Absorbing a film

[henrymilesoxfor]

This is kind of long. I'll split it into threes.

[henrymilesoxfor]

Friday, June 25th, 1965. 8:00 PM.
Their patience as a group is waning, testing the small town values of otherwise civil folk. A chain stretched from underneath the marquee, and around the corner. These are people who have scheduled a night out, and the varsity team won’t start padded practices for another 2 months. They are Bob and Judy on a 2nd date. A pair of women cheering up a recent divorcee. Stoned teenagers who aren’t cool enough for the keg party. The Rotary Club. A bowling team. These people have come to cut loose, and it is too early for drinking just yet.
The Colonia 1-2 is showing “The Burning Caravan.” Opening week no less.
Not a moment too soon, the spare projector begins to work and management feels comfortable allowing people in. The evening ticketholders file into the lobby, picking up chatter as they leave the humid night for the newly installed air conditioning. They can breathe and speak at the same time now. One by one they hand Ruth at the booth a five. In droves they break off for the concession stand where Ruth’s husband Larry handles the crowd.
The seats fill up inside the larger of the two theaters. People enter, hands full with trays, craning their necks to make out friends who saved their seats in the dim light. Excitement turns to frustration as newcomers look for 3 or 4 together. Some negotiate with others to move over a spot. Reluctantly, they come to terms with the seats on the sides, and as a last resort, the front row.
Bob and Judy settle in. They have good seats despite Bob’s fear that Judy would slow him down. As they arrive Bob looks over at his date, already staring at the blank projection screen. He waits for her to turn her attention over to him, and soon wonders if she ever will.
“I hear that this is supposed to be good.”
“Yeah.”
Judy keeps herself perfectly still and entirely on her own side of the armrest. Bob turns back and looks down at his knees, lined perfectly parallel with Judy’s. “The perfect gentleman” he curses to himself, before exhaling and unfastening the top button of his shirt.
Bob pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taking one free and leaving it to rest between his lips. Without a word he offers one to his date. She watches him and begins to laugh.
“No. Thank you.”
Bob turns back and pulls out a zippo. He looks straight ahead.
“So how’s working at a bank? Do they-”
The lights dim and music comes up. The crowd cheers as the previews begin.
“What was that?” Judy asks.
“It’s nothing. Forget it.”
He looks back down at her knees.
On the screen a panoramic view of sandy hills comes into focus as the feature starts. A vulture circles and then lands on an adobe hut. A sweeping string orchestra plays as the words “Spartan Films Presents” flash across the screen in golden Mesquite font letters.
Off in the distance a turquoise 1947 Chevy pickup is kicking up a trail of dirt.
“THE BURNING CARAVAN.”
A rattlesnake coils up and shakes its tail. It is positioned next to a dried up cow skull. There is another shot of the truck passing along.
“Starring CORTLAND MITCHELL.”
A hawk stands on a leafless tree, eating a snake. There is a patch of prickly pair at the base of its trunk.
“And ROSETTE REXFORD”
A coyote runs along.
In the theater Bob handles a piece of popcorn. He looks at Judy who does not ever appear to look back, but stares ahead either captivated in the movie or preoccupied with appearing to be, so that Bob would leave her alone.
The audience sees the view from the inside of the dash of the truck. The temperature gauge’s needle is pointing into the red. The truck rattles and slows down to a stop. There is a warm popping crunch as the tires slowly churn the small pieces of gravel into the dirt trail. There is a shot of the truck motionless with dust settling around. As the door opens the audience sees a woman’s leg stepping out.
Rosette is wearing a tight black sleeveless dress with short white sleeves from a shirt layered underneath. She is shapely but dressed as a school marm, without the glasses. Her hair is pulled back. She wipes her brow and squints into the sun.
As she opens the hood, a giant cloud of steam rises, hissing and burning her face. She steps back, and looks at her reddened fingers. As the cloud rises and the air clears the way, she scans the horizon. She grabs a water can from the bed of the truck and begins to walk.
From the distance a man on a horse yells in her direction. He starts galloping toward her. She turns to look. Terrified, she runs along the trail. The man on the horse advances. Her attempts at escape are futile. There is no background music as she gasps for air. Eventually her dress snags on a piece of brush causing her to stumble and roll over helplessly.
As she looks up the audience is introduced to a tall dark figure; the silhouette of his head blotting out the sun. Mitchell looks down with a scowl on his face. He is dirty, unshaven, chewing on a toothpick.
Bob looks over at his date and smiles.
Whispering, “Is this the kind of guy you’re after?”
“Mmm,” Judy said with a wry grin.
--
Sunday, February 27th, 1972. 9:36 PM.
Phil sleeps restlessly, his head pressed against the window of a Boeing 727. He’d spent the week before selling “himself” to an open house of executives in Clearwater. He was now returning to Minnesota, that much older; the white patch of skin around his ring finger that much tanner. It had been a hard week, but memorable in its own ways.
A small patch of turbulence ends his nap. He wakes as Debbie squeezes his hand. She is 15 years younger. Tall, thin, wrapped in a tight blue dress. She wore a smile for most of the flight and occasionally works up the nerve to touch Phil’s hand. She hadn’t meant to wake him, and looks at him sheepishly. This is her first time in the air and the rocking has scared her. As a girl she had watched planes sketch contrails outlining the sky, and could never imagine the ruckus that went on inside. Feeling embarrassed she mouths, “Sorry.”
She looks down on him. Pneumatic headphones rest from her ears, connecting past her chin. Phil cast a look of contempt at her clumsiness, but upon seeing Debbie’s concern he exhales and sits up in his chair. It had been a long week. He was now heading home.
She takes her headphones off.
“What time is it?”
Phil looks at his watch.
“We’ve got about 2 hours.”
Debbie’s eyes water, red with the smoke of the other passengers. She squints, and then forces yet another smile.
“I really think that all of the girls will be jealous of my tan. I’m almost Cuban.”
“Envious.”
“Excuse me.”
“They’ll be envious of you. Not jealous.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Envy is when you want something somebody else has.”
Debbie cocks her head.
“Jealousy is when you don’t feel like sharing it.”
Debbie opens her mouth slightly, while she thinks of a response.
“Well, the girls will be envious then. I just wish you had let me take pictures down there. Don’t figure I can keep this glow all winter, you know.”
“Come on.”
“And what about you? I barely ever saw you until the evenings. You just stayed in that old hotel and never got any sun. You might as well have had the convention back in St. Paul. And now you’ll head back, whiter than a ghost.”
Phil smiles. “I had to pay for the trip.”
“A lot of fun, you are.”
A stewardess passes.
“Ma’am. Seagrams. Rocks.”
“Anything for the lady?”
Phil looks at Debbie who orders directly.
“Vodka and tomato juice.”
The stewardess walks toward the back of the plane. Debbie looks at the screen and grabs her headphones.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all.”
Phil takes a quick look at the screen. He recognizes the pair of actors.
“That’s that fellow who…right?”
“Yes,” Debbie says without looking.
Phil picks up another pair of headphones and places them in his ears.
“What are you doing out here, in the middle of nowhere?”
“My car overheated.”
The man on the horse smirks. “And you went out for water in the middle of the desert?”
“Well I didn’t break down at an oasis. I guess that’s my fault for being a woman, isn’t it?”
“No, driving by yourself in the middle of the desert is. Here. I’m Jim.”
Jim tosses down a canteen of water.
“Mary. And I hardly think this is enough to cool down the truck.”
“It’s not for the truck.”
She gets up off the ground and picks up the canteen. She slowly pours the water into her mouth, spitting it up.
“It’s hot.”
“Sorry. What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“That’s none of your business, now is it?”
The man took a look around and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, hell. I don’t want to know anyway.”
Phil smiles.
“If you must know, I’m heading down to La Paz.”
“La Paz?”
The man on the horse and Phil on the plane both burst into laughter.
“My father has a mission. Somebody robbed them and if I don’t get back down there with this money, they’re going to lose it for good.”
“Then kiss it goodbye. You’ll never make it down there.”
“Thank you. Will you help me look for water?”
The man looks down at his horse.
