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This again?”
“No. This time, I mean it. I’m not going back to the studio. No matter what they, or YOU say. You, especially.”
Bugs gracefully placed the tips of his fingers to his chest and he cleared his throat. Routine, routine. He opened his mouth.
“Oh, Daffy! I don’t care what any studio head says. To heck with them, they just can’t see how much they need you,” Bugs’ eyebrow creased and he pushed his pout,” how much I....” pause, for effect,” How much I need you!”
His face settled into a deadpan. He opened his arms in an embrace, eyes closing at the ready for impact. A bird chirped overhead, accompanied by the white noise of Burbank afternoon traffic.
Daffy didn’t move.“That was your shortest yet. You didn’t even try to act like you mean it.” His shoulders sagged and he lowered his head, “I mean it Bugs, every time. Every time I mean it a little more.”
Bugs’ whiskers twitched. He was shocked more from his own unpreparedness at the response rather than Daffy’s finality. Cold, but once his mind started racing there was no time to dwell on how his co-star was affected. Instead, he pondered his own response. There was a heaviness to Daffy’s voice, so a quip would make him seem like a jerk. There was honesty in Daffy’s statement, joking would paint Bugs as insensitive. His dialogue had to maintain a specific balance, one that keeps him at an advantage. Foe or friend alike, it was how he was designed. Bugs’ mind ran with one liners and words to convince his ex co-star, yet each scenario falling flat. He was taking too long. The more every second passed by, the heavier the air grew and the more Bugs was forced out of his element. This sort of seriousness teetered on the likes of that rival studio with the lamp and bouncing ball. The kind of material that made him feel...awkward.
Bugs stood speechless, blank and unreadable.
Daffy sighed, blinking slowly, and turned his face away to stare vacantly at the Warner studio lot. He knew Bugs would get like this. He knew when things got too real, he couldn’t handle it.
He continued, “I know why you ask me to come back every time. I know that you need me. You need me so that the spotlight knows where to cast it’s shadow. You need me because making me look like a jerk makes you look like walking comedic perfection. You need me all right,” Daffy gave a huff, embarrassed that his voice began to quiver in the slightest. He crossed his arms tightly, “And I sure as heck know that otherwise, you don’t want me.”
How could Daffy say such a thing? Well.... it was true, the parts about making him look good. That’s how their dynamic was written. But off set, surely, they were equals, weren’t they? Want. Did Bugs want him? After all the kinds of strings he pulls and favors he does, that surely had to count for something. Why was he so unsure? What was with this slow thinking and introspection? Bugs’ ears went limp and his hands fell to his sides. His nose began to itch. He had to respond fast.
“Woah Daff, all that stuff about outshining you, that’s part of the script. You know I’m your pal, right? Ain’t ya ever noticed when you go runnin, I’m the only one fast enough to catch ya and bring you back to the studio?”
“What a lovely way of saying that you’re the only one who can put up with me.”
“Well... when you put it that way...” Bugs shook his head, “Mac, I’m just tired of you throwin a tantrum over the slightest thing. Last month, a prank gone bad. The month before, it was your dressing room being 3 feet too small. Month before that, it was typos in the script. It never seems to end with you.”
Bugs felt his own temper start to rise. From where it came, he wasn’t sure, “You never learn, and it’s really startin ta get on my nerve. Don’t blame me for not pulling all the stops on the begging this time.”
“Then stop trying! Let me leave this time, that way you can end the act before it grows stale. You’re good at that, picking and choosing which material to drop or do, knowing what to say, how to say it, when. You can take your insufferable performance somewhere else, on someone else gullible to believe you could ever be sincere. I’m being real this time, and I’m going.”
Daffy began marching away from the lot, grumbling “Maybe I’ll get a repaint and be a commercial toon, who knows.”
Bugs’ leg cartoonishly stretched, the glissando of a steel guitar emanating as he did. In a single sidestep, he blocked Daffy’s path.
Daffy wasted no time in shoving the rabbit’s shoulders. “What the? Move, you lousy lagomorph.”
“No.”
“Oh?” Daffy feigned intrigue, “The egotist insists he get his way. I see, well! Lemme hear it. What's the excuse this time?”
“See, cause,” Bugs huffed through his nose, “Cause I do want ya, Daff.”
The duck stepped back. His heart thrummed in his ribcage. If Bugs was visibly hesitant to admit that, it must have counted for something. Yet Daffy couldn’t bring himself to believe it. How could a superstar, a toon chosen over him as the golden mascot, Oscar winning, star-on-Hollywood- Boulevard-having, beloved toon decide that he wanted a second rate actor like him around? It didn’t add up. Daffy refused to consider anything else that said otherwise.
