“Those’re all originals,” he said. “No eBay bullshit. I met each and every one of those guys in person. Some I screened their movies right here in the Tomb. I once did a double bill of Frenzy and Polanski’s Macbeth, and John Finch was actually fucking there in the audience. Wouldn’t sign anything for me, though.”
“Wasted career,” said Stevens.
“Huh?”
“He turned down Live and Let Die. Could’ve been James Bond. So because of him, we’re stuck with Roger Moore.”
Dinan was about to argue, but Jarsdel interrupted. “Sorry, tomb?”
The big man looked at him, confused.
“You said something about showing their movies in a tomb.”
“Oh.” Dinan smiled. “My little nickname for the projection booth. Egyptian Theatre…Egypt…King Tut’s tomb. I know it’s a reach, but I always wanted to have a place with an actual name, you know?”
“Like the Shire,” said Stevens.
Dinan ignored him. “Houses used to have names, the way ships do. Everything had names. Swords, violins, guns, famous pieces of jewelry and mirrors and even goblets, right? Because everything was unique, you know, so with the scarcity of the thing, it made sense to come up with a name for it. Now there are a billion copies of everything, so who cares? Me, I like things unique. Custom. Like, I got a sling at home—a real sling—made by this guy in the South who does these Bible reenactments. And he makes slings. I got the best one. Parachute cord, and with a pouch made of supersoft deer skin. My initials are branded on the leather. Guarantee you—only one on earth like it.
“But that’s about it, though, for me—stuff like that. Little things. ’Cause I live in an apartment, right? You can’t name an apartment. It’s not yours, and when you go, they’ll slap on another coat of Swiss Coffee, and it’s off to the next drone. And that’s apartment life, right? And everything you own in that apartment is mass-produced, just mass-produced, but this”—he gestured broadly at the room around him—“only place in the world like it. The Tomb.”
Aleena nodded. “You gotta hold on to the things that define you.”
“Yes.”
“I’d rather have nothing than a bunch of stuff that doesn’t speak to me.”
“Absolutely. But that’s very advanced thinking. Most people it’s just gimme gimme gimme. It’s the acquisition that fires them up, but it doesn’t last, and then they’re left asking themselves why they’re no happier.”
Jarsdel wondered where the fornicating demon/schoolgirl statuette fit into Dinan’s philosophizing, but didn’t ask. He saw that Stevens had stopped examining the movie trailers and was watching the exchange with interest, all the while rubbing at the milky stone pendant hanging from his neck.
“A rare moment,” he said when nobody filled the silence. Everyone turned to look at him. “I mean, my dear Jeff, how often do we ever agree on anything? But in this case, I’d have to bow to your wisdom. Such as it is.”
“Hey, even a stopped clock’s right twice a day, right?” asked Dinan. He turned his attention back to Aleena. “I’m not gonna pretend anything I just said is profound. But you’re nice to humor me.”
“No,” she protested. “I totally agree—”
“I’m sorry, but I have to say it: you are just so fucking cute.”
Aleena cocked her head and surveyed him, her face suddenly unreadable. Jarsdel felt a surge of protectiveness but didn’t know what he should do or say. He looked over at Stevens and found no help there. The pale man was focused on Dinan and Aleena, expression vague and distant, fingers still working at the stone.
It was Dinan himself who broke the strange impasse. He lifted his hands, palms raised, then dropped them heavily at his sides. “Does it make you uncomfortable I said that? That you’re cute?”
Aleena put down her beer and continued to regard the big man. Jarsdel thought perhaps she narrowed her eyes a little, but that was all.