“Fine. I’ll ride you into town. If your truck’s still here tomorrow we can get it towed and looked at.”
“What do you mean if?”
“Scavengers are likely to pick it clean if they catch wind of it. You got anything of value, you’d better grab it, or be fine with losing it for good.”
The woman thinks for a second, then runs to the door and grabs her family’s bible.
“Just perfect.”
Debbie looks at Phil as he began to sip on his drink. He has a contented grin. She can hardly force herself to believe that she would be okay with her life next week, after having enjoyed the last.
--
Saturday, November 4th, 1989. 12:31 AM.
Cortland unceremoniously sips cabernet sauvignon out of a coffee mug. He had considered going out earlier, but decided against it. He’d get noticed tonight, he told himself. Normally his phone wouldn’t ring for weeks, but not today. No, today he was somebody. Not an A-Lister of course, but a person of interest to be sure.
He would be noticed out there tonight. But he can’t afford to be seen as somebody who would look for attention so soon. So he sits on his couch, and watches a movie he can barely remember. His old friend, who would always be his old friend, was pretending to look at him with contempt, and doing a good job.
Jim and Mary were in a small Mexican outpost town. Sitting in a cantina. Cortland remembers the crew. They called it “birra.”
“You don’t like me very much, do you?”
“I like you just fine.”
“No you don’t. You think I’m a just a good girl, who would never approve of a lout like you.”
“Well?”
“Well…why are you in Mexico? Are you running from the law?”
“Yeah.”
“For what? Killing somebody?”
“No.”
“Stealing then?”
“Maybe.”
“Why did you do it?”
“They were going to shut down my daddy’s mission.”
Cortland laughed at the lines. He couldn’t imagine anybody speaking to Rosette like that back in her salad days.
She gets up and walks toward the door.
“Hey, hey, come on now. I was only kidding around.”
“You think you’re so funny.”
“Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just stay and have a drink.”
“What really happened?”
Mary stops and looks at him with her arms crossed.
“After the war, I get back and I find out that my old lady has been spending time with my brother. Turns out she’d been seeing him since before, but had gotten used to not sneaking around. So she split. I didn’t have a job, and no real skills. I met up with a few guys. Bank robbers. I made a few moves. One time things got sour and I had a chance to make a break for it, so I bailed. Only I couldn’t go back to the boss. So I split. Anyway, now I’m here.”
The scene cuts to a trio of men standing around in a hotel room. Two of them are talking to each other while a third leans against a wall silently.
Cortland sits down knowing that he won’t be in the picture for a few minutes.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, Red.”
“You don’t ever know.”
“Look, why are we down here boss? He’s just running around from hut to hut. Probably get shot or eaten or whatever the locals do soon enough.”
Red backhands the lackey.
“Nobody takes the bread out of my mouth. You got it?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you? You going to say anything or just stand there holding that wall up?”
“He’s close by.”
“Yeah, how do you know that?”
“He’s close.”
“Well,” Red says before pausing and giving a toothy grin, “I hope you’re right.”
Cortland had forgotten how good Marion was in this movie. He’d been cast as the aging star, the name. He’d never seen him play anything but the hero of the old cowboy and war movies. This was his first chance to play a villain. He’d remembered sticking around on the lot to watch him film the scene. It was one of the first ones shot that didn’t involve a gunfight, and he’d wanted to see if Marion could actually be a heel. He’d remembers being amazed at the total immersion into “Red,” happening before his eyes. The walk, the speech, the expression. Marion was something of a method actor, which meant that he’d spent the majority of his down time in his trailer or back at the hotel. The few times he was out and about the set he might not have been in character, but he was just that much off. He’d get a little too close to you when he’d talk, or he might not laugh at your joke just to see how you’d react. He’d size people up for no apparent reason, never saying anything inappropriate, but just letting everybody know that he was keeping some kind of score. He didn’t go around pretending to be “Red” but he’d test his own limits to see how far he could go before people started to call him an ***.
In contrast, Cortland had gone so far as to name his revolver. Roger.
In the middle of the scene he gets up and walks into his bedroom. He stares into the mirror while the movie plays in the other room. He breathes deeply, watching his diaphragm rock slowly.
--
Monday, October 15th, 2007. 4:49 PM.
“This is brilliant, right here.”
Smoke swirls out of Ted’s mouth and slowly stains the walls of the apartment. He and Eli were snowed in by the worst storm of the season. The snow had built up as plaque around the base of the window, obscuring their Queen’s view of the city.
On screen Mary is sleeping with her head against the window of a train. Out on the platform Jim is talking to the conductor.
“Make sure she gets to San Antonio before you wake her up, okay?” Jim hands a few bills over to the man and walks away.
“You see the way this scene is shot? Pay attention.”
Eli barely registers an acknowledgment. He’d only recently moved back to New York from Florida. This is his first real “winter.” His living room is filthy with old boxes, used beer bottles and crumbs ground into the carpet. He sits on what appears to have been a dorm room couch at one point. A short while ago he was the irresponsible one couch-surfing, making a mess, quitting job after job. Now that was Ted’s role.
Ted is sitting on a wobbly barstool much too close to his computer monitor. He ashes his cigarette into a stained brown Styrofoam coffee cup, also resting much too close to the computer monitor.
Sunshine hits Mary in the face. She winces and slowly opens her eyes, blinking lazily. The conductor rings a large bell on the platform and calls out “Todos a bordo,” causing Mary to jump awake.
“I love how warm these scenes are. You know? That’s what I wanted my thesis piece to look like. You know when the guy wakes up? That’s me ripping this scene off.”
Ted takes a sip from a cheap German beer.
“I mean it was shot with a digital camera. And the actor sucked. But the idea was the same. Tried to get the same mood.”
“Cool.”
We see her run onto the platform and look around for Jim, who is already walking away. She scans the crowd, hopping up to look above the faces. The camera shows Jim in the foreground while Mary climbs to the top of a bench to look out. The camera focuses on Jim shaking his head and smirking, then shifts to Mary who points her fingers and calls out “You.”
Jim keeps on walking while Mary runs him down.
“Stop it. Hey, stop walking. I’m talking to you.”
Jim doesn’t stop. Mary runs around him to block off his path. She begins slapping him on the shoulder.
“You bastard? How dare you. How dare you drug me, and then-”
“I never drugged you. You were drunk.”
“How dare you get me drunk, then, put me onto a train that goes to…where does this train go to?”
“San Antonio, first. Tickets good up to Oklahoma City. Didn’t get where you were from earlier.”
She processes the information and then resumes hitting him.
“Okla. Homa. City? What gives you the nerve?”
“Figured you’d come to your senses on the train. You’d go back home and stop this nonsense.”
“Did you steal my money to buy this ticket? Oh look at you. Of course you did.”
She begins rifling through her purse.
“I didn’t steal anything.”
She finds her wallet and starts counting bills. “If I fine one penny missing I’m going to run you through.” Jim sighs and tries to look as bored as he can. “It’s all here.”
“Don’t forget to check the extra stash you keep in your boot.”
Mary cocks her head and lowers her voice.
“And just how did you know about that, might I ask?”
“You told me last night, after you had all that sacrament.”
Ted slams the table.
“Santa Rosa is just a different animal, all right? Total genius.”
“Mm hm.”
“You know I’ve been dicking around with a script. It’s not like this stuff, but I was thinking about getting out there and doing a Spaghetti indie film.”
He starts laughing at the absurdity of his own statement.
“Do you want to read the script later? It’s not done yet. I’ve got a treatment and then 35 pages written down and another 10 to 15 up here.” He points to his head. “You don’t have to read it right now, but maybe when it’s a little further along.”
Eli nods and focuses on a movie that he had only been feigning interest in for 30 minutes. He considers packing a bowl but realizes that Ted would probably want some of it.
Trista knocks at the door and lets herself in. Eli looks over and gives her a head nod. Ted gets up off his stool and playfully runs over to her, grabbing her in an embrace. They kiss, and then turn back to Eli.
“Hey, do you mind if…?”
Eli gets off the couch and goes over to Ted’s stool.

