by Paul Slatter
Chendrill smiled, still wondering why the man thought it was normal for police to throw people out of windows and drive Aston Martins. Then he answered, “No, I’m not a cop either, but if you give me any bullshit, you’ll be with one.”
The husband stood, even though he’d been told to sit, and began to wander slowly around the room, looking at the posters on the wall of celebs from old, fashion models of both genders in almost nothing at all. He stopped at the original stills of Dan cowering in the lift with blood running from his nose. Looking at Chendrill, he said, “Hey, I know this guy, I see him down Micky-D’s all the time.”
Then Sebastian came in looking all flustered and said, “Oh Malcolm, how nice to see you.”
So that’s his name, Chendrill thought, earlier the guy had been more interested in telling him he’d given his wife gonorrhea than introducing himself.
Chendrill piping up and saying, “Sebastian, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but this is the man responsible for what happened out on the beach the other night.”
If Sebastian was angry inside, he did not show it, Chendrill thought. The only thing different from his normal behaviour was that he took his time to sit down. Then looking up, Sebastian simply asked, “How?”
“He had his kids do it, they were responsible for what happened on the beach and Mazzi’s smack on the head that he blamed on the sash window,” Chendrill said.
“Why?”
“He thinks you’re hitting on his wife. But from what he’d been telling me earlier, this isn’t usually a problem.”
Sebastian sat there for a moment, lost in thought. Then looking up again, he said as he observed the man’s bony face, ripped muscle shirt, and track pants, “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
The husband, Malcolm, shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, listening to the big guy in the fancy office feeling like he was suddenly part of a movie. He looked at the clock, it had just gone 10 a.m. and by now, under normal circumstances, he’d have knocked one out to a home made porno and been asleep and dribbling on the sofa Sebastian had bought them. He said, “Yeah there is, I’m not paying for that window you know.”
Sebastian looked at him for a moment completely confused. He asked, “What window?”
“The one your truck driver threw me through. The one at the front of the house.”
Sebastian stood for a moment, then sat again. Then looking to Chendrill and then back to the husband, he asked, “The bay window?”
And as the old cop in him came out, Chendrill said butting in, “Actually, he fell through it as he was trying to escape.”
***********
Basil was doing well. In his eyes he was anyway. So far, he was getting himself down to the massage place to get his feet rubbed and meeting Maio after work almost every day—him there always wearing his suit that was looking like it needed a visit to the dry cleaner—and Maio there with him wondering now if this was the same guy who used to sleep with her sister.
They sat opposite each other in a cheap diner just off Stanley Park and watched the traffic pass by on Georgia. Maio’s wrists aching from 10 hours of rubbing people’s toes, Basil with a semi-on thinking about how nice it would be to have her back with him at his hotel. He said, as he had to her sister some time back, “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life.”
Maio smiled and said back, “Yes. Thank you. Very much.” Just like her English teacher had told her to say whenever someone said something nice—though it wasn’t as if she got to go to her English class much these days with all the work she’d been doing.
Basil moved it up a gear and reached across the table to touch her hand, saying, “You know, if you’re not busy, maybe you’d like to go to Whistler for the weekend sometime soon? You know, as a couple—boyfriend and girlfriend.”
She liked this one, she got it. The guy had not shaved in the last couple of days and was asking her if she liked his whiskers and if she was busy on the weekends, but this was confusing as he knew she always was. He was right about the amount of couples that came in together and sat next to each other holding hands on a Saturday or a Sunday also. She said, “Yes, I like.”
Great, perfect, Basil thought, couldn’t be better. Next weekend the pair of them would be away together in Whistler. He’d woo her all the way there in his rented car and then check into the hotel at the edge of the slopes and whip her up the mountain for a couple of hours and get her all elemental and tipsy with a couple of wines on the mountaintop. Then, when she was tired and needed a rest from the wine and fresh air, it would be back to the room with the view and she’d lay down on the bed and so would he. Then he’d kiss her for the first time, the way he had the last girl who had the same tool that hit the sweet spot at the top of his toes. He said, “So, great next weekend, you and I—off to Whistler?”
Maio got that one also as she tried to dig into the super burger that he’d bought for her without asking and at the same tried not to let the ketchup dribble down her chin. The guy was going to grow his beard for a bit, just like her father did sometimes, he’d do that then shave on the weekend. She said, “Yes. And you, handsome like father.”
Oh, great, Basil thought, this little Japanese girl had a daddy fetish. Things were really looking up.
************
It must have been three in the morning when Dan got the call—or at least that’s how it felt. In fact, it was 6 a.m. and Dan was already late—not that he could care less about that. It was Belinda who’d woke him, standing in the morning light at his low basement window with his hands cupped to the window pane, which could have done with a cleaning.
Dan had looked at him through half open eyes and said, “Get the fuck out of here.”
Belinda saying straight back through the window, “They are telling me to wake you sir.”
“Who?”
“Movie, sir; you are late for the movie, sir.”