Dinan shrugged. “I played a lot of D&D in high school. Probably not a huge shock, right? Played D&D, was on tech crew. People thought I was a type, you know? I looked like a type. No denying that. So this new kid comes to school. ‘Troubled’ was the official term. ‘Asshole’ was what I would’ve called him. And he spots me and just zeroes in like a fucking missile. First, it’s just little things. Swats my books outta my hands, steps on my shoe when I’m walking, bumps me with his shoulder—‘Watch it, fag.’ The classics. Then he starts slamming my locker when I’m getting stuff—nearly cuts my fingers off a couple times. The shoulder bumps start to get a little harder. I just sense it. I just sense it, and it’s like, whoa, wait a minute, this guy’s really not gonna be happy until he causes me some serious damage. And on the heels of that, I said no. No, wait a minute. I’m just floored by the arrogance of it. So I look at my body in the mirror and I’m like, ‘Well, God gave me this soft personality, this D&D personality, but he gave me this body to defend it. So I’m gonna use it.’
“Well. I can’t act on my newfound resolve right away, ’cause there’s always too many people around, so I gotta just suffer in silence the next time the cunt biscuit goes for my fingers with the locker door. But eventually, he tries for me when it’s only the two of us.”
Dinan smiled, allowing the memory to come back to him fully. “I knew they’d look at the backs of my hands if I got caught. Look for bruises and scrapes, you know, to show I’d been in a fight. So when King Dickface comes after me that day, I don’t punch him. Instead, I give him a slap, right on the chin. Whap! Guy goes down like he’s made of nothing. Even I’m surprised. I could’ve left it at that. But I want him to remember me. I want him to remember all those shoulder bumps, all the locker slams, everything. And even more than that, I want to—as they say—eliminate his capacity for making war. What good is it if he just comes back tomorrow even more pissed off, right? I stand over one of his ankles and bring my heel down hard as I can, right on the bone. Crack! Then really quick, because he’s already screaming, I do the same to his wrist.”
Dinan looked from Aleena to Jarsdel, then back again. “The end.”
Aleena finally spoke. “Is there a reason you’re telling me all this?”
“By way of explanation,” said Dinan. “Not that I owe you one. But ever since that day, I haven’t had any trouble saying what’s on my mind or doing what I needed to do.”
“Mm. How’s that going?”
“Look, with me, what you see is what you get. No surprises. Some people find it refreshing.”
“Others find it rude.”
“Fair enough, but consider how fuckin’ goofy it is, how worked up we get over little bits of social protocol. What could actually be an invigorating conversation turns instead into an absolute minefield. So I basically say ‘you’re beautiful,’ and that bothers you. That puzzles me, because you knew I was thinking it anyway, so why does it matter if I come out and say it?” He held a hand out to Jarsdel. “And I’m not even trying to move in on your territory—”
“Territory,” Aleena spat.
“—but I do get to say you have a hot girlfriend.” He turned back to Aleena. “That’s my right. And you can take it or leave it, but no one gets to tell me what I can and can’t say. Think about it. All I did was make an observation.”
“So if I were ugly,” said Aleena, “you’d tell me that too?”
“No, probably not. It doesn’t interest me to point out what’s common in the world. Most people are ugly, or at least forgettable.” He yawned. “Look, I don’t want to expend any more intellectual fuel on this conversation. I’m sorry you were offended, and I’m sorry if that means we can’t be friends. Woulda been wicked having you in my entourage.”
“Okay,” said Jarsdel, reaching for Aleena’s hand.
She brushed it away and stood on her own.
Stevens approached the couple, looking grave. “I’m very sorry about this. He c
an get very back-and-forth emotionally sometimes. The alcohol doesn’t help.”
“You know I can hear you, Gomez,” said Dinan. “That’s me—mister big drinker, mister volatile, unpredictable man.” He spoke the last word with barely checked fury. “You know what? Why don’t you go ahead and fuck off? All of you.”
“We should go. Let’s go,” said Stevens, ushering them toward the door.
“We should go. Let’s go,” Dinan imitated in a squeaking falsetto. “Let’s get away from the terrible man.”
“You’re gonna feel pretty silly about this tomorrow, Jeff,” said Stevens on his way out.
