Chapter 6
“This is the morning you decide to be late?” Sylvia was rushing across the courtyard at top speed, either not noticing or not caring that Frank struggled to keep up.
“I’m not late,” he protested breathlessly. “I’m just not as early as usual.”
“Same thing.”
Building Three contained office spaces on the second floor and a workshop and conference rooms on the first. Sylvia led them straight to the largest conference room, where nearly every seat was filled by a business-suited man.
Paul was there, pen in hand and notepad ready, and he gave a sneaky little thumbs-up as soon as he caught Frank’s eye.
His stomach in knots, Frank hovered near the door… and then recognized the man wearing a tie with the studio’s logo: Max Rask, the owner of Rask Studios. He had a pen too, but he was tapping it impatiently on the tabletop.
Although Frank had seen Mr. Rask at the studio a handful of times, he’d spoken to him only once, briefly.
At the time, Frank was new to the job and working as an in-betweener, spending his days erasing stray marks from the animators’ work and drawing the animation cells that would be placed to smooth out the larger movements.
Mr. Rask had glanced at Frank’s work, pronounced it “fine” and moved on.
And now here he was, clearly annoyed at being kept waiting.
Sylvia gestured at one of the empty chairs. “Sit if you like, Frank.”
“Thank you, but I don’t mind standing.” That wasn’t absolutely true. But if he stood, he could position himself so that Paul was directly across from him, which would be reassuring.
“All right. Let’s get this started,” she said.
“Gentlemen, this is Frank Porter, one of our top artists. As I’m sure you’re aware, he’s drawing our royal frog.
He’s come up with a proposal for a significant change to one of the scenes, and it’s a good one.
I’ll let him tell you the details.” She shot Frank a quick smile before taking a seat.
Frank envied her confidence. He’d never been comfortable speaking in front of groups of people.
For just a brief moment he allowed himself to recall the way that Carver had looked at him while listing his good qualities, and that memory gave him the courage he needed.
Although he clutched his cane hard enough to make his hand ache, he spoke in a clear, strong voice.
“Thank you, Sylvia. I’ll keep this brief because I’m aware that you’re all busy.”
“My in-laws are visiting this week for Christmas,” interjected one of the writers. “So take all the time you want.”
Frank waited for the chorus of laughter to die down.
“I’ve been working on the scene in which the frog has just entered the castle and the king’s taking him down the hallway.
It’s not a long scene, but there’s a lot of visual interest due to the complexity of the background.
A lot of paintings, statues, suits of armor…
. Fancy wallpaper too. As it stands, there’s not much going on with our characters other than some forward movement. ”
“There’s no dialogue at all,” Paul pointed out.
“Right. Which is fine. It’s funny as is, with the king sort of sailing along and the frog hopping behind him. But I think we could do more with it. Let me show you what I mean.”
This room had a bulletin board on the wall beside the door. Frank had sat in here several times and watched other people pin their storyboard sketches up, but this was the first time he’d done it himself. His hands shook only a little.
“What I thought we could do,” he said, “is have the frog explore the space as they go. He could make little detours, such as hop on top of this bust or even hop inside the helmet of this suit of armor.” Frank pointed to the appropriate drawings and was relieved when several people in the room laughed—at the concepts rather than at him.
He briefly described the other drawings as well.
Then he let out a breath and waited. Everyone waited. Mr. Rask clicked his ballpoint pen several times. Finally, he spoke. “This would be more expensive.”
Frank nodded. “Yes, sir. It would be worth it, though. For one thing, it’s funnier. But it also shows a lot more about the frog’s personality, and the audience will identify with him more strongly. And frankly, sir, it allows more of Car—Mr. Reed to show through.”
Mr. Rask stopped playing with his pen and tilted his head quizzically. “How so?”
“Well, Sylvia thought I’d be better inspired if I met Mr. Reed and had a chance to, um, observe him in person.
And he does this, you see. When he enters a room, he wanders around.
If there are people there, he stops to talk to every one of them.
And he touches everything. It’s like he’s an explorer or a researcher.
” With effort, Frank held his tongue instead of expounding on Carver’s many virtues.
Mr. Rask and a few of the other men were nodding as if they had experienced this themselves. Which they likely had—Carver must have had meetings with some of them when he was offered the part. Ridiculously, Frank felt jealous. How dare these people know important things about his Carver.
Oh boy. He wished he were a drinker.
After a very pregnant pause, Mr. Rask turned to the thin man sitting beside him. “Could you compose an appropriate score for this scene, Tommaso?”
