Animate Me / Chapter Eighteen / How to Woo a Girl

“I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now.” ~ Edna Mode

There’s an eerie sense of déjà vu as I focus on the stage from my anonymous position at the back of the crowd. Mojo is blathering on about the Emmy win, neglecting to mention that he blew it off to watch two testosterone cases pummel each other in the city of sin.

I was with her, you ass. I was the one she beamed for when they announced the winner.

But as soon as Brooke approaches the mike I realize why I feel this way. I am transported to the first moment I saw her, in the big auditorium at Sketch Republic. I was sitting in the back, preparing to take my usual meeting nap when Brooke stepped onto the stage and it lit up like a summer sky. It was love at first sight.

And now, despite the journey I’ve taken with Brooke, as close as we’ve become, I find myself at the back of the crowd once again. But this time, I’m not accepting the idea that I don’t matter, that I’m just an anonymous face in the crowd. So as she begins to speak, I instinctively start to push my way towards the stage.

Halfway through the crowd, I’m close enough to see her fingers graze the mike stand. Her brows knit in contemplation before her clear voice starts to echo across the floor.

“When Danny Deletes was announced as the winner for Best Animated Series, I felt incredible pride… not just for helping Lazlo bring his brilliant creation into production, but to be part of this exceptional team here at Sketch Republic. Each of you contributes with your talent, ideas and hard work to help make us one of the most innovative studios in the world.”

For a brief moment I glance around me and realize everyone’s quiet and watching her intently. She has charisma, and I’m not the only one under her spell.

“Animation is hard work, at times it’s grueling. There are crazy schedules, challenging budgets, cutbacks and network constraints. Sometimes things can become a grind, and it’s easy to lose track of how we fell in love with cartoons in the first place.”

I notice Brooke scanning the crowd, but when her eyes rest on mine, she smiles and stops searching.

“Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to be reminded why I fell in love with cartoons. I’ve been taught that if your mind and heart are open, true passion will inspire you to do greater things. This has been the greatest gift for me and I will carry it with me always.”

My heart’s pounding. Have I really inspired her? Have I shown her how to open her heart? I smile at her and she smiles back, her eyes sparkling under the lights.

“And so I challenge each of you to do what you can to keep your passion alive so you’ll be inspired to do your best work. Lazlo refused to give up on his dream and was working two desk jobs when I convinced the studio that Danny Deletes was worth developing. His determination inspired me to never give up on his project.

“So what inspires you? Do you watch old classic cartoons, go to museums, and draw stuff that has nothing to do with your job? Or maybe you read comic books and remember how the stories and characters used to make you feel.

“All that’s important, but this is what I hope inspires you most of all…Every time you lift a pencil, or move that mouse, remember those little kids in front of their TVs watching our shows, and quoting their favorite lines over and over. When they go to bed at night they’ll be holding their stuffed Danny, Lucy and Bernie dolls close to their hearts. They deserve our best.”

I hear a soft sniff and turn to see Genna brush a tear out of her eye. I quickly turn back towards the stage. Does she have any idea how inspiring she is? How these guys need to hear this?

How much I love her?

She looks down, takes a deep breath, then looks up again.

“Your creativity and brilliance touches kids all over the world. Be proud of your work and never forget that you are the keepers of the magic. I’m incredibly honored to be part of your team.”

The crowd erupts in applause and cheers. I push myself forward, but then freeze as I see Arnold pull Brooke into his arms and embrace her. He’s never shown this kind of affection towards her publicly, and it’s shocking to everyone, most of all me. A silence falls over the room, and from that point on everything moves in slow motion. When they pull apart, Arnold tucks Brooke under his arm and grabs the mike. He must’ve had a few because he definitely has a buzz going.

“Do you love this girl or what?” he yells enthusiastically.

Everyone cheers as he grabs her tighter.

I want to break his hairy arms.

“’Cause I do. What do you think? Isn’t she the best? I’d say she’s a keeper!”

Brooke rolls her eyes, but in a playful way like she’s trying to keep things light.

Arnold gears up again. “What do you think guys? Should I marry her?”

Is he fucking serious? Did he just shout that out to the entire company?