“Good. Then I’ll have a glimpse of what it’s like in your head all the fucking time.”
Jarsdel, Stevens, and Aleena made their way wordlessly down the dimly lit stairs. Stevens took the lead and showed them out through a set of double doors. Jarsdel wanted the night air to be cool after the mugginess of the projection booth, but instead, it was tepid and heavy on his skin. He didn’t feel like he was outside at all, even though he could see the moon.
“What a clod,” said Stevens, producing a cigarette and lighting it in a single fluid motion.
“Is he manic-depressive or something?” asked Jarsdel.
“Who cares?” said Aleena. “You can be bipolar and still be a decent person. What an asshole.”
Stevens nodded and took a drag on his cigarette. He blew a beautiful smoke ring that rose in the warm air and quickly twisted out of shape. “I agree.”
“But you guys are friends?”
Stevens flicked a curl of ash onto the sidewalk. “He’s probably the only person in Los Angeles I can talk film with. Like me, he’s seen everything—has a holistic approach to the medium. Good and bad, high art and trash, it all comes together to create a fuller picture of what film can do. And he’s not like that all the time. Only when—”
“Only around women?”
Stevens frowned. “I can’t apologize for him, nor would I. He’s not my responsibility. But I am sorry he ruined your evening. Most of all, the movie.”
Jarsdel was puzzled. “The movie?”
“The Man Who Laughs. It’s a truly great film, and sadly, you’ll now associate it with this stupid episode. He had no right to do that to you. No right. He thieved the experience. Is that right to say? In English? ‘Thieved’ it?”
“‘Stole’ is more common, but ‘thieved’ is fine.”
“Fine, then. He stole what could have otherwise been a really special thing. That upsets me.”
Jarsdel took Aleena’s hand. “Yeah, well. I think we’re gonna take off. Have a good night, Mr. Stevens.”
“Raymond, please.” He shook his head bitterly. “God. How humiliating. And you an historian. You knew what my pilum was.”
Jarsdel had started back toward the parking lot but now halted uncomfortably a few yards from Stevens. Aleena was farther ahead of him and gave his hand an insistent squeeze. “Not a big deal,” he said. “Like you said, he’s not your responsibility.”
Stevens gave him a sad, doubtful look. “I don’t think that matters. You’ll still on some level associate this incident with me.”
Aleena squeezed his hand again. “Let’s go.”
“We really gotta run,” he said to Stevens, who gave a resigned nod and sagged against the double doors. Jarsdel was reminded of a grade schooler who’d just been picked last for a game of kickball. “The movie was really great. We loved it.”
Stevens looked up, his expression hopeful. “You did? Really?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t believe I hadn’t even heard of it before.”
The man’s eyes glittered with happiness. “Yes. A true gem. I’m actually trying to get ahold of one of the dental prosthetics used to create Gwynplaine’s unearthly grin. Same makeup artist, you know, who did Frankenstein. Jack Pierce. A genius. Ah—I have an idea! Why don’t the two of you stop by sometime? As my guests, of course. I’ll give you a private tour of the museum, even show you some pieces unseen by the public. Guaranteed the most filmically sincere experience in the city.”
“Sounds great.”
“Tremendous. What a turnaround from the way I felt a couple minutes ago. Thank you. And I still have your card! Is the same number—”
“Yeah, there are two numbers on there. One’s my desk at the station, but my cell’s under that. Call me on that.”
“Good, good. I’ll certainly be in touch.”
This time, Aleena pulled on Jarsdel’s hand, and he nearly lost his footing. He gave Stevens a final, reassuring smile and went with her.
* * *
Jarsdel expected a chilly drive back. He didn’t think he’d known Aleena long enough to have a right to share in her anger and indignation. Worse, the whole evening had been his idea. Going up to meet Dinan had been his idea. There was no way to duck the blame, and crippling embarrassment seemed the only reasonable response. He only hoped his humiliation might offset some of Aleena’s resentment, though he didn’t suppose that was likely.
