Caledonia Review - Scotland's international journal of new fiction Caledonia Review - Scotland's international journal of new fiction.....  












Christopher Mulrooney
Artist & Model


An artist’s studio.

Babcock Miklejohn, artist
Miranda, his wife
Thorwald Ingram, gallery director
Prissy Tailfeather, estate agent

Babcock: All day long I’m—
Prissy: It’s me.
Babcock: I wanted a—I wanted to talk about getting another place. To stay.
Prissy: No problem. Downtown.
: Somewhere else. Out of town. I don’t care where. I’ve just got to get out.
Prissy: What’s the matter with this place? I got you this place.
Babcock: It’s no good. I don’t like it, now.
Prissy: OK. I’ll look around.

(She exits.)

Babcock: (Sings.) Oh dem golden slippers. Oh dem golden slippers. Golden slippers—
Miranda: I’m going now.
Babcock: Fine.
Miranda: You want anything?
Babcock: No.

(She exits.)

Babcock: Golden slippers. To wear. Ah-dee, ah-dee-dee-dee.

(He pores over drawings, makes brief notations, adds a few lines, etc.)

Babcock: Ah.
Thorwald: Got a minute?
Babcock: What do you want?
Thorwald: I’ve got a 9:30 scheduled. Can’t wait to chat. Got to run now.
Babcock: What?
Thorwald: What do you want?
Babcock: What do I want?
Thorwald: You called me. I got your message.
Babcock: I don’t want anything. Get out.
Thorwald: You didn’t call me.
Babcock: Why should I call you? Have I ever called you for anything?
Thorwald: No, you never have.
Babcock: So what do you want.
Thorwald: I don’t want anything.
Babcock: Get out.
Thorwald: I’m going
Babcock: Go on.

(Thorwald exits.)

Babcock: Not a minute. Not a minute. That’s the one. That’s it, baby. Oh, I don’t think so. Maybe that’s the one. Oh, I don’t think so. Could be.

Thorwald: Listen, I should—
Babcock: Yeah, it’s right—
Thorwald: OK.
Babcock: Take a look.
Thorwald: OK, great. Fine.
Babcock: OK?
Thorwald: Next week. Slap ‘em up.
Babcock: Yep.
Thorwald: OK.
Babcock: Get this one right. This here. It goes one over, all right?
Thorwald: That’s right. I see that.
Babcock: Call me later, if absolutely necessary.
Thorwald: OK, will do.
Babcock: Right.
Thorwald: Moving?
Babcock: Something else, some other thing. Some other fucking damn place.
Thorwald: When? You know when?
Babcock: Next week. Slap it up.
Thorwald: Model’s here.
Babcock: Come in, sit down.
Thorwald: See you.

(Thorwald exits. Miranda enters, unrecognizable.)

Miranda: Hello. I just wanted to say—
Babcock: Yeah. All right?
Miranda: Of course. Here?
Babcock: Right here. Fifteen minutes.
Miranda: No problem at all.
Babcock: I just want. No. See this? Good.
Miranda: That’s about as far—
Babcock: That’s it. Dum-di-dee. OK, fine. I couldn’t have done this better myself. (Hums.) No, the other way. Yes, that’s it. That’s better. Oh yes. Definitely. I think so. I really do. I really do truly think so.
Miranda: Just—
Babcock: Yeah, whatever. Relax. Breathe.
Miranda: OK.
Babcock: I’m going to move somewhere else, don’t like this place.
Miranda: You don’t like this place?
Babcock: I’m working, now.
Miranda: Wait, now. What did you want?
Babcock: This. And now that.
Miranda: That’s right.
Babcock: Just a few more, a few more. Oh kay, I’ve got that. I wanted that.
Miranda: There’s more?
Babcock: Wait just a minute. Wait while I—
Miranda: Have you ever thought of a houseboat?
Babcock: Like, um? And the other one.
Miranda: Sort of like, actually, yes.
Babcock: Well, then. It’s you. Why?
Miranda: Why not?
Babcock: Oh, it’s you?
Miranda: Who did you think it was?
Babcock: I thought it was a model.
Miranda: A girl from the agency.
Babcock: Precisely. That’s funny.
Miranda: Did you finish it?
Babcock: Yeah. Yes I did.
Miranda: Is it good? Is it going to be good?
Babcock: Oh yes.
Miranda: Well then.
Babcock: Fancy that. That saves me a bit of work. All I need to do is call Prissy.
Miranda: What for?
Babcock: To tell her. Not moving.
Miranda: Unmoved. No movers.
Babcock: He didn’t care what he dropped, the unmoved mover. That’s what he thinks.

Thorwald: Look at the design for my new gallery.
Babcock: What new gallery?
Thorwald: The one I’m working on now.
Miranda: Why? Or why now.
Thorwald: It isn’t something I’ve been working on very long, but I’ve always wanted it.
Babcock: Why?
Thorwald: I wanted it.
Miranda: Oh.
Babcock: Ah, I had wanted to finish this up today.
Miranda: I thought you had finished it.
Babcock: No. Not quite. It’s a real nice thing.
Miranda: I think so too.
Thorwald: You like it, really? I like it. I think it’s great.

Prissy: I couldn’t find anything. Buy it, lease it, lend it. No way.
Babcock: I don’t want it any more.
Prissy: Anyway—
Miranda: Take a look at this.
Prissy: Oh that’s terrible. What’s the point?
Thorwald: A better class of rents? Don’t you like it, then?
Prissy: Let me find you something. This I can do.
Babcock: You won’t go too far?
Thorwald: I go where they send me.
Prissy: I have something right nearby.
Miranda: Finally a home for our friend. I can’t think of anything as nice as that. Fine, fine.



Untitled Document

The content on is copyright 2009 by Caledonia Review and individual contributors, and may not be reprinted or retransmitted in whole or in part without express written consent.