by Bill Orton
“How far is Denver from Las Vegas?” asked Lena.
“L.A. is about 1,500 miles, and we didn’t even make a third so far… because of Ed….”
“How much to where we are finally going?” asked Tres. “L.A. to where was that? Illinois?”
“Nebraska. Like half way across, pretty much.”
“My God, the distances,” said Lena.
“America is 5000 kilometers across, so we are going almost 2,500… just for a sporting match,” said Tres. “Really amazing.”
“Really something,” said Lena.
“We hopefully will do almost 1000 miles today,” said Larry.
“That sounds incredible,” said Lena.
“We better get comfortable,” said Ed, as Gina quietly scoffed.
“It’s a good thing the hunnies packed food,” said December.
“Should we call Lori?” asked Gina.
“Team Lori!” cheered Ed, looking towards December.
Larry picked up his cell from the cup holder next to him, dialed and put the phone on speaker.
The phone rang. Larry held it in the center of the cabin, as though a surprise party were to erupt on her answer.
“Hey, this is Lori,” came a recorded voice.
“Gimme dat,” said December, quickly taking Larry’s phone and, after the beep, talking quickly. “Hey Baby! Guess where we all are?” December signaled with her hand, in a circular movement, prompting silence. She gave a look of displeasure and everyone gave out loud whoops. “Yeh Baby... we’re on our way to get’cha... So save yourself up for tonight, Baby, cuz I expect you to be nice and ready for me, okay?” She passed the phone to Larry. “Here you go, hunny.”
“Lori?” Larry said, tentatively. “Hey, sorry I didn’t pick up, last night. Hey, was that a beep? Anyway, okay, w’ull, see you soon.” Larry handed the phone to December, “I think it cut me off.”
December didn’t take the phone. “Dat’s yours, hunny.”
.
Lena, Ed and Tres stood in the middle of the cabin, the sky roof open, watching the scenery of Utah roll out before them. Tres had the camera on his shoulder. Lena and Ed, to give the director room to film, were backed together against the end of the sunroof, just inches apart. Lena, in jeans and a loose blouse, turned such that she couldn’t help but back into Ed’s pelvis, where she stayed for almost a minute, as von Sommerberg panned.
Tres then smiled, gave a thumbs up, and handed the camera to Lena, who held the camera, either to help steady it, or steady herself, as together the two filmmakers lowered the camera into my hands. I handed the camera to Larry, who held it in his lap, as first Lena and then Ed ducked back into the cabin, before Tres finally lowered himself into the cabin and closed the sunroof.
“Wow, Ed,” said Lena, in a whisper anyone could have heard.
.
“We’re getting off the main road,” said Tres.
“Ralphie probably needs gas,” said December, “but good timing, cuz I need to go!”
The Lincoln passed a sign, welcoming visitors to Beaver, Utah (pop. 2,650) and pulled in to a Shell Oil station, across from a fast food joint.
“Burger King works for me,” said December. “Royal chambers, here we come.”
Tres and Lena giggled.
“What?” asked Ed.
“We call it royal chambers, too,” said Lena, “but we have a Queen.”
I watched as Tres, Lena and Ed got out, leaving just Gina and Larry still inside with me. Larry looked unhappy. “Everything okay?” I asked.
Gina smiled and leaned towards Larry, who sat stiffly, with a look on his face suggesting that he wanted to learn to punch.
“Right,” I said, climbing out of the Lincoln. “Excuse me. Royal chambers and all.”
“Take your time,” said Ralphie. “I’m gonna add fluids.” I walked towards the Burger King and, turning, saw Gina and Larry slowly following.
.
“This is really amazing,” said Lena, seated next to Ed in one of the Burger King booths. The open space just goes on and on. In America, spaces are so huge,” she said, eyes soaking in the vast landscape of desert reds and oranges and browns encircling them in all directions, broken only by transecting strips of black asphalt.
“Bigger isn’t always better,” said Ed. “Sometimes, yeh; but other times, it can be too much.”
“Oh, humbug,” spat Gina, walking away from Ed and Lena’s vicinity, to examine the menu board. Larry got up a moment later, and walked to the counter, touching Gina’s hand and standing with her as she ordered.
“Dude,” said Ed, across the table from me. “See?” He pointed to Larry and Gina. “We should hash this out with our team’s legal advisor, for the good of the entire enterprise.”
“What enterprise?” said Tres, reaching for the camera, beside him.
“Oh, nothing,” said Ed, into the camera. “Just a legal question about the client’s well-being.”
“Client?” said Lena. “Larry? He’s producing our film. Is he in some sort of trouble?”
“For the record, Larry van der Bix is not in any trouble,” I said, raising my voice, as I was photographed holding several French fries in my fingers as I spoke.