As he pulls Brooke close and kisses her again, I hear, yes! and marry her! being yelled in between hoots and whistles from the crowd. At this point I’m outside of my body and just observing the whole scene. As hard as I try, I can’t get a read on Brooke’s expression. Is it shock? She doesn’t look thrilled, but she doesn’t push him away either. Her numb look and compliance stirs up everything I fear. I may be an emotional idiot, but could Brooke’s vague statements at lunch, along with Arnold’s declaration suggest the possibility that their ship’s getting ready to sail? If so, I’ll be left behind, clinging on to a capsized lifeboat.

Arnold pulls her offstage and the music starts up again. Everything’s blurry, a swirl of colors and light. The music’s deafening when layered onto the screaming inside my head. I sway uncertainly before I feel an arm hook through mine and pull.

“Come on,” the feminine voice says with determination. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“I have to talk to Brooke,” I mumble frantically as she drags me through the crowd.

“Not now…later,” she asserts. She picks up speed so that by the time we reach the front door of the club we blast through it.

I fall forward, my hands clutching my knees as I try to suck in air. She waits patiently as I try to straighten up. “I’ve got to go back in and find her. Please, Morgan…help me find her,” I beg.

“This isn’t a good time for that, Nathan,” she insists as she squints and scans the street. “If you confront her now all hell’s going to break loose, and it will only hurt you and Brooke. I know Arnauld well enough to know when it’s time to steer clear.”

She loops her arm through mine. “Come on, you need a drink.”

Yes a drink, and then another. Everything’s suddenly in super high-definition focus, and I need it to get blurry again.

She pulls me down the street to a place ironically called The Frolic Room, a retro-cool small bar that looks like it’s been around since the fifties. When we go inside, there are only a few customers and a bartender who looks like he’s seen everything and then some. She deposits me in a booth where the upholstery crack has been sealed with duct tape. I don’t remember telling her I wanted whiskey, but somehow that ends up in front of me. I guess this is the opening scene of the B movie of my life. If only I didn’t have to star in it.

We sit silently while she stirs her olive on a miniature sword around her martini, over and over and over. Finally she lifts it out and pulls the olive off with her teeth. I silently watch her in despair, taking long sips from my drink.

“Love is a rough game,” Morgan finally says definitively.

I half expect her to snap her gum, and pull a cigarette out of the top of her stocking like they did in those forties movies.

I finish my drink with two gulps, then grab onto my hair and pull hard.

“I love Brooke,” I confess.

“No shit, Sherlock,” she replies.

“You knew?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course. It’s glaringly obvious.”

“If love really is a game, Morgan, Arnold isn’t playing fair.”

She smirks at my new name for Arnauld.

I look at the little sword now abandoned on her cocktail napkin and realize that if Arnold were an action figure, this would be the perfect size weapon to behead him with.

“Yeah, that’s where the rough part comes in. He knows it’s war now. He’s either going to try to make himself look really good, make you look really bad, or some combination of the two.”

Her words ring true, and I squirm at the idea of it. There are endless ways to make me look bad.

“You weren’t a threat at first because he completely underestimated you. He won’t make that mistake again.”

Billie’s words from several weeks ago ring in my ear, how I’m going to get tossed to the curb like a cheap hooker. I don’t care about my job as much as I care about losing Brooke.

“But he’s all wrong for Brooke,” I insist.

“I know, but he’s made her believe that her career is in his hands. And sadly, I think she believes it.”

“I hate how he tries to control her. I would never do that. I’m good for Brooke,” I counter.

“I know that, Romeo, but you guys became friends what…a month ago? She’s been with Arnauld for over three years.”

“He’s never gonna give her up, is he?” My fists curl over my knees.

She raises her eyebrows and gives me a stern look. “Did you really think he would? He sees his prize drifting away, and he wants to secure it. I don’t even think he intends to marry her; he just wants to make sure she doesn’t end up with you or anyone else.”

“Really?”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

“And what about Brooke? What do you think she wants?” I ask nervously.

“I’m not sure. Before she met you, I thought her career was all she really cared about. I’ve never seen someone work so hard. She was obsessed. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Really?” I ask, hopeful. But then I picture Arnold and Brooke on the stage tonight and I plummet back into despair. “But what if she marries Arnold?” I ask, as I motion to the bartender for another drink. He nods and pulls the bottle off the mirrored shelf.

“Well, you just can’t let that happen.”

I don’t remember how much longer Morgan and I stayed at The Frolic Room. I have a vague recollection of lying with my cheek pressed down on the Formica tabletop, moaning as the warbly old jukebox played Frank Sinatra and Peggy Lee ballads. It seemed the properly pathetic conclusion to the worst evening of my life.

