aici<\/a><\/em><\/p>\nGirl on the window seat
\nOnce the girl under the sunflower, now a fluffer. Stuck in the train to London, going to my next gig for an artsy movie. I hate all these antsy pantsy directors who always want to make you believe they\u2019re not doing porn, but erotic movies. State-of-the-art cinematographic fuc*ing masterpieces. I always come clean from the start, I\u2019m a fluffer, not a muse! I keep actors aroused on the film set, between the shots. And I don\u2019t feel degraded. Yeah, I\u2019m no Bette Davis or Mae West on the screen, but I\u2019m damn good behind the stage. I do my job professionally. And they know it. And they feel it. And that\u2019s why my phone doesn\u2019t stop ringing. Movies, shows, you name it. I keep them entertained behind the stage so they could entertain the great audience on stage. Well yeah, deep down inside I think I crave to be on screen one day. I think, I\u2019m not sure yet. But if it\u2019s meant to be, then only for one time and one time only. It has to be the perfect role, the role worth waiting for a lifetime. It has to be Patty Diphusa, Almodovar\u2019s brilliant Patty Diphusa. But if he\u2019s gonna do a movie about her, then he better not keep on obsessing about that Penelope! He better pick me! Still\u2026 I\u2019m not sure I really want this though. I mean, am I not happy now?<\/p>\n
Girl on the left seat
\nDamn stockings, bought them in the fish market! And when you think of the irony, they should be as sturdy as a fishing net, they sure look like one, but the train conductor managed to tear them in the bathroom. As feisty as a construction worker, you wouldn\u2019t think he\u2019s trained for anything else but watch the road and steer the wheel… or whatever he\u2019s steering, the gear, the handle, the lever, the knob. Well, now that I think of it, he does seem to have some useful training. Training or no training, but what is a girl supposed to do in the train, once embarked for a 3 hours voyage? If I\u2019d traveled by plane, I\u2019d have gone into the cockpit for sure. Same deal, no biggy. Well, the girl across me would surely say I\u2019m tawdry, gaudy, cheap. I\u2019m not. I\u2019m just the flapper of this century, and let me tell you one thing, it\u2019s sure not as easy as you may imagine it to be. But still, I am the cat\u2019s pyjamas, the bee\u2019s knees, the cat\u2019s meow. Yeah, in the 20\u2019s all you had to do is flap a bit, flutter your pretty wings and drive a convertable. It\u2019s as plain as crystal clear that outraging people is much more difficult nowadays. Do you think parading along 5th Avenue in yellow pyjamas, with four cats following me, would make an impression today? Pfff, hell no! How could you be outside the norms when everybody is outside the norms? I guess in a few years time the only way to be outside is actually to be inside and stick to the rules. So much for diversity! Everything is going down the drain. Maybe this cute little girl in front of me would be the next flapper of her generation, God forbid!<\/p>\n
Girl in front
\nI fell in love with a screenwriter. I always thought I\u2019d end up with an artist and live the tragic life of somebody always being on the second place. He\u2019d love his art more than he\u2019d love me. I\u2019d live in his shadow, trying my best to be his muse from time to time. Like that famous composer of classical music who could only find inspiration and compose master pieces while making love. Yeah, I do love writing myself. When I was younger I thought I\u2019d become a writer too. I\u2019m not that old now, I\u2019m still in my early twenties, but I gave up that dream. I met him, and I just… I just don\u2019t know if I have what it takes to write anymore. I don\u2019t have his passion, his craziness, his nonchalance, his blatant honesty, his mad desire to break with custom, his freedom. I can\u2019t even swear, for God\u2019s sake. And that\u2019s what you need when you want to express yourself artistically. My maths teacher called it \u201enerve\u201d. Well, he was no artist or anything, not even a pleasant man, but he was right on this. Pleasant, look at me! I can\u2019t be talking about people this way. Pleasant is much too weak, it\u2019s shi*, it\u2019s nothing. Why can\u2019t I just say it? He was an ungraceful man. Ungraceful, shi*! No, he was a maggot with disgusting habits, smelling of cigarettes, alcohol and chalk and wearing the same suit every day. A maggot! So I fell in love with this screenwriter that I\u2019m going to visit in London. He invited me to see him work. Actually, his first movie is being shot now. And I\u2019m gonna be part in it. No, not an actress, I could never do it. The camera doesn\u2019t love me, but he does. I think he does. So I\u2019m gonna be the clapper, the clapper loader or whatever you call it. I\u2019ll be in his movie, shouting Act one, Take fifteen. Act one, Take sixteen. Act one, Take seventeen. As loud as he wants me to shout. I\u2019m a bit nervous, I have to admit. Maybe because I\u2019m not that comfortable around naked people. And there will be naked people all around. It\u2019s an erotic movie that they\u2019re shooting. But I have nothing against that. I am myself a Freudian thinker, artists redirect their unfulfilled sexual desires in art… And I\u2019m the clapper. And I\u2019m the screenwriter\u2019s girlfriend. Or screenwriter\u2019s affair or whatever he wants to call me. I\u2019m the clapper.<\/p>\n
