#51 The accent thickens

I watch Jean trying to start with his new computer. He stares at the beast as if his sheer force of will can compel it to allow him to start writing a script on it. It won’t.

After a half hour he has only succeeded in plugging it into an outlet in his dining room and toggling on the power button. He pokes at keyboard buttons, occasionally the words ‘bad boot’ appearing on the screen. This irritates Jean, who asks, “What is ‘bad boot’? Where is boot?!”

I smile to myself. Jean speaks English fluently, although with a thick French accent. (He’d say I have a thick American accent.) But there are times I think he uses his thick accent to goof on people. There was a story going around the studio about when Jean and Andy met with Judy Price and a couple of ABC execs to discuss a script for The Littles.

Jean described a scene featuring young Lucy Little, Jean’s French accent thick and English broken, as he said, “Lucy is on menstret.” Thinking he had said “menstruate”, Judy’s eyes widened. When she regained her composure, she stammered, “Je…Jean… we can’t do that.” To which Jean replied, “What is wrong? Lucy is on menstret.”

Judy leaned forward. “This is a children’s show. We can’t even say that.”

Deciphering Jean’s accent better than Judy did, Andy grinned and explained, “He’s saying ‘Lucy is on Main Street’.”

I always wondered whether or not Jean was pranking Judy. Six-to-five and pick ‘em.

#50 A lifeline, just not the one I expected…

Jean opens his door and greets me, pooh-poohing when I apologize for dropping in. A gracious host, he welcomes me into his beautifully decorated condo. I sit on a sofa and he sets out cheese. I congratulate him on getting Care Bears and he nods, then asks how I’m doing as assistant story editor. I tell him I’m figuring things out. He nods again, deciding to wait to address this.

Suddenly he declares, “I’ve got something to show you!” I follow him to the dining room and see a large box. He pulls the flaps apart and with clumsy effort starts to draw the contents out, revealing, “It’s my computer! Just arrived today!”

Jean’s an amazing human being -- one of the smartest, most talented and generous people I’d ever know. But I think he’d be the first to admit manual dexterity isn’t his strong suit. As he struggles trying to free the computer from the box, I resist the temptation to help, not wanting to go anywhere near the mysterious device.

Finally, he extracts the long, heavy beige metal oblong device I’d learn is called a tower. We’re silent for a moment, as if gazing in awe at some alien descended from a mothership. When he asks if I got my computer yet, I let out an involuntary laugh. Unamused, he says I need to get one so we can learn together. I admire his adventurous nature.

Then, digging in the box again, Jean says, “Come on! Let’s put it together!”

#49 I miss writing…

I enjoyed walking past the artists’ cubicles and seeing them busily ‘sketching away’. In time I’d learn some were building model sheets – art studies that would show a series’ characters in various poses, standardizing appearances and gestures for other artists to duplicate, providing continuity to a series. Others had other tasks, but I particularly liked watching the model sheets take shape and how the artists brought the characters to life.

Still, I could only hang around artists so long since we didn’t speak the same language. It was my second day at the new studio and Lori was somewhere out of the office. So after lunch I drifted back to Sandy. He had me read a couple of Care Bears scripts to familiarize myself with the series, which made sense. But he was surprised when I asked to see the series bible, like I wasn’t supposed to know about series bibles.

When I reminded him I’d worked on The Littles, he said, “Oh yeah…” As he pulled the Care Bears series bible from his desk drawer, I wondered why he hadn’t given it to me the day before.

As the day ended and I started to leave with the series bible and two scripts, Sandy called, “Bring them back tomorrow.” I glanced at him, almost asking, “Do you think I’m planning on peddling them on the black market?” Instead, I just left.

Back home, at my rented condo, I was gloomy. By the time I finished rereading the series bible and the scripts, I knew why. It had been more than three weeks since I’d written anything. I walked down the third floor corridor toward Jean’s condo and knocked on his door, hoping he’d throw me a lifeline.