The International Writers Magazine: A planned meeting
on a red chaise lounge that belongs to a furniture store. Opposite
of me, in an yellow armchair, is Jill, a cappuccino cup in her
We thought about buying this sofa for our living room,
Jill says, and points to a sofa made of grey leather. But
then, they didnt have it in the color we needed.
Finding the right sofa is the hardest thing, I say.
To prove my point, I get up, and try the pink chair. It follows neither
form nor function.
See, I say.
They have them in the theatre, too, Jill explains.
Jill nods, and I try to remember the chairs. I have been there
last month, to see this piece that plays in a laundry shop, I
The laundromatics, Jill states.
This time its me who nods, and Jill who tries another sofa.
We walk and sit and talk, walk and sit and talk. I am not sure why they
are there. But now that we are, we can as well try the different sofas.
In the evening, we meet again, to go to the café near the beach.
There are two groups of people, the group we belong to, and another
group, a film team. First the groups sit on different tables, but then
the tables mix. They are supposed to meet up here. Its part of
a project, almost like a meeting, only that it isnt called this
way. The plan is to pretend that its all not part of a plan, but
happening by itself.
The one who made the plan isnt there. He is somewhere behind the
scenes, checking to see if things turn out the way they are supposed
to. The location is well chosen. There is nowhere to walk to, besides
I get another glass of wine, and on the way, I meet the director of
the film. He wears black trousers and a black shirt. Like me, he knows
that the scene is a set up. We sit down at the bar, and drop hints of
what is going on, yet play along as well, while Jill is watching us
from across the room.
Half an hour later, a boat arrives at the café. A steward appears
in the door, and invites everyone to get on the boat. This, too, is
part of the evening, part of the meeting.
Lifes a show, the director whispers.
And we are the great pretenders, I tell him.
On the boat, groups are forming and reforming. Business cards are exchanged.
Ideas are taking shape. All works out, just as planned. There will be
a show coming from this show. How easy it is to manipulate the
human mind, the director whispers to me, ten days later, at the
same place, alone.
Indeed, I say.
Again, we are playing the pretending game. He still believes that this
is his show. I wont object. This, also, is part of the plan.
© Dorothee Lang March 2005
Dorothee Lang lives in Germany, worked for several years in the advertising
division of a media company, and is now a freelance writer and web designer.
Her work has appeared in The Sunday Herald, The Mississippi Review,
Pedestal Magazine, Drunken Boat and Artzar, among others. She lives
in Germany, edits the travel magazine subside.zine, and for some yet
undiscovered reasons only gets published abroad
Stories in Dreamscapes 2
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