"I'm not going to just say whatever it is you want me to," Beatrice said, standing in front of the microphone in the recording booth, hands firmly on her hips, "I am not going to just stand here and read out whatever trivial nonsense you put in front of me. If we're going to do this thing, then I'm the one coming up with what comes out of it. These words are coming out of MY mouth, after all."

"She has a point," Liam said, sitting in a chair next to Steph, who had come down here from the studio to give what she considered moral support, but what Beatrice knew was actually damage oversight; Liam put his pencil behind his ear and shrugged, continuing, "I mean, she is the doll, after all."

"She is making every single aspect of this process a living hell," Steph muttered, and Liam chuckled.

"Yeah, I told you she would," he said, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Can't you do something?" Steph whispered, frustrated, scratching her forehead.

"If you think I have any control over what she does, then you've sorely misjudged our relationship up to this point somehow," Liam said, "that being said, I can talk to her."

This interaction was 4 days ago. They hadn't rescheduled a recording session since.

                                                                                                           ***

"If I can write the character on the show, why can't I write the dialogue for the doll?" Beatrice asked, sitting at a table in The Hole with Michelle, while Eliza worked on a puppet nearby. Lately, Beatrice had been taking shelter in The Hole when she didn't want to be found, because she knew nobody was stupid enough to visit Eliza without being invited; Bea bit into an apple and chewed, adding, "I don't want this doll to say the same stupid crap they put into every doll on the market. I want it to be special."

"And you have every right to want that and to push for it," Michelle said, the machine on her arm making a beep as she took a long deep breath, and added, "but at this point I think you're wearing them out."

"Good, maybe they'll drop the whole thing," Bea said.

"What would you have it say? Have you even come up with some lines?" Michelle asked as Eliza started up her sewing machine behind them.

"I...I don't...no, I haven't, so I don't know, but that's beside the point. I could easily come up with a slew of things for the doll to recite, if I needed to," Beatrice said, "and besides, it only really needs one line. It only needs one really good line for it to be worthwhile."

Bea leaned back in her chair and sighed. She pulled a package of cigarettes from her pocket and then looked at Michelle, who nodded, allowing her to continue. Beatrice rarely smoked, but she'd been doing so more and more lately thanks to the added pressures from all this marketing. She lit up and sat there, puffing for a few minutes while they listened to the whir and hum of Eliza's sewing machine nearby.

"I don't want it to be like everything else," Bea muttered, "I want it to be meaningful. Impactful. When they come across it as an adult in life, I want them to be able to look at with the mindset of what it did for them emotionally, and not just be something else they donate to a thrift store while clearing out their moms attic."

Michelle nodded, understanding. After all, she'd gotten that from the show when she was in the hospital, so she knew all too well how important it was to connect to something that could, in theory, save you. Eliza shut her sewing machine off and seated herself at the table with them, sighing.

"What if you just had one line?" she asked, "Just one singular line that was the best line possible?"

Beatrice and Michelle exchanged a glance before looking at her, waiting for her to continue, so she did.

"You think about it night and day and eventually you'll come up with one very important line that kids will want to hear on repeat, because it makes them feel comforted and special and heard," she added, "all it takes to help a child is one sentence."

Little did Eliza know that this sentence would ruin the next few days of Beatrice's life.

                                                                                                         ***

"What's the one thing you never heard from your parents?" Michelle asked Keagan and Lexi as they sat around the table to eat that night. Keagan, who had cooked again - this time a giant baked pasta dish and some greens - thought about it for a minute before shrugging, while Lexi took a sip of her drink and sighed, sucking her teeth.

"That I was more important than money," she finally said.

"I guess I don't really have one," Keagan said, "my parents are great."

"Mine would be that I mattered more than my mothers career," Michelle said, picking up a fork and scraping some of the pasta onto her own plate; she continued, "all my life all I ever heard was how disappointed she was that my illness siphoned off her time and energy to work on her projects and be the success she knew she could be. It was like I was sick on purpose or something."

"Your mom sucks," Lexi said, chomping into an asparagus she'd picked from a plate before chuckling and apologizing; she said, "Sorry, I just, I've never met your mom so I guess I don't have any problem admitting she sounds horrid."

"You're not wrong," Michelle replied. After a few minutes of eating, Michelle cleared her throat and asked again, "So, now, as an adult, if you could hear one thing from your parents, what would it be? What would bolster your self esteem and confidence more than anything else?"

Each girl thought about it for a bit, and eventually nobody responded. Michelle grimaced.

"Jesus, are we so grim and detached that we can't even have nice fantasies?" she asked, "That's worrisome."

But Beatrice, humorously enough, was having the same problem.

Across town, in her apartment, she was sitting on the couch with Leslie's legs outstretched across her lap as she chewed her lip and jotted down line after line in a small notebook, frustrated that she too couldn't come up with anything. She sighed and looked around the apartment, feeling empty. The trouble with art being born of pain, she always knew, was that if you have no pain, you have no depth, and thus no art. But she knew that was bullshit. She knew art wasn't solely born of pain, and that pain didn't automatically give one depth. People, and their emotions, were far more complex than that. Beatrice glanced at Leslie, who was eating ice cream out of a single pint container while watching some nature show.

"Do you think I'm too controlling?" she finally asked.

"God, do I always have to answer you?" Leslie asked, making Beatrice chuckle; Leslie smiled and added, "Naw, I think you're protective of who you are and what you do, and I think you have every right to be. I think what you make represents who you are, because so much of you is put into it, and it only makes sense you'd wanna be protective, and perhaps controlling, as a result of that. Anything that's shoddy looks bad on your part."

"Thank you," Bea said, "finally, someone else who really understands. I don't want this doll to be just another doll. I want it to be special and important, and to mean something, you know? I want it to make a difference to a child, not just be an entertaining distraction for a year or so."

"Have you come up with anything yet?" Leslie asked, nodding at the pad, but Bea shook her head and slumped back into the couch.

"Of course not, why would I?" she asked softly.

Leslie sat up and smiled, putting the now empty ice cream container on the floor beside the couch before reaching over and touching Bea's face. Bea looked towards her and blushed.

"You will," Leslie said, "I have faith that you will, and that it will be amazing and perfect and so very you. Because you're Beatrice, and you know what you're doing, and what you want. I believe in you, even when you don't."

"God you're so saccharin," Bea said, the two laughing as Leslie pulled her in and kissed her.

                                                                                                         ***

"You're pissing them off," Liam said during a shooting break the following day. He and Beatrice had snuck off to the back of the studio, near the dumpsters, so they could share a joint and be alone. Beatrice, still in costume but with the head sitting on her lap, smiled as Liam leaned against the wall and took a long puff.

"Good," she said, "I want them to be pissed off. I want them to be so tired of me that they refuse to work with me any further and drop this whole merchandising idea."

"I don't blame you," Liam said.

"What made you change your mind? How'd you go from being so into the idea of making more money via shilling out to protecting intellectual property?" Bea asked, sitting on the top of the dumpster as Liam pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and thought. After a minute he kicked a crushed can with his shoe and exhaled.

"...I was younger, and stupid, and I didn't realize at the time what this meant to you," Liam said, "After meeting your folks, after seeing the grave, I get it now. I wholly get why this means what it means, and why you'd fight tooth and nail to not overly commercialized and thusly sullen it at the behest of capitalism. But also, I think...not having you in my life, being essentially cut off - and understandably so might I add - made me realize you and what you made were far more important to me than money could ever be. Losing Marvin, I guess, really made me reassess what's truly important."

"You really miss him don't you?" Bea asked.

"More than you could ever imagine. He was my entire world," Liam said, "he..." he started to sniffle, and took a long breath before continuing, "he used to write these little notes in the morning, since he went to work before I did, and uh, and he'd leave them on the pillow so they'd be the first thing I'd see when I woke up."

"That is so cute it makes me wanna puke," Bea said, making Liam laugh, nodding.

"Yeah, and they were always so fucking cheesy, you know, just the most ridiculously sappy things you could think of, but I loved them, because it showed he thought of me, and he cared about me enough to take even just a minute every day to do something he knew would make me feel good. It's not about the time you spend with the people you love, it's about how you spend it. Well, maybe it's sorta both, but you know what I mean," Liam said.

"...do you still have those notes?"

"Yeah, of course. I keep them in a little scrapbook, you wanna see 'em?" he asked, and Bea nodded. Just then the backdoor opened and a stage producer leaned out, informing them they were needed back on set. Beatrice climbed down off the dumpster and put the head back on, sighing.

"After the filming, show me, I'm curious just how much he thought of you," she said.

                                                                                                    ***

"Well," Steph said, "Hopefully we can work past this now, and get this thing on the road. I'm glad you were able to reschedule."

"Hey, she's the one who asked me to confirm the date, don't thank me," Liam said.

Liam and Stephanie were sitting in the editors booth, watching Beatrice in the recording room. She was pacing, back and forth, scratching her head furiously, like she was having a nervous reaction. Stephanie leaned towards Liam and lowered her voice.

"Let me ask you something," she said, "and please, don't be coy, just tell me outright...is she gonna be okay? She doesn't seem like the kind of person who can handle copious amounts of success very well."

"She'll be fine, don't worry," Liam said, before leaning forward and pressing a button, letting him speak to Beatrice, "BeaBea, we're ready to roll tape. You okay in there? You need a few more minutes or what? Can we make this thing happen now?"

"I'm fine, Liam, thank you," Beatrice replied through her own intercom, just as the door opened and Michelle entered, much to Liam and Steph's surprise. Stephanie turned and looked at Liam, her eyebrows raised from curiosity.

"What is she doing there?"

"I...I don't know," Liam said, half laughing from nervousness, "maybe she asked her to come in for moral support or something."

Beatrice, in the recording booth, turned and looked at Michelle. She walked over and she knelt down, getting on her knees and putting her hands on Michelle's. Michelle looked into Bea's eyes, confused. She had asked Michelle the previous night to come into the booth with her today, but hadn't specifically informed her why, and the entire day she'd been nervous as hell. Bea took a long, deep, slow breath and then locked eyes with Michelle too.

"I haven't been around a lot lately," she said gently, "and I apologize. I've been so busy. But I am here because of you, and what you and Keagan did for me, and I want you to be here for this, because what I'm about to say didn't come from me, but I mean it 100%. Do you understand?"

"I...uh...not really, but okay," Michelle said, the both of them laughing anxiously as Bea reached up and stroked her hair.

"I couldn't be here without you," Bea whispered, before kissing Michelle's forehead and then standing back up, walking back to the microphone. Michelle had never been more confused, or felt as good, in her life as she did right then. Beatrice adjusted the arm of the mic, and licked her lips, before grabbing a bottle of water on a nearby stool and uncapping it, taking a long sip. She then breathed out, then pulled the mic to her lips; she said, "I'm ready, Liam."

Liam hit record from the other side of the booth, then grave her a nod, indicating she could go anytime. Beatrice looked at Liam, then looked back at Michelle, then looked back at the mic.

"I'm here," she whispered.

She did one take. Liam had to leave because he knew where she'd gotten the line from and he couldn't help but burst into tears. He could still remember the day Marvin had left it on the pillow beside him, and it was the last note he'd ever left him. And Michelle...Michelle felt the wind knocked out of her. It could've been something so cliche, so simplistic that a million other dolls had already spouted: "I love you", "you matter", "believe in yourself", but Beatrice, to her credit, delivered the one thing it seemed so many parents couldn't give...herself. She had given herself to children, wholly. She wanted kids to know they were not alone, and that they could depend on her no matter what. Beatrice walked away from the mic and knelt down again, putting her hands on Michelle's face and smiling, tears running down both their cheeks.

"I'm here," she repeated.

"I know," Michelle replied, "I know."

Michelle and Bea hugged tightly, and all the jealousy Michelle had been feeling lately melted away in a singular moment. Fuck, she didn't need a doll.

She had the real deal.

Puzzles, blankets, posters, the parade of endless advertising options that Beatrice and Liam had been subjected to visually today was staggering and, in some cases, outright disrespectful. But Bea had told Steph that she would look into this avenue of revenue, so here she was. She was sitting in a small board room, smoking a cigarette as she and Liam were presented with footage of children scrambling to see all the new potential merchandise that had been created. Course, it was all prototypes, but still. She couldn't deny the fervor these kids seemed to have was impressive, and she did like seeing children happy, but she also knew that it was a double edged sword because while the children got happiness, the businessmen got their pockets lined. After a few minutes, one of the men clicked the television off and looked at Bea and Liam, smirking.

"So," he said, "as you can see, it's highly sought after stuff. I mean, the market is there. Kids are clamoring for something that respects their intelligence the way you do. You don't talk down to them. You talk TO them. That's something they can admire and want to be a part of."

"Don't use flattery as a sales technique, it's scummy," Bea said, making Liam hide a small laugh; she took a long puff of her cigarette, then ashed it in the tray on the table and leaned forward, asking, "so...you tell me this stuff is popular, but all I see is the same old merchandise that will eventually wind up in a thrift store once everyone's outgrown the fad. If I'm going to sell my soul, I want it to be for something truly good, something that will stand the test of time."

The three business executives, the two men and one woman, looked at one another and spoke quietly amongst themselves before looking back at Beatrice.

"We can...we can try something else, we can always find something new," the woman said, "you're right, this stuff is the same old same old and you deserve something better. Something unique. Fresh."

"Buzzwords notwithstanding," Beatrice said, "if we're going to make something that bears my likeness, I want it to be something someone wants to keep forever. The doll is a great example. Dolls get passed down from generation to generation. This kind of stuff does not. So let's just think about it for a while, yeah?"

After the meeting adjourned, Beatrice and Liam headed out into the hallway. Liam zipped up his jacket while Bea put her cigarette out entirely and sighed. She looked at Liam, who was just smiling at her warmly.

"I'm not being a pain, am I?" she asked.

"Oh you most definitely are, but I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, "I told you this time we're gonna do things your way, and by god I'm gonna stand by that."

Bea blushed. It was good to know that, no matter what, Liam would always have her back.

                                                                                                        ***

"It's getting harder and harder to breath, even with the machines," Michelle said.

She and Eliza and Keagan were standing around the craft services table, just snacking away while they waited for production to start back up. Eliza picked up a chip and scooped some dip onto it, then pushed it into her mouth while Keagan ate a carrot stick.

"Maybe you should see your doctor again," Keagan said, shrugging, "I mean, if it's getting to be worrisome, then-"

"I wouldn't say it's worrisome just yet," Michelle said, "but like, I have these days or long periods within days where my chest is tight or I wheeze a lot. It's not ideal, definitely. That being said, I also am sick of being in doctors offices for the time being."

Truth be told, not that Michelle would tell them the truth, she was more scared than anything else. She was scared of going back, of being told this was something they couldn't fix and which would only worsen with time. Something that would eventually kill her. She picked up a finger sandwich and bit into it, chewing, as Beatrice approached the table and picked up one for herself.

"How was your meeting?" Michelle asked.

"It was what it was, another slew of soulless corporate shills trying to get me to hurt my creative endeavor for the biggest sin, the all mighty dollar," she said; after a moment of chewing, she grimaced, then looked back at Michelle and asked, "Was that too grim? Am I being too dramatic?"

"Not dramatic enough, actually," Keagan said.

"I've been down this road before, that's the thing," Beatrice said, "you know, back when we were with the pizzeria. I know Liam won't betray me this time around, but that doesn't mean the feeling of uncertainty isn't there. The feeling that someone is just waiting for me to turn my back for a second so they can jam a knife into me and then sell my corpse to kids as the latest trend in toys."

"Kids do love corpses," Michelle said, making them laugh.

"It's just...corporate America is all so sickening," Beatrice said, eating another sandwich, "they don't appreciate the work, they appreciate what the work can get them. Nobody does it for the sole purpose of creation. Everyone does it for the hopes of creating a franchise, a cinematic universe, whatever the flying fuck that's supposed to mean. We've whored out art for the sake of commodity and, with it, the beauty in ourselves that it was birthed from, proving to everyone that, yeah, art is worthless without money backing it. It sickens me."

Someone with a megaphone somewhere on set made an announcement, and Beatrice finished her sandwich and pulled her dog suit head on over her own, sighing. She then gave each girl a hug and headed off to the sound stage. Watching her go, Michelle began to worry.

"...You guys don't think she's gonna snap, do you?" she asked.

"If she hasn't yet, I doubt she will," Keagan said, "then again pressure does things to a person."

"Yeah, like suck your eyeballs out of your skull," Eliza said, and only after she noticed the others were looking at her strangely did she add, "oh, you mean peer pressure, I...I'm sorry, I thought, nevermind."

