fic: extempore, from my mother wit - part one
shakespeare. present day. katerina. katerina/petruchio, katerina/benedick, petruchio/benedick, benedick/beatrice, bianca/lucentio, katerina/viola, viola/olivia and possibly more if they strike me. 1712 words.
notes: that's right, you heard me, not a specific play, shakespeare. though i think i'm sticking to the comedies because hamlet meeting titania would just be odd. i have no idea where this came from or whether i'm going to finish it but the proper project has been stressing me out to hell and this just kind of happened. so. a lot of shakespeare gay and i will probably have casting up soon except i'm not entirely sure of all of it yet. definitely marion as kate, rdj as peter, archie panjabi as viola and eva green as olivia.
On the last night of her marriage (this is realistically, not legally, speaking), she and Peter are in Italy. It's work that's brought him there and in a sort of last-ditch attempt to get it back, so to speak, he thinks to ask her to come with him. He won't go anywhere decent for food, tasteless American xenophobe that he is, and the hotel is terrible and he is far too obviously sleeping with the assistant who is attempting to help them out.
"I always wanted to go to Sicily," she says. They are on the hotel balcony and she is wearing her sunglasses and smoking. There's red circled around her end of her cigarette and the light is hitting her face in a bad way, she knows it. She's tired and it's been a long flight and she's not sure she likes the city.
"This isn't Sicily," Peter laughs. His mouth is full.
"I'm aware. I said I wanted to go to Sicily."
"You want me to take a couple days out at the end of the trip? We could fly out there if you like."
"No, thanks. Just sometime. Maybe I'll go sometime."
"I thought you'd want to be back in Europe. You keep talking about how you miss it and I don't know, it seemed like a good idea, Kate."
"Don't call me Kate."
"Well, I thought you'd get a kick of out of Rome, kid."
"Europe isn't a country." She stubs out her cigarette.
"Well, sorry." He shrugs.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"For assuming Europe is a country."
"No need to be sorry. Now you know."
"And all these years with my French wife." He grins. "I learn new things every day."
"I am going through with it, you know."
He snorts.
"No, you're not."
"Why not?"
"Because that's not the way it works," he says, "Not with us. You know us. We've got worked out a good system. And if there's anything I know about Katherine the Great, you hate to break a system. It works. You wouldn't go putting kinks into it like that."
He looks pleased with himself.
"You really think I'm hopelessly predictable, don't you?"
He waves a hand.
"No, not by most people. But you know. I've got you in and out."
"Of course you do."
"I mean, you don't mean any of this bullshit. Or even if you think you do, it's just a trick. And I'm long over the tricks."
He is filling up his glass again.
"Don't get drunk."
"Why not?"
"Don't."
"I told Marie how we got married, you know. She thought it was a fucking riot."
"Did she?"
He is getting properly drunk now.
"I thought it was a fucking riot. You standing in church in the long white dress and me coming in with the heels and the skirt. And you threw a tantrum and tried to stop the thing. God knows what you must have thought."
"I thought I was marrying a faggot."
"And such a good thing you were wrong, yes?"
He smirks.
"That's debatable."
"That's what I meant, kid. You can't get sarcasm all of a sudden?"
"I get it, thank you," she snaps.
"Oh, come on, Kate," he mocks, "we've always been flexible people, haven't we?"
"As in I've broken half your bones?"
He throws his head back. It isn't that funny.
"That's the spirit, Kate-the-curst."
"I married you for your money," she says and goes back inside.
-
She's the last in the family to divorce. Everyone is shocked, of course, though whether that's because they thought it would work or whether they're surprised it lasted this long she's not entirely sure. She leaves a message on Bianca's answerphone telling her. She's in Spain right now, Kate thinks, with the latest boyfriend. He's younger, probably. She likes them malleable. Her film career's over, really, stuck playing the mothers of blank faced teenagers on television. At least she's managed to keep off the bottle for a while.
Sometimes she wonders if Bianca really is an alcoholic or just wants attention. This isn't fair, of course, it isn't, but it's the kind of train of thought she's always having. If Bianca's a narcissist, Kate is fucking paranoid and neither option is very attractive and Jesus, why are they all so fucked up?
She calls her father. He's actually disappointed--over the years, Peter's become his favorite, he says. Ten years ago, she would have chucked the phone at the wall but instead, she expresses condolences and hangs up. She's in a hotel room in Paris at the time. The walls are white and the bed is white and the floor is white and her head feels like it's been tipped open and she really doesn't know what to do with herself.
She calls a good lawyer and comes away with half. Peter keeps trying to call her afterward. She doesn't bite.
-
He calls her a week after the proceedings are finalized.
"I just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Not on dear old Pete's side right off the bat?"
She realizes it comes out sounding bitter.
"Now, talking like that's a good way to alienate a man."
"Hello, Benedick."
"I want you to know I'm Sweden--or Switzerland or whichever one kept out. I'm pretty sure Ghana kept out. I'm Ghana."
