Content Warning: Gun Shot

A rather rough cough huffed its way out of old Arnie Tate as he flipped the page of his newspaper. 

“Oh, you smell positively wretched. You know that?” Mrs. Tate exclaimed to her father-in-law. 

“Well then, you can move to a different room, my dear. I quite like this cigar, and I quite like sitting in this chair. The fabric has perfectly formed to my tush, and I plan on never rising from this seat again. Just carry me around like an Egyptian on one of those beds because–”

“Alright alright. That’s enough for today.” 

“Well, I’m glad you see it my way. Now Doris dear, kindly hush for a moment.”

“You are such a sourpuss today. You know that? Do you?” Doris huffed and promptly stood up from her seat that she had been keeping for the past hour. She was tired of the needlepoint that she held in her hand, and was itching for real conversation.

“My doll, my dear, my light, I am always a sourpuss. You just don’t always have the pleasure of seeing it. Now must I tell you again to shush?” 

The mother of the Tate family huffed, crossed her arms over her bosom, and turned away from the curmudgeon. Henry had been in a wretched mood all week over some dreaded movie with a washed up star, and had been taking out his own frustrations on her. The woman, in turn, needed to take her frustrations out on somebody else. 

“Everyone in this darned house is a sourpuss and I’m sick of it. What did I do to deserve such a sourpuss family? You should be put in the hall of fame for the amount of times you make that sour face at people!” 

Arnie sighed, “Dear lord woman, this is going to turn into a whole ordeal, isn’t it? Well, let's hear it.” The man folded his newspaper and set it carefully down on his crossed legs, “What seems to be bothering the matriarch of this house?” 

Mrs.Tate sat down in her chair yet again and began her needle point, “Oh nothing.”

“Jesus Christ in heaven, woman! You’re just mad enough to make even the sanest of men go completely out of their minds.” 

Doris sighed and looked off into the distance. 

“Talk, talk woman! Or shut your mouth forever goddamnit.” 

Mrs. Tate was just about to open her mouth to unload her woes upon the man when a thunderous slam echoed from the front door. 

“You’re a wretched man, you know that Don?” 

“What could I have possibly done to make you despise me so?” 

“You know damn well–” 

“Children? What seems to be the matter?” Doris bellowed. 

Donald Tate strolled into the living room and settled himself on the couch. Resting his temple against his hand, Donald wore a feline grin across his face. 

“I don’t know mother, Fran has gone berserk. I think it’s finally time to admit her–”

“You think you’re so goddamn funny don’t you.” Frances strolled into the room moments later. “Ma, your son is wretched and I can’t stand him anymore. I think you need to kick him out. Let him live on the streets with the other rats.” 

“I agree wholeheartedly.” Arnie chimed in. “While we are at it, throw the girl out too. She’s much too old to be living here.” 

Frances cried an objection as Donald laughed at the failure of his sister’s schemes. Mrs. Tate held up her hand, “Oh all of you be quiet, you’re giving me a headache. Now Frances, would you like to explain what happened, or are you going to keep us guessing the whole night?” 

Frances crossed her arms and fell quite dramatically onto the couch next to her traitorous brother, “Donald was trying to manipulate me into going out with some actor.”

A pause from the matriarch, “Who is the actor?” 

Donald smiled, “Walter Hart.” 

“Oh.” 

“What?” Frances intervened, “He’s not good enough for me to go out with?” “Well–”

“Ma!” 

“What? He just has a history.” 

“Seriously? That’s your one qualm with this whole ordeal? Not that your dumbass of a son tried to sell his sister off to some guy who can barely act? It’s that he has a history? Maybe grandpa is right, I should move out because living with all of you looney–” 

“God Fran, can you be more dramatic?” Donald cut her off. “I wasn’t selling you, I was simply nudging you two together–” 

“Nudging? What you were doing was more than–” 

“Okay maybe it was a little more–” 

“A little more? It was a lot–” 

“Are you ever gonna let this go? It’s been hours.” 

“Oh I am going to kill–” 

The sound of a gun being fired sent the two into terrified silence. Arnie Tate was standing in front of his chair, one arm leaning on his cane and the other held up in the air, the smoke from a pistol wafting down and around his hand. 