Girl on the window seat
\nI got a letter one day, and that\u2019s when my life changed and I became a fluffer. Well, it\u2019s not like this is what defines me entirely. I don\u2019t know why I\u2019m even having this fuc*ing conversation with myself now. Why am I retrospecting all these? It\u2019s not like today it\u2019s the celebration of 5 years since I\u2019m in the business! It\u2019s not! Who counts days anyway? Well, I\u2019d better come clean to myself, to myself at least. It\u2019s not 5 years, it\u2019s 300 movies, the golden number. I count movies, it\u2019s more professional I\u2019d say. Mediocre people live their lives counting days, painters counting paintings and writers counting books. And directors counting movies, and fluffers counting movies. See? In the end, it\u2019s just the same. And hey, how many Hollywood directors or screenwriters can say they got to this number, 300 movies, huh? Don\u2019t believe they\u2019re so many, no sirrrr, they\u2019re not. But I got to 300, I sure as hell got to 300. Art is long and life is short. Is it time to retire, you think? Who knows? Well, I got this letter one day. It was from… me, yeah, from me when I was a teenager. You see, when I was 15, I was going through this phase, I guess like all teenagers go through. Nothing uncommon, but as a teenager you don\u2019t realise it. You\u2019re too much into yourself and you tend to blow things out of proportions. You make a big drama out of every little thing that happens. And that was me, a completely average teenager with a completely average life, but one day making the mistake of putting it all in writing. Big mistake, I mean biiig. I would have turned out ok if I would have lived my teenage years the way they were, for me and for the other bunch of kids I spent my time with. With our little dramas in our little world. After a while it would have all sorted out and calmed down and come to an end. But no, I had to let something leak outside that world and let it come hunting me years after. I don\u2019t even remember my stupid teenage dramas now, but no, I had to write a letter, send it to me in time and let it hit me in the head, completely unexpectedly, 7 years later. What a stupid kid I was! So one day I find this letter in the mailbox, dated 1995, from me to me. It was a completely melodramatic picture of who I was then. Lame, I\u2019m telling you, lame as a snail climbing a mountain of sugar. But I had made a promise to myself, or so I read and recalled. And God knows I broke promises to others, but I hate breaking a promise I made to myself. The promise was that if I don\u2019t find the goal in life by the time that letter reaches me again, I\u2019ll have to start searching in a completely different place, a place that I wouldn\u2019t even have thought of before. Go totally 180 degrees. And I was a pudibond, let me tell you that. And this was my 180 degrees.<\/p>\n
Girl on the left seat
\nBut I don\u2019t want her to be the next flapper of her generation. No, nothing good came out of it for me, maybe it\u2019s just an outdated concept and it should stay like that. Maybe it\u2019s old, maybe I\u2019m old or maybe I got born not in the right time. I always thought that I\u2019d rather have been born 4 decades before. That doesn\u2019t mean I would have been a flapper then. No, it\u2019s just that I always wanted to be something different than others. It doesn\u2019t mean that I always choose the right different, because I don\u2019t. That doesn\u2019t mean that I\u2019m not happy with the decisions that I make, because in the end I am. That\u2019s just what I learned one terrific moment of great revelation when I was completely mixed up about having to choose between what colour should my wedding dress be. I wanted bright pink, my fianc\u00e9 wanted white. Pink or white, yeah, that sounds ridiculous, but in the end I knew that it was more to it than just choosing a colour. Deep down inside I had to choose between pleasing myself and pleasing others… which would have led, in the end, to pleasing myself to an extent, indirectly, I guess. But going deeper and deeper into that fuc*ing decision-making process didn\u2019t make things easier, not even a bit. I can\u2019t choose, that\u2019s God\u2019s honest truth, I can\u2019t choose between plums and apples. No matter how trivial or important is the decision I have to make, I always go back and forth between A and B like there\u2019s no tomorrow. So in the end I made up my mind to flip a coin everytime I\u2019m in that situation. Just care less about things and let faith take me wherever she wants. So yeah, I broke the engagement and became an actress in movies like the one I\u2019m going to shoot now in London. All because of a wedding dress. All because of a damn colour.<\/p>\n