                                                                                                           ***

"It makes me sick," Bea said that evening, making dinner for herself and Leslie as Leslie sat on the couch, thumbing through a magazine; Bea continued, "like, is that all I'm worth? Money? Is that all people are worth in general? Doesn't art have some sort of function in society beyond simply pulling in dollars, or is everything so shallow, hollow and meaningless that it's all simply another hallway towards achieving more cash?"

"Honey, I work for public broadcasting, you're preachin' to the choir," Leslie said, flipping a page and adding, "besides, I don't think what they're offering you is all that bad. In fact, they're listening to you, which is a good sign. Like, for once, they're not just taking whatever you make and slapping it on whatever product they want. It has to go by you first. You know how many creatives would kill for that level of control?"

"Only happening because Liam wrote an airtight contract," Beatrice said, just as there was a knock at the door. She put down her utensils and headed to open it, while Leslie excused herself to go shower until dinner was finished. Beatrice pulled open the door and found Michelle standing there. She smiled and stepped aside, letting Michelle indoors; after she was in, Bea turned and asked, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We need to talk about art," Michelle said.

Beatrice nodded and went back to making dinner as Michelle sat on a stool on the other side of the counter.

"...my mother hates me," Michelle said, "but I've told you this before. How she saw my illness as nothing more than an obstacle to her success in the art world. She used me to garner sympathy, but it didn't garner her success. In a way, you're the complete opposite of my mom because while you believe in the work you do, you aren't willing to hurt the people around you to accomplish it."

"I'd never hurt you, sweetheart, you know that," Beatrice said, smiling as she opened her oven and slid a baking tray inside.

"I know that," Michelle said, "but I also know that you want the products created to be meaningful. What if I sat down and helped you come up with some? Eliza can make the doll, but what if I helped you come up with special products too? Things that aren't like the same crap every other kids show has, you know? That would be cool, right? My mom never let me be part of her artistic process, but maybe you would."

Beatrice set her utensils down once more and sighed, scratching her forehead.

"...let me tell you a story, Michelle," she said, "it's about a young woman in a big city, whose only friend sold her out."

                                                                                                10 YEARS AGO

"I'm surprised you wanted to see me," Liam said, sitting at a table in the soon to be defunct pizzeria they'd once unfortunately endorsed together; he sipped his soda from the tall blue plastic cup and licked his lips, adding, "hopefully it's not just to kill me or something."

"Please, if I wanted to kill you I'd have done it a long time ago," Beatrice said, "no, I just...I was  told about the funds I'd be getting from the sale of this place last week, and I figured we should discuss that, considering we both had stake in it. Did you get the same offer?"

"I did, yes," Liam said.

"We need to put some aside, you know that," Beatrice said, "but aside from her, I don't want the cash. Do you?"

"What, like, do I want your share? Of course not," Liam said, "why would you even-"

"Because you seemed to like money enough."

"You're so fucking high and mighty, you know that? You're the epitome of the art student cliche. Thinking you're so above it all, that what you make will somehow save the world or save one other person. I'm not gonna deny art has great value, but you created a childrens educational show, Beatrice, you didn't make a goddamned statue that'll be respected for eons to come, alright? You helped kids like themselves and maybe learn to be friends with others. You're not Rodin."

"I never said I was," Beatrice said, fire burning inside her, "but you're the one who told me we could make something special from this, and then turned around and sold whatever was special out for some cheap kiddy pizza place! How can you sit there and tell me that you believe in art when you can't even defend what you did! You don't believe in art, not for the sake of art, no, you believe in it as a commodity, like everyone else, and god help me if I ever find out she's anything like you. It'd make me sick."

"Well then I guess it's good we'll never have to meet her, isn't it?" Liam asked, standing up and grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?! Don't walk away when we're fighting!" Beatrice said, standing up and grabbing Liam's arm, turning him back around to face her. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm too tired to do this anymore with you," he said quietly, "it's been years of this now. At first it was...I don't know...oddly enlightening to combat one another with differing viewpoints, because sometimes one of us could get the other to see their points, but...but now it's exhausting. You exhaust me, Bea. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm sorry if I hurt your art. I'm sorry I'll never be the person you thought I was. But, you know, I don't think you're the person you thought you were either, so, maybe we're both liars."

And as Beatrice finished telling Michelle this story, Michelle couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew Liam and Bea had a really shaky past, fraught with infighting and somewhat unresolved anger, but to hear the words he had said to her come out of Bea's own mouth...it made Michelle sad. Beatrice leaned on the counter and wiped her eyes, trying not to cry. After a moment, she took a long deep breath.

"He wasn't wrong," she finally said, "I'm not the person I thought I was either. But that's the thing, when you're young and idealistic, you don't think you'll ever be anyone else, and you'll argue that point to death with anyone willing to listen. I still believe in the value of art beyond its income bracket, but..."

Michelle waited, curious to hear what Bea might say. Bea exhaled and shut her eyes.

"...but it's stupid for me to keep fighting a losing battle when everyone else wants me to lose it," she said quietly.

"I don't want you to lose it," Michelle said, leaning forward and holding Bea's hand on the counter, adding, "you're my hero, and I think you're right, but I think we can find a way to make merchandise that doesn't feel cheap and shallow and empty. I think we can work together and make something you'd be just as proud of as you are of your show."

Beatrice lifted her head and her eyes caught Michelle's. She laughed a little.

"I'm glad I remind you of your mother, but in a positive way," Bea said, "You're like the daughter I never had."

Michelle felt touched by this sentiment, and smiled back. If only she knew.

                                                                                                           ***

Eliza was seated at her workshop desk in The Hole, sewing something when the door opened. She turned around and glanced at Michelle, coming into the room. Michelle approached the table and stood beside it, waiting for Eliza to finish. When she did, she pulled her goggles back up onto her forehead and looked up at Michelle.

"What're you doing?" Michelle asked.

"Doll prototypes," Eliza said, "pattern work, stuff like that. Why'd you come in?"

"I don't know. Just been having a bad few days, what with my health and then Bea's nervousness over marketing. Guess I just needed somewhere where I could, like, not be bothered by anything for a bit. Nobody comes to The Hole, and so I know I won't be bothered out here."

"Well, pull up a seat," Eliza said, as Michelle did just that, dragging a chair over to Eliza's and sitting down; Eliza added, "glad I could be of service to help you hide from the world. Sorry I'm not a more interesting person."

"Oh, don't take it that way, please, I like that you're you. I like that I can just hang around you and you won't ask me a million questions. You won't badger me about my health like Keagan or the show like Beatrice. You just, ya know, let me be, and that's what I need," Michelle said. Eliza blushed.

"Well," Eliza said, starting to sew again, pulling her goggles back down over her eyes, "if that's all you need, then so be it. My hole is your hole...that came out wrong, sorry."

Michelle cackled, then rested her head on Eliza's shoulder and shut her eyes, making Eliza smile. For just a little while, she could appreciate the solitude that The Hole gave them, and the sincerity of Eliza's friendship. For just a little while she could rest easy in knowing that for at least an hour or so, nobody would bother her about work, nobody would argue with her about art, nobody would insist commerce was more important, and she didn't have to worry about her health. She could just simply be.

"So how's the doll coming?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged, exhaling.

"Well, a childrens entertainment empire wasn't built in a day," she said, the both of them laughing.

                                                                                                            ***

That evening, after Leslie had fallen asleep, Beatrice got back up and she walked out into the living room. She knelt down in front of a short bookshelf and she pulled a large photo album off it, sliding it into her lap as she sat on the floor. She opened it up and she looked inside, skimming through pages filled with memories of her time spent in the city, producing the original show with Liam. Photos of herself and Liam writing new material, on set shoots, a photo of a much younger Eliza working on puppetry, a photo of Liam and Marvin goofing around backstage, and then...that one photo, the one that always got to her.

It was Beatrice and Liam standing together on a balcony in someones apartment. She wasn't sure who shot the picture, she just knew someone had taken it and left it on the roll of film in the disposable camera Bea eventually took in to be processed the following week. It was just starting to get dark, the days last rays of light in the sky, and she and Liam were holding hands.

Beatrice felt some tears well up in her eyes, and she let them roll down her face. They had something so perfect, something so pure, and all the years they'd lost simply because of an argument. She regretted it now more than ever. She couldn't let this happen again. She had to protect Beatrice, certainly, but she couldn't continue to be as stubborn, because she might lose others by doing so the way she'd almost lost him. She could remember that night with such crystal clarity, the smell of the air, the taste of the wine, and of course, the night that proceeded the next few days, when she became fully aware that she wasn't, in fact, into men, just as Liam came to discover he very much was. Sometimes, as it turns out, two queer people of opposite sexes need to screw one another to discover they don't want what heterosexuals have, and she was grateful to have had Liam for that moment.

Even if, a few weeks after that, it changed their lives forever.

"I don't know how to feel," Beatrice said, sitting in her mothers kitchen while her mother made them some tea; Bea continued, "I don't...I should feel happy, you know, grateful? All I ever wanted was for others to love Beatrice the way I did, and for her to bring them joy the way she did for me, but now that that's happening...I don't know. It feels like they're trying to take something away from me."

Her mother, Gloria, turned away from the kettle as she waited for it to heat up and she opened up a pack of cookies, biting into one.

"It's only understandable you'd feel that way, considering Beatrice was a real dog. I think you need to tell them that, otherwise they'll never understand this attachment to what they assume is a fictional character. Be upfront about it."

"...they made a doll, and they gave it to this little girl," Bea said, and that caught her mothers attention.

"They made a doll??" she asked, "Wow, you've really made it, Amelia."

"...no, you don't...you don't understand," Bea said, "you don't know what I saw."

                                                                                             3 DAYS EARLIER

Beatrice, Michelle and Eliza were in Bea's car, though nobody but Beatrice knew why. She'd gotten them take out breakfast from McDonalds and she'd even offered to get them lunch and dinner too if they weren't done come days end, but she wouldn't tell them why she'd invited them on this little ride along. After a while of just sitting outside of a house on a normal everyday suburban street, the smell of breakfast sandwiches filling the car, Michelle finally had had enough and looked at Bea.

"What are we doing?" she asked, "Shouldn't we be working?"

"Technically this is work related," Bea said, "I need to see it. I need to witness it firsthand."

"Witness what?" Michelle asked, but before Bea could even respond, the front door opened, and the couple from the meeting walked out with their little girl who was clutching the doll to her chest as tightly as she could. Michelle couldn't believe it. They were stalking a child for marketing purposes? This was sick. Eliza reached forward and held out a hashbrown in a paper sleeve to Michelle.

"You want this one?" she asked, and Michelle smiled warmly, appreciating having her there as she graciously accepted the hashbrown and bit into it. They waited until the family was in the car, and then they followed it down the street.

"Why are we doing this?" Michelle asked.

"Because I need to see her react to it," Bea said, "I need to know that it's good for her, that she loves it the way I love it. I need to know that putting this doll out won't cheapen Beatrice Beagle."

Michelle didn't even bother arguing. She knew she had no leg to stand on after all, so she simply ate her hashbrown and enjoyed the ride. After a short drive, they car pulled over at a school, and the mother got out and helped the little girl out and walked with her into the school. After a minute or two, she re-emerged, re-entered the car and it drove away again. Bea parked outside of the school and waited.

"Cool, so now we're just watching a public school?" Michelle asked, "Nothin' creepy about that at all."

Beatrice smirked as she picked up her coffee and took a sip.

"I wanna sign off, I know it's the right thing to do, and I know it would help us tremendously. Liam said it himself. We need to bring in money outside of subscriptions. The show's not cheap, despite looking that way. There's costumes to be made, props to be built, puppets to be created, and everyone deserves equal pay for their work, and the only way to do that is to sell stuff. I wanna sell this doll, but...I need to know it's worth it first."

Michelle got out of the car and walked away for a bit, just trying to wrap her head around Bea's obsession. After a moment, Eliza joined her. As the two walked away from the car a bit, Michelle rubbed her arms, shivering. It was still somewhat cold outside this morning. Eliza took her jacket off and put it on Michelle, who blushed at the gesture.

"She's weird," Eliza said, "but I'm weird, and you like weird. I get what she means. These things we create are very personal to us, and we wanna make sure they're personal to others too, you know?"

"I get that, I do, this is just..." Michelle said, turning to face her, "...ugh...this is just really uncomfortable. I'm all for being here for Beatrice. Hell, neither of us would be here if it wasn't for the other. But..."

"Just let her do her thing, ya know? Let her get it out," Eliza said, "Then she'll write it off, and everything will be good."

Michelle nodded, sighing. Eliza was right. She couldn't deny it. Beatrice was an important facet of herself, and she couldn't just let them make a doll of it without seeing firsthand what the kid might act like with it. Beatrice wasn't just a character, it was a literal part of herself. Michelle respected that. Hell, it was part of what drove her to find Bea in the first place. Michelle looked at the car and thought about all of this. They did need the money. She'd stick it out. She looked back at Eliza, who smiled at her.

"Your jacket's warm," she said.

"I'm glad you like it," Eliza said.

"Aren't you cold?"

"I don't get cold," Eliza said, "I'm weird like that."

Together they walked back to the car and got back in. After settling back into their seats, Michelle sipped her iced coffee and leaned back in her chair, feeling Eliza play with her hair from behind. She blushed. She liked the attention and the friendship Eliza gave her, so she often let her do whatever she wanted. Michelle glanced at Bea, who was nervously chewing her nails.

"You okay there cowboy?" she asked.

"...I want children to be happy. I was a happy child. Contrary to popular belief, and preexisting notions within pop culture, great art doesn't have to be borne out of great sorrow. I had a wonderful childhood. I love my parents, and they love me. I was successful. I did what I wanted for a living. I wanted to share that joy with other children. I knew there were kids out there, kids like you Michelle, who maybe weren't happy. Who didn't have great lives or good parents. Who maybe needed something more. Something to be there for them."

Michelle teared up, nodding slowly.

"...but it has to be more than a commercial oddity. It has to be more than just a tax write off. It has to be more than an economic cow. It has to actually mean something. I'm not against merchandising as much these days, so long as that merchandising is tasteful and respected and means something. I don't wanna overdo it, sure, but why can't there be a doll, you know? Beatrice exists on the screen, why can't she exist in the hands of a little girl? She existed in my hands."

Michelle furrowed her brow and reached out, touching Bea's arm as Bea wiped her eyes.

"She was my dog. She was my real dog. Now I want her to be everyones dog. I want everyone to love her the way I did, the way I do, and I want her to be there for them the way she was for me," Bea said, "this isn't merchandise. This is a gift. I wanna give the kids a gift of love. So even in the darkest nights when they're the most scared, they know they have something with them that loves them, because they hear it every day on the television."

Michelle didn't want to push the issue anymore, so she simply acknowledge it and kept quiet. After a few minutes of silence, Eliza piped up from the backseat.

"When I make a puppet," she said, "I think about what aspects of myself I want to put into it, because it's easier to draw from real life than create something from thin air. It's weird to put an aspect of myself into, say, a flower pot puppet, but it helps. It helps sort out how you feel about yourself, too."

"I guess since I don't make things I have a hard time understanding," Michelle said, "but I'll take your words for it."

"But you DO make things, you made an entire set in your basement," Beatrice said, reaching over and touching her hand, "and hell, that's the biggest fan response I've ever gotten, so that says something."

Michelle laughed and nodded. She had almost forgotten about the basement set, it'd been so long ago. God, everything felt so long ago now. How had it all come to this?

                                                                                                              ***

"Sounds like you'd already made up your mind," Gloria said, pouring herself and Beatrice cups of tea and walking to the table with them, "so why the need for the spying?"

"We weren't spying. We were doing recon. It's totally different," Bea said as her mother set the teacup down in front of her, the both of them chuckling slightly as she added, "and I just...I had to see it myself, first hand. It's one thing for her folks to tell me how she reacted, but it's another to see it with my own eyes."

Bea lifted her teacup to her lips and took a long sip as her mother opened up the package of cookies further and pulled some out, placing them on the table in between them. Bea took one and ate it, chewing, then after a few minutes of snacking, she finally sighed and leaned back in her chair.

"I guess I just needed to know whether or not the company was using people to lie to me to get what they wanted," she said, "after all, Liam did the same thing. I guess once you've been betrayed by someone you trust so deeply, it makes it hard to trust anyone at all, especially those in the corporate world."

Gloria finished her own cookie, then cleared her throat.

"Yes, but...he's obviously done a good job of earning your forgiveness," she said.

