by Tom Rich
“Can you be ready in ninety minutes.”
“Haven’t even unpacked the backpack from Guatemala yet. Unless, of course, you like the thrift store ensemble-in-a-bag the city of Indianapolis bought me.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Jones, wait. You were about to say something about Franz.”
“Was I?”
“Something about the power grid’s instinct for something.”
“See you in eighty-nine and-a-half minutes.”
33: “Let’s ride.”
“This is so bad!” Sylvie took another long pull from the bottle. “Ugh. Brr. But it fills so good. Fee-yahls good. Whoo! Woody!” She looked around the room. “Why does it have to be so bad?”
Franz said, “What’s that, Vee Vee?”
“Why’s it so bad feeling so goo-ood?”
“I’ll be ready in a minute. I can’t find that other—” He left the room.
“All right, don’t answer my keshton. Coo-west-eeyon. Fuck it. This rum sucks. I want my Malibu. Oh. There you are. Slippin’ aroun’, slippin’ aroun’.”
“All right, babe, maybe it’s downstairs. You ready? Bring the bottle.”
“Uh, uhh, but what am I ready for, is what. That is the question.”
“Elevator’s this way. Come on. Cooome on.”
“Where’re we going? Hey, that’s not the ’levator we rode in on. Yo, fuck you and the ell-evator you rode in on! That’s what.” Sylvie took a walking swig. “Since you won’t answer my coo-esstyons, where are we going?”
“I had a set made downstairs for a new production. I want you to get the feel of it for your next role.”
The elevator door opened. Sylvie balked at the enclosed space. Franz dragged her aboard.
“Woo. Woo hoo. Big boss man.” Sylvie half leaned half fell against the side of the car. The bottle dangled between her knees. “But you are, aren’t you? You da boss man now. You call all the shots. You make the big movies. I want to congatu… con-grat-ulate you…and I want to thank you…and thank my…and I want to thank my agent and my publicist and my third grade teacher and my Girl Scout leader and why dint the pedophile buy the Girl Scout cookies because he’d rather eat a Brownie. Ha!” She swung the bottle to her lips.
“Having fun, babe?”
“Woo. This elevator is like riding a yo-yo. But seriously. I wanted to con-grat-ulate you on becoming the big movie boss man. Head honcho. Make Breeze eat out of your hand for a change.”
“Here, step out.”
“I should bring my stomach. I think it fell lell out.” Sylvie stepped into the dark chamber. “This bottle’s nearly empty.”
“I think I may have stashed the other one down here somewhere.” Franz lit the torch next to the elevator.
“Wow. I mean, WOW! What is this place?”
Franz lifted the torch to give Sylvie a better look. “It’s the set for your new movie.”
“Penance?”
“The one after that.”
“Do tell.” She stumbled. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Wait here while I find the other bottle.” He carried the torch into the chamber.
“Make it Malibu, would you, my good man,” Sylvie said to Franz’s back. The darkness absorbed him. “This other stuff slucks. It ssssss-ucks! What is it? Can’t even read the label, it’s so dark in here. Woody?” Sylvie dropped the bottle and fell to her knees. “Woody?” she whimpered. “You were s’posed to watch out for me. What happened?” She felt around for the bottle. “Somebody spiked my orange juice, that’s what happened. That French fucking chef of yours drugged me just so he could feel me up.” She shouted into the dark, “DID HE GET YOU, TOO, WOODY?” She managed to stand. “What are you having, Woody?” Then very properly, “I’ll have what he’s having, my good man. Make it Malibu, if you would. And fix a nice toddy for yourself. We’re in for a bumpy evening… morning…I don’t know which. I can’t TELL IN THIS PLACE!”
Franz came back wrapped in an orange glow. “Can’t find the damned bottle.”
“Woody, I have to get to a meeting.” Sylvie sprawled against the closed elevator door. “Something awful has happened. I have to call my sponsor. I have to get to a meeting!”
Franz stuck the torch in a holder on the wall. He gripped Sylvie by the shoulders. “You need to understand what I have to say. Now listen, okay?”
“’Kay,” she rasped. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“This is not a bad thing. You’ve done nothing wrong. This is all preparation for your next role. This is like a timeout. Understand? It’s not abusing if you’re working. I’ve written an important piece of work and you’re going to be my star. Okay? You with me?”