“Come-on, Cowboy,” she says finally pulling me out of the booth. “I’m sure the coast is clear now. I’m driving you home.”

“My car,” I mumble.

“Give me forty bucks,” she commands. “We’ll pay off the parking attendant so you don’t get towed. You can get it tomorrow.”

I hand her my wallet and watch her pull out the cash. She drags me to the lot and deposits me in her car before fast talking the head attendant. Even in my drunk stupor, I realize that Morgan’s a force to be reckoned with.

Gratefully I don’t toss my cookies on the drive to Burbank, even though the air freshening thing dangling from her rear-view mirror is making me gag. I hang my head out the window and let the air slap my face as Morgan weaves along the Cahuenga Pass that carves through the Hollywood Hills towards the valley.

I manage to remember my address and once we arrive she takes my arm and walks me to my door like some kind of backwards date. I drop my keys fumbling at the front door, so she picks them up and helps me get the door open.

“Morgan…” I start and she holds her hand up to stop me.

“No, Nathan. No need to thank me. Just do me a favor and don’t let that fucker win. Okay?”

I stand up straighter. It’s like she’s slapped me in the face. I’m alert again. “No, he can’t win,” I agree, tightening my hands into fists.

“Now you’re talking!” She grabs my fancy shirt by the collar and shakes me. “Look it may get worse before it gets better, but you can’t give up. You have to convince Brooke that she deserves real love.”

“I’ll do my best,” I assure her as I watch her pivot and march down the walkway.

“Thank you, Morgan,” I call after her.

In her final grand gesture, she doesn’t look back but lifts her hand and waves once. It’s like a salute from my very own general in this fight for Brooke. Tonight may have required a retreat, and Arnold may have won the battle, but somehow, some way…I’ve got to win the war.

I have one final thought before I tumble inside and deposit my hip-fail of an outfit into the bottom of the clothes hamper:

Damn, I’m lucky to have Morgan on my side.

• • •

“Dad?” I say softly, trying to find my voice. Each moment since I woke has felt like being dragged across a bed of gravel. My head’s throbbing and my skin feels raw.

“Son, are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I need to ask a big favor. I need a ride into Hollywood to get my car, and I can’t get a hold of Curtis. I could call a cab but I’d rather have back up if there’s a problem.”

This isn’t the kind of call my Dad’s ever gotten from me, so he knows to take it seriously. “I’ll be there shortly,” he responds without a pause. “I calculate between twenty and thirty minutes barring any unforeseen traffic issues.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Twenty-three minutes later when I get in his car he studies me carefully. He appears relieved to see no obvious signs of bodily harm, but he must sense my heart’s wounded.

“Hollywood?” he asks.

I give him directions the way he likes them, precise and without extraneous information. He has verbal and visual total recall, so I know I won’t need to repeat myself.

“Exactly what are the circumstances for this unfortunate state you find yourself in? It is clear that copious amounts of alcohol were involved.”

“Yes, I had a friend drive me home last night since I was too intoxicated to drive.”

“Well, if you’re going to have a bender, at least you used wise judgment.”

“Well, my friend did, but I’m sure that I would’ve come to that conclusion on my own.”

“I’m don’t want to pry, Nathan, but is this about Brooke? I deduce you are crestfallen, and I fear that there’s been a setback.”

“You could say that,” I admit quietly. “Last night Arnold announced he plans to marry her.”

“I see,” he says. “That’s a most definite setback…a chink in the armor, a fly in the ointment, a monkey wrench thrown into the mix.”

“Yeah, I’d like to stick that damn monkey face first in the ointment,” I growl.

Dad gives me a puzzled look and then refocuses on the issue.

“I must ask this, Nathan and answer it honestly. Does she want to marry him? Does she love him?”

I shake my head vehemently. “I don’t think so. He’s changed, and not for the better over the course of their relationship. I can’t even figure out what she still sees in him other than job security.”

“I see,” he replies thoughtfully. “Okay then, let’s get to work with some basic analysis. Grab the pad on the back seat and there are pens in the glove box.”

I know better than to question Dad when the pads come out. In his mind, every problem requires a list and extensive notes to examine. It’s how he makes sense of the world.

“Okay, draw a line down the middle—a column for you, and a column for him.”

My line is shaky. I scrawl Nathan and Arnold on the top line.

“Age relative to Brooke?”

“I think he’s in his late thirties or early forties, and she’s thirty.”

