cease and desist

by stephen david hurley

  “It wasn’t just your mother!” she shouts. “James was afraid of you. He told me so when you went out to California to play in that movie.” She stands, takes a wobbly step, and grabs for the table’s edge. I go to her. She pushes me away, and through the exhaustion that hangs on her cheeks like the aftermath of a great storm, I see the steely resolve.

  “It wasn’t just my sister,” Nina intones.

  “Don’t go on about his mental illness, Aunt Nina. James was just fine until she sunk her claws into him.”

  “And it wasn’t Phil or that therapist on the West Side. It was you!” she shouts.

  “It’s a lie,” I hiss.

  “He was afraid of what you’d become…of what this game had done to you…like he’d created some monster.” She leaves me and walks over to the roll-top desk.

  “I hate you,” I shout.

  She has her head in her hands, and the fatigue on her face is overcome by an anguish that hurts me so much I collapse in shame. I go down to my knees. I want out of this stupid game. I rub my palms as if I’m trying to wash out a spot that just won’t go away.

  “I’m sorry, Nina. I’m so…without you, we’d both be dead.” I rise and run to her.

  She allows a hug but turns her head away as she says, “I tried to stop it. I took the genealogy away from your moth—my sister…someday I’ll explain…the game…how dangerous—”

  “I won’t do anything to shame you, Nina.” I search the pocket of my jeans for the phone. I look down at the tablet and push contacts for Francis’ number. “I’m going to quit. You’ll back me up, Nina, if Francis tries any more phony promises. You’ll sue. Call the cops. It’s statutory rape.”

  She fumbles for the crossword puzzle as I take her plate from the table. She pulls out her pencil, points over to the blank notepad on the coffee table. I run and fetch it.

  “Maybe you won’t have to,” she says. Through the hurt a more calculating look appears on her face. “Tell me, Cease. These clues and codes for opening these portals, aren’t their rules to them?”

  “Yes. At least there were in the beginning.”

  She turns the pages of the script, carefully, to the last page. “It doesn’t say you have to get the code from Brad’s thigh.” She points to the bottom of the page. “It says, ‘whoever inputs the correct code first.’ The gods,” Nina says, with a look of disgust because she doesn’t like it when the writers use the plural, “they allow you to guess after Susan does her business with Brad.”

  “Yes. But so what? How will I know the code unless I take off Brad’s pants and get it?”

  The look of a cunning strategist pierces her dreamy gaze. It tells me I’ve missed something. “One of the writers is trying to give you a clue. And since the writers themselves don’t have a clue as to what they’re really writing about, I’d say you’re getting help from a higher source.”

  A higher source? Does that mean Aunt Nina believes me about all my emails with Jeanne?

  I look down and see Nina has circled names written in the stage notes.

  “Do you recognize this?” She taps the word ATTICHY.

  “No. Or, yes—I’ve seen it before. It’s French, isn’t it?” I screw my face into a question mark. Maybe an acrostic that might be a word for how she’s feeling?

  “It’s the state,” Nina says. She looks up from the pad into the treetops of the cloisters below. “It’s a place…what’s called in America, a state…maybe an emotion, too. A state of mind.” She turns to face me. “Le prefect is the region that contains Compiegne.”

  “Where Jeanne was taken prisoner?” I offer. Nina nods solemnly, but her face is buried in the crossword puzzle; her knobby fingers move the pencil furiously, like some minute divining rod. “That would work for the alpha part of the code, but the code has numbers too, Nina, and I don’t see any.”

  “What about this word? She taps the note again. Do you recognize it?”

  “AVRIL? Yes,” I say exasperated. What does any of this have to do with the scene? “It’s a girl’s name.” I shake my head as I try to remember when James first said it…“Our last night together, Nina…over and over he repeated that name; he was trying to tell me about her—but he was so incoherent it made no sense.” I run down the hall, fetch the volume off the bed. “I think she was the first of our ancestors who made it to America, who lived right here in New York.”

  “Her surname was de Menich,” Nina says, with the sudden authority of a storied historian. “She was my half-sister. She married a Frenchman named Francois. They lived on the West Side, in the Dakota.”

