Goodnight Tweetheart Read online

MarkBaynard: When did you realize something was wrong?

  Abby_Donovan: The minute I saw my agent and editor. Their air kisses were too tragically tender.

  MarkBaynard: Was there tongue involved? Because that’s never a good sign with an air kiss.

  Abby_Donovan: No tongue. Although I did get the sinking feeling I was about to get screwed.

  MarkBaynard: At least they bought you lunch first, right?

  Abby_Donovan: It was like one of those breakups on TV where the guy takes the girl to a ritzy restaurant so she can’t make a scene when he dumps her.

  MarkBaynard: Did you make a scene?

  Abby_Donovan: Of course not. I was a complete adult about the whole thing.

  MarkBaynard: So you ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, right?

  Abby_Donovan: I used tremendous restraint. Well, except for the Dom Perignon.

  MarkBaynard: Ah, the literary equivalent of emptying the mini-bar on your final business trip after your company forces you into early retirement!

  Abby_Donovan: I would have stolen the napkins and ordered porn but they didn’t have BOOTY AND THE BEAST or BARELY LEGALLY BLONDE on the menu.

  MarkBaynard: Why did they let you go?

  Abby_Donovan: Tough economy … blah blah blah … flagging sales throughout the industry … yadda yadda yadda …

  MarkBaynard: I hate it when they tell you the truth.

  Abby_Donovan: My poor editor is even fighting for HER job. My advance was fairly substantial so this will allow her to put some black back into her books.

  MarkBaynard: They want their money back???

  Abby_Donovan: Which wouldn’t be a problem if I hadn’t already spent it on shameless luxuries … like food … electricity … kibble for the cats … frappucinos.

  MarkBaynard: What are you going to do?

  Abby_Donovan: I’m considering suicide by paper cut.

  MarkBaynard: Step away from the Chinese takeout menus. How did your agent react?

  Abby_Donovan: She called later and made soothing noises about selling the book to another publisher. Which would be a fine strategy … if there was a book.

  MarkBaynard: At least SHE didn’t dump you.

  Abby_Donovan: I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. I knew it was only a matter of time before the whole world discovered I was a talentless fraud.

  MarkBaynard: A fraud whose very first novel made your publisher and agent a slew of cash and almost won the Pulitzer Prize for literature?

  Abby_Donovan: “Almost” being the operative word.

  MarkBaynard: Abby, the problem isn’t that you can’t write. It’s that you’re NOT writing.

  Abby_Donovan: Et tu, Brute?

  MarkBaynard: If your agent had a completed manuscript in her hot little hands, what are the odds she could sell it?

  Abby_Donovan: Pretty high, I guess. It usually takes New York at least 5 books to figure out you’re a pathetic washed-up has-been.

  MarkBaynard: If she sold it, you could pay back your advance to the first publisher and still have enough left over to buy a little kibble, right?

  Abby_Donovan: And maybe a frappucino or two.

  MarkBaynard: Then take those rocks out of your pockets, call your agent & tell her you’ll have a finished book on her desk by the end of the summer.

  Abby_Donovan: Hasn’t anyone ever told you that women just want men to LISTEN to them, not try to solve their problems for them?

  MarkBaynard: My wife tried but I was too busy solving her problems to listen.

  Abby_Donovan: I don’t even know if I can have a finished book by the end of next year, much less this one.

  MarkBaynard: You’ll never find out if you don’t sit your ass down in the chair and try.

  Abby_Donovan: I thought you were supposed to be a DEmotivational speaker? You are SO fired. Sniff … sniff …

  MarkBaynard: Oh God, you’re not crying, are you? I feel so helpless when women cry. What in the hell am I supposed to do?

  Abby_Donovan: You could pat me on the back and murmur, “Poor dear … poor, poor dear” in a soothing tone. Or make me some hot tea.

  MarkBaynard: Who do I look like? Julie Freaking Andrews? Screw that. I’m going to the fridge and getting you a nice cold beer.

  Abby_Donovan: While you’re there, could you bring me the pint of Chunky Monkey? And a spoon?

  MarkBaynard: Drink your beer float & listen to me. When you wrote yr 1st book, did U ever dream it was going to be welcomed by the world w/open arms?

  Abby_Donovan: I didn’t write it for the whole world. I wrote it for me.