[henrymilesoxfor]

Friday, June 25th, 1965. 8:57 PM.
Judy laughs with the rest of the audience. Bob however, cannot. This situation is far too serious to be distracted with plot points or character development. Judy hasn’t spoken a word in minutes. Of course this is a movie date, so he understands it might not be quite as dire as he fears, but he would like something, some sign of life or confirmation that his efforts are getting him somewhere.
He fakes a smile when she looks over at him.
“That could be something,” he tells himself. “It wasn’t nothing. A smile.”
Believing that he would need to speed things up he decides to initiate physical contact. He stares at the screen and takes a deep breath. He would keep his focus on the screen and slowly place his arm around Judy’s shoulder. At no point during this maneuver was he to acknowledge the target. It would come at a lull in the movie, possibly as the scenes are changing. He could not appear to be looking at her from the corner of his eye as he engaged, and looking directly at her for any reason was right out. As for initiation he could go for the straight up grab move, or work from the stretch and pull her in what would hopefully seem like an afterthought. A prepared stretch could come off as phony, but there was a social contract element toward the move. She would know he was only stretching as a preamble to an embrace, and it would give her the chance to accept (move closer) or decline (pretend to sneeze or something). However a direct grab could signal power; a man who sees something and takes it. 35 minutes into a movie, but still.
The scene changes, and Bob places his right arm around her right shoulder. Without looking she leans her head against him. Bob exhales, still refusing to look down at the head resting gently on the side of his face.
Onscreen Red is scolding his henchmen for allowing the two to get away. A few people are chuckling. Bob cannot be bothered with details though. His initial move had been a success, but she could turn at any moment.
He could smell her hair, but decides against it. Judy moves her head. She opens her mouth and looks at Bob, with her eyes slowly narrowing. Bob had not expected a kiss to come so soon, and certainly wouldn’t have initiated anything of the sort so quickly, but was on board in principle.
He watches her as they kiss. She has closed her eyes. She opens her jaw and lets him explore. Bob tries to place his bucket of popcorn on the floor, his arm reaching low, his neck stretching out. Without looking, Judy slaps it free, and frames his face with her hands. Bob closes his eyes.
Judy slowly withdraws her face from his, gently biting his bottom lip for a moment before detaching completely. She pulls her head back, while Bob looks at the cleavage of her breasts.
“Was that on purpose?” he wonders. “Did she leave those out there for me to look at intentionally or is she just lost in the moment?”
Her hand clutches against his chest and slowly falls past his navel. It reaches his pants and she lets her fingers slide in, the backs of which graze past hair. Bob quickly sits up. She leans and exposes her neck for Bob to kiss.
He looks around at the other patrons. They seem to be ignoring the exhibition. She leads his right hand on a tour of her body. Bob timidly allows his fingers to trail and linger on regions that he had cautiously considered out of bounds.
Judy turned her face around and began kissing him again.
“What’s the end game here?” Bob wonders. Judy pulls her hand out of his pants and fells around for the zipper.
Bob imagines a very near future of getting hauled out of the theater, pants around his ankles while the local townsfolk look on him in disgust. A picture in the paper would not be out of the question. A possible ban from the theater seems likely. Somebody would probably make a size joke, as people are always wont to do when being exposed to a penis, whether it’s an accurate portrayal or not. There would be a fine, possibly jail time for indecency or public lewdness. He could imagine his name in the police blotter, for all to read.
She reaches his zipper and begins to pull out and down.
How could he possibly enjoy himself under these circumstances? And how did she enjoy it? What was she, a nymphomaniac? A sociopath? Milking him in the back of a family owned Movie Theater. Was she setting him up, or had he connected with the most sexually self-actualized woman in the county?
The zipper hits a snag. Judy tugs at it. Bob squirms. Judy feels around and notices his unease. As she makes one last effort at it, her hand is met with his, leading her away from the zipper. She turns to look at him.
Bob watches in horror. She is breathing heavily, but slowly composes herself. She brushes her hair back and goes back to watching the movie. Bob picks up the bucket of popcorn and picks through it.
--
Sunday, February 27th, 1972. 10:15 PM.
Mary is washing Jim’s back in an old tub. He’s hunched forward, winching as the sponge scrubs his puncture wounds.
“Be still. You big baby. Watch where you’re going next time.”
“I fell catching you.”
“Well then, I’m sorry for being such a burden.”
The soft music starts playing. Debbie turns to look at Phil, who turns to the black sky outside of his window. They were somewhere above Indiana right now. Maybe Illinois. He hadn’t seen any lights on the ground. Must be overcast. February in the Midwest was much different from February in Clearwater.
“Look, I don’t want this all right. I just want to get you to Cabo San Lucas and then disappear.”
“You don’t have to do that. We can wait it out. My father’s mission will take you in.”
“I can’t do that to you or your family.”
“So now you get a conscience?”
Debbie squeezes Phil’s hand, which causes Phil to roll his eyes.
“Maybe.”
On screen we see Mary and Jim make eye contact with each other’s reflection through the aid of a mirror. She squeezes the sponge and slams it against the back of his head.
“Fine. Dress your own wounds then.”
Debbie thinks back on the week. Days at the spa, plenty of shopping.
“I want to see you more. Not just this last week, but more often.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not talking about these trips where you put me up and I sit around all day and wait for you to take me out.”
“What do you propose that I do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then stop.”
“I think that I’d make you happy.”
People on the plane sit in silence as the movie continues.
“What do you think that I can do about that? Do you have any…idea? Have you considered what other people would do if I…have you? This whole trip, I’ve been working.”
Debbie is beginning to tear up.
“I’ve been busting my ***. And I thought ‘Hey, I’m going down to Florida, it’s nice. It’s been a hard winter. Who can I bring down there with me? Oh, that’s right, Debbie’s free.’ Have you had to life a finger even once?”
Debbie shakes her head while unsuccessfully trying to hold back tears. Her mascara is becoming problematic.