  “How did she get our name?”

  “My older half-sister was beautiful and the envy of every girl in Lyons,” Nina says without a hint of envy. “My father was a Parisian businessman who preferred her surname to his own. He asked her if he could make de Menich the family name, and she consented. Do you remember the day James came home with the book on that museum in Houston he’d picked up at the Museum of Modern Art—the one with all those Rothko prints?”

  “Yes.” I try to remember, to see through the toxic haze that surrounded James the last month of his life. “He told me she was our aunt, but I figured he was just making it up to make us look like all our neighbors on the Upper East Side.” I remember that afternoon now as I look at Nina’s solemn face; James on the bed with the social register and a biography of Dominique, who was a famous art collector…“He never told me he visited them,” I say, still confused. “Why not?”

  Nina ignores me, takes the dusty tome, and places it ceremoniously on the prie-dieu. It looks as if she’s carefully setting the hands of a clock as she turns the pages to the 20th century. “Yes. I’ve got it.” She points to names at the middle of the page. “De Menich, Dominque. Born: 1960. Husband: Francois.” A wealthy family in the New World setting up shop at a fine address on the West Side of Manhattan. James must have loved them for their rich pedigree.

  But he didn’t. Instead, they terrified him. Why? What had he said that night? Why did a brother and sister who never changed the world in a dramatic way scare him? Why was James so afraid of what he found?

  I study the page. “She had two kids? Etienne and Avril. Why didn’t you tell me about them?” I demand. “They were my half-cousins?”

  “I don’t think we have time for that story today, child.” Nina gives me a strange look I can’t read, then says, “It was because of something Nevre did.” I cringe, the same way Nina cringes whenever we mention James. Nevre was my mother. Nevre was a monster.

  The jingle on my tablet tells me Yousef’s outside.

  Nina stands. “Whoever wrote this scene knew about one of your ancestors; a history none of Francis’ people could’ve had access to—a history you didn’t even know—”

  “We’re running out of time, Nina. I’ve got only a couple of options here. It’s not a do-or-die scene, but the votes will determine who gets first crack at Craig. The lights go green in less than an hour. What do I do? It’s either go all the way with Brad, or give some virgin speech that all the adults are going to laugh at.”

  “Attichy,” she repeats, carefully. “It’s not just a state. It’s a state of mind.” “Someone’s trying to give you motivation on how to play the scene.” She points to the new script. “You’re chained to a cell the way your character was.”

  “Yes. I know, Nina.”

  “And you know you can’t just play a prude or the scene will die; even your diehard fans will vote for Susan.” Nina rises and faces me. “You’re a prisoner in your own body. The same way Jeanne was a prisoner in that cell.” It comes out pretty dramatic, but it stops me in my tracks. Have I heard that before?

  Isn’t that what Jeanne wrote in one of her emails?

  “You’ve got to seduce Brad,” Nina continues, “but you’ll do it without taking off your clothes.” She goes back to the crossword on the dining room table—draws acrostic boxes in the margins, and scribbles furiously as I stand over her.

  “We re
ally don’t have time for another crossword right now, Nina.” But she’s not listening. I try to make words, clues for the letters that are appearing. It makes no sense. I sigh and get my bag. “Sorry, Nina. I have to go.” She’s still scribbling wildly as I turn and go to the door.

  “When you get your chance to decode the portal, try Avril1960.”

  “OK.” I hear the buzzer. I run to the door. “What should I do with Brad?”

  “A kiss never hurt to show a boy who’s boss. You’re French, after all.”

  “Bye, Nina. I love you.”

  Her hands tremble as she raises the slip of paper. I run back and take it.

  How far should I go? But I already know the answer. It’s not about taking off my clothes. It’s about sharing the secrets of my character.

  We’re speeding uptown. There’s a car behind us—a yellow SUV I’ve seen on the set. Tinted glass. Black decal on the driver side with an insignia I can’t make out.

  “Yousef, take Lexington.”

  “It’s busy with the holiday shopping still.”

