Read Online Dora: A Headcase by Lidia Yuknavitch - Free Book Online Page B

books are dead.”
    Sound of dishes being cleared at nearby table.
    “Do you mean MY book? Is MY book dead? Listen you little money-grubbing weasel – ”
    Sound of table wear rattling.
    I hit pause. This time I’m laughing. But my laugh sounds tight and raw.
    Marlene tilts her head. “Liebchen,” she asks.
    “Yeah?” I go.
    “Are you sure this is what you want?”
    I cough. “I’m sure,” I go. Something in my head ticks. Then I punch the playback.
    The H4n jumps to life. “Sig! Calm down, calm down! Here – here’s your drink. Drink it. No, really. Get a good gulp down. Stop waving your arms around! You don’t want to make a scene, do you? Cheers, old man. Raise a glass. It’s a celebration.”
    Sound of gulping.
    “OK. You OK now? OK. Here’s the gig, baby. We’ve been picked up. Biggest production company in television.”
    Sound of waiters bringing food.
    “What? What in the world does that mean? What does television have to do with me?”
    “What’s television got to do with you? Hello? Dr. Phil? Dr. Ruth? Dr. Oz? Intervention? Television is the new paid reality, my friend. And I just bought you your ticket in. Once Oprah gets her ass out there’s going to be a huge vacuum … and we’re gonna fill that air, baby.”
    Sound of strained breathing and coughing.
    Sound of hand slapping back.
    “Sigmund? Sig? You all right buddy? I know! I can’t believe
it either. You gonna make it? Sig. Buddy. Here – for christ’s sake – have a little blow. It will calm you the fuck down.”
    Old man snorting sound. Old man coughing sound.
    “Sigmund! My man! Drink some water. Lemme lay it out for you. I pitched you! Get it? They want you, Sig. They really, really want you. One year contract in the bag. Second year optioned.”
    “But my book… my life’s work … I would never agree to this! It’s the epitome of unethical!”
    “Whoa! Sig! This blows your book out of the water! Are you even listening to me? Hello? Those case studies you are so proud of? They’re not going to die some dusty old death. They’re going live. We’re getting ‘em scripted and re-enacted. One a week. We need a new ‘you,’ but I got that covered … and we’ll need to … you know, change some stuff around so we don’t get our asses sued or anything, but…”
    “It’s unethical. It’s out of the question. ”
    Sound of old man slamming scotch.
    “What did you mean by a ‘new me’?”
    “It’s big money.”
    Coughing.
    “Big. Money.”
    Coughing.
    “The clincher is your teen little monster girl. The other case studies look like zombies compared to her. So the only catch is, you have to bag that one. I mean nail that girl. When I told them what she looks like and the kind of shit she pulls? POW. Without her, we don’t have shit.”
    I’m across the kitchen by now. “STOP it,” I yell. Marlene jams her blue lacquered nail on the pause button. The H4n slides across the table like it’s trying to run. I stomp back to the table. I pick the H4n up. I want to punch it or throw it across the room. I slam it back down. I begin to cough. Hack, actually. Whoppers. “Rewind it.” Marlene rewinds. “Play that shit again. Because I can’t believe my fucking ears.”
    Before I realize what I’m doing I pick up the bottle of cough
syrup and chuck it across the room. It shatters like kid wishes all over her white wall.
    “Lamskotelet!” Marlene says.
    I stare at the red stain I’ve made. Fucking Rorschach.
    “Fuck. I’m sorry.” I get all down on the floor and start picking up the glass shards. My throat gets tight. My head feels like it has a rubber band around it. My eyes are watering like a girl’s. I’m coughing and coughing. I cut my hand pretty much immediately. Of course. Marlene comes over and takes my hands in hers and walks me to the kitchen sink. She runs cold water over my hand and thumb. Blood rivers down her drain.
    “Everybody uses everybody until we’re all just a bunch of used up shit