"Right, because he actually knows how much he hurt me. But companies, corporations, they don't care. They just see me as a way to line their bottom dollar. I am nothing more than a machine that churns out a product for them, hence the hesitation," Beatrice said, "so I think I have every right to be suspicious."

"So what happened then?"

A moment. A long pause. Beatrice sighed and a smile played on her lips.

"...the best thing in the world, honestly," she said.

                                                                                                            ***

It'd been 3 hours, and still they sat parked there outside of the school. Michelle checked her watch and sighed. She didn't really have anything else to do today, and yet she felt like she could be using this time more constructively than she was. Michelle finally tossed her hair back and pulled it into a bushy bundle, handing it back to Eliza who started to braid it. Michelle looked at Bea, who was tapping her nails on the steering wheel.

"You know, Liam's gonna start to wonder where we are," she said.

"So? Not like he's my husband," Bea said, "I'm allowed to do things without him knowing."

"I'm just saying maybe we should go back to the studio for a bit, or call in or something," Michelle said, "give someone some idea of what it is we're doing, even though what it is we're doing is kinda creepy and now that I've said it out loud I don't know that I want anyone to know about it, which only furthers the creepiness altogether."

Beatrice laughed and adjusted her rearview mirror.

"We won't stay much longer, okay? I promise. I just need to-"

Everything stopped. Beatrice was staring dead ahead out the windshield, and Michelle followed her gaze towards the schoolyard, where the kids had just been let out for recess. Beatrice undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, telling the girls to stay here until she got back.

"This is ridiculous," Michelle muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, but you'll have nice braids when I'm done," Eliza said, making Michelle smile. Thank god for Eliza, she thought. Beatrice strolled across the lawn, and approached the wooden fence that surrounded the schoolyard, her eyes scanning the groups of kids until she found the one she was looking for. Ashley Harding was sitting on a wooden bench, eating apple slices and cheese, holding Bea to her chest as she snacked. Beatrice approached cautiously and knelt down.

"Hello," she said, making Ashley turn around; she continued, smiling, "Do you know who I am?"

"...you're Beatrice Beagle," the girl said, "I recognize your voice."

"That's right," Bea said, smiling warmly at her, "I like your doll."

"I got it for my birthday!" Ashley replied, holding it out to Bea, who took it from her and examined it; Ashley continued, "it's my favorite doll. It's so soft and it makes me feel safe during bed."

"You're not surprised I'm not a real dog?" Bea asked.

"I'm not stupid," Ashley said, making Bea laugh as she added, "I know it's a costume! I know what costumes are! Did you...did you make the doll? Did you let me have it?"

Bea hesitated for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, your mom and dad just love you so much that they found a way to get you a doll nobody else can have yet," Bea said, "I mean, sure they couldn't be made without me, but they're the ones who got it for you. I am happy you have it though, especially if it makes you feel safe and loved."

"Do you have any kids?" Ashley asked as Bea handed her doll back, and Bea glanced over her shoulder back towards the car, seeing Eliza braid Michelle's hair, and she smiled.

"Yeah," she said, "yeah I do."

                                                                                                     ***

"Well, it sounds like everything went better than expected," Gloria said, "sounds like you'll have a popular toy in stores soon enough. Can't see what the problem is."

"I didn't say there was a problem, except for maybe myself," Bea responded, "the problem is me. I'm the issue. I hold everything up because of this attachment to Beatrice, and wanting to share her but also wanting to keep her to myself. It's an odd dichotomy to have."

"That's how mothers are," Gloria said, making Bea smile a little and give a short nod; she added, "She may be fictional, but she was based on a real dog, and you were like her mother. It's only understandable you'd be protective. Nothing weird about that at all. Kinda like how your father and I are protective of you."

Bea understood, and she couldn't argue. Then again, she didn't know the half of how protective her folks were of her. Replacing her dog when it died, moving her to the country, keeping her somewhat sheltered. They had done so much in the name of keeping her safe, and she didn't even know any of it. But that's the way it should be, really. When you've done something right, nobody will know you did it at all. Parents are often the best at it, if they try hard enough, and Beatrice's tried harder than most.

                                                                                                       ***

Beatrice was lying on the couch as Leslie scooped their food from their take out containers onto plates and brought them into the living room, setting them on the coffee table. She motioned for Bea to scoot, so she sat up and sighed heavily.

"Rough day the coal mines?" Leslie asked.

"They're gonna make the dolls. I told Liam today it was okay," Bea said.

"Oh yeah?" Leslie asked, opening her beer bottle and taking a swig, then wiping her mouth on her sweater sleeve, "and what made you make that decision?"

Bea shrugged.

"Just seemed like the right thing to do," she replied.

Ashley Harding had her 6th birthday today.

She had her friends from school, her mom made a cake, and they all played the standard party games, but when it came time to finally unwrap her presents, there was one among them she couldn't have expected. Oh sure, she was given the usual type of gifts one would expect at a 6 year old girls party; easy to read chapter books, dolls, those sorts of things. Even some cute clothing from her aunt. But when her parents gave her what they called 'the big one', she couldn't in a million years have expected what was inside, and only when she'd finally opened the box and only once had the squealing subsided, did she pull out the Beatrice doll. It was soft, it was floppy, and it looked exactly like the Beatrice she'd seen on TV every morning for the past year. Ashley Harding squeezed it to her chest for the rest of the day, swearing to never let it come to harm.

The same couldn't be said, unfortunately, for the real Beatrice.

                                                                                                           ***

"Go home, you're sick," Liam said, standing in the bathroom at the office as Beatrice threw up in a stall.

"I'm not sick, I have food poisoning, also this is the ladies room," she said from inside the stall.

"We have to go look at the prototypes today, are you sure this isn't just an excuse to get out of your responsibility?" he asked.

"Right, because I'm an enormous shirker," Beatrice responded, making him chuckle as she added, "I deliberately went out and got food poisoning in order to avoid seeing these dolls they're making."

After a moment or two, she finally flushed the toilet and exited the stall. Beatrice stood there, looking at Liam. His hair was greying, thinning a bit. He was wearing a turtleneck, slacks and he was letting his facial hair come in again. He looked nice. Beatrice smiled at him, as she walked to the counter, turned on the faucets and began washing her hands.

"I'm...not pleased about it either, for what it's worth," he finally said, "but...they aren't wrong. We need to make money outside of general content delivery, and advertising, as Stephanie said to me, 'is like a wedding ring for the product'."

Beatrice turned the faucet off and stared at Liam for a moment, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What the FUCK does that mean?" she asked.

"I can honestly say I have no idea, but she said it with such deep conviction that I can't argue with her," Liam replied, "either way, you won't be alone, alright? I'll be there, Michelle and Eliza are gonna come by and see it afterwards, then we'll all have a little roundtable discussion with Leslie and Steph and see how it shakes out, okay? But the worst thing you can do is simply not engage. This isn't like last time, Bea," Liam said, approaching her and putting his hand on her shoulder, "I promise, this isn't like before. I'm doing this for you. Not for me."

Beatrice smiled, still wary, but knew Liam really was on her side. She sighed and nodded.

"Alright, let's go...watch products get married, I guess?" she asked, making him laugh.

                                                                                                    ***

Eliza was chewing her nails nervously. Lately she'd been having the same recurring dream, one that bothered her, but perhaps not for the reasons one would expect it to. Standing in the hallway of the toy firm, waiting for the others, she couldn't help but remember it. How it woke her up each time, her chest tight with terror, but also...joy? It was difficult to explain, not that she was interested in even attempting to explain it.

"Heya," Michelle said, coming down the hall and breaking Eliza's concentration. Eliza turned and, without hesitation, flung her arms around Michelle, who laughed and happily hugged her back, adding, "it's good to see you too! You're here early."

"I had nothing else to do," Eliza said, shrugging, brushing her bangs from her eyes, "what's that?" she asked, pointing at a device attached to Michelle's arm.

"Oh, uh, it's my mobile BiPAP," she said, smiling as she glanced at the machine strapped to her arm.

"What the heck is that?"

"It's a type of ventilator, you know, to help me breath," Michelle said, "Just in case I need it. My doctor said I should keep it on my person just on the offchance I suddenly need to use it. I've been straining to breath properly lately for some reason, so, it's just a precationary thing."

"That sounds scary," Eliza said, making Michelle shrug.

"I don't know, when you live with something long enough you almost forget it's even a thing anymore," she said, "It becomes second nature. I'm not saying that that makes it okay or normal or whatever, I'm just saying that I'm used to it, I guess. It's not weird to me anymore, like it was when I was a kid."

The two women turned and started heading down the hall, to the toy development lab.

"I think I know what you mean," Eliza said, "after I had my accident when I was a kid, on the playground, I always felt different, but now as an adult, I guess different is my normal. I guess I understand what you're saying in that sense then. ...do you know when they're supposed to get here? I don't think we're supposed to see this first."

Michelle shrugged and looked behind them down the hall. Eliza had a point. This was Beatrice's toy, modeled off Beatrice herself. She really should be the first one through the door. And yet she wasn't here, and neither one knew when she might be. Michelle sighed and shook her head.

"Come on, let's just go inside the room," she said, taking Eliza by the hand and leading her in, "We'll wait for her there. She'll show up. She always does."

Michelle opened the door and let Eliza go first, then followed her inside, only to be surprised by the man and woman sitting together on one end of the table, and a group of two men and one woman sitting together on the other end. The group of three were clearly workers, they were in suits, so that didn't phase Michelle, but it was the other couple that threw her off. Who were these two? Why were they here? Michelle pulled out a chair for Eliza, who thanked her and sat down, before seating herself.

"Where is-" the woman in the suit started, but just then the door opened once more and Beatrice and Liam entered.

"Sorry, I've been throwing up all morning," Bea said.

"She's getting quite good at it," Liam added, making everyone chuckle uncomfortably as they walked past the table to sit down. Beatrice patted Michelle on the shoulder and then kissed Eliza on the top of the head before taking her seat, Liam beside her.

"So," Beatrice said, "...what am I looking at?"

"Beatrice, this is Bryan and Lindsay Harding. Their daughter Ashley had her sixth birthday this past week, and she was given one of the prototypes as a gift," the woman in the suit said, "We selected a few folks to be given prototypes to see the childs reaction, and I think you're better off hearing those results from the people who endured it first hand, honestly."

Beatrice looked across the table, from the woman in the suit to Bryan and Lindsay, and shrugged.

"Um, our daughter loves your show, and loves you," Bryan said, leaning forward, cupping his hands on the table, "so we were given the doll and we wrapped it and everything, and I gotta tell ya, the look on her face and the scream she made when she opened it...I'm surprised our windows didn't shatter, honestly. She has taken it with her everywhere since getting it, and she won't not sleep without it and it just...god it brings her so much comfort."

"That's all very nice, that's what Beatrice is meant to do," Bea said, "my issue, more than anything, is just how much merchandising can take away from her specialness. If every kid in the country has a Beatrice doll, then she isn't special to anyone, is she? She's special to everyone. That takes away that unique bond one can form that feels personal."

"Um, if I may," Lindsay said, pushing her hair back behind her ears and sniffling, "...uh...our daughter has been in and out of the hospital for the last few months, first enduring a battery of tests, then enduring treatment, and no childhood should be like that. We couldn't be there all the time, we both have to work, and she was scared. But now she's not scared. Now she has you."

Michelle felt her heart break. Now she could identify with this situation personally. She glanced down at Bea, who was nodding solemnly.

"I don't...I'm not trying to guilt trip you, or anything, please don't think that, I'm just saying that I think a child can still have that special bond even if she's everywhere. I don't disagree that merchandising cheapens art. I'm an art major. I went to art school. I'm a painter, I get it. When you start seeing something everywhere you get tired of seeing it anywhere. But we're talking about something that helps children. That brightens up their lives. That brings them...god...the biggest comfort they could need in the worst possible times. Isn't that worth a bit of cheapening?"

Beatrice leaned back and folded her arms, sighing. She looked at Liam, and grimaced. Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew what Beatrice meant to her, more than anyone else, and he knew how hard this must be to hear.

"On one hand, you're right," Bea said, "you are, I won't deny that. She is special for everyone. She should be for everyone. On the other hand...she's mine. She's me. It feels like prostituting myself, to put it bluntly, if that makes sense."

"If I can ask," Eliza asked, surprisingly everyone with her sudden self inclusion, "would it make you feel better if I made the doll and the toy company merely distributed it?"

The room went quiet. Bea looked at Eliza, one eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for more explanation.

"Well," Eliza said, adjusting her glasses, "um, I make all the puppets for the show, so why wouldn't I be able to make a doll, you know? And this way it'd be closer to you, in terms of who's producing it. Would that make a difference at all?"

Bea looked away, glancing across the table again at the couple, then sighed and lowered her head.

"That might be okay, yes," she said softly, before standing up and, touching Michelle's shoulder again, whispered, "let's go get some coffee."

                                                                                                             ***

"She was just trying to help," Michelle said as she and Bea sat at a table by a window in a small cafe downtown. Michelle was chewing on a bear claw while Bea sipped from her coffee cup. Bea set her cup down and, tapping her nails on it, looked out the window, exhaling.

"I know, I'm not mad at her," Bea said, "...but everyone thinks I'm being difficult. I'm not being difficult. I'm being particular. There's a difference. You know what it's like to have an attachment to Beatrice, you were that little girl one time. That's why I wanted to talk to you about it before anyone else."

Michelle felt honored. She'd become so close to Bea that she was now being outright asked for her input.

"Well," Michelle said, chewing her pastry and swallowing, then leaning back in her chair, "I...I guess I understand where her folks are coming from, but even though we both lived in the hospital for some time in our childhoods, our lives are still drastically different. My parents weren't there for me. This kid seems to have a dedicated support base. All I had was you. I don't mean that in the way it sounds-"

"I know," Bea said, chuckling, "I understand."

"-it's just that...because you were all I had, I'm far more attached than any other kid might be, but I recognize my situation was specific," Michelle said, "and, if it hadn't been for my weird attachment, then maybe we wouldn't even be sitting here right now, and she wouldn't have that same kind of attachment that's helping her. Weird how interconnected everything in the world is. One little thing creates all these ripples that effect things so much later down the line."

Bea leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, sighing. She looked back out the window and watched a family waiting to cross the street, two adults and two little boys. She finally exhaled, then looked back at Michelle, who was taking another bite of her bear claw and chewing.

"I wanted the world to love her as I did," Bea sad softly, "I wanted the world to appreciate her as I was able to. Her companionship should be experienced by everyone. That's the thing. At first I...I just wanted to put on a one woman show in small local theatres around the city, using it as a way to discharge my grief and my pain, but why shouldn't others be able to use her in ways that benefit them too? You were able to, and as you said, look at where we are now."

"Letting Eliza make the doll might be the best move," Michelle said.

"I don't disagree with that, it definitely is more comfortable for me having her do it," Bea said, "...I guess we'll move ahead and see what works and what doesn't. We need to make more money than just whatever subscriptions to the service bring in in order to cover the cost of production after all, and merchandise is like a wedding ring for the product."

After a small moment, Michelle furrowed her brow.

"The hell does that mean?" she asked.

"I don't know, it's something Stephanie told Liam," Bea said, shrugging.

"God that's stupid."

"Well at least we're all on the same page in regards to that," Bea added.

                                                                                                           ***

Keagan was standing at the stove, stirring a soup in a big pot while Lexi sat the kitchen table, flipping slowly through a magazine. She sighed and looked up, glancing out the window at the driveway. She then looked back at Keagan and tapped her nails on the table absentmindedly.

"What would you think about getting a better apartment?" she finally asked.

"I dunno, I've gotten kinda used to this place," Keagan said, "It's not much but it's ours, you know?"

"Sure, sure," Lexi said, "but we could get something not much different but just somewhat nicer. A bit more room, maybe. I don't know, I'm just throwing out ideas. We make pretty good money, Michelle makes more than both of us considering she works directly with Bea. We could really afford to live in a higher class bracket."

"I don't really care either way, so long as we're together," Keagan said, making Lexi blush. Michelle entered the kitchen and sighed, looking at both of them before sitting down at the table and running her hands through her hair.

"How were things today?" Keagan asked.

"...weird," Michelle replied.

"How about your breathing? You doing okay?" Lexi asked, "We could get you better equipment if you'd like."

"Naw, for as little as I have to use this thing, I think I'll stick with it," Michelle said, smiling warmly, "but thanks for the offer."

Lexi shrugged, then stood up and, taking her magazine with her, exited the kitchen and headed for the living room. Michelle looked at Keagan, who tapped her stirring wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and placed it on the counter. She then walked over to the table and sat down across from Michelle.