Sylvie nodded, sniffled. “For my come-back!”
“A comeback the world won’t believe.”
“Okay. Roger wilco-oppo that.” She wiped her tears. “Call me Vee Vee?”
“There. Now it’s all good.” Franz took Sylvie by the hand and led her to the nearest alcove. “I want you to sit here while I go up for more rum. Vee Vee? Here, you dropped this. Finish what’s left and I’ll have a fresh bottle in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She sat on a stone bench.
“Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
“Woody?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“Could you make it Malibu?”
“You want Malibu, you got Malibu. But I’ll have to go to the bar in the first floor lobby. That means changing elevators a couple times. A few extra minutes.”
“I’ll slit light…wait right here.”
“Ten minutes. Love you, Vee Vee.”
“Right. Sit tight. Don’t let the somethings bite. Oh, there he goes. Au revoir. Bon voyage. Hasta la something or other.” She waved her bottle as the elevator door shut.
“No, I know! Fred MacMurray in Double Indemnity. See, he gets on the elevator and he says to the elevator man, ‘Let’s ride.’ Ha! Is that fucking stupid? Like he’s some kind of big, bad cowboy. ‘Let’s ride’ on an elevatorahahahahahaha. Imagine saying ‘Let’s get the hell out of Dodge’ to the elevator man? Shhyahaha. Whoa, fuck me! Fuck me like Bozo on clown fucking day!” Sylvie wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.
“Hey, Woody, I ever tell you ’bout the time— Nope, never mind that one.”
Sylvie stood, scanned what she could see in the flickering light. “Shew, what is this place? Must be one of those fantasy hotel suites. And this would be the Flintstone Suite. Yeah, that’s the ticket.” She roared, “WILMA, I’M HOME! Oops, better sit tight.” She sat down and whispered, “Wilma, I’m home.”
She turned her head side to side. “Where is everybody?” She squeezed the bottle, grew louder, panicky, “Omigod! It can’t be! It just cannot be! But it’s true.” The back of her hand went to her forehead. “There’s trouble in paradise. Yes, sir, there is trouble in paradise on this night. Wilma is next door fucking Barney. Yahahaha. Oh me. Fred came home early and caught Barney humping Wilma. Yabba dabba do me, truhhhh-bull in paradise. Mmm mm.” She took a swig from the bottle.
“So where does that leave me? Me all alone with my Flintstones feet. Ha! That fucking bitch Chai Turner telling everybody I have Flintstones feet. Fuck you, Chai. How many Slash! movies did you make? None. That’s how many. And I made seventy-million of them. Or they grossed seventy-million. One of those. And I owe it allllll to my Flintamins. Yabba dabba shit!”
Sylvie slid off the bench, dropping the bottle on the way. “I’m pretty, aren’t I, Woody?” She felt around for the bottle. “Yeah, who isn’t pretty when it’s this drunk out.” She expanded her search by crawling. “That asshole director kept calling me Slash. That wasn’t very nice. I was too young to know. I thought he meant I was carrying the picture. That’s how stupid I was. But not now, buddy. So you better watch out.”
She stopped crawling and sat upright. “HEY! WOODY!” she shouted into the darkness. “I ever tell you about the time I met Breeze? Oh, no, you prob’ly don’t want to hear that. BUT IT WAS
BEFORE WE MET! Yeah, so it’s OKAY! See, I was seventeen. Not really. We were making Slash! 17. Yeah. And that director…Breeze was his assistant. That director was such an asshole, and Breeze…” She stretched out on the floor. “Bree-eeze was so nice.”
The room started to spin. Sylvie pulled herself to her feet. “Woody, I’m tired of this place. I want to go back to the penthouse. Where are you? Oh, now I re—”
She lurched to the elevator. She pushed buttons on the keypad. “Just wait ’til this door opens. Have I got a line for youuuuuu, Mr. Elevator Man.” She pushed and pushed but nothing happened. “Oops, wrong door. And how long have you been open for business, Mr. Other Elevator Door? Rats, blew my line.” She slid across the closed door to the ol.
The blackness of the empty shaft gripped Sylvie. She felt it pulling.