“Now that I have your attention.” Arnie slowly lowered his arm and set down the gun on the side table that also held his beloved newspaper. “I am sick of the both of you. Your presence, and loud voices have made this afternoon quite unbearable. If you are to be in the living room you will lower your voices and listen to each other. We didn’t raise you to be the loud, annoying little wretches that you have proved you are in this past five minutes. You have disturbed your mother enough to give her a headache, you have awoken Woody,” The family dog has yet to be mentioned until now because of his slothful, and quiet nature, warranting him silent sanctuary from most of the family’s chaotic doings. “and most dreadful of all, you have made me stand up.

Rising from my comfortable chair and souring my beautiful newspaper. Now leave or shut your mouths, children.” 

************ 

Here, as follows, is a story of a pair of people who can’t help but bump into each other. First, it was the small coffee shop on the lot of the studio. Walter Hart had been spiking his cup of coffee as Frances Tate was turning around with her own freshly brewed cup. The coffee had spilled on the pair, and they had both left the exchange with a few choice words and a scowl. Then, they both went to grab for the same newspaper at the magazine stand that Frances frequented, coincidentally, so did Walter. Frances had slapped his hand out of her way and taken the last paper in the stack. This caused Walter to retaliate by buying all the newspapers the next week, forcing Frances to walk ten blocks to the next suitable newspaper stand. The next day while Frances was locking Ye Ol’ Antiques, Walter just so happened to be walking out of the restaurant that resided right across the street from her antique shop. The man gave her a polite nod, while she gave him a grimace and obscene hand gesture back. This led Walter to burst out into laughter as she stormed off down the street. 

After a couple more weeks of this cosmic led bumping, they finally decided maybe they should sit down and bump into each other on purpose. Well, the pair didn’t decide this. The decision came from the male party involved. See, he had never had a woman treat him so miserably and he was quite intrigued, among other things. The man’s preposterous idea was proposed at the ballet performance of Irene Tate who was coincidentally performing alongside Walter’s youngest sister. The pair had been seated right next to each other which Walter may or may not have had a part in planning once seeing Frances was sitting in the third row center seat next to her siblings. 

“So, what do you say?” 

“What do I say to what?” 

Walter leaned closer but even Donald, who was sitting two seats down from them, could hear the offer. “To having a drink sometime. Just you and me.” 

“No.” 

“I promise not to spill on you.” Walter said this with a wink that caused a flip in Frances’s stomach. Nausea, most certainly. 

“No.” Frances turned back to the performance, pretending not to see the eyes of her six siblings all boring into her. 

“Please? I promise if we have a terribly wretched time I’ll get you a New York Times subscription and walk to the other side of the street when I see you coming. I’ll avoid you like the plague, just let me at least get to know you first.” 

Although Frances thought the words were at least a little endearing and had potential to be sweet, she could not give in so easily. See, she had rules against dating men who had drinking problems and were potential assailants.

So, for the sake of her rules that had gotten her this far in life and had yet to let her down. She looked at the desperate man sitting next to her and said, “No.”

Without warning, Walter got up from his seat in the third row center, and pouted out of the auditorium. The rest of the recital went by in a flash without the hysterics of the actor, and Frances got up the moment it was over and left her siblings still in their seats. She did not feel like answering their questions, Donald could do that all on his own. 

“You know it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Gertrude said as she caught up with Frances. 

“How do you know? He is arrogant, self-centered, rude, a pain in my–”

Lillian sprang out of nowhere and hooked her arm around Frances’. “What are we talking about?” Donald came up next to them as well, ever the snoop. Frances wished that for only a few moments she did not have a million people to answer to, constantly trying to meddle in her own affairs. 

“Walter Hart.” Gertrude replied. Frances whispered at Gertrude to shut it, but she went on. “Did you hear him during the performance? He was practically begging Fran to go out with him.” 

Lillian's jaw dropped. “Frances? He was begging Frances? Are we sure there is nothing wrong with the man?” 

“One can only assume from his unflappable infatuation with our most rough sibling that he likes a challenge. Maybe he likes shut ins.” Donald chimed in. 

Lillian laughed, “He has a thing for hermits?” 

“Loners tickle his fancy?” 

“Gets turned on by spinsters?” 

Gertrude and Frances decided that they should push ahead of Laurel and Hardy and continued to talk. Gertrude gave her younger sister a concerned look, “What do you think of him?” 

“You already know what I think of him.” The air outside of the auditorium hit like a blast. It was only 40 degrees outside, but to the native Californian, it felt like the Antarctic.

“I know what you tell everyone else, I know what you put on for show. But, no, I don’t know what you think about him. Tell me what happened to make you hate him.”