He responded much too quickly, “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah I do. And I’m being jen-you-ine, too.” The rabbit let out a sigh, first pinching the bridge of his button nose, then decided on settling his hands on his hips. They both knew more than anyone, Bugs hated being in holds. Being in long conversation left him unsure what to do with himself as he talked. “For pete’s sake, you think I’m always fake around you?”
Daffy closed in on himself even further, not caring that his own vulnerability easily showed. He bitterly spat, “Well, in the 60 odd years of knowing you, there’s definitely still a wall.”
“A wall?! We spend almost every day together, what’s this goin’ on about me actin’ fake? we go see pictures, we have dinner at my house every night. Jeez louise Daff, we go on vacations, exclusively, nearly every month!”
“Shindigs that I invite myself to! If I’m not ringing you up for our next outing, you never look for me otherwise. Never.”
“I don’t initiate things, Doc! You know this, that’s not how I’m written.”
Daffy’s feathers stood on edge. He began closing the gap between them. “Liar! You don’t always stay on pristine, oh so coveted script. I know you love dropping anvils on me, unprompted.” He stood on the tip of his toes and curled the fists at his side.”You love digging up juuussstt the right thing to say so that I blow up and you can laugh. You lie in wait for the right toon to come along, because otherwise you could end up being at a disadvantage and not end up being on top. When you start things, you start because your stupid rabbit brain calculates how to win. You’re not winning this one, bub.”
Bugs’s lips tightly pressed against his teeth. His surfacing anger was getting harder and harder to control. He focused on wiping off Daffy’s residual spit from his face.
Taking a deep breath, he began, “Hold it. This whole fiasco was about you walking out of the studio because you accused the costume team of making your dapper suit look bad on purpose. Why the heck are you turning this around on me?”
“Cause I! It’s!!!” Daffy’s yell died in his throat in realization.
For every minor thing he got worked up about, Bugs was there with him.
Bugs pulled a harmless disappearing ink stain prank on a new director, earning his favor. Daffy decided to pull a prank himself—the good ole whoopie cushion—to get the director on his good side. Little did he know, the director had a phobia of the sound of blowing raspberry. The next month, Bugs made a not so humble comment about the size of his dressing room. Daffy, ever skeptical, made measurements and realized his and other cast members' rooms were three feet too small. The other day at a dress rehearsal, Daffy’s suit was too tight. He had tried to get the attention of the costume team, but they were too enamored by Bugs to even notice his colleagues, let alone him. Daffy had complained about how Bugs was all the more eager to let himself soak up unneeded attention, and the rabbit brushed it aside with a shrug. Bugs had argued he wasn’t one to control how others acted.
Him. Every time he wanted to leave, it was because of him. and every time he came back was because of him. A cycle, a tug of war between two egos, Daffy’s monthly fits pitted against Bugs’ insincerity. The duck hopeful he’d finally gain respect, and Bugs assured Daffy would return to a docile state.
Daffy realized long ago that it never mattered who was in the wrong or right. From the start Daffy’s rate of success always fell in the grey. Unpredictable, like himself. Bugs however, got the last word for everything. He was designed to win. No matter the setup, at who’s expense, it was a simple formula. Stepping back, he wondered why he even bothered trying to change anything with the same fits he threw. He reckoned his madness suited his name.
“It’s not the stupid executives. Not even the directors that never bat an eye. How I’m treated doesn’t help things, but that’s nothin doin, toons like me are used to pain. Nah, I leave because of you.”
Bugs' ears went limp. He didn’t anticipate the shattering blow Daffy’s statement made to his heart. Something rang in his ears as he tried to identify the sinking feeling in his chest. It was nearly unrecognizable from how long ago it was when he last felt it. The sinking reminded him of a time when he saw audiences file out of the theater, groans and complaints directed at his person. Dissatisfaction reaching even his directors who were at a lose at his every reinvention, each cartoon losing more money and risking his character being canned.
Rejection? Was that it’s name?
Daffy continued, “We have our good times, sure. We have a great time. But your attitude and the way we’re written— I don’t get cut any slack. And you don’t say anything about it, you’re more than happy to get in the spotlight. I stopped a long time ago tryin to join you in it. Share the glory and the cheers of an audience. You and I both know how intoxicating it is, how we live for it.”
The duck could hardly bring himself to look at Bugs’ face. He examined the pavement, taking in it’s creases and occasional hardened discarded gum. Daffy felt with each passing word a weight lifting from his shoulders. It was tiring him, just a bit. 60 years of hurt was quite the burden to carry.
He took a long, shaky breath, and said, “You don’t give me an opportunity to be with you for it. You hardly notice when I’m shoved away. So why, huh? why do you want me?”