"What's eating her?" Michelle asked.

"Ah, she's being weird about money, don't mind her," Keagan said, waving it off, "so," she continued, "what happened? Was she interested in doing the doll, or?"

There was a long pause, and then Michelle nodded.

"...I don't necessarily like what your silence insinuates," Keagan said.

"It comes with some caveats, but I think it'll work itself out," Michelle said, yawning, "I think I need to go to sleep."

"You don't want any soup? I'm making soup."

"Save me some, I'll have it when I wake up," Michelle said, leaning in and hugging Keagan before getting up and heading to her bedroom down the hall. In a way, she completely understood and stood by Beatrice's arguments. Beatrice was special to both of them for very different reasons, and she felt like giving that specialness to others would hurt her own attachments to it. But...but maybe it's what the world really needed. Little girls shouldn't have to be scared and alone. They should have the comfort that even just a stuffed dog can bring them. Lying down on her bed after getting into her pajamas, attaching her cannula's into her nostrils and shutting her eyes, all she could think about was how scared she herself had been as a child, and how comforting Beatrice had been for her. Why shouldn't someone else be granted that some sort of comfort?

Michelle shut her eyes and exhaled slowly, thinking about Eliza, and about what she might make the doll look like. Maybe tomorrow she'd stop by The Hole and check it out. She was curious about the doll, but she also just liked spending time with her, and if anyone else had a curious attachment to Beatrice, it was Eliza. She of all people would be the only other one capable of understanding.

Michelle was grateful to have people who understood.

                                                                                                        ***

Ashley Harding snuggled up in bed with her Beatrice doll as her mother read her a bedtime story and her father watched from the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, smiling at the sight. He had expected Beatrice to be weird - hell the toy people had outright warned him of it - but he hadn't expected her to be as weird about the situation as she had been, and yet in a way he couldn't help but admire her willingness to defend her artistic integrity. That took guts, and wasn't something many people had these days. The ability, the gall if you will, to put their works worth over the worth of money.

After Ashley was asleep, Lindsay came out and joined Bryan in the hallway. The two stood there together in the silence for a moment, until she finally looked at her feet and shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears. Bryan reached out and touched her shoulder, massaging it gently.

"...what if she doesn't get better?" Lindsay asked quietly, her voice shaking, and Bryan shook his head.

"We don't think about that. I know it's an actuality we may have to inevitably face, but right now we don't think about that," he whispered, "right now all that matters is that she feels loved and comfortable and that she has something to make her happy, like the doll."

"She loves it so much," Lindsay said, glancing back into the room at the bed Ashley was cuddled up in with the Bea doll.

"Of course she does," Bryan chuckled, "haven't you read the reviews? Everyone loves Beatrice Beagle."

She smirked, and, hand in hand, they headed down the hallway and into their own bedroom. Tomorrow was another day they had to face. But tonight?

Tonight they had a watch dog.

The sun peaked through the slit blinds of Leslie Swann's bedroom, splashing onto her face, making her skin warm ever so slightly. She rolled over, stretching and yawning, half her face hidden by her long bouncy hair, until she smiled, seeing Beatrice lying in bed beside her. Bea smiled back at her, reaching out and pushing Leslie's hair back behind her ear.

"When my husband and I split, after the miscarriage, I never thought I'd feel this safe in a bedroom again," Leslie said, speaking softly, "...amazing how things can change if you give them the chance."

"I'm not used to being with others," Bea said, "I'm...it makes me almost...scared."

"You don't have to be scared," Leslie said, "I know it's scary, but you never have to be scared with me. I always admired you. I was so touched when you asked if I would come on board, I couldn't believe it. And then that night..."

Bea smiled again as Leslie wiggled closer and kissed her. After it broke, Leslie rolled back over and sighed.

"People were right," Beatrice said, "It IS easy to bed women when you're famous."

Leslie couldn't help it, she broke out in contagious laughter, making Bea laugh too.

It was a good morning.

                                                                                            ***

Eliza spun around in her chair, holding up a small train, making Michelle smile.

"Do you wanna do the honors?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded, getting up from the chair and walking to the table where Eliza attached the train to the rest of the line and then stepped back, pointing at the table, adding, "on the side there, you'll see a switch, just flick it and the whole thing will turn on."

"Okay," Michelle said, fiddling around with her fingers until she finally found the switch and flicked it, the whole table coming to life; the streetlamps flickering on, the train beginning to whistle as it took off around the track that surrounded the cute little town Eliza had built. Michelle stepped back beside Eliza and admired it, hands on her hips.

"This is what God must feel like," Michelle said, making Eliza scoff.

"God doesn't see the beauty in what's made, to him creation is nothing more than an assembly line, churning out things quick and cheaply, hoping nobody will notice the shoddy craftsmanship," Eliza said, "...I'm way more invested than God in what I bring to life."

Michelle laughed, just as Eliza's father opened the bedroom door and looked inside.

"Uh, girls, you have a phone call," he said, "They're asking to talk to either one of you."

Eliza and Michelle glanced at one another, then Eliza shrugged and went back to the table, leaving Michelle to take the cordless phone Don handed her. Michelle graciously took it from him, mouthing 'thank you' as he smiled at her and exited. She lifted the phone to ear.

"Hello?" she asked, "Hi Bea. Yeah, I'm with Eliza right now."

Eliza stopped looking at her train set and looked back at Michelle, one eyebrow raised now.

"Okay, we'll be there shortly," Michelle said, before hanging up and looking at Eliza, adding, "That was Beatrice. She wants us to meet here somewhere."

                                                                                            ***

The show had been airing for a few weeks now, and the reviews were absolutely spectacular. Beatrice herself was called a "savant" by many, and one very kind write up even went so far as to state that she truly understood the child mindset, making her a remarkable asset to their developmental abilities. These reviews certainly made Beatrice feel good, better than she had in months actually, but she still preferred to stay out of the limelight and let Liam deal anything press wise.

Liam, however, also didn't seem to enjoy his newfound responsibility to talk to the press, but he did it out of respect for Bea. Sitting in his office at the network, typing away something on his keyboard, he heard a knock on the door and looked up, only to see Stephanie standing there, grinning at him as he looked up at her and adjusted his oval glasses.

"Hi," she said, "Am I interrupting?"

"I fuckin' wish," Liam said, making her chuckle as she cautiously entered the room, clearly somewhat nervous about something. She folded her arms as she began to pace in his office.

"Um...so," Stephanie said, "The show is a wild success, as we all know now. So we should talk about our next move. Obviously we still have a handful of episodes left to air this season, but we should talk about next season, and even potentially additional seasons beyond that, and also merchandising."

"Bea's not gonna go for merchandising," Liam said.

"I'm aware of that, which is partially why I'm here," Stephanie said, "You're her best friend, her closest creative ally, and I think you-"

"No," Liam said sternly, "I already screwed up my friendship with her once, and nearly lost her for good. I...I was responsible for her losing faith in the creative industry and essentially shuttering herself away from the world for like 20 years. I can't...no, Stephanie, I can't be responsible for that again, I refuse."

"We just need to have the conversation. It doesn't have to go anywhere. The higherups are pushing me to at least talk with her about this," Stephanie said.

"The higherups? You run this place!" Liam said.

"I have bosses, everyone has a boss," Stephanie said, "I just...please, talk to her."

"I...if I do, you have to promise it can't go anywhere," Liam said, "As you said, we'll simply have the conversation, and leave it at a mutual disagreement, unable to meet a ground where everyone is happy. Stephanie, I understand where you're coming from, I do. I handled all the business stuff in the past for her, and she's essentially saddling me with it again this round, but I..."

Liam leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thinning hair, sighing deeply.

"...Bea and I go back a long way, and we have a very...complex and strange and often times strained relationship, and I will never do anything to remotely jeopardize that again. We're already getting inundated with offers from toy companies and such that I have to sift through and either outright deny or potentially approve, and only once I run the potential approvals by her. A few weeks ago, she drove me out to her parents house, and after seeing what I saw there, I simply cannot morally allow any further bastardization of something so deeply personal and important to her."

This remark piqued Stephanie's curiosity, as she seated herself on the edge of Liam's desk.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's not really my place to expand upon it, honestly," Liam said, "maybe she'll tell you someday. All I'll say is this...if you try and make something out of Beatrice Beagle beyond her comfort zone, you'll be actively attacking a part of herself. This dog...is not just a character to Bea."

Stephanie left Liam's office shortly after this discussion, all the more curious about Bea's past. She figured she'd approach Bea about it next time she saw her, and until then, well, she'd just let sleeping dogs lay.

                                                                                                  ***

Michelle, driving with Eliza in the passenger seat, was curious why Bea wanted to meet with them. Eliza adjusted the air conditioner to blow directly on her face, and shut her eyes, enjoying it as her hair blew back. Michelle couldn't help but smile at appreciating such simplicity. After a few moments, Eliza looked at Michelle and adjusted her big glasses.

"Um," Eliza said, "...can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Michelle said happily.

"Beatrice is sort of like...a parent to you, in some way, right?" Eliza asked.

"Beatrice isn't like a parent, she's...it's hard to explain. She's kind of like...my conscience, in a way," Michelle said, "Beatrice Beagle, the character, showed me how to like myself and how to be happy when I was a sick little girl. She often felt like the only friend I had. I understand parasocial relationships aren't healthy, but at the same time, what kind of relationship is? I mean they're all variations, right? No relationship is 100% healthy."

"This isn't parasocial," Eliza said, chewing on her necklace, "You actually know Beatrice."

"I do, but...at the same time, it's a very broad generalized knowing, you know what I mean? I do know her, but not in the same way that Liam, or even you, knows her. You know her extremely well," Michelle said, "and over time we will get to know one another better and better, but, right now..."

Eliza nodded, looking at her glittery nails and sighing.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Eliza asked.

"Always."

"After my mom died, I used to pretend Bea was my mom. In my head, I mean. I would, uh, go into these maladaptive daydreams and fantasize about what it'd be like if Bea was my mom. Beatrice was always so comforting, and so trusting, and she always believed in me and my skills. My mom loved me, I can't deny that, but she did sometimes make remarks that I could've done more. My mom wanted me to reach for something I couldn't grab, but Bea was just happy with what I was able to hold at all."

Michelle smiled, tears swelling in her eyes.

"I don't know. That level of acceptance is, to me, far better," Eliza said, "No expectations, just joyous respect."

As the car pulled up to a stop at a storage unit, they saw Leslie standing outside, waving at them. They hadn't expected to see her here, but Eliza rolled down her window as they approached so Leslie could bend over and tell them to pull into the lot and then follow her, which they did. After parking and getting out, they followed Leslie into another area of the unit, until they finally saw Beatrice leaning against the wall, spinning a keyring around her index finger.

"They're here," Leslie said.

"Thank you," Bea said politely, "You guys, all of you, need to follow me please."

The three women followed Bea to a staircase, and up it to the second, then the third and finally the fourth floor. By the time they reached the floor, Michelle was leaning against a wall, panting, as she pulled her inhaler out of her pocket and took a few puffs. Eliza stopped and walked back to her, kneeling down, touching her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Michelle said, "Just...wish this place had an elevator."

Eliza helped Michelle back up and together they caught back up with Bea and Leslie, who had by this point stopped at a unit near the end of the floor. Bea was pushing a key into the lock attached to the unit and clicking it open, removing the lock. She then turned and looked at the three women, smiling at each of them as their eyes made contact.

"I asked you three to come here because...outside of Liam, you guys are my best friends, and...and you're who I trust to open myself up to the most," Bea said, "that's why I need help cleaning this out."

All Michelle could think about was the unit Liam had taken her to months previously, and now here she was, back at another storage unit. How many buried secrets did this people have? Bea reached to the handle and lifted the door up, then reached inside and pulled the string on the light hanging from the ceiling, blasting the unit with blinding brightness. After the woman were finished shielding their eyes momentarily, they each stared ahead at the interior, each unsure of how to react.

Inside the unit sat a plethora of things, ranging from photo albums of Beatrice and her family to boxes of rejected various merchandise to, of all things, suit prototypes. As they each entered the unit, Bea stepped back, folding her arms and clearing her throat.

"Up until now, even with knowing each of you for various lengths of time, I've remained kind of a mystery, and for this to work, I can't be an island anymore. I want you to look through these things, ask me questions, and then help me move it out of here. It's time to stop living in the past."

Eliza asked Bea about her parents, while Michelle asked Bea about the stuff from the show, while Leslie just sat in silence, smiling, enjoying seeing Bea finally open up to people. She had a feeling this was going to be a wonderful partnership. Lying in bed that morning, Bea had talked about how secrets were the one thing holding her back from those she wanted to connect with most, and how she was finally ready to be free of them. How her parents had never lied to her, how her parents had taught her to be an honest person, and show business was what had driven her to create fabrications, how grief had managed to manifest untruths in order to cope. But she was ready to move past all of that now, and she made a promise to never lie to those she loved.

If only she knew the irony.

                                                                                                 ***

It was dark, and Amelia Burden was standing in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. She was 11 years old, and she was in her pajamas, ready to get into bed. The only issue was that Beatrice wouldn't come inside. It was getting dark, and Bea was outside barking her head off, despite how many times Amelia had called for her to come in. Gordon, standing, watching his daughter brush her teeth, kissed the top of her head as she passed him on the way exiting the bathroom.

"I can't sleep without her," Amelia said.

"I'll get her in, you just get in bed and she'll join you. She's a dog, sweetheart, she needs to bark," Gordon said, smiling as he led his daughter to her bedroom.

Amelia climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. Gordon tucked her in, kissed her nose and knelt by her bedside.

"I love you, and I hope you have sweet dreams," Gordon said, "I'll go get Bea, okay? When you wake up, she'll be right here with you as always, I promise."

Amelia smiled and nodded, yawning. She was sleepy, actually. With that promise, she felt like she could actually go to sleep comfortable with the knowledge that her dog would be with her the following morning. Gordon headed back downstairs, made himself a bowl of ice cream and then sat in his recliner to finish reading the chapter of the book he was currently engrossed in. He'd go get Bea after he finished this. A few minutes later, he heard the backdoor open swiftly and his wives shoes tapping on the floor as she rushed to the living room. Gordon turned to look at her; her hair a mess, her eye makeup running, she was covered in dirt and blood.

"...what the hell?" he muttered.

"gordon," she whispered, "you need to come."

Gordon immediately got up and, after pulling on his jacket and grabbing a flashlight, followed his wife outside, the two speaking in hushed voices as they walked briskly across the field, towards the road.

"Jesus it's cold tonight," Gordon said, "What's happened?"

"it's terrible, and i don't...i don't know what to do, and..." Gloria muttered, "i needed you."

"Well I'm here, I'll fix it, whatever it is."

"no..." Gloria said, stopping and looking at him, "...you can't fix this."

A few moments later they reached the road, and Gordon immediately knew she was right. His stomach dropped, the wind knocked out of him. Lying there, dragged to the side of the road - presumably by Gloria, noting the blood on her clothes now - was Beatrice's body. Gordon approached the dog cautiously, and then knelt down, running his hand over her soft fur. He shook his head, his eyes shutting tightly, tears rolling down his face. It was over. She was already dead. After a few moments, he stood up and approached Gloria, putting the flashlight in her hands and then putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Listen to me, okay?" he asked, seeing her nod as he continued, "you're going to take Bea back to the house, and you're going to bury her. Do it deep. Use the good shovel from the shed, okay? Then wash your clothes, take a shower, and go to bed. Do not let Amelia wake up, okay? I'm going to go into town."

"What are you going to do?" Gloria asked.

"I'm going to find a new dog," Gordon said.

He'd made a promise, and god dammit he was going to keep it.

Gloria did as she was told. She went back, got a wheelbarrow, managed to hoist Beatrice's body into it and then take it back as quietly as she could. Once back at the house, she found the shovel and quickly dug a deep hole. As she looked at Bea's body in the wheelbarrow, she wanted to throw up. She reached down and kissed the dogs soft head, trying not to weep loudly. She told the dog that she was loved, and that she was sorry this had happened. She promised they'd find whoever had hit her. They never would. Then she lifted Bea's body out of the wheelbarrow and plopped it into the grave, quickly burying it and making it look natural. Then she went inside and she took a shower, washed her clothes, and went to bed.

Gordon had read an ad in the paper recently about someone close by who had a dog they were trying to get rid of because it was too much work for them as they got up there in age, and he drove there immediately. He explained the situation, realized the dog looked nearly identical to Beatrice, and he paid cash. Sitting in the truck on the way back to the house, he glanced over occasionally at this imposter Bea and shook his head.