“Nothing happened. I just don’t care for him. Now can we please leave it at that?” Silence passed through the pair before Frances sighed, “Would you like to get a taxi or walk home? Personally, I would advocate for a taxi, given the temperature outside, but if you feel as though the cool air might be cleansing in some way by all means don’t let me stop you.”

Gertrude stared at her sister. Frances was only two years younger than her, and yet she still could not believe that she was not a small child anymore. Although she did act like one from time to time, Gertrude felt as though her sister was wise beyond her years in almost everything. Everything other than love. Because of this, Gertrude had to take her time nudging Frances towards the young woman’s epiphanies in the matter.

“Fran, what harm would come from one small date? You wouldn’t even have to call it a date, simply a meeting to test the waters.” 

Frances turned around to look at her sister, “Why are we still speaking of this? I already told you–” 

“You told me what you think, but what do you feel? I know I’ve been gone for a while, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to read you. That doesn’t mean I can’t see how lonely you are.”

“I do not need a man to fulfill me, to make me happy. Anyway, why are we having this conversation here. I am cold and I would like to start heading home.” 

“I know you don’t need a man. But do you want one?” There settled a silence between the two yet again. Gertrude hesitated to continue, but she figured now was a better time than ever to push just a little harder. “I just feel like there is no harm in meeting with this boy. It could be fun, and Lord knows you need to have some more fun in your life. Not to sound like tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb back there but you do get a little shut up in the shop sometimes.” 

“How would you know? You’re never around enough to see where I go.” Silence bled into every nook and cranny of the night. “Why do you care so much? This is none of your business! You have never been this pushy before about–” 

“Because I want to see you happy. I want to see you indulge in life instead of being cooped up in the shop or goofing off with Donald all day. I want you to experience all the things you want before–” 

“Before what?” 

“I shouldn’t tell you now.” Gertrude stepped closer to her sister and bundled up Frances’ hands in her own. “But please dear, at least consider it. You never know when you won’t have the freedom of choice anymore. So take it while you can. For me?” 

Just at that moment, the rest of the Tate clan spilled out of the building. 

“Well, shall we call a taxi?” Henry asked the crowd, “I was thinking that we go out for a little celebratory dinner. Irene here did a wonderful job and she should be praised accordingly.” “I think that is a wonderful idea dear!” Mrs. Tate exclaimed. “Frances, Gertrude, are you two alright?” 

“Uh–” 

“We are fine, Ma.” Gertrude interrupted before Frances could talk. “I do think I am catching some sort of stomach bug though so I will take a raincheck on the dinner. Congratulations Irene, you should be very proud of yourself.” 

Irene grinned and gave her oldest sister a rather large hug. “Thank you, Gerty. I hope you feel better! Maybe tomorrow, if you are better, we can talk about the performance. It always helps to get another dancer’s perspective.” 

“Of course, I would be happy to.” Gertrude Tate leaned down and gave her sister a kiss on each cheek and then turned to Frances, “Goodnight, everyone.” 

As the family waved goodnight to their ill Gertrude, a pit started to form Frances’ stomach, and she was suddenly hit with the memory of Gertrude’s dancing days. Frances had never known why her sister had stopped the one thing she loved more than life, but had always assumed she had fallen in love with writing more. The girl now wondered if that was really the case, or if someone had made her fall out of love with dance to make room for a more practical life. 

************  

Enter a one woman show, promptly named “The Telephone Call”

“Hello? Hi, yes, this is Frances… Tate? Frances Tate?… No it’s okay I will wait… Frances Tate… I feel as though it is a fairly simple name to remember. Would you like me to spell it out for you? Maybe you should write it down if you forget information so quickly– oh hi… it’s Frances Tate, did the man before not–… Well then maybe he shouldn’t be the one answering your phone…Yes, well, here’s the deal, if your offer is still well and good, I would take you up for a drink… Don’t sound so shocked now… Yeah, yeah, alright. Well if we are going to do this, it will be on my terms… Well, by how desperate you sounded at the ballet, I assumed you would be fine with a few minor changes to your plan… Well, first, we are going to get coffee, not drinks… Yes, coffee. You still owe me one after spilling two full cups all over me a few weeks ago… No, I didn’t particularly notice that it got on you as well. But that is beside the point. We will also be meeting during the day… No objections. I don’t want you getting any grand ideas about what is supposed to follow this meeting… No, it is not a date… I am not afraid to go on a date with you. I just think it would be prudent to call this first little meeting a meeting instead of a date. That way if we both hate each other after, all that we lost was a second meeting, not a potential partner… No, I am not afraid of commitment–… You are not allowed to negotiate my negotiation–… Fine. We will call it a date as long as you tell no one that we went on one together… No, we cannot use code names, there must be absolutely no talk of our date… No, I will not call you–… Are you quite done? … Lastly, you must follow your previous statement proposed at the ballet… if this does not go well you will leave me alone… and purchase me a New York Times subscription… is it a deal? … Splendid. Thursday at noon it shall be… and don’t be late, I detest waiting… goodbye now.”