“Of course,” Tommaso replied in a heavy Italian accent. “It would be amusing. Hop, hop, hop, interlude, repeat.” The tune he hummed fit Frank’s mental image of the scene perfectly.
“Good.” Mr. Rask looked at Frank again. “What’s the king doing while this is happening?”
Frank had given this some thought. “He could be watching the frog with concern on his face. Or he could be droning on with a tour of all the stuff they pass. He might not even notice what the frog’s up to, if the king’s facing ahead and the frog’s behind him.”
Paul raised his pen. “I like that idea. And what if a few of the palace employees—guards, servants—do notice? Their reactions would add to the humor.”
“And the costs,” Mr. Rask pointed out. Which was true. Backgrounds were fairly cheap to produce, but characters in motion required a lot of drawing.
To Frank’s relief, Sylvia spoke up on his behalf. “You’re already paying a fortune for Mr. Reed. Wouldn’t it make sense to make full use of him? To remind the audience more deeply about who the man behind the frog actually is?”
Silence fell. It could have been worse—Frank had heard gossip about storyboard meetings in which proposals were met with hooting derision, crude suggestions, and even the occasional thrown item.
At least nobody was lobbing ballpoint pens his way.
His foot began to ache, making him wish he’d sat, but he wasn’t about to do it now.
After approximately a hundred years, Mr. Rask slipped his pen into his shirt pocket. “All right. Let’s get on it.” He stood and walked to the door, pausing when he was abreast of Frank. “Good work, Porter. Keep it up.” Then he left.
Most of the remaining people followed suit, although Sylvia stopped to point a finger at Frank. “Come see me in my office, please.”
“Okay. And thanks for the support.”
“It was a good suggestion, Frank. It deserved support.” She smiled and exited.
That left nobody in the room except Frank and Paul, who seemed to be making a few last notes. Frank started collecting his drawings from the board. “Thanks to you, too, Paul.”
“It’s like Sylvia says. You deserved it.
” Groaning softly, Paul stood and tucked his notebook under an arm.
“You sure you won’t join us, kid? Lillian says she hasn’t seen you in ages, and Carol’s going to be disappointed to miss out on some drawing lessons.
” Carol was one of his granddaughters, a precocious eight-year-old who had a genuine talent for drawing.
A quiet girl, during family celebrations she preferred to stick near Frank and make sketches instead of playing with her more boisterous siblings and cousins. Frank liked her a lot.
“I’m sorry, Paul. It’s only—”
“Don’t tell me you’re too busy. We both know the old man can spare us both for a few days.
” Paul stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“We genuinely enjoy your company, you know. And to be honest, we worry about you a little. You shouldn’t be spending Christmas alone… unless you really want to, of course.”
Frank fought hard to not let tears fall.
He swallowed a few times and looked down, needlessly rearranging his drawings before returning them to the portfolio.
He didn’t look up when he spoke. “What if I was….” Jesus, he couldn’t say it.
Just couldn’t. “If I wasn’t normal? Would you still want me around? ”
A heartbeat or two later, Paul settled a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what normal is, or whether it’s necessarily all that great. But I do know that you’re a good person, Frank. And you’re our friend. That’s what matters.”
God damn it, now he really was going to cry. He deliberately put some extra weight on his bum leg as a distraction. “What if…. What if someday I showed up with… someone?”
“I’ve told you already. Bring someone. We’ll always have room for you and whoever you want to bring.”
Frank looked up and caught his gaze. “Even if I bring a man?”
Instead of recoiling, Paul smiled. He didn’t even pull his hand away. “Bring whoever’s important to you. Let us judge whether they’re good enough for you.”
“I’m not….” Frank took a shuddering breath.
“I don’t think I’m ready. And there’s nobody…
.” Because surely by now the previous day’s spell had been broken and Carver would have moved on.
“I have some things for all of you in my car. Give me a call before you leave today and I’ll walk out and transfer them to yours. ”
“Okay. Sure.” Paul patted his shoulder, winked, and left the room.
Alone, Frank briefly sagged against the wall, cane in one hand and portfolio in the other.
He’d just admitted a fundamental truth about himself.
It was the first time he’d said it—even obliquely—to anyone who wasn’t also queer.
And Paul had taken it in stride. Hell, he’d hinted around before, so he likely already knew and was simply waiting for Frank to say something.
It didn’t really change anything, though. Frank’s hopes were as unattainable as ever. But it felt good nonetheless, a burden lightened.
He whistled “I’ve Got a Crush on You” as he walked to the animation building.