Girl in front
\nOn a second thought, I don\u2019t know if I\u2019m doing the right thing here. Keep trying to convince myself that it\u2019s ok, just letting it flow, just going with the flow and not being afraid if I fall off the tide and can\u2019t swim. Because I can\u2019t, I can\u2019t swim. There are so many things that I can\u2019t do, why do I have to focus on them all the time? Let\u2019s face it, I can\u2019t be a clapper. No, not that difficult to shout Act one, Take fifteen. Unless your place is not between naked actors mimicking things that are just not there. When you write it\u2019s a different story, even if the things you write about are not real, but just imagined, you\u2019re not really imposing your fake reality to the reader. You\u2019re just giving him the option to believe it or not, to go along with your story or to make his own story as he goes along with you. But when you show people images, it\u2019s like you\u2019re shouting to their faces This is real! And it\u2019s not! I wonder what else is not. London is 2 hours away now, what am I supposed to do? I don\u2019t really love the guy, he\u2019s such a prick. And I\u2019m such a gullible non-clapper wanna-be-writer. Gonna-be-writer!<\/p>\n
Girl on the window seat: So, 2 more fuc*ing hours, huh? Can\u2019t believe I took the train.
\nGirl on the left seat: Can\u2019t believe I let the train conductor bonk me in the bathroom. In the first 30 minutes. What do I do for the next 2 hours?
\nGirl on the window seat: That\u2019s ok, honey, can\u2019t believe I didn\u2019t do it first. I guess we just have to entertain ourselves the best we can. Wanna play cards?
\nGirl on the left seat: If I wanna play cards? Haha. Feels like I\u2019m in the sixth grade going with my grandparents to visit my forsaken father across the country. Guess it\u2019s better than just staring at the walls of this wagon dangling around. I have to warn you, though, my fourteenth boyfriend was a cardsharp and the least I could get from him, except for a crane in my neck every time we\u2019d go to bed (he had this fantasy, you know, well, I won\u2019t go into details now), was some tricks with the cards. So I guess I\u2019m smokin\u2019 good at playing cards.
\nGirl on the window seat: Haha. Thanks for the warning, babe, but I can play my cards too, no worries there. You won\u2019t see this girl take off her clothes for you, no mam. Haha. Unless you\u2019re a porn star and need entertaining between 2 shots.
\nGirl on the left seat: You got me there. Haha. Don\u2019t tell me, the flapper for Van D\u2019s movie!
\nGirl on the window seat: Sure am. I see my reputation preceeds me. What about you, pumpkin? Care to join these gals for a game?
\nGirl in front: No, I\u2019m fine, thanks.
\nGirl on the left seat: Come on, stop waiting for prince charming, he won\u2019t come, sweetie. Not in this train, he won\u2019t. And I know it, because I bonked the only real man around here and he ain\u2019t not prince charming, I can assure you. Better play with the girls now.
\nGirl in front: What do I win if I … win?
\nGirl on the window seat: Look at her, candid as a little white lamb and agile as a panther. She wants to know what she wins if she wins. What do you want to win, honey?
\nGirl in front: I want to switch places with the one of you who loses.
\nGirl on the window seat: Do you want the window seat? But honey, I can give you that now, it\u2019s no biggie. The sun is not good to my skin at my age anyway.
\nGirl in front: No, I\u2019m serious. I want to switch places with one of you.
\nGirl on the window seat: Haha. The brave little girl. But you don\u2019t know what you\u2019re getting yourself into.
\nGirl on the left seat: I\u2019m in. I\u2019m all in, baby!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
by Irina Savin [Belgium] pentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103 click aici Girl on the window seat Once the girl under the sunflower, now a fluffer. Stuck in the train to London, going to my next gig for an artsy movie. I hate all these antsy pantsy directors who always want to make you believe they\u2019re not doing […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[704,22],"tags":[1151,37,1116],"class_list":["post-5902","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-29-30","category-short-story","tag-egophobia-29-30","tag-irina-savin","tag-short-story"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-1xc","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5902","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5902"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5902\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6333,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5902\/revisions\/6333"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5902"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5902"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5902"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}