“At any point, have I tried to hide away from you or not do everything that you had wanted? No. So who’s the ******* here?”
“I just thought that maybe I could be a part of your life next week. That maybe it didn’t have to end when we touch down.”
“And what? Pretty easy for you to make these sorts of decisions when you don’t have a lot going on. Do you have any idea what happens to me? Do you?”
Debbie gets up and moves toward the bathroom. She will not cry here. She won’t cry in the bathroom, but she might throw up. The plane has been rocking fairly consistently, and she would rather get into the bathroom before the seatbelt signal comes back on.
--
Saturday, June 12th, 1965. 11:15 PM.
Through the outside window, the audience sees Mary and Jim holding each other in the tub. Soft light casts shadows that stretch past the visible area. The shot cuts to inside the room. At 60 minutes into the film Mary and Jim are about to kiss.
A Molotov cocktail crashes through the window and lands in-between the door and the tub. Mary and Jim look up in surprise as gunshots are fired outside.
The young Malibu crowd at Stephan Santa Rosa’s pad gasps at the scene as it unfolds. The actual screening had mostly served as an excuse for the first and second time stars to unwind, and a chance for the director to get another film made. A Santa Rosa film was hell on the set. Only the up and coming who didn’t know any better, or the fading has-beens who couldn’t get any better were amenable to uprooting across the pond for 15 hour a day shoots in the San Salvatore sun. He might not be able to get an actor to commit to his next project, but he might get in with a few agents.
Either way, most of the actors couldn’t focus on the actual movie, in as much as look like they were enjoying the film. Most just choose to wait for the action scene to sit forward and applaud. Some were only looking forward to hitting the pool after the film.
Cortland chose this time to get another drink.
“Nice film.”
“Thanks Grant. So how are we looking?”
“Got a few things on my desk.”
“Anything good?”
Grant takes a sip, and winces as he strains the scotch through his teeth.
“Not great.”
“C’mon, what are we doing? What’s going on? You told me this was good.”
“It is.”
“And I’m good.”
“You were great.”
“Then what is it?”
“Few of the executives have…questions. About you opening a movie.”
Cortland laughs to himself and gently pounds his glass on the table.
“Grant, I don’t, I don’t know what…I don’t get it. You’re telling me the movie looks great, the reviews are great. My reviews are great. The studio says they’re going to make money, and I’m the leading man. So what is it?”
“It’s a funny thing. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I see that.”
“Hey, enjoy the moment. It’s yours.”
Grant pulls out a cigar.
“Do you have to do that right here?”
“Sorry.”
“So where do we go?”
“Enjoy the moment.”
“I’m trying to. You’re not letting me.”
“You seeing anybody? What about you and Rosy?”
Cortland lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes.
“We gave it a shot.”
“She’s a nice girl. Got a lot of press out there.”
“I don’t want to date some actress.”
Cortland takes another sip, followed by a slightly smaller grimace.
“You’ve gotta date somebody.”
“I do all right.”
“Do you?”
Gunshots fire from the den. With music blaring in the background, Cortland and Grant look at each other. Cortland answers by breaking off eye contact.
“Don’t be such a goddamn romantic, all right. We’ve all got bills.”
“Yeah.”
“Stop by my office next week. I’ve got a few headshots.”
“Fine.”
Grant watches Cortland walk back into the den. Jim and Mary ride on horseback while an emerald Jeep station wagon rapidly gains ground. Mary sits on the back of the horse clumsily fumbling with a revolver with one hand while her other desperately grabs at Jim. A gun appears out of the window of the Jeep and begins firing. Mary wraps both hands around Jim, who grabs her gun and holsters it.
“What are we going to do?”
Jim sees a bridge ahead. He follows along side it with his eyes and notices a raging river.
“Can you swim?”
“Why would that matter?”
She looks over Jims shoulder and sees the river.
“Are you out of your mind?”
--
Monday, October 15th, 2007. 5:23 PM.
“Hey guys, I don’t want to be rude, but you might want to slow down the make out session when I’m in the room.”
Ted and Trista pull away from each other and begin laughing.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, sorry Eli.”
“It’s just a little weird for the third guy,”
“Uh oh. Somebody’s lonely.”
Eli turns back to the computer monitor to watch Mary and Jim walk toward the docks. He can see his roommate’s reflection in the mirror. Ted is lazily waving a cigarette in front of his face with a limp wrist. He moves mockingly close to Trista’s face, holding his tongue out. They both laugh quietly. He throws his head back and runs his fingers through his black greasy hair.
Eli tries to focus on the young starlet and the passing leading man. His parents had forced him to sit around and watch a taped version when he was a child. He remembers fast forwarding through the commercials for Pizza Hut and the local car dealership but not much else. His family’s desire to record everything after they had purchased the new VCR resulted in hundreds of little black boxes lining the wood paneled den wall.
He revisited it once in art of film, though art of film was only meant to be a filler class. Word had gotten out amongst his friends that astronomy was not just getting high and going to the planetarium. So he got high and went there instead. Professor Gibson had become a toothless custodian after being reprimanded for throttling a freshman during a Buster Keaton film. He mostly just used the class as an opportunity to grade a few essays in the low light, only occasionally scanning the room for trouble. Eli had spent the class viewing fixated on a former high school Volleyball player who would eventually sleep with.
Now he is trying to concentrate on the film itself, in spite of the postmodern deconstruction of romance unfolding behind him. Through the computer monitor, Jim and Mary continue past a ridge and stare down at the town below. La Paz. Piano music swells. Jim and Mary stop for a quick breath and steal glances. She begins to smile, but relents when he does not follow suit. The screen fades to black.
The following scene opens with an old man tending to the flames of dozens of candles. He steps back and picks up his broom to begin sweeping. There is a knock at the door. He turns around to see the visitors enter. His eyes widen and he opens his mouth. His lips quiver as he attempts to speak.
“What are you doing here?”
He is greeted by the voice.
“Poppa.”
He blindly reaches his arm behind and feels for the pews. Slowly he slides down and comes to a rest. Mary runs over to him.
“I came as fast as I could as soon as I got your telegram.”
“You should not have come down here.”