Rickey’s Cafe was favored among socialites in Hollywood. It offered a variety of luncheon delicacies that were sure to sound just high end enough to attract the “right” kind of crowd. Delicacies such as lobster troubadour or chicken Kiev. This was the restaurant Walter had chosen, no shock to Frances. But, to the shock of Walter, (who had been ten minutes early) Frances was late. Five minutes late to be precise. His blood started to boil with the implication that she may not show up at all. He had no idea what had changed Frances’s mind so abruptly, but he knew he was excited to see her again. So excited, in fact, that he canceled all other dates he had this week, and hadn’t pregamed this one with a bottle of vodka, his usual drink of choice to cure the boredom he exuded on said dates. 

Women didn’t want to go on dates with discontent and bored, they wanted to go on dates with the dazzling bachelor of Hollywood. At least that was his image a few years ago. Now it was slowly falling down the drain along with his career. The women had gotten less attractive, and more needy. Less cool and collected and more raving fans that saw him as a piece of meat.

For the most part he was fine with it, or at least that is what he told himself. It was a sort of numbing medicine, like the alcohol. 

This woman though, Ms. Frances Tate, was different. She wore pants, and didn’t care about his fame. She was mean to him, which he had to admit was a turn on, and she had repeatedly refused his advances. She was kind to the people she loved, and was very attractive. Frances Tate was different, and because of this he couldn’t get her out of his head. It was frankly annoying, and this was his last ditch effort to bed her so he could finally move on with his life. She was just a woman after all. 

Frances knew she was late, but she had a horrible day at the shop, Zelda had knocked over an entire jar filled with tiny bouncing balls. To the delight of the cat, the balls had gone everywhere, leading Frances to clean them up for the next hour. She was still not sure she had gotten all of them, but if she didn’t find them she knew Zelda would. When Frances rolled up to the cafe she quickly leaned over to fix her hair, using the glass door as a mirror. Then she pushed the revolving door and stumbled into the room. Frances flowed into the room like a gust of wind, affecting everything that was in her wake. She was a whirlwind of hair, fabric and perfume. When she finally collapsed at Walter’s table, a face that once held an aggravated frown, was now widened into shock at the tornado that just flew in. 

“Gosh I am sorry. There was a whole thing at the store and–” With a huff she shook off her coat, revealing a cool blue button down with pleated pants. “Oh golly it’s ten minutes past! Especially after I–” 

“It’s alright! I wasn’t waiting too long.” 

Frances paused, “Oh, I wasn’t worried about your time. I have only a small chunk of time for my lunch break and we have already eaten through ten minutes.” 

Walter huffed, “Oh, okay then. Well.” 

“I’m sorry that came out wrong. I am happ– I mean, well, I was looking forwa– no, I was interested, yes interested, to see what may come of this meeting.” 

“This what?” 

Frances rolled her eyes, “I am allowed to call it–” 

“We agreed upon ‘date’.” 

“Yes, but–” 

“But nothing. I won’t tell anyone about this, but we are going on a date and that is final.” “Fine.” 

A small silence nestled its way into the pair as they stared at the menus ahead of them before Walter started the symphony. 

“What happened at the store–” 

“Have you been here before–”  

“No, I’ve–”  

“Oh well, it was Zelda–”  

“Who is Zelda?”  

“Neither have I–”

Frances puts her hands over her mouth trying to refrain from giggling at the two of them and the nerves that electrified the space. “Hold on, let’s take a breath. Um, you were asking about Zelda?” 

Walter nods with a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth. 

“She is my cat. She is a very rotund calico who loves to come to work with me.” “Where do you work?” 

“Uh, that little antique shop–” 

“Oh yes! It used to be a saloon didn’t it?” 

“Yeah, how did you–” 

“My grandfather used to talk about that place all the time and how it used to be the talk of the town. Now it's all gone to shit…” The speed of his words slow down as he nears the end of his damnation. Walter’s eyes widen as he realizes what he has said, “Uh I just mean, well, he was an alcoholic so really he hated anything that wasn’t a bar. I don’t think it was meant to be any offense to you.” 

