” (I did not like this side of her: bossy. Unfortunately, it pretty much was her only side.) “Like I was saying, Oakley and I are going to bike across country together.”
I found this difficult to imagine: Muse being athletic. Once, Muse and I went shopping together for running shoes.
Needless to say, she has not competed in any marathons lately.“Muse, are you sure this is a good idea?”
“MOV! Your sister is a pro bicyclist. It’s what she does. What could possibly go wrong?”
(to be continued …)