[henrymilesoxfor]

Sunday, February 27th, 1972. 10:33 PM.
Debbie exits the bathroom neither triumphant nor defeated. Her eyes had been painted blue, stained black and rubbed red. Any trace of lipstick has been wiped away. Her nylon stockings lined the inside of her purse rather than the outside of her legs. She holds her high heels in her hand and walks forward to her seat, daring anybody to insist she cover her bare feet.
She arrives at her seat and buckles her lap belt without saying a word. Phil looks over and starts to tell her “I’m sorry for the blowup,” but gets cut off as she stretches her neck and pulls away. He watches her maneuver herself, and retreats back to watching the movie.
“It’s too dangerous down here.”
“Poppa, you said you needed the money or they’d shut down the mission.”
“I told you to send it down. Mail it. I didn’t want you getting mixed up in this.”
He looks at Jim.
“And who is this?”
“That’s Jim. He was my…escort.”
“And you didn’t try to stop her.”
“I gave it a shot.”
“I bet.”
Phil watches as Debbie continues to breath deeper and deeper. He swirls the ice in his cup before tilting it into his mouth. He wants to yell, but can’t because he’s on a plane and she had already tried to make a scene with her trip to the bathroom. Mostly, he still wants to be mad, but his self-righteous rant was cut short when she fled, and any more than a mild look of disturbance would be viewed as excessive.
He wants the plane to hit a patch of turbulence. He wants the oxygen masks to drop from the overhead compartment, and see the look in her eyes. Would she pretend to be cool, or immediately grab his hand for security? Would he squeeze her hand when it reaches out for his or would he slap it away without saying a word? What would she do if he didn’t? Would she still play it cool, while other passengers say their “I love you’s” to each other as the cabin loses pressure and sinks? Would she have the moral constitution to keep it to herself, as he doesn’t offer any words of encouragement? Would she tell him that she loved him? Of course she would.
He knows he doesn’t need any of that to happen though. She’ll come around in time. Maybe in a few minutes. Maybe in the quiet cab ride back to her lonely apartment. Maybe in a few days on a cold night in March.
“Well, I suppose I should thank you for keeping my daughter alive. Even if you lead her into the lions den.”
“Actually, I’m planning to hit the road.”
“You not staying here?”
“I know Red. He’ll buy off those bandits your father was talking about. They’ll find me. They’ll use you to draw me out. You have to convince them that I’ve left town. Or come with me.”
“I’m not leaving daddy.”
“I told you I’d get you to La Paz. What you do nowis your business.”
“But you heard what daddy said. They’ll kill him. They’ll rob him again, and burn this place down to the ground. You heard him.”
“I heard him.”
“And what about me?”
Debbie slowly blinks her eyes, and fakes a yawn. She will not give Phil the satisfaction. She thinks about what the weekend had meant, and felt dumb for misinterpreting the carrot on the stick for being an appetizer. It was the entrée and dessert. And it was still 18 inches away.
“You’re better off without me.”
Debbie wants to be in her small efficiency again, with Sandy curled up around her lap. She’s tired of guessing whether the others in the cabin had watched the entire display. She hates the way her thoughts are upstaged by the tight Getty red dresses hugging the hips of the stewardesses, and the way they catch Phil’s eyes.
She stares at her boarding pass wondering what Florida had been, anyway? Was it just another vision of the home on the hill that she could never visit? And what kind of life could they ever have if she knew Phil’s freedom was always another business trip away?
Phil thinks to himself that he could use a break anyway. Business would be hectic tomorrow. He would have to work doubly hard to get his numbers and doesn’t need the extracurricular activity. He would get up and get out of this recycled air, quietly hand her luggage over, pick up the cab fare and head home. He would mention something about giving her a call in a few days.
Phil and Debbie watch Jim walk out of the mission. Jim briefly turns around to see Mary watching him leave; her hand pressed up against the glass. Phil turns to look at Debbie who rolls her eyes as violin strings attempt to pull on heartstrings. Phil turns his head toward the window and smirks. Debbie catches his reflection in the mirror and sees his self-satisfaction.
The plane beings its final descent. Touch down in another 25 minutes.
--
Tuesday, December 10th, 1991. 7:01 PM.
Cortland winds through the electronics department, passing along the Olympus VX402 Camcorder boasting 160 minutes of recording playback time on one tape & 2 hours of continuous shooting per charge. The mall had sent Burl Ives to chase him from the food courts with yet another rendition of “Holly Jolly Christmas.”
He eyes a wall of televisions; his own personal haunted hall of mirrors, set to 25 years earlier. Younger versions of his face look out from the windows of sets ranging from an RCA Dementia with the old wood finish, to the modern Sony Trinitron featuring 25% greater brightness and premium pricing. Zenith sets with the Advanced System 3 stereo built in.
His grotesque shame sets in as he cannot imagine the process of explaining to others that he doesn’t intentionally spend his holiday buying spree window shopping for televisions he can hardly afford, displaying his unfulfilled potential for the general public to witness. He pulls his cap low, checking his blind spots for those rogue helpful salespeople.
Onscreen Marion struts into town. The camera follows his boots; a simple shot which that sadist Santa Rosa had forced him to shoot for over two hours. Not a body double. Marion, classically trained Shakespearian actor, veteran of Hollywood star with over 165 credits to his name, stood there in the warm night walking over and over under the hot lights with the professional dignity that defined his career. His was the last funeral that Cortland had been invited to among the Hollywood jet set, and while he wouldn’t be permitted to speak, he watched on as the others took shots genuflecting. He’d never doubted that many would truly miss him, some more so than himself, but wondered how many of them were being completely sincere. The uncertainty had cast a poor light on the entire crowd, and had further cemented the phony image of Hollywood in his mind.
