“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 …)
MOV