“Shit. Omigod.” She stumbled backward and fell. She turned and crawled to the nearest wall and put her back to it. “What the fuck? What the fuck?”
The chasm drew the light from the torch. Her eyes followed.
The beckoning darkness felt familiar. But no device like it had ever been used in any movie she’d made. Sylvie felt it pulling.
“Not real,” she said. “That’s it, stay over there.” It pulled at her. “NO! Leave me alone! WOODY!” She searched the darkness. “It’s only a movie. Yeah, Woody said we’re making a new one. This is Slash! 18. No! I’m kidding. That was not a blasphemy! Slash! 4. That’s what comes next. This is Slash! 4 and that’s the scary movie device.”
It pulled and pulled at her.
Sylvie closed her eyes, still felt it pulling. She peeked to make sure the black void wasn’t dragging her across the floor.
“Omigod! NO!”
A black tendril rose from the chasm and zapped her between the eyes.
Sylvie? Sylvie?
“Fuck you. Get the fuck away.”
Can’t hide from me.
“Hide from who? Who are you?”
Can’t hide beneath all those layers you maintain. Not from me.
“Who’s hiding. I’m not hiding.”
Never heard about hiding in plain sight?
“It’s a trick. You’re a trick. You just want me to go into that thing.”
Well, yes, I am here to tell you I’d like you down here. But there are no tricks involved. Actually, the only tricks are the tricks you employ to stay out of here. So…
“So?”
So, welcome to the end of all trickery.
“Fuck you. Who the hell are you?”
Why, Sylvie, I’m the Director.
“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”
You should try it down here. Find out how satisfying it can be.
“Yeah, right. I really don’t think there’s such a thing as a trial basis for what you’re saying. I think it’s one of those deals where once you get in you never get out.”
Got something against eternity?
“An eternity of darkness?”
It’s peaceful. Quiet.
“I’ll take my chances out here.”
Some friends of yours have joined me.
“Oh fuck! I really do not want to hear this. You gonna leave me alone or do I gotta shut you up myself?”
If that is something you think you’re capable of. But you should hear me out.
“You’re not getting—”
Brenda Coombs and Donny Hart.
“What? No fucking way! Fuck you, you fucking asshole!”
Be nice.
“What are you talking about? Like a lover’s pact thing? No. I don’t—”
They took an awfully hard fall with Garden Party.
“Garden Party took balls. They produced, co-directed, starred. They even wrote the thing. And those kids are the same age I am.”
They lost important people really big money.
“They bounced back.”
It was never released. Never even made it to DVD.
“Or are bouncing. They’re still bouncing.”
A reality series? About their home life?
“Hey, it’s work.”
Actually, no. Being themselves? In front of the camera? It was too much. It all unraveled. They got cancelled.
“Cancelled?”
Fact is, you’re next.
“Fuck you! They were so innocent. That’s what Garden Party was about. Maintaining innocence in a corrupt business.”
There are others down here, Sylvie. They’re waiting for you.
“No!”
You can be yourself down here.
“NO!”
You must do what I say. I’m the Director. I’m your Director, Sylvie, and you must do what I say.
“Says you.”
You belong down here. Down here you can stop playing all the roles. Down here you can be exactly what you are meant to be.
“What do you know about who I am.”
Look at you, caught in a madness you’ll never escape.
“I’ll show you who I am.”
A madness that will never let you loose.
Sylvie sang, “Let’s make the morning never come, let’s make this night last for-e-ever. We’ll stop the rising of the sun, we’ll make this our eternal hea-e-ven.”
The elevator door next to the chasm slid open. A smiling Kurtwood Franz held up two bottles of Malibu Rum. “You all right?”
Good ol’ Woody. Sylvie tried to stand. “Least now I know why I drink.”
Franz helped Sylvie up. He stuck a full bottle in her hands. “Remember, this is not bad.”
“Right-right. This is work.” Sylvie took a long pull from the fresh bottle.
“You need to be affected. Heavily. But you need to function. Any idea what your limit is?”
After another long pull, “Never found it.” She wiped her mouth.
“What I was hoping. This way, mademoiselle, and we shall fit your costume.”
