“Well, then,” Brett was desperate for an answer, “the corporations should, uh, get together then and—”
“Corporations are faceless entities that compete. They share mutual interests, but none strong enough to get them to drop their single minded Purpose of Profit to band together to solve any but their own localized problems. Like the fading governments, corporations are too visible to probing eyes attached to critical minds. Not to mention that often, global corporations are headed up by egomaniacal, popinjay champions of self-aggrandizement, who are so busy jumping from spotlight to spotlight, they never really have time to peer into the dark corners of the Future.”
“I assume.” It was time for Henderson to speak up. “That there is an organization that does peer into the dark corners, and that you are a representative thereof.”
Max cocked his head as he looked at me.
“You’re very smart,” he said, “for a man who spends all day in his briefs.” Max laughed at his own poor joke. “You are, of course, correct.”
Max paused as his smile dropped. He took in a long breath through his nostrils and returned his concentration to the five plus Lydia, where often his eyes fell.
“There is a quiet crew of people who either all have wealth, or work for wealth, or are sympathetic towards wealth as the protector of culture, who have banded together into what we call—the Enclave. For indeed, that is what it is going to take to protect us. Some of these people may be heads of large corporations, but their loyalty is to the Enclave. Some of these people may be from our finest think tanks and universities, but they do their real thinking for the Enclave. Some of these people may be in politics, working with the ineffectual governments, but in actuality, working for the Enclave. Some may be in Law Enforcement. Some may be in—law infringement. There are the religious among us, and the thoroughly pragmatic. We have representatives of Old Money, Recent Money, and Very, Very New Money.
“We call ourselves a quiet crew because none of us seek the limelight. All of us have made a personal decision to serve—and save—our civilization. All of us, each in their own way, are hugely influential within their sphere. Through our actions, agreed upon by all, we work to influence governments and corporations and other entities of power—power from the mild to the toxic—to make the right decisions; to take the right action that will help us prevent a disastrous turn of history or, as I said, at least diminished the impact of that turn. We are not Pollyannas. The jolts and jars and smashes are going to come. The question is how virulent will they be? Not to Mankind. We don’t give a shit about, ‘Mankind.’ We care only about our civilization. The Enclave is dedicated to the preservation of our civilization.
“To succeed—we need your help.”
Max was now looking directly into Lydia’s eyes and she was looking into his.
“Yours, Lydia,” he continued, “and yours, Brooke,” he said starting a survey, “and Abbie, yours too.” He turned to his right and put his arm around Brett. “And Brett’s, we will need Brett’s help.” Then he turned to look past Sara to Thad. “And Thad’s, of course. Most definitely yours, Thad.”
All thought about this for a second, with a solemnity not often found outside of monasteries in remote locations. Then Thad quietly stated:
“You know, I’m about ready to close a deal on a project in which a mutated version of the AIDS virus, irradiated to the size of squirrels, attacks San Francisco, destroys it, then heads south towards Los Angeles. How exactly am I supposed to help preserve civilization?”
Max seemed delighted with the question.
“A better question than you can imagine, Thad, but first things first. Thad, in your climb up the Show Biz ladder, have you ever kissed ass?”
Thad’s head moved back slightly, more shocked by this than by anything else he had heard all evening.
“I, well—”
“Come on. Honesty. I demand it.”
“I, uh, on occasion, well, let’s say on occasion I’ve been nicer to certain people than I would have been had I been in control of the situation.”
“So you’ve kissed much ass.”
“Yeah, okay, I have butt hairs in my teeth.”
“Fine. The first thing you can do to help preserve our civilization is to kiss just one more ass, but it will be the most important ass you’ll ever kiss. Indeed, it will be the last ass you will ever really need to kiss.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Testing the Testosterone
Sara spoke with a certain delight:
“Yes, it’s true, it’s all true! You’ve heard about the kissing of the Golden Arse, haven’t you? I know you have because I made sure the rumors spread specifically in your directions. Don Gulden—that poor boy, does anybody know how’s he doing?—Don was particularly good at the spreading. You don’t know the details, though, do you? You’ve just had to live off the rumors, and, of course, Lydia here, not to mention Frick and Frack, haven’t even had the rumors to keep them warm. Well, now it’s time to reveal all, and end your breathless anticipation.”
