Everyone Wants to Write and Love the Woman I Love

Ellie was a writer, intelligent, funny, gloriously redheaded, and her presence made every room feel bright and welcoming. Yes, yes, she was a writer, but she wasn’t insufferable about it. She rarely mentioned writing in casual conversation, didn’t wear gaudy eyeglasses for fashion’s sake, wasn’t chemically dependent upon coffee, and she disliked Pride and Prejudice. Needless to say, I was in love with Ellie.

We were both part of a small group that ran a literary publication titled Obstreperous Throat. There were six of us: Rufus P. Tarkington, Greepo Timpanali, Markus Augustus, Ernest Edgar, Ellie Hannon, and me, Savio Sandini. We were a helter-skelter bunch, all unique in our talents and personality, but we believed that this discordance was what allowed us to create a quality literary product.

On this particular day, I was tidying my apartment and appearance. I had decided that I would boldly and plainly reveal my affection to Ellie. I phoned her the night before and asked:

“Hey, Ellie, what do you think about us getting together to plan for the next issue? We can go out to dinner afterwards.”

“That sounds great!” she exclaimed approvingly. “I’ll be over at five.”

“P.M.?” I stupidly confirmed out of nervous excitement.

As I was beginning to prepare myself a drink to calm the nerves, the doorbell rang. I checked the clock. She was an hour early.

Gathering myself, I answered the door. It wasn’t the lovely face of Ellie Hannon, however, it was Rufus P. Tarkington.

“Hello, Sandini,” he said. “Am I the first to arrive?”

“Why yes, Rufus, you are,” I answered, “but why are you here?”

Rufus let himself inside. He was a tall, gaunt, and jagged figure wearing dark, drab clothing. I understand that anyone who publishes a literary magazine must be intellectual to an extent, but Rufus didn’t seem to possess anything other than an incessant intellect. Standing in the middle of the floor with his back to me, Rufus spoke:

“On my way to your home, I encountered a vagrant without a home. He begged me for a pittance, some change, as he said. Looking into his moribund and bottomless eyes, I could sense that he was not asking for change in a monetary sense, but rather true change: social, political, revolutionary change!”

“I am certain that he just wanted monetary change,” I said. “But what are you doing here?” Rufus turned to face me.

“Ellie informed me that she wanted to plan for our next issue. She said you were kind enough to provide your home for our meeting.”

“What? No, no, that’s not right, that’s not what I meant—” I stammered.

“I’m going to be honest, Sandini,” interrupted Rufus. “When Ellie informed me of this meeting, my heart gamboled and I swelled with courage. I swelled with something else too, do you understand, Sandini?”

Rufus winked.

“Okay, that’s enough…”

“My penis was erect,” clarified Rufus.

He then divulged: “I decided that I would utilize this meeting as the most opportune moment to confess my love for Ellie.”

“Is that right?” I remarked.

“Yes, Sandini, I want to make my love bold and overt. I’m tired of whispering my love in secret like… like a… let’s see…”

“I understand, Rufus.”

“Like a… yes!... a speakeasy password.”

“Listen, I don’t know what to say but—”

The doorbell interrupted me. Hoping for a reprieve in the form of Ellie, I rushed to the door and opened it. Before me stood Greepo Timpanali.

“You open that door any quicker and I wouldn’t be here yet,” he wisecracked.

Greepo was a small man with a thick black mustache and curly hair. Greepo always seemed to be engaged in some sort of shtick, ceaselessly spouting jokes and irreverence.

Greepo entered the apartment and spotted Rufus.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I intruding?” asked Greepo.

“No,” answered Rufus.

“Well, then it must be you,” Greepo retorted.

“Greepo, may I ask what you are doing here?” I said.

“Miss Hannon informed me of a meeting at your humble abode for our next issue. And I was sure to show because let me tell you, I love this job. I previously worked at the circus, you know? At first, I was the Human Cannonball, but unfortunately, I was fired. Then I became the world’s most successful tightrope walker, but I just couldn’t handle the high life. And lastly, I became the Bearded Lady.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “Where are you going with this one?”

“Well, nowhere as soon as they discovered I wasn’t a lady,” he zinged.

“All jokes aside, Greepo, did Ellie say this was a meeting for all of us?”

Greepo replied, “Of course, we must labor to achieve a quality product. After all, art is art, and labor is labor. But believe it or not, a shooting star isn’t a star. But anyway, on to more lascivious matters. Over the past few months, I’ve noticed just how beautiful Miss Hannon is. Isn’t that right, Rufus?”

Rufus shut his eyes in poetic contemplation and crooned, “Her metronome stride, metacarpals molded around the balustrade...”

“Oh boy,” said Greepo, “this man takes poetry seriously, it isn’t safe for him to be a poet. As I was saying, upon giving up my last wife for Lent, I wouldn’t mind mingling with Miss Hannon.”

“Listen, fellas—” I began, before being silenced again by the doorbell.

I opened the door and found myself staring directly at an expansive and sinewy chest. Looking up, I saw the grizzled and surly face of Markus Augustus.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.

“Living here, I guess…”

He moved me aside with his thick hand and entered. He held a bottle of whiskey and took a solid swig. Markus’ hands were ripe with the marks of fist fights. No one ever saw Markus reading or writing, yet he was one of the finest writers in the country. As Markus liked to say, “If you ain’t the best writer in the room, you’re just another dork who writes.”

“Someone inform the authorities that a matador is lying dead somewhere. We’ve already got the bull captured,” said Greepo.