"She can never know," he said, as if the dog would respond somehow, "okay? She can never find out about this."

He was surprised when the dog nuzzled his arm and licked his hand. He took that as an oath of trust. When he got home, he put Bea's collar around the new dogs neck, carried it up the stairs, carefully opened Amelia's bedroom door and put the dog on the bed before retreating. He went back downstairs, took a shower, did his own laundry, and afterwards, in his pajamas, found his bowl of ice cream now melted. He wasn't even mad about the waste. He could let some ice cream go to waste. He couldn't let his daughters faith go to waste. He washed his bowl, and he went to bed.

The following morning, when Amelia awoke, she was none the wiser. She and Beatrice were tight as ever, and she never learned of the extremes her parents had gone to keep this horrible tragedy hidden from her. Years later, when Amelia put Beatrice to sleep after she'd been riddled with cancerous tumors, it was a loss brought on by her own accord, not a loss life handed to her. It was natural, not cruel. After Bea was put down, when Amelia had gone back to college, her parents sat at their dinner table, each sipping a mug of coffee.

"...we did the right thing," Gordon said, "she didn't have to say goodbye twice."

"She didn't, but we did," Gloria said, making Gordon grimace.

"That dog made this family," Gordon said, "I wasn't about to let that dogs absence tear us apart."

"We're good parents, right?" Gloria asked, and Gordon, reaching across the table and holding his wifes hand gently, smiled at her.

"She's never hated us yet," Gordon said, "and that counts for something."

Oh yes, if only she knew the irony.

Eliza Tartt was standing over her mothers headstone, looking down at the name, feeling like she was going to be sick. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she noticed her father shuffling up beside her. Don sighed as he pulled his daughter a little closer and looked at the headstone with her.

"It was a nice service, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You did a good job," Don said quietly, "She'd be proud of you. She always was."

Eliza appreciated the kind words her father was giving her, but she didn't really believe it. She only knew deep down two things for certain. The first was that she was an expert puppet maker, and the second...was that she'd killed her mother. Oh sure, it was an accident, but they'd been involved in it because of her, and that was something nobody could ever convince her otherwise of.

                                                                                             ***

"Well, here's to wrapping everything up," Leslie said, clinking her glass together with Bea, clinking it with Liam as well before taking a swig from it, adding as she licked her lips, "You know guys, I'm really grateful you asked me to come on board."

"I'm glad you agreed to," Bea said.

"I just saw the fire in your eyes, and I could tell you really were dedicated to it again," Leslie said, "So here's to hoping everyone else sees that same dedication when it starts to air. Any plans beyond this celebratory post filming night of debauchery?"

"I'm gonna go to Disneyland," Liam said, making them laugh; he chuckled at his own joke then said, "actually, I think I am gonna go out of town for a while. I haven't had a vacation in years, and I could certainly use one, especially after everything that's happened. Last vacation I took was when Marvin and I..."

He paused and looked at his drink, almost as if he were debating whether or not to say this out loud.

"...was when we went to Canada, and saw Niagra Falls on our way up," he continued, "we went on the Maid of the Mist boat ride, went underneath the falls. That was pretty spectacular, and I always wanted to go back, but...few weeks later he was dead, so."

"You should take that vacation," Bea said, patting his hand and smiling warmly.

"I actually already bought tickets," Liam said, "I should probably get home early tonight so I can finish packing and get some sleep before heading out tomorrow."

"I'll probably just hermit myself for a while," Bea said, "I never get alone time during shooting, so I kind of need it after the shoot's over. Need time to recharge, you know?"

"I understand. As a hermit myself, I completely get why it's necessary," Leslie said.

"Well then, here's to the Beagle, she rides again," Liam said, the three of them clinking their glasses once again before all drinking once more.

                                                                                             ***

Eliza heard the door to The Hole open and turned in her chair to see Michelle coming in.

"Oh," Eliza said, setting her puppet down on the work table, "...hi."

"Bea asked me to come out with her and Liam, but I'm running kind of late. You wanna go? I'm finally leaving now."

"Where's...you know, your friends?" Eliza asked.

"Keagan? She and Lexi had things to do. But I meant to ask you all day and I just kept getting sidetracked," Michelle said, pulling her inhaler from her pocket and huffing on it before stuffing it quickly back in her pocket, "but if you don't wanna go-"

"No, I'll go!" Eliza said, quickly getting up from her chair and grabbing her coat, pulling it on and joining Michelle as they exited The Hole and walked down the hallway towards the parking lot; Eliza continued, "I'm surprised Bea didn't, uh, I guess come say something. She usually tells me."

"She was busy today," Michelle said, "Final editing and everything, so. I only learned about it when Liam mentioned it and then she brought it up to me when she saw me around lunchtime. Usually she tells me that kind of stuff too, but, like I said...busy."

"...thanks for asking," Eliza said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "I don't...I'm not used to people asking me to go with them anywhere."

Michelle smiled and patted her back, "We're friends! That's what friends do!"

Eliza smiled. She liked that. She liked having friends.

                                                                                               ***

Leslie brought the table a few club sodas, taking a break from the champagne, setting the glasses down on the table. Bea quickly pulled hers towards herself and sipped it through the straw. Liam had left a short while before this, so it was just the women now. Bea exhaled deeply as she sat back in her seat and looked across the table at Leslie, who was also sipping her drink.

"It's kind of remarkable when you think about it," Bea said.

"What is?" Leslie asked, wiping her mouth on her napkin.

"Just...everything that's happened, really. Michelle and Keagan finding me, discovering how much the show actually meant to some people, getting a new deal for a new batch of episodes, just...everything, you know? It feels surreal. Having people be respectful of my work instead of simply using it to shill their product. That one especially surprises me."

"Showbusiness is a fickle bitch and it doesn't care who it hurts," Leslie said, "And people think streaming services are the saviors, and they might be for a short time. Willing to take on the things a normal broadcast network wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole because it doesn't have an automatic built in audience, but...that's changing, and quickly. They're becoming a less restrictive yet more brutal version of cable, honestly. Sure, they'll take your project on, but if it isn't immediately globally successful, then nuts to you."

"You sound bitter," Bea said, smirking, "I like it. It's a good look for you."

Leslie threw her head back, laughing loudly, "God! Thanks! I'm not bitter, I'm just...it hurts. As someone who works in the industry, grew up on the industry, it saddens me to see it become what it is. I was at an industry party once and I was talking to someone whose show had gotten canceled after just one season on a streaming network, and they were saying how much the network promoted it, and how much of a budget they gave them and how little notes they had to deal with, and then a week after it drops they were canned because nobody 'binged' it. Streaming networks don't seem to realize that people have lives, responsibilities, and we can't just sit glued for hours to our couches watching the same thing, besides, it simply isn't enjoyable that way. Everything is so easily digestible and just as easily disposable because of it. Anyway, after she told me that, she said 'nobody makes a show now, they make content', and that always stuck with me."

"She's not wrong," Beatrice said.

"I guess that's why I have remarkable respect for you, because you genuinely appreciate what it is you're doing, and the impact it can really have on others," Leslie said, "and that...there's just something so...refreshing about that, I guess."

"It's getting loud in here, let's go for a walk," Bea said, standing up and pulling her jacket on. Leslie did the same, and the two headed out of the bar and grill, onto the sidewalk outside. Fairly empty, a cool night just before summer, and the streetlamps glowed softly overhead.

"I was scared," Beatrice said, "I really was, to come back. I was afraid that, you know, I'd just get taken advantage of again, and that nobody would respect me or what I was trying to do."

"I think you found a good place to be," Leslie said, "After talking with Steph for a bit, she seems to be more level headed than most streaming network bosses, and bringing me on board definitely helps, since I work with public broadcasting. The two of us can really get into the nitty gritty of it without involving you, which I think is good for your mental health."

"...I came up with Beatrice in college," Bea said softly, "it was just a way for me to cope with things, and eventually I started putting on one man shows downtown, and that's where I met Liam. He believed in what I was doing, but Liam also allowed himself to get starstruck and carried away with the faux glitter that is Hollywood. That's why he sold us out, much as I might've begged him not to. I understand why, and...and I do forgive him now, but for so long it made me so wary of trusting anyone who told me they believed in me or my work."

"Did you not believe Michelle?"

"At first, I think I was...cautious, yeah. I just thought she was another over enthusiastic fan and that...ya know...once she met me perhaps that interest would wane, but when she showed me the set in her basement, that really changed everything. That's when, I think, I really started to understand the profound impact something can have on someone else, even twenty years after the fact."

Leslie chewed on her lip and nodded, thinking. Beatrice reached down and slipped her hand into Leslie's, surprising her. She squeezed gently, but didn't look at her, and didn't say anything. Leslie smiled. Together, the two of them continued down the street, together, yet alone.

                                                                                            ***

"I guess we missed them," Michelle said as she and Eliza took a seat in a booth near the back. They both pulled off their coats, and Michelle started eating from the complimentary bowl of chips on the table as Eliza let her hair down.

"I never go to places like this," Eliza said.

"I usually don't either, and I wouldn't have if I didn't think she was still going to be here," Michelle said, "...so how did you wind up knowing Bea?"

"She hired me for the original show. She had a little get together with college kids who knew how to sew and make puppets, and I was the one she picked. She was always very kind to me. She paid for my medical bills after I was in a car accident and lost my mom."

"I'm so sorry," Michelle said, "I didn't know. Sounds like something Bea would do though. She's rarely interested in her own happiness, and far more invested in making sure others are happy, even if it means making it happen herself."

"You're not wrong, she, uh, she should probably should focus on her own happiness now and then," Eliza said, "I mean, I know that she loves the show, and that that makes her happy, but still, she should have something to focus on when the show isn't in production. It's like me with my puppets. I love them, but at home I work on model trains."

"I don't...I don't think I really have anything outside of the show either," Michelle said, "I should probably get a hobby."

"You could come see my trains!" Eliza said excitedly, immediately feeling weird for being so joyous about it, adding, "I...I mean, you know...if you want to."

"That would be cool, yeah," Michelle said, smiling.

After they spent a little time, having a few appetizers, the two pulled their jackets back on and piled back into Michelle's car, heading to Eliza's. When they arrived, all the lights were off, meaning Don wasn't home, so Eliza didn't feel self conscious about bringing someone home. She shut the door once they had gotten inside, and told Michelle she could hang her jacket on the coat hanger by the door, which she did. Eliza asked if she'd want something to drink, and Michelle said sure, making Eliza rush out to the kitchen. While she waited, Michelle strolled down the hall, looking at the photos of Eliza as a child, and with her parents. She smiled at these when she heard Eliza reenter the room, handing Michelle a juice box, which Michelle gladly took.

"Sorry, it's all I have," Eliza said softly, almost as if she were embarrassed.

"It's perfectly fine," Michelle said, chuckling, "Was this your mom?"

"Yeah..." Eliza said, "...I miss her."

"I have a mom but we don't get along, so a lot of times it feels like I don't," Michelle said.

"I feel like I killed my mom," Eliza said quietly, "I know it isn't actually my fault, I'm not stupid, but...I can't help but feel responsible for it. If she hadn't been driving me, if I'd learned to drive myself...I don't know. Everything just...feels like it was because of me."

"Oh, don't say that," Michelle said, turning to face Eliza, "You couldn't have known, nor would you have meant for it to. Terrible things happen every single day to perfectly decent people. My family is a great example. My mother wanted to live vicariously through me, was mad when she couldn't, then decided to continue being an artist instead of a mother, or both. My father, well, the less said there the better. But I'm not the cause of my familys rifts, and I'm certainly not the cause of my health problems. These things happen."

Eliza nodded and began to head up the stairs, Michelle in tow. As they entered her bedroom, Michelle was awestruck by the amounts of puppets and miniature model towns covered with model trains filling the room. She grinned wide as she could, almost feeling intensely jealous.

"This is so cool," she said quietly.

"This one's my favorite," Eliza said, pointing at a very small table with an entire model town built on it, "because, well, it just is. I like the colors. It looks like a good place to live."

"You know, I built a set in my basement," Michelle said, "and after a while I realized I was living more in a fantasy world than reality, but really, where's the harm in that if it's making me happy and it isn't damaging anyone else? I think that's what Beatrice sees more than anything, is the ability to reconnect with the real through the unreal. Children live in fantasy worlds, and the best adults don't ever fully grow up."

Eliza smiled. She knew she could trust Michelle.

"They call me the Puppet Master," Eliza said, "and I like to think it's, uh, just because I'm, well, ya know, good with puppets. But truth is, I'm also pretty good with people, when I wanna be. I know exactly how to manipulate them to get them to do whatever I want, or get them to do the things they wanna do but are too afraid to."

"...like what?"

"Like be alone with someone they might otherwise not have been alone with," Eliza said, "That's why I told Bea not to wait for us."

"...what?"

"I knew she and Leslie needed some time together," Eliza said, "I hope you're not mad at me. Sorry you got roped into it, I just...I knew they needed time to talk."

"I'm not mad, no, I'm impressed if anything," Michelle said, chuckling, "you really do know how to pull strings."

                                                                                                  ***

Walking up the steps to Leslie's house, Bea pointed at the porch light and Leslie sighed as she dug her keys out of her purse.

"I knooow, it's been doing that for months," she said, "I keep reminding myself to fix it, and I just never do. One of these days, when I'm not swamped in work."

"I could fix it for you," Bea said, "It would take all of 5 minutes."

"That's very appreciative, thank you," Leslie said, "You really are a jack of all trades aren't you?"

Leslie, now holding her keys in her hand, turned back to Bea and looked at her. In this soft glow of this flickering porch lamp, she looked...different. Warmer. Almost comforting. Leslie smiled and jangled her keys as she tossed her hair back a little.

"Thanks for letting me join you tonight, and in general," Leslie said, "It's nice to be a part of something I can feel proud of, not that I'm not proud of my work or whatever, but you know what I mean."

"...can I ask you a question?" Bea asked, and Leslie nodded.

"Sure," she replied.

"...you ever get the feeling that, in some way, you're lost? Like, you have your life, your friends, your job, but something still doesn't feel right? I thought finding people like Michelle would help, and it has, she's my best friend besides Liam, and I thought getting the show back would help, and it has, and I can't wait to see it start airing now that the editing is all done, but...it still feels like there's a hole inside you that you can't fill with anything? It was full, once, when I had a dog. It's never really been full since then though."

"I think I know what you mean," Leslie said, "I...I keep going on dates and it never works, and I keep wanting to push new projects but they don't get funding, and I just feel oddly stagnant despite my life going well. It's like nobody really understands me, even though I'm surrounded by people who theoretically do. And then, at night, I lie in bed and I think about my life and my career and my goals, and I realize that even if I got everything I ever wanted, even if I somehow found a way to achieve everything I sought out to do...I'm still alone, and there's nobody there to tell me victories to. Nobody to hold me when it gets bad."

"Exactly," Bea said, stepping up one stair, getting closer, "and sometimes you're scared, right? You're scared of trying because you think that, no, that can't be who I am, I can't be this way, especially when I work in a public field like entertainment where I'm constantly viewed and recognized and held up as an example. But don't we all deserve that? No matter what career we wind up in, we all deserve to have that person we come to, that we tell our secrets and fears and successes to. That person who just...maybe they don't understand, fully, but they try, and more than that, they're there."

Leslie dropped her keys back into her purse and let her purse slide off her arm and onto the porch.

"I don't know if I can do it," Leslie whispered, almost as if she was going to cry, but Bea gently wiped her tears from her face with her hand and smiled back at her.

"It's okay, nobody knows if they can," Bea said, "but that dog I had, she taught me the one thing that dogs all know, which is to leap brazenly into the unknown. Chase cars that you may never catch, because it's better than being too afraid to try."

Leslie nodded and looked at her shoes, crying.

"...you want to come in?"

"I'd love to come in."

Leslie picked up her purse again, finding her keys and opening the door, letting Bea walk past her. As she shut the door, she thought about what she was doing, and she realized she didn't care suddenly what anyone else might think. Afterwards, when she and Beatrice were lying in bed, Bea spooning her close, her face shoved against her shoulderblade, Leslie realized she was right about what dogs do. They chase the unattainable, they enjoy the simple pleasures, and, above all else, they comfort you when you least expect it. It'd been a while since Leslie had had a dog in her bed.

She'd forgotten just how much she'd missed it.