Oh that, thought Dan, as he pulled the covers over his head and felt his dick, which was still covered in Band-Aids. The fucking movie they’ve been going on about every fucking minute of the day with calls and texts from this person and that. Dan answering and just saying ‘yes’, but not listening. The whole thing was just a load of nonsense in his eyes. Adalia was going to be there as well, he thought, as he felt the sting of woman troubles hit his gut for the first time. She had been calling and wondering if he wanted to ‘rehearse’ and he’d been ignoring her, knowing he was still sore down there and with that he would’ve had some issues that would be a little hard to explain.
He got out of the car at the old corrugated steel works and wandered about the place looking for food, eventually finding some at the side of a catering truck. There were more people here this time than the last when he’d had his shoes screwed to the stage to stop him moving. Then he saw Adalia—the woman coming out the side of a large white converted truck surrounded by about 6 people. Slowly they came towards him, Adalia in shades and a huge puffy coat even though it wasn’t cold, passing him, saying nothing.
Then someone was on him, a girl with headphones and a radio saying, “Hi Dan, you’re late,” talking to him as though she knew him.
What the fuck difference did it make if I’m late? Dan thought. They really needed to understand that he didn’t care if he was late, not a bit. He’d been down this road before and he knew he needn’t have gotten out of bed for another couple of hours. Then the girl said, “I’m Sadie. I’m a great fan. But don’t tell anyone.” Of what, a fan of what? Dan thought as he looked at her ass and asked her just that.
“Your last campaign,” said Sadie.
Like there had been one before that one, he thought, as he looked at her a little closer and immediately felt the Band-Aids on his dick begin to stretch. Then just as he was about to tell her he was starving, she said, “Has anyone shown you your trailer?”
What? Dan thought, a trailer? Last time he was here he had a box to sit on and now he’d get a trailer? He
asked, “Is there any food about?”
The girl called Sadie, who had a crush on the BlueBoy guy the size of the vibrator she kept at the side of her bed—this sex machine who was six years younger than her and still lived with his mum—said, “Yes, but as you’re late they’ll need you in wardrobe, you need to get your space suit on.”
Three hours later, two of which where spent standing around, Dan was out again standing in front of a huge green screen dressed as an astronaut without his helmet on.
Jesus Christ, he thought, what a load of fucking nonsense. He looked around, there had to be three times as many people as the last time he’d been here and from what he could see pretty much all of them were doing nothing.
It was almost an hour before Adalia arrived along with the big mouthed old guy who kind of looked like Rock Mason. The people all faffing around them like they were gods and doing their hair and makeup when Dan knew that, any moment now, they’d all have their space helmets on. The guy Campbell something, who must be the director, making a show of it all, coming up and shaking Dan’s hand with both of his, giving him a bunch of bullshit instructions that went in one ear and straight out the other. Patrick, looking dapper as always, sitting there amongst a bunch of TVs all grouped together where all the important people sat and talked. Mazzi Hegan in the distance wandering about dressed like a straight guy.
They rehearsed without their helmets on. Adalia not making eye contact and the old guy putting on a show. Dan just going through the motions, listening and hitting the marks in blue that he was told were his. Then they put their helmets on and then they were off again because the old guy wasn’t comfortable, then they were on again, then off again because Adalia couldn’t breathe. Then when she could, the old guy couldn’t. Then Adalia’s helmet was off again while they drilled holes. Then the old guy’s needed holes. Dan stood there the whole time with his still on, feeling like a goldfish and wondering how much worse Adalia’s breathing would have been in comparison to when she’d had his dick down her throat a few nights back.
Another hour passed, and then thirty minutes more before the clapper board went down and the old guy was off walking around in front of the green screen with his helmet on trying to fix something that wasn’t there. Adalia standing there watching with her hands over the front of her helmet as though the world was about to end. Dan doing nothing—other than just walking to the next spot they’d told him to go to and watching the old guy wandering around.
And then they cut.
“Wow!” Dan heard someone shout from behind as he saw the guy he thought must be the director run up and hug both the old guy and Adalia at almost the same time. Saying to Dan as he passed, “Fantastic man, just fantastic.”
Dan took a step back and watched as Adalia and the old guy carried on making a fuss about their helmets as the people who all looked the same took them off. Dan still keeping his on.
Then the old guy was making a drama about how hard it had been to walk and act in the suit. Dan heard Adalia’s voice through his helmet, saying, “God you were terrific. Rock, just terrific.”
Dan looked at the man with his hair all wet through his own visor, which was steaming up. Fuck me, he thought, what a complete load of shit. What had the man done? Not a whole lot more than Dan had done, he knew that. They all had their marks to hit. Move, look, nod, move, look, nod, shake head in helmet, move, stop. That was it. Now this guy was carrying on like he’d just banged out his own solo performance of Othello. Fuck, he’d seen better performances in 1980’s pornos. They could have put a blind guy in the suit and sent him out there and things would not have been much different. On top of all that, from what Dan could see through his space helmet, this guy who looked like Rock Mason was making everything he did a drama. This and a few other things had also not been lost on the guy who was funding the whole project, and only halfway through their first day of filming, Sebastian was thinking along exactly the same lines.
