Eve Annajane Writes, LLC

Excerpt from Chapter 3

Sofia ran up to the office to grab her laptop, but by the time she made it up the stairs and down the open hallway, Ivy was already there. She had — by some mysterious force Sofia was not going to give herself an aneurysm contemplating right then — pulled Rocco’s leather swivel chair over from his desk to sit beside hers and was spinning idly with her head back, as if she had been waiting for an insufferable period of time.

Shaking her head, Sofia took her seat beside Ivy and opened up her laptop. She closed out the tabs of Youtube and online games and random Wikipedia rabbit holes which were still open, ignoring Ivy’s teasing snort, and pulled up the document named Ivy’s Story; Sofia had yet to come up with a title. She started a new page at the bottom of the pitifully-short manuscript and looked at Ivy expectantly. Ivy was also looking at her, also expectant. 

What?

“So,” Sofia started, drawing the syllable out, “tell me about yourself.”

Ivy blinked at her blankly. Fine. Tell me about myself.

“What?”

You wrote me. You created me. How am I supposed to know anything that you don’t?

“You must have some innate backstory built in.”

Built in? Sofia, you’re building me. Nothing is built in.

“There’s always stuff built in. The black hair, the red dress, those were built in. I didn’t make those choices, that was just how I saw you. You already have a backstory, every character does. We just need to… excavate it.”

Excavate it?

“Like, dig it up.”

I know what excavate means, Sofia, I just don’t understand it in the context of this, Ivy snapped back.

Sofia took a deep breath, trying to think of how to explain it to her. “It’s like when you get a new role. There’s stuff in the script that tells you who that character is, of course, but then there’s the stuff that you need to dig up yourself. The little details, the mannerisms, the thoughts she’s having while you’re saying her lines. Doesn’t it often feel to you that those things aren’t really your choice? Once you know the character, only certain options make sense. She already knows who she is, you’re just learning.”

I suppose. So, where do we start with me?

“Well, let’s start with what we know. You have dreams of becoming a movie star, and you feel like your husband is hindering these dreams. Why would it be so important to you to be a movie star?”

Is that rhetorical?

“No.”

The fame, the riches. Isn’t that obvious?

“Yes, that part is obvious, but that can’t be it. When people, or characters, want fame or want money, they really want something else. Security, attention, validation, love. When characters do things for money, it’s because they’re afraid that they’re never going to get that thing they really want. We’re driven by fear. So why is it so important for you to become a movie star? What are you afraid will happen if you don’t?”

Ivy looked at her. For the very first second since she appeared, Sofia felt that Ivy was the one off-kilter, she was the one walking across shifting sands, not Sofia. Sofia understood this better than Ivy did, she was the writer; this was her native tongue. I- I don’t know. I don’t think it’s about security. I’m already married, and to a wealthy man. I don’t need to work to support myself.

“Right, so there’s something else. Something else calling at you from deep within, telling you that, even though it’s unnecessary, even though it’s upsetting the balance of your marriage, you have to achieve this dream. You would kill to achieve this dream. Why?”

Recognition, Ivy answered, quicker this time, more certain. I want to be recognized for my own name. I don’t want to die in obscurity, just Fitzgerald Camden’s pretty wife.

“Good. What is it about obscurity that scares you? Plenty of people are happy to live modest and unobtrusive lives and die with no more than fifty people at their funeral.”

Not me. I have always known I could be more, I was meant to be more. I was meant to be a star.

“Always, huh. So, you likely had someone telling you that since you were young. Not your father; you don’t respect Fitz’s opinion enough to have ever put that much stock into the words of a man. Fitz and his friends, you know how to work them. You know they only see your looks and what you can do for them, so you use it to your advantage as best you can. That’s another behavior you must have learned young. And that one we can likely put in dad’s column. What’s the story with your mother, I wonder?”

Excuse me? Ivy snarled, bristling.

Sofia perked up. “See, now that’s built in. You’re defensive of your mother. She’s certainly going to be important, makes sense, mothers are often important to backstories. Says something about us as readers, but that’s not a train of thought for right now. So, your mother, what’s her deal? You’re…” she checked her story notes, a haphazard bullet list of facts and ideas and single lines stored neatly away in its own chaotic document “…twenty-four when the story takes place, meaning you were born in the thirties. Given the time, your mother was probably even younger than your current age when she had you, let’s say eighteen, so she was born just before 1900. In America? No, boring. You look Italian, so let’s say Naples. Shit, Ivy’s not really an Italian name in that time period, is it? Well, that can be figured out.” She jotted down a quick note to remind herself later. “Anyway, your mother, let’s call her Maria, that’s an easy one, grew up in Italy and that’s probably where she met your father, who took her back to America. He was a businessman from New York, and he asked her to run away with him. Maria was desperate to get out of her poor family’s home, so she said yes even though she was so young, and she came over. You were born here. Their marriage wasn’t great, maybe even abusive, though that feels like fridging, but is it fridging if it would provide suitable motivation for you to distrust your own husband later in life? Jury’s out, but in any case, your mother was unhappy with him and poured all of her love and attention into you instead, which would explain your inflated ego. Because her only salvation from poverty and suffering, from her perspective, was to leverage her good looks to find that wealthy but potentially abusive husband, she also thought that the only way for you to get by in life would be on your looks. She felt she would never accomplish anything in her own life, besides having you, so she wanted you to be a star. She wanted you to be known and beloved by everyone so that you would be safe, like she wasn’t. And because she wanted this so much, you want it as well.”

Sofia looked to Ivy, as if wishing for her to confirm or verify everything she had just said, but Ivy was only staring at her with wide amber eyes and a faint smile, completely lacking any unkindness or snark, playing at her open lips. “What do you think?” When Ivy didn’t respond, Sofia suddenly grew self-conscious. Was Ivy offended that Sofia had just read all that into her life? Could she be offended? Was she hurt?

No, no, I’m not offended. It just… it feels good. Strange, but good. It’s like I already knew all of that, but now that you’ve said it I can finally feel it. I feel… full.

“Well, good. I mean, that’s good, right?”

Yes, it’s good. Keep going.

And so they did. They sat there and talked through Ivy’s whole life, then some of Fitz’s, until it had grown so dark outside that Sofia was startled when headlights cut down the woodsy street. She and Ivy both peered out the window to watch Rocco’s car pull into the driveway. All of a sudden, Sofia was thrust back into reality. She was not Ivy, she was not Maria, she was Sofia and her husband had just come home and he would be expecting her to have the same personality as when he had left. He was home because it was the evening, the day was over, and she had gotten absolutely no substantial work done. She had not even touched the manuscript she was supposed to be editing for Devin, she hadn’t washed the dishes from last night, christ, she hadn’t even brushed her teeth. And Rocco would know, he would see all of this and he would be disappointed in her, though he would never say it. 

The rumble of the garage door rolling closed shook her like an earthquake. As she heard the keys turn in the door, she looked back at Ivy, who gave her a promising smirk.

See you tomorrow.