“Ooo, a personal fitting.” She stumbled, looked over her shoulder, scooted faster. She stopped every few steps for another swig. “Hey, mister, you better get that elevator fixed. Not the one, but the other one. That empty hole nearly sssssucked me away.”
“A powerful force, isn’t it?” Franz said without looking around.
“Yeah. Real sssssssucking power.” Sylvie bumped into Franz.
Franz turned. “What do you think?” He held up the dress of a Mayan queen, the colors bright and varied as a parrot. And made with barely enough material to cover one.
“Ssssucky fucky. I get to wear that? Tres tropicale. Or is that the Malibloo talking? Seeing?” She reached for the dress and missed.
“Should fit perfectly.”
“Or what, Mr. Movie Bossman? Heads will roll?”
“Something like that.”
“Hey, I gotta wear bananas on my head with this dress? Anas? I say too many anas?”
“There is headgear. It’s pretty heavy but I’m sure you can handle it with a little practice.”
“I, my good man, am an actress. I’m pulling magic out of a cat, if that’s what the part wekires. Or needs. Ee-eye-eether. Notice how I covered all the bases that time?”
“Just keep it together during the ceremony.”
“Oh? Got a l’il surplise pranned? Okay. Just turn your head while I’m changing, please. No, you boob. Towards me.” She dropped her pants. “See? No panties. That’s because every shoot begins with a good fuck! Fuck for luck. Oops, I dropped… So let’s make Slash! 69 the best one ever.”
“Come on, Vee Vee, let’s save a little of that. There’s still nine bedrooms upstairs we haven’t done it in.”
“Oh? Okay. You da boss. You da big, uhh, what’re we doing?”
“Here, I’ll help you off with the rest. Hold up your arms.”
“Ahhhh, you’re dwessing me. Isn’t that cute?” Sylvie leaned so far forward Franz had to hold her up.
“There,” said Franz, “let’s see how you look.”
“Ha! You’re biased. Why not ask the ssssssssucky guy.”
“Do
n’t know what you mean. C’mon, turn around.” Franz turned Sylvie by the shoulders.
“Don’t know what I mean,” mumbled Sylvie. She pointed at the empty shaft. “The guy down there. He seems awfully interested—”
Franz jerked Sylvie around to face him. “What guy? You heard voices coming from the shaft?”
“Voi-sez? Voice. A voice.
“Sylvie!” Franz shook her.
“Call me Vee Vee?”
“Tell me about this voice.”
“Heyyy, you rigged it, didn’t you?”
“Sylvie, this is no time to fuck around.”
“Ow. You’re hurting me.” She squirmed in his grip. “You rigged it because you hate it I was with Breeze.” Sylvie froze. She started thrashing. “Woody! I’m drunk! I have to get to the clinic!” She struggled out of his grip and ran. “You were s’posed to watch out for me! Woody! I have to—” She hit a wall and fell backward. “Damn. Who put that there?”
Franz held the torch over her. “You look all right. Finished with your little tirade?”
“Am I bleeding?” She sat up and rubbed her nose. “Can’t even feel it.”
Franz brought Sylvie to her feet. “Hollywood has bled you dry.”
“Yeah. Those cock-ssssssuckers took everything. Hey, where’s my Malibu?”
“Maybe we should run a little test. Stick out your tongue and say ah.”
“No more Flintamins, please. Heyyyy. Aren’t you a little old to be playing doctor? No, I know. What did the…why did the pedophile go to the pediatertion? Dang. Can I have another take?”
Franz took her chin. “Come on, Vee Vee. Hold out your tongue.”
“Why? Whass tha’ inner hand?”
“I just want to draw a little blood.”
“Wha? No. I doan likle.”
“Just a tiny little bit. You won’t feel a thing.”
“Cut me?” Sylvie tried to pull away. She thrashed wildly. “Fuck! Fuck you! Get your fucking hands off me!” She broke free and ran.
“There’s nowhere to run, Sylvie. There just. Is. Nowhere. To run.”
“HELP! HE’S TRYING TO CUT ME! HELP! SOMEBODY!” She could see the elevator door next to the torch. She could run to it if it would only hold still. She ran, but it all kept swinging: the torch, the door, the black hole. Then it all swung the other way.