It had all started with the room at the hotel. Sebastian had received a call from his friend who was running the show, saying the manager had called to say Rock Mason had been to front desk to complain there was sperm on the wall of the bathroom in his suite. And from what they could work out, he was right, there was. But there was a high chance that it was his own. Next there had been the room upgrade issue, and then when there wasn’t one there was a compensation issue, which the man had requested to be paid to him in the form of credit to be used at the hotel bar and the restaurant across the street.
The next issue had come first thing in the morning with his trailer. Adalia had her own personal Airstream Classic XL and Rock Mason’s was a standard Classic. He wanted the XL also. The difference was two feet more cupboard space—hence the XL. Until he had a XL or higher, which did not exist, he wasn’t going inside the Classic he had said. And, of course, how could he? He was Rock Mason after all.
Now he sat there in the way at the monitors, two seats down from Sebastian, who had yet to chat with him further than their initial introduction during which Rock Mason hadn’t been listening. Sebastian sitting there again wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into and also when Dan would take his helmet off so his mother could see him.
Tricia was thinking exactly the same and feeling important as she sat there alongside Sebastian on a movie set for the first time in her life. Dan’s mother all excited as she sat only four feet away from her favourite movie star. She said as she leant in to talk quietly to Sebastian, “Do you think someone needs to get that helmet off Dan? He could be in trouble.”
Sebastian knew the kid would be hungry soon and told her so.
She looked over at Rock Mason, who was a lot shorter than she’d always imagined, but God he was good. The guy sitting there doing a crossword puzzle in his space suit with his helmet off looking cool after working his magic out there as he pretended to be doing something she could not understand.
Tricia took a deep breath and leaned in and said to the one guy on earth she’d always wanted to meet, “Hey, eh—hi! I’m Dan’s mother. I’m so thrilled to be here and meet you, it’s my first time on a movie set.”
Rock Mason, looking back at her giving her that great big Rock Mason smile she’d seen him give a hundred times on the big screen, said, “Great!”
Tricia carried on wanting to tell him how good he was in his last movie, “He’s Got Butter,” in which he played a pastry chef who falls in love with a girl from Ethiopia who washes the dishes but really is a dancer. She said, “I see you’re doing a crossword. I love them, I try to do one a day to keep my mind strong.”
Rock Mason smiled, then asked, “You like word play, do you?”
“Yes.”
Then with a twinkle in his eye he looked at her and said, “Well if I give you a few words to play with then let’s see if you can work out the correct sentence I’m trying to say to you okay? Here we go— ready? I’m - Off – So – Tired – Fuck.”
And before she’d worked it out, Sebastian already had, and softly placing his hand on her arm he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Darling, you are a beautiful person—don’t ever believe what you see on TV.” And then he looked at her and saw that as she worked the words through into a sentence she was beginning to cry.
Putting her hands to her eyes, Tricia stood for a moment, said sorry—first to Rock Mason and then again to Sebastian—and quietly left the stage. In her entire life, she couldn’t remember anyone ever being that rude to her, and it having come from a man she’d admired from afar for so long, it had come as a shock. She reached her car, opened the door, and sat in it for a moment. She looked around at the trucks and people doing nothing and wondered where Dan was. Pulling out her phone she dialed his number and listened to it ring.
Dan stood at the edge of the green screen with his helmet on still and felt his phone vibrating in the rear pocket of his trousers inside his space suit. Pulling open a Velcro flap, he dug blindly inside until he reached it. Then pulling it out, he put
it to his ear on the outside of his plexiglass helmet, which was now almost impossible to see out of. “Hello,” he called out, his own voice sounding strange and reminding him of when he was younger and got his head stuck in a bucket.
He called out again through the helmet, “Hello?”
Outside he could hear his mother’s voice calling, “Dan, Dan.”
He called out again, “Mum?” and heard his mother call back, “Dan. Dan can you hear me, where are you love?”
Tricia hung up, and still holding the phone dropped her hand to her lap. It had been awhile since she’d spoken to Chendrill because he’d said he was working and she only hoped he was, but things had felt different since this girl with the name like the singer had reappeared. There was no reason to feel insecure though and it had only been a few days since they’d both laid next to each other and cried with laughter after she’d told him she’d just found her son with paper towel and band aids around his penis. Turning the phone over, she scrolled down and called Chendrill’s number. As soon as she heard his voice, she burst into tears again, “Chuck, love. This man’s just been so rude to me.”
Sebastian sat there at the monitors as the world on the movie set turned. Patrick was doing nothing, the director was doing nothing, Mazzi, still in the plasterer’s boots, was doing what seemed like nothing. And he himself was doing nothing—besides paying for everything, as always, and worrying about Dan’s mother and missing his dog. Looking over to Rock Mason, he said, “Rock, darling, do you think you could have been a little bit nicer.” Not looking up or caring one bit for the words he’d just heard, Rock Mason said nothing. Sebastian carried on, “I should warn you that the young lady you just upset has a huge boyfriend who threw a man who upset me through a window yesterday—and he doesn’t like me half as much as he does her.”
Rock Mason turned and stared at the little guy in his cream trousers sporting what looked like the remnants of a black eye—who was around the same age as him, but not trying to hide it. He asked, “Who the fuck are you?”