“A baneful urbane brute,” said Rufus. “Where are you coming from?”

“Finished the drink. Slammed down the glass. Guy looked at me funny. Got up. Knocked him down. Looked at his woman. Wasn’t interested. Tossed the bartender his tab. Left.”

“You know, this man isn’t the brightest bulb, but you’d never catch me telling him that,” remarked Greepo.

“I’m beginning to catch on,” I said, “but what are you doing here Markus?”

Markus reached into the pocket of his tattered jeans and pulled out a large wad of crinkled paper. He tossed it onto the coffee table.

“Here’re my pieces for the next issue. Did them last night in an alley as the whores and drug lords and rats ran free. Garbage and dirty money and a moldy moon. Those are my nights. There’s my work. Don’t you dare edit it.”

“That’s great, Markus, but there wasn’t a meeting today,” I informed him.

“Where’s Ellie?” he inquired.

“Not you too…” I muttered.

“A seawide fleet of ships, set sail to war, for one manifestation of flesh,” waxed Rufus.

“Well, if this Roman is after my woman, I may just consider going Greek,” said Greepo.

Before anything could develop, the doorbell rang.

Surveying the room, I said, “Judging by my luck and a simple process of elimination, I think I know who this is.”

I opened the door and, of course, there stood Ernest Edgar.

“Hello, Ernest, here for the meeting?” I greeted.

He nodded.

“Ellie informed you?”

He nodded again.

“Come right in, there may be some room left.”

Ernest was a meek and meager man. It was difficult to discern whether he was a misanthrope, an introvert, or just shy. There was no way to be sure how Ernest felt about any of us involved in this operation.

Ernest immediately moved into the kitchen and made himself a drink. Then he sat at an empty stool in the corner and slowly sipped with his gaze fixed to the floor.

“Ernest, have you a piece for our next issue?” asked Rufus.

Ernest reached into his coat and procured a portfolio.

Markus grabbed the portfolio and examined the short story inside. He read the title aloud:

“My Soggy Soul Trembles like a Naked Virgin Lying Before an Immortal Philanderer. Goddamn, you sap.”

“You’re too emotional sometimes, Ernest. It’s like painting straight out of the tube. You’ve got to frame the emotion,” offered Rufus.

“Listen, guys, I don’t know why we’re workshopping right now,” I cut in. “This isn’t what I had planned. And let me guess, Ernest, you’re here to win Ellie’s heart.”

Ernest looked up, suddenly attentive.

“Excellent, you are all here for the same woman,” I realized.

“Four men, all associates, reveal on the same day that they’re after the same woman?” said Greepo. “Excuse me while I have a word with the audience: You know, if I were you, I wouldn’t believe any of this mess. You have every right to do that.”

“Sandini, you’re a friend of Ellie’s,” said Rufus, “who do you think is appropriate for her?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Ellie wants 255 lbs. of solid steel and sex-appeal,” said Markus.

“Let fame drift to the mediocre, as it must to keep the world spinning. Let the talented love, like spiders spinning silk in the dark,” said Rufus.

“You know, if I don’t leave here with Ellie, I may have to go back to my ex-wife. Yes, she has gained weight, but I am not here to make jokes at her expanse,” said Greepo.

Ernest sat on the stool, silently sipping, afflicted by whatever made him the way he was.

Amongst their banter, the telephone rang.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hi, Sandini!” said Ellie’s blithe voice.

“Oh, hi, Ellie,” I said softly so the others wouldn’t hear.

“I’m so sorry, but I’m running a little late. My cat was acting up. I’ll be there soon though.”

“Sure, no problem. Listen, Ellie, did you tell the others that we were holding a meeting for the next issue?”

“Yes, I thought that’s what you wanted. Oh no, is that not what you wanted?”

“No, yes, that’s fine, Ellie.”

“Okay, that’s good. I’ll be there in a bit. I’m hungry, I can’t wait to get dinner.”

She hung up. I smiled the slightest smile. Then I turned and saw the scene before me. A circus in the middle of my home. A group that seemed more like characters than humans. Something something Pirandello. The play had been set into motion and nothing good could come of it.

“Hey, fellas, when Ellie arrives, could you tell her I had an emergency come up?” I said into their chatter.

I was unsure if anyone had heard me. I put on my coat and left my apartment. I walked desultorily through the streets. Craving a cup of tea to calm my senses, I turned into a local coffee house. As I walked towards the coffee bar, I passed the magazine shelf and caught a glimpse of something familiar. It was Issue 5 of Obstreperous Throat.

“Wow, you guys have this here?” I said to the man at the counter.

“What?” he replied.

I held the magazine up for him to see.

“Obstreperous Throat,” I said. “I publish this. I can’t believe you have this here.”

“Listen, I don’t know, man, what the hell do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry.”

I took the copy, sat at one of the tables, and began reading. As I became lost in our creation and minutes passed, I saw Ellie stride past the storefront window, graceful, glowing, unsuspecting, heading towards my apartment. I considered chasing after her. I considered letting my house guests profess their love to her.

I turned back to Issue 5 of Obstreperous Throat and decided to read a bit more. A traveling band of actors abduct Dostoevsky and mercilessly tickle him to induce laughter in a tale by Greepo Timpanali. A Freudian critique of Frankenstein insisting the monster represents an anthropomorphic engorged phallus by Rufus P. Tarkington. We were beautiful on the pages. I liked us best that way.