Dad lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t comment. “Write the subject on the far left, then minus four for you and plus ten for him.”

“Career?”

“Animator, versus company president.” I dutifully write out the details.

“Financial Standing?”

“Well, he makes a lot more than me, that’s for sure. But I do okay.”

Dad nods towards the pad so that I write it down.

“Education?”

“I heard he has an MBA from Harvard. I have an art degree.” I cringe at how pathetic that sounds.

“Level of attractiveness from a female’s perspective?”

“Geek, versus Adonis,” I scribble down, my spirits falling further.

“Physique?”

“I’m in good shape, but he’s in great shape.”

Dad frowns. Something occurs to me.

“You know what though? I think I’m bigger. I mean I think my, well you know…” I point down at my crotch.

“Your penis?” Dad questions matter-of-factly, like I’m comparing beaker tubes in a lab.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure my penis is much bigger than his. Brooke only had regular sized condoms at her place which wouldn’t fit me.”

He finally grins with this victory. “Well, you are an Evans, Son. Besides, statistics show that well-endowed men have greater success securing their desired mate. Take my word for it; that’s a definite asset.”

Okay then. Finally, one for the home team.

“So while we are on that subject, how about sexual prowess?” he asks.

“Well that’s like comparing Pee Wee Herman to Warren Beatty in his day.”

He coughs. I’m impressed that Dad can keep a straight face.

“Sharing common interests with Brooke?”

“I think I win there, hands down. I don’t even think Arnold likes cartoons.”

“Okay, that’s good. And finally, some of the most significant attributes…personality? List five qualities each.”

“Devoted, determined, awkward, inexperienced, hopeful…versus powerful, pseudo-charming, confident, persuasive…ASSHOLE.”

He pulls the car over and takes the pad out of my hand. “Okay, let me review and summarize.” He studies the two columns, his brow furrowed in concentration. He sets the pad on the console and turns towards me.

“You two couldn’t be more different. Brooke must be terribly confused. Here she’s with this Arnold person for how long did you say?”

“Three years.”

“Yes, and then you come along and seismically impact her world.” He taps the pencil down the list. “You are young, inexperienced, less successful, less attractive…”

“Thanks Dad, I’m feeling like a million bucks right about now.”

“Let me finish, Nathan. What I was trying to say is that despite all of these shortcomings, she’s undeniably drawn to you. There must be an extremely powerful chemistry between you.”

I nod enthusiastically.

“And you love her.”

“With all my heart.”

“Well then prove to her that you can be strong and confident too. Even the most successful women want to know that you can be their equal. You can do it, Son. Just think, you are about to make a deal with your comic book that could lead to significant life-altering success. You’re the most defiantly determined person I know. Your entire life I’ve watched you single-mindedly and tenaciously go after anything you really wanted.”

I nod. He’s right. Once I set my mind to something I can never give up until I achieve what I want, or get what I need. And I want Brooke. I need Brooke.

“Most importantly you need to claim her, as man has claimed his woman throughout the ages. This is not rocket science, Son; it’s human primal instinct. Make her understand that she should be with you…quite simply, she is your chosen mate. You need to be hers. We’re a highly developed society, but in the end we’re all animals. And it’s still a jungle out there.”

I smile as I picture Brooke and I as Simba and Nala from the Lion King, running side by side along the animated savannah.

He lifts up the pad, and waves his hand over my writing as he continues.

“And all of the scientific data, statistical facts and empirical evidence can’t compete with the indefinable heart’s desire. For if in the end, she loves you, and she chooses you…none of the rest of this will matter.”

He tears the sheet off the pad, wads it up and tosses it in the back seat.

Stunned, I look in behind us and then back at my dad. I’ve never seen him discard the facts…ever. I didn’t think that man had a recklessly romantic bone in his body. Boy, was I wrong. I can’t help but grin.

Before he moves back into traffic he gives me a firm nod. “Looks like you’ve got some serious wooing to do.”

Happily my Mini-Cooper is waiting patiently for me when we pull into the deserted lot, the lone surviving soldier from my hellish night. I give Dad one of our awkward hugs and thank him for not just the ride, but also his advice. He looks pleased that his pep talk seems to have inspired me.

When I get home, I fire up my computer. My task is very specific as I get on the internet, my fingers flying over the keyboard.

Google search: definition of woo

Results: Woo: To seek the affection of with intent to romance.

I return to the Google page looking for another form of help. I type in How to Woo a Girl. The results flash in a mere second, and fifth item down, I find just what I’m looking for on WikiAnswers.