"I'm pretty sure Ghana did."
"So. I'm Ghana. Everyone likes Ghana."
"Yes. You are."
"Where are you staying?"
"Right now? With my sister."
He whistles over the phone. She laughs.
"That's never good."
"No, not really."
"Are her kids with her?"
"Yeah. The nanny can't take care of them, either."
"Don't tell me you're stepping in, Super Dainty."
He's called her that for years. It started out as Peter's nickname, really, but Benedick sort of attached himself to it and now nobody else ever uses it.
"I wouldn't dare."
"Glad to know. I know there's a reason you and Pete never procreated."
"Besides my cheating too much to ever be certain of the paternity?"
"Kate."
She wonders whether he's going to do anything now, now that she's single. It would be like Benedick to only sleep with married women. She doesn't know.
"Go to hell."
"Look, I know I can be something of a cold hearted bastard but I am honestly trying to--"
"I meant that, Benedick. Go to hell."
"Okay, sweets. Going back to girls now that Peter's in the lurch?"
"Fuck yourself."
"My, we are free with the expletives tonight. Met someone?"
"No," she says, and hangs up.
-
As it turns out, she has met someone. Sort of. She's not sure.
("You're not sure whether you have?" she can hear Benedick saying. Or maybe Peter. Whoever it is, they do it smirking. She is tired of smirking men.)
"Alone so late?"
She is sitting in a hotel bar in New York--she had intended to move back to France after the divorce but she supposes she's acclimatized to American culture, so to speak and there isn't much she can do at this point. Bastard made her American. Fuck him.
She turns. The woman has something of a hard mouth--hard face, really but her dark eyes are tilted and laughing and her lips are painted red and her hair is loose and she's wearing a leather jacket and somehow, Kate likes the look of her.
"The drinks don't like too many people. They feel crowded."
"It's good of you to be so sensitive to their needs."
"Oh, I am nothing if not sensitive."
"A drink needs a good friend," says the woman.
"I hate hotels."
"Really?" The woman tips her head to the side. "Why?"
"I don't know--they're so impersonal. I should be glad to get away from everyone, you know. But of course, I'm not."
"I always check into hotels with a different name. Just for fun."
"Is that fun?"
"Well, it's not sex but it has a certain thrill to it."
The woman traces her finger around the edge of the glass.
"You can be anyone you want."
"Yes."
"And what is your name?"
"That's a serious question?"
The woman's eyes are very dark. Biting, almost.
"Yes."
"It's Viola. For you, Viola."
She smiles. She feels a little drunk. Ill at ease.
"I'm Kate. They usually call me the bitch."
"I wouldn't do that."
notes: that's right, you heard me, not a specific play, shakespeare. though i think i'm sticking to the comedies because hamlet meeting titania would just be odd. i have no idea where this came from or whether i'm going to finish it but the proper project has been stressing me out to hell and this just kind of happened. so. a lot of shakespeare gay and i will probably have casting up soon except i'm not entirely sure of all of it yet. definitely marion as kate, rdj as peter, archie panjabi as viola and eva green as olivia.
On the last night of her marriage (this is realistically, not legally, speaking), she and Peter are in Italy. It's work that's brought him there and in a sort of last-ditch attempt to get it back, so to speak, he thinks to ask her to come with him. He won't go anywhere decent for food, tasteless American xenophobe that he is, and the hotel is terrible and he is far too obviously sleeping with the assistant who is attempting to help them out.
"I always wanted to go to Sicily," she says. They are on the hotel balcony and she is wearing her sunglasses and smoking. There's red circled around her end of her cigarette and the light is hitting her face in a bad way, she knows it. She's tired and it's been a long flight and she's not sure she likes the city.
"This isn't Sicily," Peter laughs. His mouth is full.
"I'm aware. I said I wanted to go to Sicily."
"You want me to take a couple days out at the end of the trip? We could fly out there if you like."
"No, thanks. Just sometime. Maybe I'll go sometime."
"I thought you'd want to be back in Europe. You keep talking about how you miss it and I don't know, it seemed like a good idea, Kate."
"Don't call me Kate."
"Well, I thought you'd get a kick of out of Rome, kid."
"Europe isn't a country." She stubs out her cigarette.
"Well, sorry." He shrugs.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"For assuming Europe is a country."
"No need to be sorry. Now you know."
"And all these years with my French wife." He grins. "I learn new things every day."
"I am going through with it, you know."
He snorts.
"No, you're not."
"Why not?"
"Because that's not the way it works," he says, "Not with us. You know us. We've got worked out a good system. And if there's anything I know about Katherine the Great, you hate to break a system. It works. You wouldn't go putting kinks into it like that."
He looks pleased with himself.
"You really think I'm hopelessly predictable, don't you?"
He waves a hand.
"No, not by most people. But you know. I've got you in and out."
"Of course you do."
"I mean, you don't mean any of this bullshit. Or even if you think you do, it's just a trick. And I'm long over the tricks."
