Chapter One, Page 2

To get onto the writer's Blog sites, I must discuss aspects of writing. Right now it's a little frustrating as I could not get my font to be cohesive throughout the paragraphs. A dedicated writer will persevere...and I did.

***Now then, let's see what our fine fellow is up to now.***

...However, following his advice is an entirely different matter.

My stomach started to ache, which only occurs when I consciously think of Lydia.

Dang! Too bad she's in Africa; otherwise, I'd call and ask: "Where's the Charmin?" In about an hour, Tracy, my personal assistant is bringing me fast food from Spago's. Mental note to myself: Tell her to get me some damn T.P.!

Every time I'm in this dull bathroom, the only word that comes to mind is "Why?"

The porcelain sink, tub and toilet were all the color of green puke. The rug, walls and cupboard were off-white;, probably Lydia's conceit so the surroundings will match her complexion. Hiding the toilet and bathtub from bedroom onlookers was a large opaque glass partition, the color of...poop.

Man, oh man. What a dump!

I bet the mind of the lowest-paid Vogue intern would burst once Miss Supermodel Extraordinaire is exposed as the owner of this boring blah blah bathroom. And none of my devoted fans would ever believe that I, Montgomery Davis, would be standing in an ordinary putrid bathroom in a run-down condo, located in Anyplace, U.S.A.

Hmmm. If I remember correctly, the script for Corduroy Carrot was about an ordinary American family. And, there's this critical scene of the teenager overly enjoying himself in his mother's bathroom. If I do direct that movie, I'll make it easy on myself by having the set designer copy Lydia's bathroom exactly as is. We'll even include those handmade light green trinket boxes on the counter and don't forget that stupid-looking bottle covered with white crochet. A good actor, and future director, doesn't let anything go to waste.

Well, one worry resolved, leaving me with five million other details to obsess about. Man, oh man! If I screw up, my future credits will list me as the worst director in history. Variety's headline will read: "Monty Davis, the new Ed Wood."