Sara turned to Lydia to address her comments. For it was Lydia she really had to sell, and Lydia who she leaned close to.
“Lydia, for some time now the quiet yet rampant rumor of Hollywood has been that Sara Hutton was running a secret society. A very exclusive secret society. I made it secret because Hollywood loves secrets. I made it exclusive so that everyone would want to join. I’m sure everyone thought it was just a lark. Like male executives from various companies climbing mountains together or shooting white water rapids together. Testing the testosterone, I like to call it.
“Then a name started to creep into the rumors. A strange name. Golden Arse. Something to do with a Golden Arse. Intriguing. An animal from myth with meaning or the greatest and richest posterior of them all? Then names got out, names of those who, it had been said, got to kiss the Golden Arse and become members of this secret society. Look at the list. The Buzz people, the people making names for themselves, the people getting closer to power, the people with the first blushes of power. People realized that to be asked by Sara Hutton to join her secret society was like an anointment of sorts. ‘Have you heard she has retreats? Is that where she asks you to join? How can I get invited to one of her retreats?’”
Sara leaned back now, comfortable that she had Lydia’s, and everybody else’s, full attention.
“It’s satisfying to see your baby grow and be successful. You see, Lydia, I started the Communion of the Golden Arse in college. At Yale. It was Max’s idea. I was at loose ends about what to do with my life. Max was the pragmatic one who told me I would be stupid not to use my father’s connections and get into the Industry. Important, he said, the Industry is becoming so very important. Its profound effect, Max pointed out to me its profound effect. ‘But you’ve got to have a strength,’ he said. ‘Strength by association. Can’t join the Old Boy’s Network. Don’t join the New Girls Network, too limiting,’ he told me. ‘Form your own,’ he said, ‘now, don’t wait.’ Form it with whom? I asked. ‘What?’ Max said. ‘People at Yale, other colleges in the Ivy League, they’re not going to get well positioned?’ So, using the base of Gamma Phi Epsilon, I formed the Communion of the Golden Arse and invited people who were interested in film and, more to the point, the Industry. We made a pact to help each other, to hold each other’s hands as we entered the industry and had to bend over and kiss some grimy asses to get ahead, but we did it secure in the knowledge that the only ass that really mattered was a much finer ass, was our ass, was the Golden Arse.
“You can’t imagine what strength that knowledge gives you.
“It worked. A number of us hit Hollywood at the same time, well credentialed in education and contacts. That doesn’t mean we didn’t hit brick walls, but we were there to help each other over the walls. We would talk each other up, for example. Send out what I like to call Hot Flashes on each other so that our personal and collective value rose as the talk increased.
�
�We all did well.
“Then it was time to take the Communion of the Golden Arse to the next level. I’ve always consciously picked members that I knew needed for success, not just desired, but needed. People whose sense of self-worth had a lot to do with their desire for self-wealth, which is a great motivator, it centers people, but I also picked people who had a total view of life, who saw beyond their own personal concerns and cared about what was going on in the world, cared about its future, cared about that which we have created, that which is really fine and good—people who cared about our civilization, people who would be willing to help protect and defend that civilization. I presented the ideas to the charter members. I introduced them to Max. Max introduced them to the Enclave. Not one failed me.
“Now as I bring in new members to the Communion, I am as choosy as I’ve ever been. The fact that all of you are sitting around this table with Max and me, you can take as the greatest compliment you will ever be given. For to sit around this table is to be invited to join the Communion of the Golden Arse.”
Five little thrills went up, waved in the air, shouted for joy, and dived back down into their hosts—all without making a sound.
