Sometimes I write things

Alvin’s office, filled with memorabilia commemorating near-successes, almost-greats, former dark horses, and years of ultimately squandered energy. In a black-and-white photo, a young Alvin will forever shake hands with Walter Mondale. Alvin and Paul Tsongas, grinning like idiots over some shared private joke. Alvin and Al Gore, both men sad-eyed, shoulders stooped and smiles forced.

Alvin himself — the flesh-and-blood campaigner, not some imago — sitting in his chair, phone in his hand, staring into the middle distance and saying “yeh –” a few times. A split-screen coalesces around him and on the other end of the phone, a corpse called Senator Jackson (D-Indiana).

Alvin has decided to run for the Indiana state senate as an independent, against Donnie and against the GOP candidate. Jackson berates Alvin, albeit half-heartedly. Without Alvin, Donnie is — what? Doomed, probably. And at best Alvin will split the vote.

Alvin wants Jackson’s endorsement. It would mean a lot to Alvin.

Jackson can’t go against the party like that.

Sure he can, Alvin argues. Sure he can. He’s already going to. The DNC will come to him, they will ask him point-blank: is this a fight Donnie can win? Should they pour money into his campaign? Because they know Jackson is the man to ask, the one who knows. And Jackson will tell them no, he can’t win, because Jackson knows a necroexhibitionist can’t win. So he’s already working against Donnie. What kind of step from that is an endorsement of Alvin?

A necroexhibitionist. Is Alvin going to go public with Donnie’s secret?

Surely the Senator realizes Donnie’s secret is going to come out. Donnie won’t be getting any support from the Indiana Association of Morticians.

Is Alvin going to go public with it, Jackson presses. Is he going to go dirty? If it doesn’t come out, then Alvin would split the vote.

Alvin wants to run a clean campaign, for once.

Jackson changes the subject. Jack Nelson’s picked his candidate, a banker named Klotz.

Elena Klotz? Alvin is intrigued. He knows her son. He was at her garden party last week. She sponsored a Nazi war memorial. Will Jackson endorse Alvin?

In his office Jackson is holding a faded photograph of himself, young Alvin, and Donald Bellmore II, Donnie’s late father. “The day after Donnie’s trouble comes out, I’ll hold a press conference.”

FADE TO BLACK as MUSIC SWELLS then FADE IN to RAIN.

DOWN from RAIN to a crane shot of FERDINAND lying on a deck chair in the Klotz’s backyard, wearing sunglasses and possibly napping. Empty cans of beer are scattered around him, along with a pitcher that might have once held daiquiri but now only rainwater. Ferdinand isn’t moving and makes no attempt to ward off the rain. In fact he’s soaked.

Alfonse approaches Ferdinand, under an umbrella.

“Uh, son?”

“Yeah Dad?” Ferdinand’s tone is that of an avid soccer fan distracted during an early-season match: responsive but a little peeved.

“Your mother was hoping you could come inside now. Or alternatively, you could move to behind the veranda? You’re clashing with the hydrangeas…”

“In the long run, Dad, does that really matter?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m trying to look picaresque. I don’t think it’s working.”
“Jack Nelson is going to be coming by later. He and your mother are going to talk strategy. She’s running for state senate.”
“Well, maybe.”
“Is there anything you want to talk about, son?”
“… nah.”
“Uh-huh?”
“You’re born, you play some croquet, and then you die.”
Alfonse nods. “‘I have not controlled events; I confess plainly, events have controlled me.’ Do you know who said that, son?”
“Did I say that? It doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”
“No, Abraham Lincoln said that.”
“Abraham Lincoln isn’t here, Dad.”
“His wife saw ghosts. I don’t know where I’m going with this, but if you want to come in out of the rain…”
“I don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”
Alfonse notices the pitcher of might-have-been-daiquiri, picks it up, and looks at it as though he can’t make his mind up whether to drink from it or pour it out. He tries another tack. “Son, when was the last time you went to work?”

“I think I quit.”

“Did you give notice?”

“Jack’s a smart guy, he’ll figure it out.”

“I suppose so.”

(SMASH CUT away to the interior of Jack Nelson Ford. There’s loud mariachi music and corn chips; it’s Dress Up Like Your Coworker Day. All the dead-eyed employees are dressed as Ferdinand, and they point at one another and make jokes at his expense, though the pocket dialogue is inaudible over the mariachi music. CUT back to the Klotz backyard.)