If there was one thing Keagan Stills had heard time and time again, it was resigned reluctance to allowing her to be involved in something. Sure, she could come to the sleepover. Sure, she could be on our soccer team. Sure, she could get a job with the network too. All her life Keagan had been the odd one out, and now, sitting here and watching Michelle so easily become friends with the makeup girl and the puppet maker on the show, she could feel it happening once again. And she knew why. She knew why even if they didn't know why.

Because she was black.

She was certain this time it wasn't intentional, it was simply innate for white folks to exclude her because society has told them it's okay to do so. That didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell though. Suddenly she heard someone shuffle up behind her and seat themselves beside her. She stopped eating her yogurt and turned to look at Beatrice, who was sitting next to her now.

"Hey," Keagan said, and Bea smiled warmly.

"Hello Keagan," she said, unfurling her paper bag to gather her lunch from, "how are you today?"

"...you're a human, right?"

"So they tell me."

"Why are interpersonal relationships so much harder to maintain than simple conversations with strangers? Wouldn't it be the opposite way? Shouldn't it be that, over time, as you get closer to someone, you wouldn't have to work that hard for things to be good between you?" Keagan asked as Beatrice opened a small plastic container and started eating apple slices and cheese. Keagan couldn't help but chuckle at her lunch. She even ate like the demographic she made the show for.

"Let me ask you a question," Beatrice said, "let's say you rent an apartment, and you never have to worry about it because you know it's just a temporary domicile, right? Eventually you move into a real home, and that requires constant upkeep, but at least you know it's yours, and something to be proud to have. Which one is more worth the effort?"

"In this economy?" Keagan asked, making Bea laugh as she continued, "The house, I guess."

"Exactly," Beatrice said, "sure it takes more effort, more work, but its something worthwhile. Sure, we'd all love to just have things so good we can take them for granted all the time, but that just isn't how things work, sadly. Some things, most things arguably, take a lot of work, or at the very least, the bare minimum of work."

Keagan looked back at the table where Eliza, Clara and Michelle were eating lunch together and laughing. She sighed and stood up, tossing her empty yogurt container in the trashcan before looking at Bea.

"You might be right, but the effort shouldn't always fall on me," Keagan said before turning and heading back inside to her office. Bea watched her go, then glanced to the table she had been looking at, and she understood.

                                                                                  ***

"My dad said I can't be friends with you anymore," the boy said in the school library, "I shouldn't even be talking to you right now."

"Why not?" Keagan asked, standing there somewhat in shock as she asked, "we...we've been friends since 4th grade! Why is it a problem now?!"

The boy sighed, looked around, then leaned in and lowered his voice, saying, "he says it's because you're black."

It had always been because she was black. Her skin color had always been the sole determining factor in either her exclusion or inclusion. She was either the token black child at birthday parties or she wasn't invited because she was black. It never failed. Depending on what district the school she currently attended had been in, she was either held up as an example of excellency, or ignored because they didn't want black students to be equals, even though she'd always been the best student at all her schools.

"They're intimidated," her father had once told her, "they're scared of you because they know you're so capable, and thusly capable of making their own children look as dumb as they actually are."

But Keagan didn't care about the reasoning, she wanted friends, not adversaries, and certainly didn't want the adversaries she had to be the parents of the very kids she wanted to be friends with. It was one thing for a peer not to like her, that she could take, but an adult who'd never met her? To dislike her purely because of the color of her skin? That sickened her. Which is why, when Keagan was finally hired by the fast food place and started working with Lexi, she was surprised at how welcoming Lexi had been, and why, when she and Michelle had finally met, she was surprised at how kind Michelle had actually been, and suddenly it all made sense.

Hatred was taught, not innate. Those kids had been taught to dislike her, and these women were grown ass adults who knew better.

Which is what made her accidental exclusion from the current group hurt even all that much more.

                                                                                      ***

"I'd like to do a show on racism," Keagan said, sitting with Beatrice, Michelle, Eliza, Stephanie and Leslie in Steph's office.

"...well, that's an admirable concept, certainly, and one that's rife for discussion amongst kids," Stephanie said, "but how would that work?"

"I was thinking that Eliza could make a puppet and I could voice it, and we could base the entire episode around a black woman who's moved into the neighborhood because she felt she didn't belong anywhere else, and learns through Beatrice and her friends that she belongs just as much as anyone else," Keagan said.

"I could make you a puppet," Eliza said softly.

"Tackling big subjects like this on childrens shows is often good for notoriety, it could get some pundits discussing us," Stephanie said.

"I don't wanna do it for the acknowledgement, I wanna do it because it's right," Keagan said, and Beatrice smiled. She knew this girl reminded her of herself, and know she knew why. She had the same moral compass that Bea herself had once had in her fiery youth.

"I'm definitely on board," Leslie said, "I think children who learn about things at an early age are far more understanding than if they are taught after prejudices have already begun to form. I think Keagan has the right idea, and I think we should support her on this. After all, isn't the whole idea of having a platform to use it for the betterment on mankind? To push progressiveness forward?"

Keagan couldn't help but smile. Sure a lot of it sounded performative, but she knew Leslie's heart was in the right place. Michelle finally spoke up.

"I think it's a good idea too," she said, "I'm not black, but I experienced a lot of prejudice myself thanks to my health issues. Growing up was hell, with kids making fun of my inability to breath properly. I know it isn't the same, but I feel like it's in the general ballpark at least."

Steph chewed on the cap to her pen, then shrugged.

"Alright, if this is what you wanna do, let's do it," she said.

Out in the hall, as everyone dispersed and Eliza went to go start work on the puppet, Keagan stopped Michelle in front of the snack machine, grabbing her by the shoulder. Michelle continued to push quarters into the machine as she smiled at her friend.

"Thank you," Keagan said.

"Hey," Michelle said, "We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you reaching out to me. Honestly, you have just as much control here as anyone."

"Sure doesn't feel like it. Every day you and the other girls all eat lunch together and...I just...I don't feel welcome or comfortable joining you, and it isn't because of you guys, but because I've been conditioned to believe I don't belong in your white circle. That isn't fair, to you or me. I wanna make this episode so that other little black girls don't grow up feeling as left out, ignored or outright hated as I did when I was their age. So they can turn on the TV, see someone who looks like them being accepted, and think 'yeah, I DO deserve that kind of humanity and kindness', not because someone decided they did, but because they actually do, because they're human."

"I understand," Michelle said, grabbing her candy bar from the drop tray and unwrapping it, breaking it in half and sharing it with Keagan as they walked down the hall, each eating their pieces; Michelle pushed her hair from her face, and said, "I'll never know what you went through, my reasons for being hated are far different from yours. Racial hatred and disability hatred are two very different things, even if they are part of the same general sphere, but I want you to know you're not alone, and that I'm your friend."

"I know I'm not alone, and I know you're my friend. It's just that my whole adolescence I had to put up with either being the perfect African American child at my school, or that African American child at my school. Anytime I would go into a new school, it'd start all over again. Am I an example this time, or a target? Same thing with trying to find work. Do they really want me to work with them because they believe in my skillset, or because I make their progressive ideals look realistic? Am I simply a marketing tool used to portray the companies forward thinking diversity? It's so hard to separate all that and come away with an identity that isn't wrapped up in my skin color. And that isn't to say that I'm not proud to be black, because I am, I'm very happy with who I am, but...but I'd be lying if I said the perception others have of me because of my blackness hasn't damaged my self worth a bit."

Michelle stopped and leaned against a wall, finishing her half of the candy bar and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She then exhaled deeply and spoke again.

"When I was 12, I was invited to a birthday party. I was thrilled, because I never got to go to parties. I just didn't have friends, really. But when I got there, I discovered I was early and nobody else had shown up yet. They'd told me to actually come a few hours before the party started, because they wanted to use my oxygen tank to fill up their balloons."

"Jesus," Keagan said, sounding genuinely disgusted.

"After that, I didn't go to any other parties, even on the rare chance I was invited to one. And that one? I didn't stay. I mean, I stayed, but I stayed in the garage where nobody could see me," Michelle said, "Everyone who's labeled different by society has these kinds of stories. Stories where our difference is met with either indifference or outright disdain, and that's why I wanna make your episode, because, yeah, no child should have to feel like they don't belong simply because they're different in some way. Children, more than anyone else, should feel they have the right to exist and be treated as equals. When I was in the hospital, I watched a lot of Beatrice on the hospital TV, and it was what comforted me. I want it to comfort others now too, and that's what Bea wants as well."

Keagan smiled and hugged Michelle, who happily hugged her back.

"Thank you," Keagan whispered.

"You're my best friend, Keagan," Michelle said, "I know we haven't spent much time together lately, but that doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend."

From down the hall, near the water fountains, Bea stood and watched. Suddenly a cactus puppet popped out from around the corner and looked at her, and she looked at it and scoffed joyfully.

"Boy you really are the thing that brings others together, ain'tcha?" Liam asked in his puppet voice, before appearing beside her.

"Sometimes I think about the fact that the show was used to primarily promote a pizzeria, and I get angry," Bea said, "but then I see these girls work together, believe in what they're doing, and I realize there was purpose within that promotion. Maybe what we did wasn't all bad after all."

"That's the spirit," Liam said, patting her on the back before walking off to the set, leaving Beatrice there to think.

                                                                                    ***

"How was work?" Keagan's father, Mitchell, asked as he came into the kitchen.

Keagan had been spending more time at her parents lately, and she'd enjoyed his company. She was waiting for Lexi to get out of class for the evening so they could go to dinner, so she was doing some inventory work in the meantime.

"I got the network to listen to my idea, and agree with me," Keagan said as Mitchell opened up the fridge and too out a can of root beer, then grabbed another for his daughter. He slid it across the table to her before seating himself and popping the top of his can.

"Really? Well good on you, then! I always told you you could make people do whatever you wanted," Mitchell said.

Keagan put her pen down on top of her calculator and grabbed the soda. She popped the top open, took a few sips, then looked at her father as she pulled her bushy hair back into a big ponytail and tied it up. She sighed and smiled.

"Dad, when you were a kid, did you get picked last for stuff, or not invited to things because you were black?" she asked.

"All the damn time," Mitchell said, "but you know, the funny thing about that is how it made me see myself. Sure, I couldn't let it hurt my self worth, slaughter my self esteem, but I just told myself I was too cool for them, and really, they were the ones missing out. I know girls have it harder, so that probably wouldn't have worked for you, but I always thought that about you. Whenever you'd come home crying about not being included in this or that, I just thought to myself "man, what a badass I'm raising" because not only did you let others see how it affected you, being open with your feelings, but you soldiered and and became better than them anyway."

Keagan blushed and took another long sip of her drink before they heard the front door open and her mother, Lauren, come in with Lexi right behind her.

"She was at the front door," Lauren said, "Poor girl couldn't knock cause her hands were so damn full."

"I'm so sorry," Keagan said, standing up and helping Lexi put her things on the kitchen table.

"What are you guys talking about?" Lexi asked, tossing her blonde hair out of her face as she started to sit down and take a few sips from Keagan's can.

"Just how cool it is to raise a kid," Mitchell said, "and what a cool kid we raised."

He then stood up and escorted Lauren out of the room, leaving Keagan and Lexi together. Once they were sure the room was empty, Keagan grabbed Lexi by the shoulders and kissed her deeply, surprising her. Lexi didn't mind though, and happily kissed her back. The girls didn't know it, but Mitchell and Lauren were watching just outside of view, and smiling as they started to head up the stairs to their bedroom.

"She didn't need to be included in anything," Mitchell said, "She gets more tail than all those stupid white boys who made her feel bad ever do."

"You're just jealous," Lauren said.

"I can't be jealous, not being married to you. How could I possibly have gotten anyone better?" Mitchell asked, making Lauren laugh as he kissed her cheek.

That's the thing about being a black sheep, Keagan would think later that night, while watching Lexi sleep, basking in the warm blue glow of the television light...you might not belong to the flock, but there's a lot of other black sheep out there who are more than happy to have you.

You just gotta find 'em.

Delores Stiltskon was sitting at her breakfast table eating her morning oatmeal, drinking coffee, reading a magazine. It was raining outside, like it had been lately, and she didn't have to be into the office today, thank goodness. She hated going anywhere in the rain. Delores had always felt like rainy days should be spent indoors with warm drinks and good reading material. Maybe she'd finally tackle some of those chores she'd been putting off. As she took another bite of oatmeal, she heard a knock on the door, and she looked up, furrowing her brow in confusion...who could be here?

Delores stood up, walked through the foyer to the front door and answered, only to find a soggy and upset Michelle standing on her porch. Delores stepped aside and allowed her entrance.

"You poor thing! Get in here and we'll get you warmed up! I'll turn on my fireplace!" Delores said, rushing to flick on her electric fireplace, before she helped Michelle pull her soaking wet sweatshirt off, before Michelle turned and just hugged Delores tightly, surprising her yet again as she started to cry into Delores's shirt. Delores just patted her on the back and smiled.

"There there," she said warmly, "you're okay now. I'm here."

                                                                                              ***

Beatrice aimed the heater at herself as Liam turned, heading down yet another empty dirt road. He looked over at her as she chewed on her nails nervously. Liam sighed and shifted in his seat, adjusting his seatbelt with his free hand.

"So why'd you ask me to come?" he asked.

"I didn't wanna go alone, and we don't do much together anymore. We should do more together," Beatrice said.

"Well, I welcome the opportunity," Liam said, smiling, "Besides, it'll be neat to see where you came from."

"Take another right up here," Bea said, nodding her head at an upcoming fork in the road, and Liam did as he was told; she sighed and shook her head, "Don't call me Beatrice around my parents, please. My name is Amelia."

"Okay, whatever you need," Liam said, surprised by this admittance.

"God I'm nervous."

"Don't they know you're coming?"

"Yeah but it...it's still nerve wracking. My folks and I haven't spoken much in the last decade since the show went off the air. I kind of recoiled even from my family after everything went to shit. They weren't happy about a lot of my decisions in the first place, but...even then."

"To be fair, I'm the one who made the bad decisions in regards to the shows success and longevity," Liam said, "But sure, a lot of show business people remove themselves from their past. I'm not one to judge you on that front. Lord knows I haven't spoken to my parents anywhere near as often as they'd wish I did. Then again, my folks were never really all that comfortable with me and Marvin, so."

Liam pulled up a long dirt driveway and parked under a large old oak tree in front of a beautiful old fashioned farm house, complete with a white picket fence surrounding it. Liam turned the car off, undid his seatbelt and looked to Bea again, exhaling deeply.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Yes. I need to do this," Bea said, undoing her own seatbelt, then pulling herself out of Liam's car. They walked up the flagstone walkway that went from the end of the fence up to the front door, and Bea knocked firmly a few times, waiting for an answer. Finally the door opened and an old man stood there, looking at them. He smiled immediately and pulled Bea in for a hug, stroking her hair.

"My baby," he whispered.

"Hi daddy," Bea said.

Gordon stepped aside, allowing Bea and Liam into the house. Liam was surprised to see the place was well kept, modern inside. Liam pulled his hand out from his rain slicker and stood his arm out towards Gordon.

"Hello, I'm Liam Grearson," Liam said, "I'm Amelia's friend."

"Welcome to our home, Liam," Gordon said, shaking his hand before walking past them and into the living room. As they passed through the small hall leading to the living room, Liam couldn't help but take in the photographs hanging on the wall. Photos of Beatrice as a little girl, doing dance, or reading, or learning how to swim, and a few family photos at various ages, and graduating high school and college. Liam smiled. He'd always knew someone as loving as Bea had to have come from a good home, and he was glad to discover she wasn't actually a tortured artist after all. Not all greatness had to be birthed from pain, he'd once told her.

And then he saw it, the photo that stopped him in his tracks. There she was, sitting just outside, on a bucket under the same oak tree they'd parked under, and with her, partially jumped on her lap making her laugh, was a beagle. It was like the world around him, everything he'd ever known, suddenly clicked together, like a puzzle missing a singular piece that was necessary to complete the picture. He looked towards Bea and her father, talking in the living room, laughing lightly, and Liam couldn't believe how stupid he'd been all these years. Suddenly Liam felt a hand on his shoulder, and he yelped, jumping a little, turning to see an old woman standing behind him. She was chuckling slightly.

"Sorry dear, didn't mean to surprise you," Gloria said, "Would you like some coffee?" she added, holding out a steaming warm mug for him to take, which he graciously did.

"It's okay, uh, hi, I'm Liam Grearson, I'm Amelia's friend," he said, shaking her hand as well before turning his focal point back to the photo, "...was this her dog? She never told me she had a dog."

"Yep," Gloria said, holding her mug with both hands, looking at the photo wistfully, continuing, "that's Amelia outside with Beatrice. She was the best dog, a girls best friend. Losing her absolutely crushed Amelia, she's never been the same since."