  MarkBaynard: Then that’s what you need to do again. Write yourself another book.

  Abby_Donovan: But I know in my heart I’ll never write anything as good as that book.

  MarkBaynard: Then write a piece of crap. It doesn’t matter what you write as long as you stop beating yourself up about not writing and start writing.

  Abby_Donovan: I don’t love you anymore. I don’t even like you. And I won’t marry you, not even if you do know the name of Veronica Mars’s dog.

  MarkBaynard: Does this mean no more tweetsex?

  Abby_Donovan: I’ll be too tired for tweetsex. I’ll be too busy writing this stupid book. So you can just wrap your own tongue around your throbbing …

  MarkBaynard: That’s my girl. Now go call your agent. Tell her you’ve had a breakthrough.

  Abby_Donovan: A breakthrough or a breakdown?

  MarkBaynard: Whatever gets you to Chapter Six.

  Abby_Donovan: I’m afraid, Mark. What if I can’t do it?

  MarkBaynard: We’re all afraid, Abby.

  Abby_Donovan: Oh, yeah. What are you afraid of?

  MarkBaynard: The same things you are. Taking the wrong chance. Not being there for the people who depend on you.

  Abby_Donovan: Is that all you’ve got? No homespun homilies? No motivational mantras? Where did Yoda go when I need him?

  MarkBaynard: Back to that swamp in Dagobah to practice his kung fu.

  Abby_Donovan: Shifty little muppet.

  MarkBaynard: The force may not be with you, Abby. But I will be.

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight House

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight Cuddy

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Wilson (except Wilson is a lot nicer than you)

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight Cameron

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Foreman

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight 13 (who is in no way hotter than you)

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Chase

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart …

  Tuesday, June 7—1:56 p.m.

  MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?

  Abby_Donovan: Rizzo’s Pink Lady jacket from GREASE over Kate Beckinsale’s black leather catsuit from UNDERWORLD.

  MarkBaynard: Mrrrrreow!

  Abby_Donovan: Why do men love those UNDERWORLD movies so much?

  MarkBaynard: I don’t know, but I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the way Kate Beckinsale looked in that catsuit.

  Abby_Donovan: So what are YOU wearing?

  MarkBaynard: John Wayne’s tweed hat from THE QUIET MAN and the smile the automatic pilot was wearing at the end of AIRPLANE.

  Abby_Donovan: I was too self-obsessed to ask where in the world Mark Baynard was the last time we tweeted.

  MarkBaynard: VIEW FROM MY iPHONE: http://twitphoto.com/MB7sth

  Abby_Donovan: Oh! OH!!! Tell me that’s not …

  MarkBaynard: I’m sitting at the top of Blarney Castle in County Cork, trying to find the words to describe a green that’s utterly indescribable.

  Abby_Donovan: You won’t even have to kiss the Blarney Stone since you already have the gift of gab. Or at least the gift of tweet.

  MarkBaynard: So how is the writing going today?

  Abby_Donovan: VIEW FROM MY LAPTOP: http://tweetpic.com/2825190614

  MarkBaynard: Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Are those the two most beautiful words in the English language—CHAPTER SIX?

  Abby_Dono
van: No, the two most beautiful words would be THE END. But this is a start. Especially since I’ve already written 15 pages to go with them.

  MarkBaynard: Filled with your usual sparkling wit and sartorial brilliance, no doubt?

  Abby_Donovan: Oh no. I took your advice. They’re a total load of crap.

  MarkBaynard: I’ve never been so proud to be your muse!

  Abby_Donovan: Is that what you are? I thought you were my nemesis.

  MarkBaynard: Salieri to your Mozart!

  Abby_Donovan: Moriarty to my Sherlock Holmes!

  MarkBaynard: Prince John to those two brats in the tower!

  Abby_Donovan: The Sheriff of Nottingham to my Robin Hood!

  MarkBaynard: Blofeld to your James Bond!

  Abby_Donovan: Dr. Evil to my Austin Powers!

  MarkBaynard: Donald Trump to your Joan Rivers!

  Abby_Donovan: Kanye West to my Taylor Swift!

  MarkBaynard: Joker to your Batman! Have you been chained to the computer since last we tweeted? Because I’m enjoying that image way more than I should.

  Abby_Donovan: Oddly enough, writing again has made me WANT to get out more. I mean, if I don’t start living life, how can I write about it?