“You’re really not very good at this, are you, Dad?”

“No, son, I am not.” Alfonse makes up his mind, and pours the pitcher out.
“Well, it’s raining. Right?”
“Yes, it is raining.”
“So they won’t be coming outside, Jack or Mom. So I’ll just stay where I am unless things change.”
Alfonse shrugs. “If you think that’s best.”

Sometime later, in the Lauro family home, in the upstairs hallway. All the Dungeon Majesty paraphernalia has been moved up here, and sits scattered about the floor and a card table almost exactly as wide as the hallway itself. On one side of the card table is Oliver. Across from him, Andew and Alvin. To Oliver’s right is the doorway into Cassie’s room, which is half-open and contains Cassie. Across from Cassie is Andrew cell phone, which is connected to Ferdinand. Apparently Ferdinand still can’t muster the energy to stand up and is still in his parents’ backyard.

We join a game in progress. Oliver asserts that pirates pour into the Cavern of the Jade Pelican –

Wait, wait, pirates? Alvin asks.

The cavern is near the ocean. It’s a coastal dungeon.

There’s a lot of crosstalk. Ferdinand misunderstands the situation and wants to attack the pelican. Oliver tells him to roll.

Ferdinand is in his parents’ backyard and doesn’t have any dice, but he doesn’t admit that. Instead he suggests that rather than roll dice and leave it up to chance, they negotiate a mutually satisfactory outcome based on shared understanding of the imaginary space…

Oliver tells him that there’s no reasoning or negotiating with the pirates! They have Elite morale and fight to the death!

All right, fine, Ferdinand says. He rolled a… uh… the die came up… um… thirteen.

Thirteen? A miss!

Andrew thinks to ask why Ferdinand isn’t here.

Oliver guesses that he’s grounded, like Cassie is grounded.

Yep, says Ferdinand, I’m pretty much grounded. I made some mistakes.

Alvin points out that Ferdinand is twenty-three years old.

Twenty-five, Ferdinand corrects him.

Regardless, Alvin says.

The Lauro phone rings at this point, which prompts Andrew to fumble with his cell and accidentally hang up on Ferdinand. From downstairs Alice shouts for someone else to get it, her hands are full. Oliver is on the wrong side of the card table to get to the phone, and Cassie doesn’t have a phone in her room. Alvin answers the phone.

Lauro residence, Alvin Wasserman speaking. Hello?

There’s a bit of a pause. …Hello? …Is Virginia there?

Virginia?

…Virginia Silver. …Is she there? …Do I have the wrong number?

Please hold, Alvin says, and sets the phone down. Cassie, Oliver: Virginia Silver?

They shake their heads, but the stranger on the other end of the line has already hung up. Caller ID said “J. Smith.”

Andrew calls Ferdinand back. Why isn’t Ferdinand here? Is it about Datur?

Alvin tells Ferdinand he’s better off. Ferdinand doesn’t seem heartened.

Oliver saw Datur at the Twenty by Twenty Room. She was selling dead-flower bouquets to Vaempyre players.

Andrew observes that she is the Dark Prince of Muncie.

Dark Queen of Muncie, Ferdinand corrects him.

Alvin sighs. “There’s such a thing as being too into a game, Andrew.”

Andrew starts in on Vaempyre players and their inescapable limitations. Ferdinand keeps interrupting him, trying to defend Datur, until Andrew accidentally hangs up the cell phone again.

Hey, that reminds Cassie. Oliver ran another game! For that clerk!

Andrew and Alvin are a little hurt. He ran a game for other people? Oliver is indifferent to their concern: the game only ran a couple of weeks. The players only got up to fifth level. He was honing his skills.

The doorbell rings. Alvin doesn’t feel comfortable answering the door, so Oliver scrambles under the card table towards the front stairs. Andrew and Alvin follow along behind.

Cassie looks out her window to see who it is — a middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt. Someone she recognizes. She crawls under the card table and out of her room, joining the knot of Alvin, Andrew, and Oliver at the top of the stairs.

They all watch as Alice emerges from the back of the house and answers the door.

“…Virginia?” the man says when he sees her.

“Jack?” Alice gasps and slams the door shut.