“Membership guarantees that you will be aligned with a group of people in the industry who have your interests as much as their own in their hearts. Suddenly you will be talked about around town. Hot Flashes will be sent out about you. Offers and opportunities will fall into place. That place being, of course—at your feet. Soon, power will be the door you walk through.
“My goal is to one day have each person on Premier Magazine’s One Hundred Most Powerful People in Hollywood list to be a secret member of the Communion of the Golden Arse.
“Then our real work will begin. Our service to the Enclave.”
“In the Twenty-first Century,” Max picked up the pitch without letting even a beat go by, “when the jolts and jars and smashes come, those people who are truly in power, many who are members of the Enclave, will be formulating certain philosophies, making certain decisions, influencing the execution of certain actions that will be hard and harsh and, to certain weak minds, horrific.
“Wars will be fought. Certain governments will need the military might—both in techno-power and manpower—to fight and win those wars. Certain segments of society will need to be—prepared—to willingly give up their sons and daughters to be a part of those fights.
“There will be famines—in the South—heart wrenching, human tragedy famines. There will be an important job to do. Not stopping the famines—which would be, in any case, impossible—but in stopping the hearts from wrenching.
“Plagues? Yes, but the task will be keeping them contained to the Southern Hemisphere. Do we want to waste our resources in any effort beyond containing them to the Southern Hemisphere? Absolutely not. Let Nature take its course. Why should we work against it? The planet cries to shed itself of the over burden of nonproductive peoples. Everything we do to try to prevent it from doing that causes the planet to cry even more violently.
“To save our civilization, the Enclave will work along Nature’s course, helping Nature to do what Nature needs to do.”
“The Communion of the Golden Arse,” Sara picked up the thread, “has a vital role to play. In the Twenty-first Century its members will be the power elite of all media. We will not only be in film, but in television, the Internet, news gathering, and dissemination. We will be in control over the extremely powerful influence the media has, from big budget action films to emotion stirring dramas to the ‘opinions’ of pundits. An influence to spur people on to action or to pacify them into acceptance of the inevitable, the necessary, and the natural. It’s a power that exists now. It is just simply not organized and dedicated to a common goal. The Communion of the Golden Arse, working as calmly and quietly as the Enclave does in other spheres of influence, will organize that power and dedicate it to the preserving of our civilization.
“As I see it, there is no greater calling you will ever be asked to answer; no more important task you will ever be asked to assume.”
By the end of her speech, in the thickness of the atmosphere, Max’s left hand was holding tight onto Sara’s right. Max offered his free right hand to Brett, who took it, and encouraged him to reach the short distance across the table to offer a hand to Nick. Nick took it. Sara offered her left hand to Thad. He hesitated only slightly then took it, simultaneously offering his hand across the table to Abbie, who took it as Brooke took Abbie’s other hand. Then Nick and Brooke, in a beautifully coordinated movement offered up their free hands to Lydia. Lydia slowly looked at each hand. Then she looked at Max and Sara. She was not smiling, her face was still with seriousness, but her eyes were alive with excitement. She raised up both her hands and allowed them to hover for a second. Then she vigorously grabbed the hands of Nick and Brooke, completing the circle.
A circle Henderson and Pinsker were left outside of.
“Good. Excellent.” Max said.
“Welcome to the Communion of the Golden Arse,” Sara said with no little pride hanging out for all to see.
“Welcome to service to the Enclave,” Max added.
“Now,” Sara stood up, “follow me. Like all good secret societies, we have to have our initiation ceremony.”
Everyone stood, including Lydia. Lydia, who I no longer could tell if she was following my script—or if she had allowed Max and Sara to suspend her disbelief. It had always been the chance with Lydia. I had accepted that in recruiting her. It was just disconcerting that I could not, at this moment, tell where her loyalties lay. As we remained seated as all those around us stood, I caught Roee’s eye. He communicated back the same concern.