  MarkBaynard: Doubled our trips to Starbucks, have we?

  Abby_Donovan: I’ll have you know I actually volunteered at a charity event for juvenile diabetes in the park on Thursday.

  MarkBaynard: Was there a Biff the Bunny suit involved?

  Abby_Donovan: Worse. I was assigned to man the Giant Balloon Bouncer.

  MarkBaynard: That big inflatable castle that sucks unsuspecting children to their doom?

  Abby_Donovan: Shudder! It’s a more ruthless exercise in “Survival of the Fittest” than 8th grade dodgeball.

  MarkBaynard: If a 2-year-old can’t survive a 5th grader jumping up & down on their spleen, they’re not going to be of much use to society anyway, right?

  Abby_Donovan: Exactly. At least they only peed on each other this time, not on me.

  MarkBaynard: I always consider that a good day.

  Abby_Donovan: Would your Dylan have survived?

  MarkBaynard: I’ve already taught him how to bite the bigger kids in the ankle. After he takes them down with a karate chop to the groin.

  Abby_Donovan: Tell me about him.

  MarkBaynard: Well, he’s three and a half years old going on Peter Boyle in EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND.

  Abby_Donovan: Is he as precocious as his father?

  MarkBaynard: More so. Last time I saw him he was kicked back in the La-Z-Boy reading the Harvard Lampoon and chain-smoking unfiltered Camels.

  Abby_Donovan: My God, he IS your son, isn’t he?

  MarkBaynard: His hobbies include long walks on the beach, eating all the marshmallows out of my Lucky Charms …

  MarkBaynard: … and making truck noises that involve a lot of spittle.

  Abby_Donovan: He sounds like quite the handful.

  MarkBaynard: He is, but I still can’t bear to spank him.

  Abby_Donovan: How do you discipline him then? Take away his Penthouse collection?

  MarkBaynard: When he acts up, I just sit him on top of the refrigerator. By the time he climbs down, I’ve forgotten why I’m mad.

  Abby_Donovan: Does he look like you?

  MarkBaynard: He’s no Mini-Me but he did inherit my hopelessly curly hair. Poor kid.

  Abby_Donovan: You miss him, don’t you?

  MarkBaynard: With my every breath.

  Abby_Donovan: How long have you been out of the States?

  MarkBaynard: A little bit longer than I originally planned.

  Abby_Donovan: When are you coming back?

  MarkBaynard: My trip is a little open-ended at the moment.

  Abby_Donovan: Don’t you have to be back for the fall semester?

  MarkBaynard: Only if I want to keep my job.

  Abby_Donovan: I thought tenure meant never having to say you’re sorry. Or unemployed.

  MarkBaynard: It’s called a sabbatical for a reason. If it goes on for more than a year, they change the name to “terminated” …

  MarkBaynard: Well, that’s enough foreplay for one day. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a second date?

  Abby_Donovan: Even if I didn’t put out on the first one?

  MarkBaynard: Your nefarious ploy to trick me into asking you out again obviously worked. With luck, maybe I can get halfway to 1st base again.

  Abby_Donovan: You’re on. So where do you want to go this time? Is Def Leprechaun playing down at the local pub?

  MarkBaynard: I thought I’d come to you this time. Ladies’ choice.

  Abby_Donovan: All right, you can pick me up in front of the Plaza on Sunday morning at 10 a.m.

  MarkBaynard: Where are we going? Mass?

  Abby_Donovan: Sort of.

  MarkBaynard: Did I ever tell you that I’m afraid of nuns? Even naughty ones?

  Abby_Donovan: Well, drats. I’d better take the habit, the fishnet stockings, and the wooden ruler back to the costume store.

  MarkBaynard: You’re a shameless tease, you know. It’s one of the things I love the most about you.

  Abby_Donovan: And you’re a shameless flirt.

  MarkBaynard: That’s where you’re wrong. I’m blushing even as we speak.

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Captain Peacock

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight Mrs. Slocombe

  Abby_Donovan: Drats! I just knew I was going to get you with that one! I’m never going to be able to stump you, am I?

  MarkBaynard: What can I say? I’m a big PBS supporter. Plus DR. WHO got me addicted to BBC America.

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Mr. Humphries

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight Miss Brahms

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Mr. Grainger

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight Miss Belfridge

  Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Young Mr. Grace

  MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart …

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday, June 12—10:02 A.M.

  MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?

  Abby_Donovan: Faded Levi’s, an oversize blue men’s shirt & a pair of red Chuck Taylors with my right pinkie toe peeking out of a hole in the top.

  MarkBaynard: That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s what you’re really wearing, isn’t it?

  Abby_Donovan: Well, I left off the Lance Armstrong LIVE STRONG wristband and the velvet scrunchie that went out of style in 1999, but yes. You?

  MarkBaynard: Rumpled chinos & a WHO’S YOUR PADDY? T-shirt I picked up in the pub last night. I think it was last night. It’s all one big green blur.

  Abby_Donovan: Swillin’ a wee bit too much o’ the Guinness, are we, laddie?

  MarkBaynard: That would depend on whether or not you consider leprechaun tossing a legitimate sport. Or cookie tossing.

  Abby_Donovan: I heard they were thinking about adding them to the Olympics in 2012.

  MarkBaynard: They wouldn’t be as exciting as curling.

  Abby_Donovan: We couldn’t have picked a more perfect day for our outing. The sun is shining. The sky is a dazzling blue. The birds are singing.

  MarkBaynard: Would you mind asking them to tone it down? There’s a chance my head might explode like that guy’s in SCANNERS. So where are we headed?

  Abby_Donovan: http://tweetpic.com/2825190615

  MarkBaynard: It’s the Poet’s Walk in the park, isn’t it? You were right. It does look like a cathedral.

  Abby_Donovan: I pick up my coffee and come here every Sunday morning. In the snow. In the rain. And on perfect summer days like this one.

  MarkBaynard: Tell me what you see right now.

  Abby_Donovan: There’s an old man walking his Russian wolfhound & a radiant Asian bride dressed in Vera Wang getting photos made for her wedding album …

  Abby_Donovan: A couple sharing an ice cream cone and a little boy dragging his mom toward Bethesda Terrace …

  Abby_Donovan: A man with a silver cart selling warm pretzels and an art student
sipping a latte while he sketches one of the old oaks …

  Abby_Donovan: That’s what I love the most about the park on a Sunday morning. Even the people who are alone seem happy.

  MarkBaynard: Are you happy?

  Abby_Donovan: I don’t think I was when we first met. But I am now.

  MarkBaynard: Do you mind if I take your hand while we walk?

  Abby_Donovan: Such a gentleman!

  MarkBaynard: Well, it’s not like we can walk and make out at the same time.

  Abby_Donovan: And so practical!

  MarkBaynard: I bet you say that to all the guys you drag to the park on a Sunday morning.

  Abby_Donovan: If you must know, I’ve never taken anyone else here before. Well … except for my friend Margo.

  MarkBaynard: I’m honored.

  Abby_Donovan: What? No mockery? No sarcastic asides?

  MarkBaynard: Witty bons mots no longer trip from my tongue. Your charms have undone me. Irony has deserted me.

  Abby_Donovan: Are you being ironic?

  MarkBaynard: Maybe I’ve simply fallen beneath the spell of this enchanted woodland.

  Abby_Donovan: I like to think of it as one of the places I keep myself. That way if I ever lose myself, I’ll know where to go back and find me.

  MarkBaynard: What if you can’t remember where you were when you lost yourself? What if it’s too late to go back and look?

  Abby_Donovan: It’s never too late. As Cicero said, “As long as there’s life, there’s hope.”

  MarkBaynard: I thought that was John Lennon. But either way, they’re both dead, aren’t they?

  Abby_Donovan: Maybe they were both wrong. Maybe hope never dies, not even when we do.

  MarkBaynard: Now that is a philosophy I could embrace.

  Abby_Donovan: So if we’re not going to make out, what are we supposed to do on our second tweet date?

  MarkBaynard: I believe this is the date where we start to explore what we’re looking for in a relationship. While pretending we’re not, of course.

  Abby_Donovan: Wouldn’t making out be less complicated?

  MarkBaynard: Probably. So in the interest of subtlety … what exactly ARE you looking for in a man, Abigail Donovan?

  Abby_Donovan: Hmm … well, he can be deeply flawed as long as he’s willing to rush into a burning building to rescue a basket of kittens.

  MarkBaynard: Is that smoke I smell? Wait right here … I’ll be back!