Liam wanted to cry. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt like he was going to sob uncontrollably. But he held it together, for Amelia's sake. Gloria then suggested they join the others in the living room and Liam happily agreed. As he plopped himself down on the couch and watched Bea interact with her parents, he couldn't help but smile. This was a side of Bea he'd never seen before, and he was so very thankful to be given the chance to.

He still wanted to sob, though.

                                                                                                  ***

"What are you even doing here?" Delores asked, bringing Michelle some fresh, dry clothes she could change into, which she did. Delores sat in a recliner while Michelle quickly changed behind her, grateful for the dry clothing.

"My mother," Michelle whispered, like she was scared to even say those words together. As she finished, she came around and sat on the couch opposite of the recliner, looking at the floor. Delores sipped her coffee and leaned back in her recliner, nodding.

"I know things aren't great between you two," she said.

"You don't know the half of it," Michelle said, "I would've gone to Bea, but...she's having a hard enough time dealing with what happened on the set recently, and...and besides...she's not..."

"Yes?" Delores asked.

"...motherly, not like you are," Michelle said, "I don't know exactly how to put it, because she's great, but she's more like a cool aunt, and you're more like a mom. I'm sorry. You're just the woman who was helping my find employment, but still, I can't help but feel like-"

"Did I ever tell you about my child?" Delores asked, interrupting Michelle, and surprising her.

"...no?"

"I had a daughter," Delores said, "I had two children, my son and my daughter; classic nuclear family situation. My husband and I bought this house years ago, I got pregnant and that was that. Raised my kids in this house. You may be surprised to learn I'm pushing sixty."

"You don't look it."

"Thank you," Delores said, "But I'm not one of those people ashamed of aging. I'm proud to have grown through so much time. My daughter, Justine, she was a lot like you. Wanted to do creative things. She went to college in Boston, trying to be a childrens book illustrator. Lord knows she had the skill. Anyway, one day she was going to fly back for summer break...she was seeing this lovely guy who had just gotten his pilots license. They weren't here by the time they said they would be, and I, being a mother, started worrying, and later I discovered it was for good reason. He wasn't familiar with this plane he was flying, and the whole thing went down."

"oh my god," Michelle whispered, putting her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

"She survived, but she's never been the same. Her boyfriend wasn't so lucky. Ever since then, she and I don't speak much, and she hasn't been working on her illustrations like she used to. She's essentially been living off the money she got from various lawsuits regarding his family and the airplane manufacturer. You remind me so much of her, and I guess I just felt like..."

"My mom's an artist," Michelle said quietly, "She is such a nasty woman, and she's so mad at me for not following in her footsteps, and for being so sickly. She says I took away her possibility for success because she had to spend so much money keeping me healthy growing up, as if I chose to be this screwed up medically."

"That just isn't okay," Delores said.

"And then, today, she sent me an e-mail of her at her latest gallery opening," Michelle said, "...she looked so happy, standing there next to the poster with her name on it, and pointing at one of the works to be shown in the gallery. She called the show 'Financially Free'."

"...like, because she doesn't have to pay for your medical needs anymore?" Delores asked, sounding simultaneously disgusted and shocked, feelings which aren't mutually exclusive.

"Yes," Michelle said, "and I just lost it. I was going to send this extremely aggressively worded rebuttal, but the more I thought about it, that's what she wants. She feeds off that negativity, and can use it to further her victim complex, especially to those she's trying to get to bankroll her future projects. No communication means no more ammunition. I just needed to see someone who would care about how hurt I was."

"Well, you came to the right place then," Delores said, smiling again, adding, "you can stay here all night if you need to. We'll order in."

And that's exactly what they did. Michelle knew Delores would take her in, and she was happy to know she'd made the right choice in deciding to come here today. As she waited for Delores to order food from the kitchen landline, Michelle sipped her drink and looked out the window at the pouring rain, wondering where in the world Beatrice may have gone off to.

She'd catch up with her at work next week, she figured. Tonight was a night just for her.

                                                                                              ***

"It wasn't your fault, sweetheart," Gloria said, patting Bea on the knee as they sat in the kitchen together, "you didn't mean for that to happen, you certainly didn't cause it either, and nobody could've expected the response to it."

"...I'm starting to wonder if I'm just cursed," Bea said, "ever since Beatrice died, it just feels like nothing has ever been good. Like that was a good as life was ever going to get. I feel stuck, trapped in a memory, and the hopes of getting back to that moment with her."

"Beatrice wouldn't want you to feel that way," Gloria said, "You know that. She'd want you to be happy. She was always happy."

"Yeah, she was," Bea said, smiling a little, "...she was my best friend."

"That man you brought with you said he was your best friend," Gloria said.

"...he did?" Bea asked, looking at her mom, "Really? Liam said that?...I guess he is, he's certainly the one I've known the longest at this point. I'll be back in a minute, mom, I need to see something."

Gloria didn't even respond. She knew what Amelia was doing. Bea stood up and headed outside, in the backyard, pulling her slicker hood over her head and zipping the front up. She could hear the dirt squish underneath her feet, quickly turning to mud in the cold rain. The day garden was still there, lively as ever, just as it had been when she and her father had started it all those years ago. As Bea trudged along, she pushed aside a few bushes and made her way to the back of them, where a small engraved stone sat on the ground. She knelt and put her hand on the dirt, trying not to cry.

"Hi Bea," she said, "I'm home. Not for long, but for today anyway."

The stone had the dogs name on it, along with a little image of a bone Amelia had engraved herself, with her fathers help. Suddenly she heard the bushes part behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Liam standing there.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," he said.

"You didn't frighten me," Bea said.

"...I think I finally got it," Liam said, stepping closer, kneeling down beside her, sitting on a somewhat large rock, "I think I finally got the passion, and the love for the character. Your protectiveness. Your name. Soon as I saw that photograph, it all made sense now. I'm so sorry, Bea. I've never had to feel this sort of loss. I mean, Marvin, but...I don't know what I'm trying to say, except that it all makes sense now and I'm sorry for trying to take her away from you, or changing her."

"...you get a dog because you're lonely. Because you're the kind of person who relates to animals better than you do to people. You never think about the fact that their lifespan is a mere quarter of our own, or less in most cases. You just think 'finally, a friend who will love me unconditionally', and that's all that matters. You keep the reality of their mortality pushed down in the back of your head, just like you do to your own, knowing it's inevitable, yet praying it won't come anyway."

Liam put his hand on Bea's back and rubbed the wet slicker, trying to comfort her.

"...I'm not mad that I'm getting older. I'm mad that she's not getting older with me," Bea whispered, "She should still be here, and I figured by creating a character out of her, by sharing her personality with the world, maybe others would come to love her the way I did, but...it isn't the same. No matter what I do, whether I wear the suit or I change my name, I'll never be Beatrice Beagle."

Liam got down on his knees beside her and pulled her to his side, hugging her warmly.

"No, you won't, but that's the thing, she loved you, so maybe you should let others love you as well," Liam whispered.

After a while, they got up and went back inside. After saying goodbye to her parents - her mother giving them a few tupperware full of home baked cookies to take with them - they climbed back into Liam's car and started driving down the dirt roads again, in the rain. Listening to the rain hit the windshield, Bea looked in the rearview mirror, watching the farmhouse, her parents, her past, get smaller and smaller, and she pried open the tupperware lid, handing Liam a cookie before taking one for herself.

They stopped off at a small diner on the way into town and had some early dinner, before Liam dropped Bea off at her apartment, heading to his own place afterwards. Bea climbed the long stairs to her floor, put her key in the door and let herself in. She flicked the light on and saw the note posted to her door. Bea took it off and read it.

                                        "Needed to see you, but you weren't home. Call me. Michelle"

Bea made a mental note to give her a ring tomorrow. Bea got out of her clothes, took a long bath, then made herself some cocoa and turned on her television set. She laid on the couch in her pajamas and watched a few shows about antiques. After a while she got back up, took the tupperware off the counter and brought it back to the couch. She plopped back down and pulled the lid back off, eating some more cookies as she watched TV. After pulling enough cookies from the center of the tupperware, she looked down to get another and stopped.

There, sitting in the middle of all the cookies, was a dog treat, staring right back up at her. The very same ones she used to give Beatrice. Bea tried to hold back her tears, but failed. This time, however, she was happily crying. She would have to thank her mom for the little gift. Even after all these years, and all their differences, her mom still knew what would make her feel better.

There was simply no denying it.

Mothers really did know best.

"What?" Lexi asked, sounding stunned, as she sat across from a man in a nice suit behind a desk. He smiled, leaned back and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, "It's true. He sang like a canary, thusly fingering his business partner as the brains behind the operation and including the proof necessary to back it up. Trails of receipts, ledgers, you name it. Handed it all over. Because of this, they're going more lenient on him, unfreezing his funds, while still giving him a sentence, albeit a much shorter one than before."

"...oh my god," Lexi said, "...so...what does this mean for me?"

The lawyer smiled, happy to give her the best news she'd get all day.

                                                                                              ***

Keagan and Michelle were sitting outside the studio, eating lunch at a small picnic table in an area that the network had provided for its employees. They'd both ordered something out of a nearby food truck and were scarfing it down, each hungry as a wolf from working all day. Neither one spoke, as there wasn't a single moment neither one wasn't chewing. Finally after a bit, Keagan put her fork down and exhaled longingly, blinking a few times.

"I need to eat more often than one meal a day," she said, just as Eliza saddled down beside Michelle with her own lunch.

"You're not eating in The Hole today?" Michelle asked as Eliza shook her head, digging into her bag and pulling out small separate containers of food.

"Wow, so organized," Keagan said, playing with her dreads absentmindedly as Eliza smiled and started to eat; Keagan looked back to Michelle and said, "so, how's Bea? I mean, after that incident I wouldn't be surprised if she was having a rather hard time readjusting."

"She's...struggling, yeah, it's kinda messed her up," Michelle said, "But she'll be okay. She and Liam are working hard to make sure nothing like that ever happens again. They're even bringing in a psychologist for anyone on the crew who might wanna get things off their chest."

"That's very new agey of them," Keagan said, just as a car horn honked brightly and the girls all looked to the right at the parking lot to see Lexi pull up in a nice little sports car. She got out, looking as perfect as always, and strolled up to the picnic table, seating herself beside Keagan and kissing her on the cheek.

"Where'd that come from? Did you a rob a dealership?" Michelle asked.

"It's my fathers," Lexi said, "I get everything he had. He turned states evidence on his business partner, and as a result, he'll get a shortened sentence and he transferred ownership of everything to me. All his money, all his stocks, his car, everything. It's all mine now. At least until he gets out of jail, but that's gonna be another year at least."

"Well I ain't driving that thing without you in it," Keagan said, looking over her shoulder back at the car.

"What? Why not?"

"Because I'm black, Lexi, the cops will think I stole it," Keagan said, making Michelle laugh.

"Sorry," Michelle said, "Sorry, I just...you're right. Screwed up as it is, you're right."

"Well how about, then, I buy new cars for everyone?" Lexi asked, making the table hush up.

"...what?" Keagan asked quietly.

"I couldn't accept that," Michelle said.

"I don't drive," Eliza said softly.

Lexi felt her gut plummet. All she'd wanted to do was share the good news she'd gotten that day with the people she cared about, and it was starting to seem like nobody but her was interested in it. She sighed, then stood up and rummaged through her purse for some change.

"I'm gonna go get a soda from the machine," she said, vanishing inside the building.

Keagan felt bad, but she didn't know what to think. She had known Lexi had come from a lot of money, but she wasn't expecting her to return to that lifestyle so quickly or so eagerly. Now she felt the gap between them widen all the more. Yes, she liked Lexi, perhaps even loved her, but that class difference was really starting to be hammered home. After all, Keagan had once told Michelle that "Lexi could get any job she wants, while I only have the job I have because I know you and Bea", and now with this new car, it was beginning to set in just how different they really were.

Michelle suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to see Beatrice standing there. She wasn't even in costume, just an old fashioned dress and a cardigan. Michelle smiled as she looked up at her, and Bea nodded.

"I need to speak with you," she said, and Michelle excused herself.

As the two of them started to walk down the backlot of the studio, Michelle could tell Bea was rattled by something.

"What's going on?" Michelle asked.

"I just haven't been sleeping well these last few weeks," she said, "Liam and I are trying to make this all financially feasible, but we're running out of money, and the network won't give us anymore, and...and then with what happened...I don't know, Michelle, please tell me that what we're doing here isn't a giant legacy tarnishing mistake."

"It isn't, it's gonna be great," Michelle said, coughing a little before adding, "and I'll do anything I can to help, Bea, you know that. If you need to save money on sets, I'll design more myself. You know I can."

Bea smirked. She did know that Michelle could do anything she set her mind to, and she did know that with her by her side, everything would be fine. But the guilt over what had happened to those former crew members was eating away at Beatrice internally, and she was scared to share that with even those closest to her. She sighed and looked out at the studio buildings.

"I used to do plays," Beatrice said, "that's how this all started. Beatrice was nothing but a one woman play. A small stage production. Now look at it. Does something lose its charm when its given more money, more room to explore? Or does the charm grow with the program? I don't know. I just know that the first time Liam and I showed up to the network back in the day, I was so nervous. I didn't come a city, Michelle, I grew up on a small piece of farmland somewhat removed from the city, and I wasn't a very social child."

"Hey, neither was I, being stuck in hospital beds and all," Michelle said, nudging Bea with her elbow, making her chuckle.

"But," Bea continued, "...I just can't help but feel like I'm walking down the same kind of path again. What seems like a great experience starting out will only in the end leave me bitter and hostile...and alone."

"You'll never be alone again, Bea," Michelle said, hugging her, "I'll make sure of that."

"You know, I've been doing a lot of reading online these days, and one of the things people really talk against are parasocial relationships," Beatrice said, "people who think they're friends with famous people or influencers or whomever, but in reality they're not. They misjudge and misevaluate these relationships so gravely that it often leaves them feeling genuinely wounded when something terrible happens, like they've lost a family member. I don't want us to have that kind of relationship."

"I don't think we do," Michelle said, "In the first place, I prefer parasocial relationships. Much less expectation put on me to be the best me I can be. I'm not there to prove anything to anyone. That's how I know what we have isn't one, because I AM trying to prove myself to you all the time."

Beatrice took Michelle's hand and patted it gently.

"You're a good kid," she said, "but if I ever start to take advantage of you, please, stop me."

"Will do," Michelle said.

                                                                                                ***

"It's like...we're just two different people, you know?" Keagan said, "When we both worked fast food, we were of the same stock. We both had come from different places, sure, but now we were more or less equal in societies eyes. Nothing but burger flippers. But now, with her having access to her money again, I don't know...I feel like she's not the same person I knew."

"People shouldn't remain the same," Eliza said as she dipped her brush in some red paint and started applying it to the puppet she was toying with, "people should never be the person you once knew. People should always grow."

"I mean, yeah, and I don't want her to not grow because of me, or whatever, but...I don't know," Keagan said, leaning against a workbench and sighing. Eliza turned in her chair, setting the puppet on the towel in her lap and looked at Keagan.

"I've never dated," Eliza said, "So I don't...like...really understand how relationships work. The only people I've ever really been associated with are Bea and my parents and Liam, but...shouldn't you be happy for her? She's happy, right?"

"Yeah she's happy, and yeah I want her to be happy and yeah I'm happy for her, but it just feels like the difference between is growing ever wider," Keagan said, "You don't get it, you're not black. There's different rules in society for me then there are for pretty privileged rich white women like her."

"But she's gay too, right?" Eliza asked.

"I mean, yeah, we're together."

"So she isn't perfect, at least, uh, not in societies eyes. I mean, that came out wrong, um...oh I'm stupid."

"No, you're not stupid, I know what you mean," Keagan said, smiling, "And I guess you're right, in the sense we're both minorities. But even that's a different kind of minority. The queer community still is eons ahead of the black community, despite us fighting for longer amounts of time for equality. And I know that makes me sound bitter, but I'm not, I'm...I'm happy about that in many regards but...ugh, it's all so complicated."

"It doesn't have to be," Eliza said, "...I like puppets. Puppets are exactly what they're made to be. Nothing is misrepresented. There's no hidden truths. See this Armadillo? He's an Armadillo. He's never going to be anything other than an Armadillo. Even if I give him a tuxedo and a limo, he's still going to an Armadillo. Just...a fancier one. That's how people should be. They're just people, and everything else is just a facet that makes up their whole."