How to Woo A Girl

The list starts out rather uninspiring. I was hoping for magic potions, spells or at least instructions as to where I can buy pheromones to physically draw her to me like a huge magnet that never releases its hold.

Show interest…look in her eyes when you speak to her…be sensitive and caring…be assertive, and lead…yeah, yeah, yeah

I scan further down. What’s this?

Whisper in her ear… That’s weird, but certainly easy. Do they mean all the time? That would be ridiculous. I continue on.

Dress nicely… Shoot, not with the clothes again.

Be nice to your young relatives in front of her… I don’t have any young relatives. Maybe I could borrow some? Shit, this stuff is complicated.

Help others in front of her, like the poor and needy…

Make her laugh… I’m assuming not when you’re helping the poor and needy.

For holidays like Valentine’s Day be sweet and thoughtful instead of cliché…

blah, blah, blah

Don’t be overtly sexual…well, it’s too late for that one.

Learn to dance, take ballroom dancing lessons…seriously? That has disaster written all over it.

Be spontaneous!

And finally, take the first step. If you’re ever going to win the prize you have to tell the prize you want it.

Now that makes the most sense to me of all the suggestions.

Wow. There are so many things to consider that my head’s spinning. Did Arnold do all this stuff for Brooke? I mean I really doubt that he whispered in Brooke’s ear or helped others, but I know for a fact that he’s a good dancer.

I read the list three times, jotting down ideas on note cards. I then tape up everything on my bathroom mirror so that I can review the suggestions often. The last card I wrote I hang in the most prominent location, right at eye level:

If you’re going to ever win the prize, you’ve got to tell the prize you want it.

I take a deep breath and nod at my reflection. It’s time.

While I still have the nerve, I march out to the kitchen and grab my phone, then quickly dial Brooke’s number. I’m frustrated when her phone goes directly to voicemail, but I attempt to leave a message anyway.

Hey Brooke, it’s Nathan. I’d like to take you to dinner tonight so we can talk. How’s seven p.m.?

I pause for a moment. Was that too pushy, or appropriately direct? Damn. I better finish this up.

So give me a call…okay thanks…bye.

I stare at my phone for a moment and then remember that I haven’t hung up, so I nervously hit the end button. It occurs to me that maybe I should text her too since I can control my words better, and not sound like an idiot.

Hi Brooke, just left you a voicemail about dinner tonight. Let me know if seven is good.

I hit send. Moments later I get a reply.

Sorry, can’t do dinner, at Arnauld’s now.

Damn. A wave of panic washes over me, and my woo-ing plan takes a back seat to my fear. My fingers shake as I type crazy words I shouldn’t text.

Just needed to let you know that I’m not going to let you marry him.

There…I said it. I feel sick and triumphant at the same time. I can’t believe I just texted that.

Is that so?

Thank God she isn’t mad at me. But her calm reply just fuels my fire.

Are you going to marry him?

You just told me that you weren’t going to let that happen.

But would you have tried?

I’m curious now…what would you’ve done to stop it?

Ride up on a horse and carry you off in your wedding gown.

Very dramatic.

I mean it. You can’t marry that ass.

The ass is getting off the phone. Can we talk about this tomorrow?

Tonight. I insist.

I don’t know how long this argument will take. Tomorrow…please Nathan, I will explain everything then, I promise.

And just like that she’s gone. I watch her words fade back into the screen, the blue background a cold infinity I can’t penetrate.

Instinctively my fingers move over the tiny keyboard, willing the words I had wanted to tell her to materialize. Slowly, deliberately, I spell out my truth as if each letter is a sign I’m posting on the road of this twisted journey.

i l o v e y o u b r o o k e

I get overwhelmed as I reread my message for her. I thought we had more time than this. I’m fighting back waves of frustration to know that she’s with him even if they’re fighting. Couples fight and make up all the time, and there are still enough pieces of their puzzle I’m missing to make me uneasy. There’s a devastating fear of what may never be mine…with the absolute understanding that the only thing I really want, is the one thing I may never have. I keep typing, adding on.

i l o v e y o u b r o o k e w i t h a l l m y h e a r t

I study the words, rubbing my finger across the screen over and over, wishing she could understand that she’s everything to me.

But instead of hitting send, I delete the message and close the screen. This is so much bigger than a text. I need to face her with my truth. Tomorrow will be the day.