The rabbit’s throat tightened. Bugs struggled to juggle his uncertainty alongside the task of processing Daffy’s grievances. What words could salve a half-century deep wound?
“Daffy, I... you....”
Why did he want him? Why did he always chase after him when he wanted to leave? Why did he keep his cool when everyone else lost it at Daffy’s tantrums? Why did he never invite him to dinner? Why did he prepare dinner for two, every night, anyways? Why does Daffy see through his acts and disguises? Why is Daffy the only one to bring this out of him, the nerve wracking conversation, the insightfulness he so loathes, the impulsive, impish, youthful nature of his old self like he was during his early days at termite terrace? Daffy seemed to be the only one. Why?
Bugs stepped forward. Daffy stepped back, anxiety overtaking his toonish feathered features.
He slowly began, “Ah, Daff, I…”
He gulped. It was hard forming conversation like this, deciding to speak without much forethought to a punchline or regaining control.
“I don’t... know why. I can’t articulate it now but I still want you, all the same.” Bugs nearly jolted at the sensation of his whiskers drooping under the weight of loose teardrops.“I-I uh,” He quickly wiped the foreign wetness away. “I never noticed you just wanted me to respect you. Sorry it took ya tryna leave 48 times to make me realize I haven’t been good to ya.”
“You kept track of...” Daffy’s sentence died in his throat. It grew tight at the sight of Bugs. His stray tears tempted his own to pour over. Daffy gave an ugly sniff and wrapped himself around the rabbit’s torso, his head hiding in the crook of his neck. He was an emotional duck, sue him.
“Of course you have. Of course you care. Gosh, who am I to talk? I haven’t made it easy for you to care anyways. I haven’t made this-“ he waved his left hand to gesture at the conversation, “-easy. Especially since I know this kinda sappy stuff ain’t your forte.”
The rabbit gave a soft smile and wrapped himself around the duck as well, rubbing his feathers with the tips of his gloved fingers. This part, Bugs assured himself, was never fake. His hugs for the duck were always true.
“Ehhh, it’s been-a long time comin. This stuff ain’t never easy but I’m a quick thinkin rabbit. I can learn.”
“I understand. Not everyone is blessed with an emotional library of my caliber. I was drawn with range.” Daffy said, half-jokingly. Bugs was too relieved to wipe the stupid smile off the duck’s beak. He could feel him grinning ear to ear on the fur of his shoulders. It tickled, just a bit.
“Say, Duck, I’m not gonna rush your decision if you wanna leave or stay. If ya just want me to be here, I’ll be here. I’ll be here anywhere.” a pause, “We can be at the diner down the street with some fresh burgers. I’m starvin.”
Daffy jumped, whooping with glee. Bugs braced himself and caught Daffy's rear, supporting his weight. The duck wrapped his legs tightly around the hare and cupped his cheeks in his hands.
“That’s a swell idea! I’ll even pay for the carrot shakes. Glad I thought of it, Bugsy.”
Bugs shook his head and began walking towards the back gate of the lot, the pavement slowly becoming sidewalk. If the producer hadn’t come out looking for them by now, he wouldn’t look for them in another hour or so. The security guard stationed at the end of the lot waved them an awkward hello, casting slight confusion at their embrace. They waved back, none the wiser. Bugs continued to walk, happily holding the light duck in his arms the rest of the way. After some time, they saw it; their purchase was a mere two blocks ahead of them.
Bugs chuckled, “You know Daff, Geraldi’s don’t got carrot shakes on the menu. but I appreciate the paymen—erm, sentiment.”
Daffy cast his signature glare at the diner in the distance, saying “Oh I know. I’ll just halfta have them make it for you. Oh, with one-a those silly bendy straws that takes a whole breath to drink through, those fun things. Yes! They will make a carrot flavored shake with a bendy straw for you, or my name isn’t Daffy Duck.”
Bugs’s laughter spilled through his teeth, it’s warmth spreading through his cheeks. The two were cast in the sun’s warm glow as it peaked through the sparse leaves of palm trees. The diner’s neon lights flickered on, the white hot blues and pinks beckoning them.
Bugs leaned forward, gently greeting his lips on Daffy’s cheek, a silent exchange that ended as soon as it came. Daffy’s expression shifted immediately at contact, frozen in surprise. Bugs tried to ignore the creeping heat on his own cheeks and focused ahead.
Daffy slowly turned his head to face him. He was helplessly red.
“You....”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why....?”
He used the opportunity to tease his feathered co-star and nuzzled his nose on the tip of his beak. For once, he knew why.
“I just wanted to.”