  “Just do it.” He takes the left on 34th Street and the SUV follows. “Can you see that yellow car behind us?”

  “Yes. You want me to lose them? I’ve see Bullitt, Miss Cease. Steve McQueen. I know some moves.”

  “No. Slow down. Let them pass. I want to see the…”

  They pass. I can’t read the decal but recognize the large Firestone wheels—one with a gash thorough the R. That vehicle was waiting for Francis outside the perimeter of trucks the night I got eliminated. It was the one I saw them put the giant in after I stabbed him. He was so big they had to stuff him into the back. Francis is up to something sinister, and he doesn’t want it filmed.

  We arrive at a soundstage in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. Francis studies my face after handing me the scene; he’s got that creepy, petulant smirk that tries to tell me he’s in control. I give him a complacent shrug because I know he’s not. A saint’s riding shotgun with me today. I can feel it.

  “I’ve already seen this.”

  “No. You haven’t.” He points to the notes at the top. “Instead of the code being taped to Brad’s thigh, it will be taped to your thigh.”

  Pervert…imbeclie…bastard.

  “And if I don’t let anyone grope me?” I ask.

  “You can guess the code, I suppose,” he says, tauntingly.

  “What about my fans?”

  “Their votes will count only after you gain access to the portal. Remember the rules you signed off on, Cease. Susan and Brad can improvise after they’ve recited their lines.” His baleful look tells me he’s planning a sick surprise.

  You’re a pathetic loser, Francis, and I’m gonna tell that to the whole world—if I get my big speech.

  I let the scenarios spin in my head as the lights flicker from red to yellow. Brad will try to seduce me. I’ll let him go only so far, because I’m not taking my pants off today. What Francis really wants is for Susan and me to go at it. Susan would tear off my clothes to get what she wants…and I’d be forced to defend myself.

  All you have to do is kill a girl you never really liked, a girl who will kill you if she gets the chance.

  Self-defense.

  But then what? The detective at my door…questions about a missing girl…more questions about what happened between James and me on his last night…Nina alone…with no one to care for her…after all she’s done for me…she lost a sister…she lost a nephew…and now a selfish child who just wanted to be famous…

  INT—The present day. New York City. A tenement on the Lower East Side, a window that overlooks Thompkins Square Park, where the portal appears. The code to program it is taped to Jeanne’s left thigh. The girl who knows the code will have the first scene with Craig Sterling.

  Susan has her top off as scene begins. She’s running her hands through Brad’s hair with her back to Jeanne.

  SUSAN

  (cunningly)

  It feels so right with you.

  (She whispers in his ear.)

  Help me get the code and I’ll turn you into a man.

  BRAD

  What should I do?

  SUSAN

  (privately to Brad)

  Tell her you don’t love me. That she’s the only one you want. The final sequence has been placed in a note between her legs, affixed to her left thigh. Get it and we’ll be free.

  (Susan turns and her breasts brush Brad’s cheek.)

  So we stage a fight, and then you tell her you’ve changed your mind. I’m not the one for you.

  (Susan takes Brad’s face gently in her hands and kisses him.)

  BRAD

  Susan. I just don’t want you anymore. I need something more than this.

  (Turning to Jeanne.)

  She’s got more class.

  (Susan pulls at Brad’s hair, violently.)

  SUSAN

  (desperately)

  Can she do this for you?

  (Susan takes off her pants. Takes Brad’s fingers and places them between her legs.)

  BRAD

  Let go.

  JEANNE

  (confidently)

  Doesn’t look like that kind of love is working for you. Why not come over here and get a taste of a virgin.

  SUSAN

  (innocently)

  I’m a virgin, too.

  (Both Brad and Jeanne laugh.)

  BRAD

  Sure you are, honey. And I’m the man on the moon.

  (Susan becomes enraged. Slaps Jeanne hard across the mouth.)

  JEANNE

  (to Susan)

  Maybe you should look in a mirror and see who you really are.

  SUSAN

  OK. So I’m not exactly pure as the driven snow, Little Miss Peasant Girl.