“No, Lydia, stay,” Max said. “Let them set up, we’ll join them in a minute.” He turned to the others. “As Lydia is really a visitor, I want to fill her in on the current lay-of-the-land in Hollywood.” He smiled gracefully at the five. “Stuff you are well versed in. It won’t take long.”
The five didn’t care. Sara shot a question at Max, but he nodded a calm, “It’s okay.” Sara led the eager others out through the door at the other end of the long hall from the one we came in.
Lydia and Max sat.
“Lydia. Gentlemen,” Max said, acknowledging us for the first time in a while, but not asking us to close any gap. Then he turned his full attention to Lydia. “Are you comfortable with this?”
Lydia smiled. “Comfortable? I am shocked! I am completely and thoroughly shocked. To hear Americans talk this way. So practical, so pragmatic, so real. Instead of the little fantasies of sunshine and lollipops you usually spew out. How utterly refreshing.”
“Then we should work very hard for your deal with Sara regarding Olympic to come to fruition.”
“Absolutely! We must be a player in media as big as any of them. So we can hold up our end—and profit greatly, I hope.”
“And profit greatly, you will, but I am concerned now about any opinions the gentlemen to our sides may have.”
Lydia looked with surprise towards us then back to Max.
“Opinions? They’re my lawyers. Their only opinions are the ones I pay them to have.”
She did not give us away, she could have and didn’t, but then she couldn’t reveal our subterfuge without admitting she had been a part of it, and struggling to convince that her conversion was genuine. If she was looking for a way to do that, she had very little time. The do or die moment was just around the corner. Was her mind working furiously, trying to quickly figure out a plan? Her face, her attitude, revealed nothing to me.
Was I worried? I had a slight concern.
“Do you agree with that?” Max was asking Henderson and Pinsker.
“We act on our client’s behalf,” was my answer.
“Can I feel secure that you will keep confident all you have heard here tonight?”
“If we can close the Olympic deal to our client’s satisfaction, we’d keep your laundry list confident,” Pinsker said.
“Yes, Lydia, we’re well aware of that, and, I assure you, it will never come to that,” I said coldly.
“Good,” Max said. I will offer you my trust, then. Because your client is far more important to us than the other five. They are perfect candidates for the Communion; they will be willing soldiers of propaganda – but nothing more. Lydia, on the other hand, although soon to be a valued member of the Communion, is also, I believe, a worthy candidate for the Enclave, and with your permission, Lydia, I will be happy to nominate you at the earliest possible opportunity.”
Lydia looked generally surprised and moved. Then in all apparently genuine humility, she said, “I—I would be honored.”
My slight concern took on some heft.
*
Max invited Lydia to follow him.
“Can I do a little retouching first?” Lydia asked as she took a tube of lipstick out of her small evening purse.
“Interesting shade,” Max commented as he waited with the slight impatience men have similarly waited with for ages.
“Made especially for me?” Lydia finished, examining her accuracy in a compact mirror. “I love it!” She inserted the stick back in the tube, threw it and the compact back into her purse. Then she stood up and joined Max.
As they were halfway out, just as I was about to say something, Max turned to us.
“Oh, you guys can come if you want. I told you I trust you. Don’t forget your briefcases. I know how attached you are to them.”
He turned and led Lydia out of the room. Henderson and Pinsker hurried to grab the briefcases and catch up.
*
Max took us through the game room featuring two pool tables and another tapestry, this one depicting a none-too-successful stag hunt. Then we entered Hearst’s private movie theater, a scaled down version of the vast Picture Palaces that were its contemporaries. Scaled down but still a great space, of course, ornately decorated, with a high ceiling and illumination provided by rows of mock Caryatids, sculpted life-size women hanging on the walls, holding lamps in their hands, standing at attention, standing guard. The walls between them were covered in the most luxurious red silk.
Hollywood is an All Volunteer Army Page 31