Frances giggled a little and removed her hands from her face, picking up her own menu to look at it more in-depth. “It’s alright. Antique shop attendants are not the most high paid or respected people, but it was my grandmother’s. Well, she created the saloon, and then turned it into an antique shop. Before she died she gave it to me.” 

“That’s wonderful. She must have been an astounding woman to create her own businesses. You seem to have taken after her.” 

A flip in her stomach told Frances she needed to be careful. She reminded herself that he was a playboy, and that this is what playboys did. They charmed, and used until they got what they wanted. He had been a scoundrel before, and the only reason she went on this date was to keep Gerty quiet. And maybe also to sedate some of the curiosity that ran through her every time they made eye contact. He was a scoundrel, but boy was he charming. 

Frances cleared her throat and looked down from those enchanting eyes. “Yes well, I would hope so. She was the only one in my family that didn’t make me want to pull out my hair.” 

“I suppose it must be hard having that many siblings. How many do you have again?” “Six siblings. Yeah I know, it’s a lot.” 

“What are their names?” 

“Well I suppose you know of Donald, and Irene after the dance show. Then there is Clark, Eugene, Gertrude, and Lillian. Clark, Eugene and Gerty are all older than me.”

“So you're the middle child, makes sense.” 

“What is that supposed to mean!” Frances hit Walter’s arm, and his eyes immediately flicked to that spot. Only for a moment though. 

“Well I suppose I mean you’re odd.” 

Frances gasped in a melodramatic way that made Walter giggle. He noticed she was letting down her guard for some reason unbeknownst to him. He was not opposed and in fact enjoyed this new side of Frances that he was now discovering.

“I didn’t mean that in a judgmental way. I happen to like very odd women. And you seem to be the oddest I’ve met.” 

“Well, how can I take such a grand compliment from the king of film? By the way, can I ask you a sort of personal question?” Walter adjusted himself in his chair, preparing for what was to come. He didn’t like personal questions. “How do you stand it?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Well, what I mean to say is, how do you stand working with my father? He must be a real pain in the ass. I mean I’ve had to deal with him for twenty three years, but within those lengthy decades I was afforded breaks in which I could escape to my room. You on the other hand have to face the man everyday without any retreat.” 

Walter smirked as he stared at her. “You are quite forward, do you know that?” Frances tilted her head to the side and placed her menu on the table having decided what she wanted, “I have been told that many a time, now answer the question. I need to know how sadistic you truly are Mr.Hart.” 

“Well, I have to say he isn’t all that bad.” A bark of astonishment slipped out of Frances. “Come now, he has his moments!” 

“Moments of what? Has my father paid you to say such things?” 

“Well given that I haven’t told him about our meeting, and by your reaction to him I assume you haven’t either. So how would I be paid if he doesn’t even know about this encounter?” 

“You haven’t told him?” 

“No, why should I? It’s not his date, and contrary to what you probably believe I am capable of minding my own business from time to time.” 

Frances realized she liked him. Just in that moment. It came upon her suddenly and without warning, that possibly the man before her wasn’t what she had previously thought of him. What a wonderful and terrible thing that must be. She was overtaken by dread for these new found feelings. She was going to be ill. 

“Fran, are you alright? Was it something I said?” If only he knew. “I mean your father isn’t the best, don’t get me wrong. But I think everyone has their own good qualities, you just have to look for them.” 

Oh god, Frances thought, and he was sweet? This was truly a heinous situation. Quickly she got up from her seat, “I am so sorry Mr. Hart but I don’t think this will work.” Walter had gotten up at the same time as her, ever the gentleman, “Are you feeling well? I am so sorry if I said anything out of line–” 

“Yes, you were very out of line. Now I must go. I am sorry for wasting your time Mr. Hart.” And she was gone, with the same gust of air with which she had entered the building. Her large coat and scarf leaving a trail of color in her wake. 

Walter sat down in her chair, mouth open and eyes wide. He wasn’t sure what had just happened. He didn’t think he had said anything out of line, and it was going so well. All he knew was that she was crazy. She was crazy, and opinionated, and weird, and the most amazing woman he had ever met. He wished to never see her again.

About the Author

I started writing in high school because of my love for reading. My process for writing generally consists of either nothing for months or chaotic, addictive bouts of writing for weeks on end until I have tired my creative side and need a break. I wrote this piece because I think the message within the story is impactful and should be told. 

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