But he was wrong. Aleena was electric with fury, true, but none of it directed at him. “Fucking misogynistic troll.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry that happened.”
“What? No—don’t you dare apologize for him. I hate that, when people apologize for someone else’s bullshit.”
“Okay, I’m just—”
“Ugh. And that disgusting story he told, posing as a badass, like he was trying to intimidate me—I mean, I don’t know what else to call it—intimidate me into, I don’t know, thinking he was justified in being a complete dick. And did you see that statue thing? Of the schoolgirl getting raped? Real nice. I mean, Megan’s Law, anyone?”
“Yeah.”
“You should look into him, seriously. I know that’s not how things are done, investigating people without, like, any real cause. But I don’t know. Or can you?”
Jarsdel opened his mouth to speak, but she plowed on.
“Am I totally overreacting?”
“No. But like my TO said—”
“What’s a TO?”
“Training officer. Said there’s no law against being an asshole.”
“I guess.” She exhaled forcefully. “Okay. I’m done. No. Wait.” She rolled down her window, stuck out her head, and shouted, “Fucking troll!”
“Fuck you!” someone called back from somewhere.
She rolled the window back up.
“Better?” Jarsdel asked.
“Better,” she agreed.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. The traffic heading east wasn’t nearly as bad, and it wasn’t long before they were back at Aleena’s. She was out of the car and about to shut the door when she noticed Jarsdel still had the engine running.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“I don’t know. I feel really awkward.”
“Why?”
“This wasn’t exactly the evening I had planned. Especially when you said how much you hated Halloween, you know, I thought, ‘Hey, I’m gonna show her a great time.’”
Aleena sighed. “Are you honestly gonna do a pity party over this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you really want the whole night to be a wash, you can be all mopey and go home. Then I agree, that would be super awkward. But if you can let it go and come inside, we can still have a good time.”
“We can?”
“If you lighten up.”
Jarsdel thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, you got it.”
“Good. Because I was thinkin’ reverse cowgirl. I’m seriously horny, and that usually does it for me.”
* * *
Their lovemaking was much better than before, less hurried, the two enjoying each other’s bodies fully. And afterward, as they lay together, Aleena was far from
the darkly pensive person she’d been the last time. They’d gotten past something together, and there was a sense in both of them of letting go, of releasing old demons. Aleena spoke with her usual intoxicating frankness, but there was a fresh ebullience to it. Jarsdel matched her, slipping with ease into the rhythm of the conversation.
“You bring your gun with you?” said Aleena.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t think I’d need it. Was I wrong?”
“Thought you guys were always supposed to have your guns on you. Just in case.”
“It’s not a rule. They want us to, but I try to spend as little time with it as possible.”
“Huh. A cop who’s antigun.”
“It’s not a political thing. I’m just not much good with it, so it’s like having a little reminder of a personal inadequacy glued to my hip all the time.” He grunted. “You know something funny? When we’re in the academy, we have to practice shooting these targets—more like posters, I guess—of bad guys. They’re actually these big blown-up photographs of real people. And the thing is, they’re all pictures of cops. I mean, not in uniform or anything. They’re in civvies, looking mean and pointing guns at you, but it’s real cops from departments all over the country who pose for them.”
“Why?” asked Aleena.
“Ah, interesting. Because here’s the thing. If it was pictures of civilians dressed up like bad guys, and you ran into the actual person somehow in real life, they don’t want to take the chance that you’d be conditioned to just start shooting at them.”
Aleena laughed. “For real?”
“Well, maybe not shoot them exactly but, you know, automatically think they’re criminals or something. Hassle them and not even realize why. Because you spend so much time emptying clips at these posters that you get to know the faces very well. I’d easily recognize them if I saw them on the street.”
“That’s funny,” said Aleena. Her hand brushed against the top of the nightstand, where Jarsdel had dumped his things before they’d gotten into bed. “Why’d you bring your badge?”
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