  (She turns her gaze slowly to Brad’s crotch.)

  Well, Brad, at least one of us is turning you on. Look me in the eyes and tell me I don’t make you hard.

  (Brad doesn’t look in her eyes. He’s staring at her chest. She tugs at his belt buckle.)

  I’m a virgin, but my mouth is open to suggestions.

  (She tries to pull down his pants. He resists.)

  BRAD

  (with resolve)

  Don’t. I’m not going with either one of you. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to have sex just to win someone over. I felt it when I first met her. She’s got a power you’ll never have. Now let her go or you’ll never get out of this complex alive. Free Houston is a day’s trek from here. Once they find out we’re here, they’ll come and kill us all.

  SUSAN

  OK. But my offer still stands. You’ll never become a man with this little girl.

  (Aside between Brad and Jeanne.)

  JEANNE

  Brad. Do you really want to be free?

  BRAD

  Yes. What do I have to do?

  JEANNE

  Kiss me. If it feels right, we’ll show that little slut what real love looks like.

  (Brad unlocks Jeanne’s chains. They kiss.)

  Kiss me, Brad—like you really mean it.

  (Jeanne slowly removes her top.)

  Harder. Only a virgin can teach the boys how to make love. That slut will just shame you for all the world to see.

  (Susan pulls them apart, gropes Brad, and they go down in a tumble. Susan tries to rip off Jeanne’s pants. She knocks Brad unconscious with a kick to his head. She fights Jeanne and gets the code.)

  SUSAN

  (savagely)

  What was once yours in now mine, little miss virgin.

  (Susan begins to code the display panel that will open the door to the portal in the park below. The gods of the future interrupt her.)

  GODS

  (off screen)

  The virgin is allowed the first try at decoding the portal. She’ll be locked out after three unsuccessful attempts.

  SUSAN

  And just what’s she going to use to open the door—her imagination?

  I rise and slowly
advance to the portal’s digital control panel. I hope you’re right, Nina. I slowly press the code and hear a series of clicks. I turn to see the rage flashing across Susan’s face. Francis yells, cut!

  “What the fuck?” shouts Eve. “You cheated. You bribed someone, didn’t you?”

  “No, Susan. I guess I just got lucky.” Brad’s up on his feet and nursing his swollen head. Susan stomps toward me and pushes aside a production assistant who’s just entered the room with a clipboard.

  “Flat-chested witch.”

  I look down and see I’ve forgotten to put my shirt back on; I’m wearing a black bra Nina helped me pick out at Barneys in Chelsea. What would Craig prefer? The real, and small; the large, and fake? He’s probably seen them all. Susan slowly buttons her top as she stares me down. Those things make her look like a chest-plated Valkyrie.

  “You’ve got an interesting acting style, Little Miss Virgin,” Susan says.

  “Yeah, well, it’s real.” I give her twin peaks a smirk and hear muffled laughter from the crew that’s breaking down the set.

  “Real. It certainly is.” She punches her open palm with her fist. “And it’s about to get even more real. Soon the whole world’s gonna know what you did to that girl who stopped by your place when your brother was alive.” I freeze. “Did she stumble onto a few family secrets?” She pushes me backward. I stagger into a grip trying to move lighting. He steadies me.

  It’s not going to be hard to kill you, Eve…

  I mean, Susan.

  “That’s enough,” Francis shouts. He tells us to return to our dressing rooms, and wait to hear the results.

  No message from Petit Fleur. Instead, I get this:

  Hi Little Miss Virgin,

  Her name wasn’t Sherry, it was Cherise, and I’ve reported you to the police. Your brother was in my trigonometry class at Dayton. I thought he was cute—so wistfully handsome, like a lost romantic poet. I bet he never told you about us, did he? We met after you got the part as Juliet. He told me you were his other half. What a weird thing to say. It gave me the creeps, as if without you he didn’t exist. He changed after you went off to California to be in that movie. You’d killed Cherise by then, probably dumped her body in the East River. Did you threaten James before you left? Tell him that he’d be next if he told anyone?