He is filling up his glass again.
"Don't get drunk."
"Why not?"
"Don't."
"I told Marie how we got married, you know. She thought it was a fucking riot."
"Did she?"
He is getting properly drunk now.
"I thought it was a fucking riot. You standing in church in the long white dress and me coming in with the heels and the skirt. And you threw a tantrum and tried to stop the thing. God knows what you must have thought."
"I thought I was marrying a faggot."
"And such a good thing you were wrong, yes?"
He smirks.
"That's debatable."
"That's what I meant, kid. You can't get sarcasm all of a sudden?"
"I get it, thank you," she snaps.
"Oh, come on, Kate," he mocks, "we've always been flexible people, haven't we?"
"As in I've broken half your bones?"
He throws his head back. It isn't that funny.
"That's the spirit, Kate-the-curst."
"I married you for your money," she says and goes back inside.
-
She's the last in the family to divorce. Everyone is shocked, of course, though whether that's because they thought it would work or whether they're surprised it lasted this long she's not entirely sure. She leaves a message on Bianca's answerphone telling her. She's in Spain right now, Kate thinks, with the latest boyfriend. He's younger, probably. She likes them malleable. Her film career's over, really, stuck playing the mothers of blank faced teenagers on television. At least she's managed to keep off the bottle for a while.
Sometimes she wonders if Bianca really is an alcoholic or just wants attention. This isn't fair, of course, it isn't, but it's the kind of train of thought she's always having. If Bianca's a narcissist, Kate is fucking paranoid and neither option is very attractive and Jesus, why are they all so fucked up?
She calls her father. He's actually disappointed--over the years, Peter's become his favorite, he says. Ten years ago, she would have chucked the phone at the wall but instead, she expresses condolences and hangs up. She's in a hotel room in Paris at the time. The walls are white and the bed is white and the floor is white and her head feels like it's been tipped open and she really doesn't know what to do with herself.
She calls a good lawyer and comes away with half. Peter keeps trying to call her afterward. She doesn't bite.
-
He calls her a week after the proceedings are finalized.
"I just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Not on dear old Pete's side right off the bat?"
She realizes it comes out sounding bitter.
"Now, talking like that's a good way to alienate a man."
"Hello, Benedick."
"I want you to know I'm Sweden--or Switzerland or whichever one kept out. I'm pretty sure Ghana kept out. I'm Ghana."
"I'm pretty sure Ghana did."
"So. I'm Ghana. Everyone likes Ghana."
"Yes. You are."
"Where are you staying?"
"Right now? With my sister."
He whistles over the phone. She laughs.
"That's never good."
"No, not really."
"Are her kids with her?"
"Yeah. The nanny can't take care of them, either."
"Don't tell me you're stepping in, Super Dainty."
He's called her that for years. It started out as Peter's nickname, really, but Benedick sort of attached himself to it and now nobody else ever uses it.
"I wouldn't dare."
"Glad to know. I know there's a reason you and Pete never procreated."
"Besides my cheating too much to ever be certain of the paternity?"
"Kate."
She wonders whether he's going to do anything now, now that she's single. It would be like Benedick to only sleep with married women. She doesn't know.
"Go to hell."
"Look, I know I can be something of a cold hearted bastard but I am honestly trying to--"
"I meant that, Benedick. Go to hell."
"Okay, sweets. Going back to girls now that Peter's in the lurch?"
"Fuck yourself."
"My, we are free with the expletives tonight. Met someone?"
"No," she says, and hangs up.
-
As it turns out, she has met someone. Sort of. She's not sure.
("You're not sure whether you have?" she can hear Benedick saying. Or maybe Peter. Whoever it is, they do it smirking. She is tired of smirking men.)
"Alone so late?"
She is sitting in a hotel bar in New York--she had intended to move back to France after the divorce but she supposes she's acclimatized to American culture, so to speak and there isn't much she can do at this point. Bastard made her American. Fuck him.
She turns. The woman has something of a hard mouth--hard face, really but her dark eyes are tilted and laughing and her lips are painted red and her hair is loose and she's wearing a leather jacket and somehow, Kate likes the look of her.
"The drinks don't like too many people. They feel crowded."
"It's good of you to be so sensitive to their needs."
"Oh, I am nothing if not sensitive."
"A drink needs a good friend," says the woman.
"I hate hotels."
"Really?" The woman tips her head to the side. "Why?"
"I don't know--they're so impersonal. I should be glad to get away from everyone, you know. But of course, I'm not."
"I always check into hotels with a different name. Just for fun."
"Is that fun?"
"Well, it's not sex but it has a certain thrill to it."
The woman traces her finger around the edge of the glass.
"You can be anyone you want."
"Yes."
"And what is your name?"
"That's a serious question?"
The woman's eyes are very dark. Biting, almost.
"Yes."
"It's Viola. For you, Viola."
She smiles. She feels a little drunk. Ill at ease.
"I'm Kate. They usually call me the bitch."
"I wouldn't do that."