This is the treatment for my latest fiction book called “The Twaddle.”
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Jesica’s manager at the grocery store told her to go pick up Missy Graves at the metro-cities airport. The grocery store had offered to fly Miss Missy in on economy class. Not wanting to sniff the air of the hoi poloi, Miss Graves had chosen to fly on her own private jet. The humble-singer-turned-talented-snob had no idea her manager had booked her rising star self at a small grocery store in a tiny town. Granted, every single person in town was her biggest fan and had bought more of her CDs and downloads per square foot than any other tiny town in America. Maybe her manager was attempting to remind the young starlet of her humble roots. Or maybe her manager just wasn’t that great at her job. Everyone wants to be Jerry Maguire, but most never get a Cuba Gooding, Jr. as their famous client. Whatever the reason, Miss Missy was in for a big surprise. As Jesica was being directed by her boss, Miss Graves was sleeping on her ten-inch memory foam bed-in-the-air as her ship sailed another hour out from landing.
No one in Tiny Town knew why the grocery store was having a Grand Re-opening. Word was that it had been bought out by a grocery conglomerate and would be totally turned on its head within the coming months. They knew Mister Billings, the current owner, was the richest man in town. However, his wealth was piddling compared to those who gambled daily on small-town America as if it were a lazy pastime, rather than peoples’ lives and livings they were betting on. Land, houses, and businesses throughout the state were being Hoovered up as if by a hungry anteater. Even if the next generation had jobs and the drive for the American dream, there were very few real estate opportunities for them in their tiny town they loved.
Jesica was happy to drive The Twaddle to pick up Miss Missy Graves at the airport. She wasn’t sure why the limo that Mister Billings had booked wasn’t doing it. Probably too many important people in the metro-cities, she reckoned, and not enough important cars to go around. Of course, she considered The Twaddle the very most important car one could have for shuttling important people.
The Twaddle was known around town. It looked like a cross between a soldered together depressing grey prison transport bus but with white stripes and flames on the sides like a radically irreverent Mom’s minvan. It had been a steal at the car show in the metro-cities some years back. The car designer and the car company had come to realize there was no “irreverent mom slash prisoner” demographic to be found and had gladly sold it to a fiery Jesica.
Jesica had promptly named her new car The Twaddle, because her English teacher in high school had told her that was the Latin word for beautiful. Tiny Town had only had a Latin class one semester. There were not enough brainiacs to support further teaching of it. The school and city required nuts and bolts learning if its kids were to get jobs one day. The English teacher who had taught that semester of Latin promptly left the area, looking for a more stimulating teaching environment in which to teach students incredibly inaccurate Latin. And perhaps English as well.
Jesica used the Twaddle to Uber all over town. More often though, people would just wave her down from the side of the road and get a lift somewhere and pay her a few dollars. Inside was a super comfortable setup. The Twaddle seated eight. It had been designed to have a common table in the back, with six bucket seats around it. Presumably for kids to start their homework on the way home. Or else to have a place to shackle prisoners too. No one was quite sure why there were very sturdy bolts built into the frame of the transport vehicle.
Jesica took great pride in The Twaddle and loved it probably more than her fiance-boyfriend. But less than her cat.
Jimmy heard the store manager giving directions to Jesica. He decided he would be the one to pick up Miss Missy Graves. He was a handsome young fella and figured this was his chance to 1)woo her, 2)make her smitten, 3)marry him, and 4)make him rich. Those were rather big plans for someone from such a tiny town.
Jimmy jumped in his souped-up truck and hauled out down the four-lane, headed for the highway. His tires were so large that he had installed an automatic fold-down stepping stool on the passenger side. He had gotten the ladder when the local firefighters sold off old equipment. Then he cut it down to size, and had done the installation himself. It was for the ladies to be able to amble easily into his truck. Sadly, there had not been any ladies yet; but he was hoping the unfolding step-up ladder would be the beginning of impressing Miss Graves.
Jimmy remembered a line from reading the Autobiography of Malcolm X, that surely one of the men would’ve been a brilliant Wall Street guy if he had had the chance, but was instead a bookie and numbers runner. Jimmy thought of himself similarly. Given the chance, his welded, electronic, self-unfolding truck steps would’ve made him an asset in Silicon Valley, if only he’d had the chance to find a way out of Tiny Town.
Jimmy and Jesica are twins and they still live at home. Because there are not great jobs and not great housing choices to be had. Their Dad, who drives a small compact car, does not understand his children’s big ambitions and even bigger cars. But he supports them as much as he can nonetheless. He had even laid down a whole new concrete section of driveway, right up to the towering elm outside their house.
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I hope you enjoyed this hilarious yet serious look inside “The Twaddle.”