These silly, spoiled brats who topped red carpets and chewed up tabloids were playing the game that he wasn’t getting invited back to. It’s well known that the buying public loves to “tear down idols,” but few if any of them could understand the cold silence that rushed over once that heat went out. If a star’s lucky he’ll blow up in a supernova, burning light that spans eons and is discovered anew as it reaches every generation. They call them icons. Most get swallowed up by black holes; their faces and public records known only to the wonkiest of historians. It’s one thing to die, but another entirely to just stop existing.
Red looks out on the town, with lights going out in windows as the locals retire. “Where is he?” he shouts from the main intersection. “Jim Farmer. A gringo. ¿Dónde está?” There is no response as he looks out across the blackberry colored sky. “I have thirty men. Trienta hombres.” He stood there, with hired mercenaries. Bandits that had been robbing the townsfolk.
A crony approaches. “What do you want us to do, Red?”
Red spits out what appeared to be a spray of liquid tobacco (Cortland knew that Marion had hated the stuff).
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to wake them up. Can you make some noise?”
A small army of bandits yell and pull firearms.
Inside the church, Mary hides under her father’s elderly embrace.
“This is why I didn’t want you out here?”
“Where is Jim? He can’t just leave us like this.”
“He’s doing what he has to. Knows we would have to give him up anyway.”
“But they’re going to kill us.”
“Well, we’ll see if he’s man enough to stop it.”
Cortland turns away. He can’t stand to see Jim’s redemption yet again. He’d look at some other gifts that he would buy for loved ones had he had any. As depressing as that seems to him, he knows that he doesn’t have anything better to do tonight. At least he’s out of the apartment.
--
Monday, October 15th, 2007. 5:49 PM.
As Jim sits in a quiet saloon and drinks a beer, Red, his henchmen and the bandits have confronted the local chief of police.
“¿Qué está pasando?”
Red speaks slowly and deliberately. “I’m looking for Jim.”
“Jim?”
Red lifts his gun and fires at the chief. Everybody in the bar is stunned, save for Jim who continues drinking his beer. One of the henchmen runs up to Red.
“Our guy said he saw that girl that he was with. In the mission.”
Red laughs to himself. “All right, boys. Let’s find religion.”
Jim looks outside, his jaw clenching. He walks out of the bar, over to the body lying in the street. Members of the police stand around the corpse.
“¿Habla ingles?”
“Si.”
“Can you create a diversion?”
“They don’t pay us enough to go after the bandits.”
Jim reaches into his jacket and pulls out three bricks of dollar bills. “I do.”
“You see, what’s crazy about this scene is that they didn’t shoot it on a set. That’s a real town. I mean, it’s not totally like that. There’s a gas station, but you can’t see it from the way they’re shooting it.”
Trista sips a beer. “When did you ever go to Italy?”
“High School. I visited my brother while he was shooting out there on my spring break, then went back up for a month in the summer. Totally changed my whole life when I got back. It’s like you just walk up to a girl at high school and you get them. You just realize what dumbasses all the American guys here are, and it’s like fishing with dynamite. You probably wouldn’t understand unless you’ve been there and come back.”
“You jackass, I don’t want to hear about you talking to high school girls.”
Jim advances on the mission, while the locals fire from the flanks. One of the bandits emerges from the mission, holding Mary with a gun to her head. She bites his hand and Jim shoots the man while she escapes.
Eli gets up and opens the window. The built up snow collapses into the room.
“What are you doing? It’s freezing.”
“It’s musty as hell in here.”
Eli looks at the street and wonders what made him leave Florida. The snow had turned into brown slush, pressed by car and bus.
“So you went to Italy and actually checked out this town? I call BS.”
“No lie. My brother took me there. This movie was kind of a big deal in our house. After the religious fanatics boycotted, the town got the local affiliates to ban it when they tried to air. You couldn’t buy or rent it at any of the video shops either. We had a copy though. A few of the neighbors got pissed when we showed it to their kids once. Really stupid.”
“Wow, that’s some town you grew up in.”
“That’s Texas, man. But that’s what got me into film. Those fascists.”
Eli rolls his eyes and keeps looking out the window.
In the midst of gunfire Red looks around and realizes that his men are out numbered. He gets in a truck and starts to drive off. Mary trips in the path of the vehicle. The camera focuses on the deranged smile as the villain presses on the gas and tries to run her down.
From the mission, Mary’s dad fires a rifle and kills Red. Jim watches the car advance and notices that the damsel won’t be able to get up in time. He sacrifices himself by running and pushing her out of the way, absorbing the blow of the car in the process. Music swells as he lies on the dirt road and closes his eyes.
Eli remembers that it wasn’t like that the time he had been hit by a car. There wasn’t any music. Years of television and movies had conditioned him to expect mood music. Instead, it was just the dull crunch of his head pressing into the windshield, followed by the sound of his body hitting the pavement. This wasn’t a thought that he came up with afterward while lying on the street, but one that he was fully conscious of in the moment. “I am being hit by a car and there is no music.”
He considers telling Ted the story, but doesn’t want to hear about this time that Ted was run over by a semi or a tank in Italy while saving a small child. He’d never been there. He probably wouldn’t understand.
Mary and her father rush to stand over Jim’s body.
--
Friday, June 25th, 1965. 9:54 PM.
“Stop running away from me goddamn it. You have purpose.”