Keagan was surprised. She'd known Eliza was damaged mentally, and yet here she was, proving she was in fact the smartest one of all, even when it came to a topic she herself admittedly had no experience within; relationships.

"...I guess you're right," Keagan said.

"We should all be Armadillos," Eliza said, making Keagan laugh.

"We should," she agreed.

                                                                                                  ***

Lexi was lying on the couch, eating food from a take out box in her pajamas, watching a Hockey game, when the front door opened and Keagan came inside. She tossed her jacket and her purse down on the floor and walked around to the couch, seating herself on it as Lexi sat up and put the food container down on the coffee table in front of them.

"Where's Michelle?"

"She and Bea and Liam and Eliza went out to dinner together. I had to come home and talk to you," Keagan said.

"Okay, what's going on?" Lexi asked, pulling her knees to her chest, feeling nervous.

"...I'm sorry," Keagan said, "I'm sorry that I was kind of...a  bitch earlier, I guess, and I'm sorry that I am letting your parents wealth influence my opinions about us as a couple. I just was...so afraid to...I guess, lose you? I don't know, you're the first girl I've ever really had a relationship with, and this is all kinda new to me, and I just didn't feel like...I felt like before you had the money, we were kinda the same. We were both kinda broke, we both worked at a shitty job, and we liked one another."

Lexi smiled.

"But then," Keagan continued, "you got this money and...suddenly I saw you for who you actually were, before you met me, and it scared me. I think success in general scares me, because my family has always just scraped by, you know? I mean, we weren't poor or anything, but my parents worked multiple jobs to keep us fed and housed and clothed, and we were always treated poorly by rich uppity white people, but having been with you, I know that's not what you are. You're not that kind of person, money or otherwise."

"I'm really not," Lexi said, giggling.

"I'm sorry, Lexi. Lately I've been feeling really apart from us as a whole and it's bummed me out and it wasn't until I talked to Eliza that I realized that the one thing we have in common is what's most important...we love one another, and that's what we should focus on."

Lexi nodded, leaning in and kissing Keagan.

"I have a surprise for you," Lexi whispered, getting up off the couch and running into the other room before coming back, holding a piece of paper as she sat back down.

"You got me paper? Wow, how did you know?" Keagan said, laughing, making Lexi roll her eyes.

"You need to sign this," Lexi said, "...it's a document that cuts what I got in half, and gives half to you."

"...what?" Keagan asked, taking the paper and looking at it, then looking back up at Lexi.

"Yeah," Lexi said, "You wanna be equals? Let's be equals. It's not my fuckin' money anyway, and all it ever brought my father was bad luck, so let's share the wealth, shall we?"

"No, this is, you've gotta be-"

"Sign it," Lexi said, "Sign it and then kiss me again. I liked that."

Keagan blushed, then took the pen from Lexi's hands and signed it. She looked at the paper, then looked back at Lexi.

"Wow, that's a lot of money made in a matter of seconds. Now I feel like I'm in show business," Keagan said, the both of them laughing as they laid together on the couch for the rest of the evening. When Michelle got home, she found them asleep, and instead of waking them, she simply laid a big quilt over the two of them and then went to bed.

                                                                                                ***

Beatrice woke that night in her darkened bedroom, hearing the rain tap at her window.

She struggled to climb out of the bed, put her robe on and head into the living room. She walked to the kitchenette, got herself a glass of water from the sink and drank it in one swift gulp before heading back to the bedroom. As she stepped into the living room again she screamed and dropped the glass on the floor, where it shattered, as she looked at a Beagle sitting on the couch, reading a book.

"...Beatrice?" she asked.

"Amelia," Beatrice said, looking up from the book.

"...what are you doing here?" she asked, approaching the couch cautiously.

"You don't have to be careful, I never bit," Beatrice said, "Sit with me."

Amelia nodded and sat beside Beatrice on the couch. Beatrice licked her cheek and Amelia started to cry as she pushed her face into the beagles furry neck.

"It's okay," Beatrice said, "you cry all you need. I'm here."

And then Beatrice woke up. Still in bed. Sweating profusely. She could've sworn her dog was here. She could've sworn that she was holding her best friend. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw up. Instead she got up from the bed, walked into the living room and picked up the phone, dialing a number before sitting on the couch. It rang a few times before a woman answered.

"Hello?" she asked, sounding half asleep.

"Mom, it's Amelia," Beatrice said, "...I need to come home."

All it took was a split second.

The rehearsal was about to start, the set was more or less set up, and Beatrice was waiting to put the head of her costume on, sitting on the edge of the stage, when Michelle sat beside her. Beatrice looked up from the script in her big costumed paw hands and smiled at Michelle, who smiled back.

"This is exciting," Michelle said, "I'm excited anyway. I've never been a part of anything like this."

"You didn't do theatre in school or anything?" Bea asked.

"No, I always wanted to, but my breathing kind of kept me locked off from a lot of the extracurricular activities I wanted to participate in," Michelle said, glancing over her shoulder at the stage behind them, adding, "that's why this is such a big deal to me."

"Well, I'm glad to be able to give you that experience then," Bea said.

And that was when they heard it. The snap. All it took was a split second. A split second of unawareness. Someone shouted as a young grip leaped out of the way as one of the stage lights overhead came crashing down, just missing hitting her head. As she rolled over onto her back, Beatrice stood up and raced over to her, kneeling down.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and the woman nodded hesitantly, unaware of how she was meant to respond.

"I...I just...I heard something snapping and...and I saw someone waving at me to move and I jumped," she said, pushing some errant strands of black hair out of her eyes and adding as she looked up at Bea, who was cradling her head in her lap, "All I knew was the universal signal for 'move out of the way fast', so that's what I did."

Bea laughed and nodded, "Well, thank goodness you at least managed to dodge it. I'll go have a talk with the stage hands and see why this happened."

Bea looked at Michelle as she approached them and whispered to her as she passed by.

"Take her to the first aid station please, I'm going up to the lighting catwalk," Beatrice said. Michelle did as she was told and helped the young woman up, taking her away into the halls, towards the first aid station as Beatrice strode to the ladder that led up to the catwalk where the lighting was rigged. As she began climbing, she heard footsteps on the ladder behind her, and looked over her shoulder briefly to see Eliza coming up behind her.

"Did you need something sweetheart?" Bea asked.

"No, just following," Eliza said, making Bea smile a little.

As the women reached the catwalk, they spotted a young man with short scruffy brown hair and a dirty beard shadow, wearing a salmon colored button down shirt and light brown pants, approach them, already apologizing profusely with his face alone.

"I am so so sorry," he said, "It was a total accident, it just wasn't attached properly and I realized too late and I-"

"What's your name?" Bea asked.

"His name is Simon," Eliza said, surprising Simon, who looked at her confused.

"How did you-"

"She knows everyones name," Bea answered, "Simon, listen to me, okay? You're right. It was an accident, and accidents happen, and thankfully nobody was hurt. I like to think that's because I've cultivated a crew that looks out for one another. Why don't you take the rest of the day off and come back in tomorrow, okay? We have more than enough people who can set up these lights. Just take it easy, maybe go see the girl you almost squished and tell her how sorry you are."

"Yeah, okay, sure, I'm...okay," Simon said, clearly frazzled as he walked towards the ladder to head back down. As soon as he was out of earshot, Bea looked at Eliza and shook her head.

"I can't fire him," Bea said, "I'm not that kind of person. That'll be up to someone else if they so chose to do that, but it can't be me...can you do me a favor? Can you go with him to see that girl, and if you see Michelle please bring her back to me. She and I need to talk to Stephanie about what's happened."

"Yes, okay, I can do that," Eliza said, hurrying to the ladder and heading down, following Simon quickly.

They reached the first aid station in no time flat, just as Michelle was exiting the room.

"She's in there," Michelle said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the door, "if you wanna-"

"Yeah, thank you," Simon said, hurrying past her, trying not to be rude. Michelle cleared her throat and looked at Eliza, who was chewing on the end of her braid, trying not to laugh.

"What?" Michelle asked, smirking.

"It's like, one of those things, you know, where people meet in a cute way and then they tell their kids the story," Eliza said, giggling.

"Right, 'hey kids, wanna hear about how I almost beaned your mom in the brain with a piece of lighting equipment? it's SUPER romantic'," Michelle said, the both of them breaking out in laughter now; after a moment, Michelle asked, "Since production is probably halted for a bit, do you wanna go get coffee or something?"

"Bea said she needs you, that, uh, you and she need to talk to Stephanie," Eliza said, "but...I guess it could wait a little bit."

                                                                                          ***

"What do you mean someone almost died?" Leslie asked, sitting on her office phone back at the public broadcasting station, "Like, you personally, or you inadvertently? Second hand murder or something?"

"There was an accident on set before rehearsal," Bea said into the phone in her and Michelle's office, still partially in costume, sitting on the desk, "a young woman almost got her head crushed by a light that fell from the ceiling."

"Jesus," Leslie said, "That's terrifying."

"I need to make sure that nobody on this crew ever comes to harm, okay?" Bea asked, "I'm gonna talk to Steph in a bit when Michelle gets back to me, but I think we need to have a safety inspector or something. Far too much bullshit happened on the last set, and I...I refuse to allow anyone to work like that again. I refuse."

"Alright, well, if that's your call then so be it," Leslie said, chewing on the cap of the end of the pen in her hand, "but, uh...well, just don't push it. She's already being lenient enough with you guys as it is, so. If you need me to come in, be the big guns, just lemme know."

Bea smirked at this and said, "Yeah, I'll let you know if you should come and flex your muscles."

"The ladies can be quite persuasive," Leslie said, the both of them laughing now.

                                                                                           ***

"What was it like, you know, working with Bea before?" Michelle asked, her hands cupping her styrofoam coffee cup on the table by the window as Eliza sipped hers cautiously.

"It was...neat," Eliza said, "She gave me my own space, and she...she told me that I could create whatever I wanted to, you know, in the downtime. She gave me a lot of creative freedom. No other job has ever done that, at least not, uh, to the same degree that she has."

"She's pretty supportive, it's true," Michelle said.

"How did you meet her?"

"A friend and I tracked her down after some research and...and once I showed her how I'd rebuilt the set from the show in my basement, she became so much more understanding of just what Beatrice Beagle represented to me. I think she understood that I saw in it the same thing she saw in it. I guess, the same thing a lot of you saw in it. You and Liam and Marvin and everyone."

"I never spent much time with anyone besides Bea. Liam was always nice to me, but I...I've never really had a friend before, so thank you for inviting me out," Eliza said, looking into her cup, almost as if she were outright embarrassed of this admittance, adding, "...are you sick too?"

"Yeah, I have breathing issues," Michelle said, trying not to get too into depth about her illness, "I sometimes have to have oxygen tanks to help me get through the day. Are you sick? You seem perfectly fine to me."

This made Eliza giggle uncontrollably as she looked away. Michelle cocked her head to the side, confused.

"What?" she asked.

"That's just...the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Eliza said, which only made Michelle feel all the worse for her.

                                                                                             ***

It was early when the phone rang.

Michelle rolled over, still half asleep, and clutched at the phone beside her bed, pulling it off the base and pushing it to her face. She half mumbled something relatively intelligible, only for the next thing she heard to wake her up almost completely. She sat up in bed and pushed her hair out of her face, staring dead eyed at the wall.

"Repeat that please," she said sternly, so Bea did, her voice shaky like she'd been crying.

"They're dead," she said, "they're both dead. I need you to come to my apartment now."

Michelle didn't have to be asked twice.

Upon arriving at the door, Beatrice let her in quick as possible. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying for hours, and she had a kettle of tea on the stove, whistling, which Michelle immediately raced to recover. As she lifted it from the stove and onto the counter, she looked back at Bea, who huddled back onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around her.

"Who's dead?" Michelle asked.

"...the girl...the girl from yesterday...and the guy who...the lighting guy," Bea managed to whisper, her voice hoarse, as if she'd been wailing all night, "...they killed themselves."

"What happened?" Michelle asked, walking over to the couch and sitting on it fully, putting a hand on Bea's back, massaging it.

"They...they met in the...in the first aid of the studio, and they talked about the situation, and she was extremely rattled from almost having died, and he was extremely rattled from almost having killed her, and they...they spent the whole night just...crushing up pills and snorting them in her apartment. I feel sick. This is all my fault. I sent him to speak to her. Maybe if I hadn't done that, they...they wouldn't have-"

"No, no Beatrice, this is not your fault, okay? This is just a freak occurrence, alright? Please listen to me," Michelle said, "I...you didn't do this, you didn't do anything wrong, okay?"

"I try and cultivate a workplace where people look out for one another, and have eachothers backs and-"

"And you know what, they did. She might've done that alone, or he might've done it alone, but instead they did it together. I think, if anything, it was inevitable and all you're really responsible for is giving them each someone else to do it with," Michelle said, uncertain of what she said even as she was saying it, "And I realize that's pretty fucking bleak, but...like...that's...I've been there. I've been on the verge of not being here. Being as sick as I was when I was so young...it changes you. I think I understand how she might've felt. She was probably never going to come back from this."

Bea looked at Michelle and bit her lip, trying not to cry anymore.

"...the show's on hold for a week. The funeral's in two days if you want to come," Bea said, "...but if you want to get away from this, away from me, I'd understand and-"

"I never wanna get away from you," Michelle said softly, "You're the best friend I've ever had. I'll be there. We all will."

And then she held her. She held Beatrice for what felt like hours. She got her some tea, and she held her until she fell asleep. Beatrice had always been there for her, and now it was time for Michelle to be there for Beatrice. It only felt fair.

                                                                                                ***

Standing in the cemetery, after the funeral was over and everyone was headed to a nearby restaurant to calm down from it all, Michelle couldn't help but feel glued to the gravesite. Standing there in the sunlight, bright and warm, she felt so confused about everything. How quickly this whole thing had turned on its head had thrown her, and everyone else, for a loop. She heard the sound of grass beneath shoes coming up behind her, and soon saw Eliza standing beside her, dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks, clearly the most formal thing she owned for such an occasion.

"...this is fucked up," Michelle said.

"I think the worst part is the sun," Eliza said, looking upwards to the sky.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Michelle asked.

"...like...you know how in movies and stuff, funerals always take place during rainy gloomy days. But that's just atmospheric, ya know? And...and that's not real. Funerals happen on sunny days too. They happen on days when...when kindergarten is in session and people get engaged. But it just seems so kind of sick to see the sun on such a sad day. But the universe doesn't care about us. About our sadness. You know? Like...like, uh...like it only matters to us, you know what I mean? We're the only ones who recognize its self imposed importance."

Michelle was surprised. Eliza was fairly eloquent for someone she had been told was somewhat challenged intellectually.

"...I don't know. Maybe. All I know is that I feel so screwed up now," Michelle said, "and Bea is even worse. She feels responsible, despite how many times I reiterate to her that none of this was her fault at all. I just hope-"

"Let's be friends, okay?" Eliza said bluntly, "I...I don't wanna be alone. She didn't wanna be alone. He didn't wanna be alone. You don't wanna be alone, do you?"

"No, I don't," Michelle said, shaking her head, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Bea said she cultivates a workplace of togetherness, where people watch out for one another, so let's be friends, and watch out for one another, okay?" Eliza asked, making Michelle nod again, smiling a little now.

"...should we go to the wake?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged.

"I don't usually eat in front of others. I don't like groups. That's why I stood so far away during the procession," Eliza said, "...do you wanna come back to The Hole with me? I could show you puppets."

"That sounds cool, yeah," Michelle said.

Together, the women walked to Michelle's car and got in; Eliza later explained how she'd gotten a ride here since she didn't drive, and Michelle was more than happy to give her a ride home. Michelle was happy to have a new friend, especially one who seemed so insistent to be her friend no matter what. Beatrice could tell herself whatever she wanted, but the two women knew the truth. Beatrice was right. She did in fact cultivate a place that fostered togetherness, and bad things even happened in the brightest of places. Nowhere was safe from the pain, no matter how happy it all seemed.

                                                                                            ***

Liam sat in his armchair of his apartment, looking at the framed photo of himself and Marvin at a restaurant on his birthday. He smiled as he ate a lemon square he'd baked himself that afternoon, instead of going to the funeral. Nobody could blame him, honestly. Liam had had enough death to last him a lifetime.

"So how was your day?" he asked the photo, almost as if he expected an answer; he took a bite of the lemon square and nodded, saying, "Yeah, it was pretty shit, wasn't it?"

Because Liam understood the one fundamental rule behind life...

...the one thing that even Michelle had understood, that had kept Bea alive in her heart lo those many years...

...you're never gone so long as someone remembers you.