Mary straddles Jim and feverishly washes his forehead clean with a damp rag. As her wounded father walks over to bless his departed soul she waves him back in disgust.
“No Daddy.”
“He’s gone.”
The young starlet winces as tears form and fall down her cheeks. “No, you’re not. Don’t you listen to him, you hear me Jim? Don’t you go away from me.”
Bob is uninterested in the scene. Judy hasn’t shown any signs of life since her outburst before. He decides that he is owed an explanation, though he can’t really imagine himself getting one or even having the guts to demand it in the first place. Is this a sign of things to come? Is she a “nymphomaniac” like he had read once in a magazine? They said that those people couldn’t enjoy sex. Would it be possible to sustain a relationship with one of those people?
Or was she just as nervous as he, only trying to give him what she thought he wanted? Quiet but pleasant girl. Most of the guys in town have already been taken, and the few others that she had met at the bar had probably been louts that were not up to her standard. Maybe she was just the victim of being too picky in a small town; her failure to marry by 19 a huge error on her judgment. Maybe she’s just a nice girl who wants kids and a normal family and felt that she had to do something to get this date ‘going.’ Of course her mother and friends wouldn’t approve of what she’d done, and she certainly wouldn’t make a habit of it, but if it can land a second date it might be worth her effort. “But then she sees that I’m not into that sort of thing and she’s embarrassed. So she is too afraid to do something. Is that what I come off as? Somebody to be feared?”
“You can’t keep on running away from me.”
Or was this some sort of test that he had failed? Bob began to worry that he had panicked. Thoughts of past failures in the clutch came to mind. Most of them were childhood sporting events. He hadn’t swung the bat for his first six little league games. His friends had laughed at him when he refused to jump from the high dive. He’d never thrown a punch at the dozens of bullies he’d encountered. And girl after girl who he’d never had the courage to ask out on a date.
He had watched other couples laugh together. Some kissed. Earlier the couple in front of him had been ravaging each other for 25 minutes, though to the best of his knowledge they had not exposed their genitals. Others in the audience kissed as well. The Saturday night crowd had morphed into a couple’s society, where non-romantic endeavors were pushed into the dark recesses, out of sight. The bowling team, the Rotary club, the group of divorcees; all gone, so far as Bob could see. The Teachers and Shop Welders had been swapped out for horny high school sweethearts and parents of young children who want to feel young as well. The movie had become a coupling colony, and he began to feel sterile and impotent. He made corner-of-the-eye contact with the woman in the row in front while she made out with her boyfriend. She seemed to smirk as her man kissed her neck. “What was that?” he wondered in slack-jawed silence.
He wonders if he did the right thing. Having sex in the movie theater had never really occurred to him as a possibility. There were benchmarks. A good date, a walk home. Maybe something happens, maybe it doesn’t, but at no point does sweet, well-mannered Judy do something that could risk a night in jail.
“You need to stay. You need to stay with me.”
It doesn’t seem fair to Bob, as he imagines all the pressures that men have on a date. Asking the woman out. Paying. Being funny but not silly. Acting interested in her but having something to say about his own lot in life. And all the while, she is the one doing the judging. The burden of initiation is always on the man.
He wonders where it is her right to judge him. He wasn’t ready for her sexual assault. If he had some inkling that she would be ravaging him in the back of the movie theater, then maybe he would have reacted differently. He could have had an exit strategy if things went south. Maybe a chance to quickly scout out problematic ushers, or smaller children.
“Because I love you.”
He supposed that she would say that he wasn’t very spontaneous. Well maybe that was true. But he should get a second chance. She wouldn’t go off and run to her friends the next day laughing at him for not taking in a handjob at the local theater, would she? Was that some kind of knock against him? Really?
He wonders if the date could still be salvaged. Would there be drinks afterward? A trip to her place? Was this the last he was going to see of her?
On screen Jim wakes up. From his point of view, Mary slowly comes into focus. We see a close up of his face. He flashes a wry grin. Mary’s crying is sharply interrupted by a quick laugh. We see her place her hands on the side of his head and kiss him as the camera pans away from overhead.
The film returns to see a couple of children running with toy guns outside of the mission. Mary watches with a smile as they play. One of them runs up to Mary.
“Bang, bang senora”
“Por Que?” she playfully asks while slumping against the wall and sliding down slowly.
There are footsteps.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to bring you in.”
The children look up at Jim. He has a new badge that he points to.
“We were only playing, mister.”
“The law’s the law.”
“She’s alright, Yankee. We didn’t really shoot her.”
“You don’t say?” Jim reaches down and touches Mary’s belly, before taking the pulse of her neck. “You boys are lucky. Looks like she’s going to make it. Now I won’t catch any of you shooting anybody else will I?”
“No senor.”
“Well then run along. Before I change my mind about bringing you in.”
The children run off while the music begins to swell to a crescendo. Jim helps Mary up as the two watch the children run off against the backdrop of the setting sun. They turn to each other and smile, and “The End” appears on screen.
As one the crowd rises to their feet. The lights come up as the credits roll and the divorcees, rotary club, bowling team and uncool kids make their way out of their seats at once. Pouring out of their air-conditioned oasis and stepping out into the still-humid night, they break off into individual cells scattering into bars, bowling alleys and homes. The lights on the marquee black out.

[hillwalker]

'kind of long' - an understatement if ever I read one. But despite it’s length I enjoyed reading this. It’s refreshing to find something this good seemingly appear from nowhere. You’re obviously an experienced writer judging by the calibre of writing and plotting. Paying meticulous attention to apparently trivial details can often drag the story to a halt but here it works extremely well – as if you’re setting up a film set, and the common thread of the movie was a genius move.

A couple of typos have slipped though:

‘There is a patch of prickly pair at the base of its trunk’ – should that be ‘pear’?

“If I fine one penny missing – ‘find’

‘fells around for the zipper’ – ‘feels’.

‘winching as the sponge scrubs’ – ‘wincing’

‘Have you had to life a finger even once?’ – ‘lift’

‘Eli had spent the class viewing fixated on a former high school Volleyball player who he? would eventually sleep with’

‘Debbie continues to breath deeper and deeper’ – ‘breathe’

also

‘captivated in the movie’ – ‘by the movie’ is more grammatically correct

and ‘chewing on a toothpick.’ – a grass stalk would probably fit in better with the desert location.

On occasion the verb tenses change rather unexpectedly as well

during the beginning of the second section – from present tense narrative to past:

‘It had been a hard week’ – ‘It had been a long week’ – which are also repetitive as you will no doubt have noticed.

in section 7

‘most just choose to wait… Cortland chose this time to get another drink… Grant takes a sip and winces’

and section 9

‘She thinks about what the weekend had meant, and felt dumb for misinterpreting the carrot on the stick for being an appetizer.’

There’s one inconsistent change of perspective in section 6 as well:

‘On screen we see Mary and Jim make eye contact’ – who are we? It should presumably be Debbie and Phil witnessing this not us.

But an intriguing first posting. Give us more.

H