“That would directly affect our finishing this film,” said Lena.
I dropped the fries. “There in nothing bad hanging over Larry’s head,” I said, as December walked from the other side of the restaurant, carrying a stuffed dolphin.
“What about Larry?” December asked, as she walked up.
“Cute,” said Lena.
“For Lori,” whispered back December.
“Nothing about Larry,” I said. “Ed, you drop this thing for good, or I fire you here and now.”
“If you are instructing me to disregard an ethical obligation to determine how best to protect the best interests of the client…,” said Ed, as Larry and Gina carried a tray to the tables.
“For there being nuthing, it sure sounds like something,” said December.
“What sounds like something?” asked Larry, taking a spot next to me.
“Nuthing,” said Ed.
Gina sat quietly, her hands palms up on the table. Larry turned and silently rested his hands atop hers and she silently spoke words capped by an “amen,” which Larry repeated, and the two proceeded to share a salad, onion rings, egg rolls and churros.
Larry cast a scowl towards Ed. He then took a long breath, and it seemed that whatever energy he had been holding just seconds before had lightened. He looked at Ed again, and shook his head. He and Gina seemed to enjoy their chicken salad.
It was difficult to reconcile this kid I grew up with, to the person beside me, eating a salad, seemingly free of ill will. Resentment had always been the spark that animated Larry van der Bix. Through the window, I saw Ralphie driving towards the restaurant.
“Fluids are topped and the tank’s full,” said Ralphie. “We should get a move on, if we are going to meet Miss Lewis tonight.”
.
Larry told Ralphie not to let anyone into the cabin of the Lincoln until he or I opened the door. Larry reached in to the safe mounted into the refrigerator and pulled out a bundle of bills, which he placed into a cloth bag. Larry raised up off the seat and put the bag so he would be sitting on it. Larry then closed the refrigerator safe and replaced soda cans. “What’s Ed’s thing?” Larry asked.
“Larry, it’s nothing,” I said. “Can I open the door?”
“When I say ‘yes,’ we will be full up, so we don’t have time to play. What is Ed’s thing?”
“He thinks Gina is having a bad effect on you,” I said bluntly. “Thinks we ought to talk to Emily, about whether there are any legal risks to your investments or trust obligations.”
Larry said nothing, which is typically how he meets a sour reality. As his lips began to form a word, there came a rapping on the window.
“Hey, open da door,” said December.
.
“Why did the Mormons settl
e here?” asked Tres, looking out the window, to the vast openness.
“Oh, I got dat one,” said December. “So dey could get far away from da haters who didn’t like dem having all dere women brides.”
“But why here?” said Lena.
“Look around,” said Ed. “Would you leave your nice house in Pennsylvania or Ohio to chase a bunch of religious followers into the badlands?”
“But are they hated?” asked Tres. “Is it all about the polygamy?”
Larry’s phone buzzed. “LORI.” He picked it up, put the call on speaker and answered. “Hi… The car is full of people....”
“Team Lori!” yelled Ed, leading everyone in the car in hooting. Lori laughed on the other end. “Hey, everyone. You guys almost here?”
“Um,” said Larry, “still in Utah, but we’re almost in Colorado.”
“Utah? Oh, man, I’m already checked out,” said Lori.
I looked at Larry, who cast a scowl towards Ed.
“Ralphie’s making good time,” I said loudly.
“Lawrence? You came, too?”
“Me and Tres, too,” said Lena.
“Oh, heya,” said Lori. “Well, get here as soon as you can, cuz when they lock up the facility, it is, like, dead.”
“We’re not stopping til we reach Colorado Springs,” said Larry.
“We ain’t leaving you behind, Baby,” said December.
“Okay, well, see you when you make it.” The phone went silent. Larry dropped his phone into the cup holder. Larry sat stiffly. Gina gently slipped her hand onto his and a moment later, he seemed to melt, and he sat back, as did Gina, into the leather seat, the two of them becoming one.
“Hey,” said Ed, across Lena and Tres, to me. “Maybe it’s a good thing.”
I looked to Larry. He had his eyes closed, and was holding both of his hands around Gina’s.
.
Ed downed a Cactus Cooler, his second since Burger King, and set the can in the nearly-full plastic bag hanging next to the refrigerator. “It’s evil, what these long trips do,” said Ed.
“Are we in Colorado?” asked Lena. “So different from flat, little Denmark.”
“Our tallest point is less then a thousand meters,” said Tres, motioning with his hand to the hillsides of strewn boulders and scattered, solitary trees. “And we are still climbing.”
“Welcome to Colorful Colorado,” read a large road sign, set into a stone frame.
“Maybe Ralphie can stop and let us welcome Colorado in our own way,” said Ed.
“We will stop at Grand Junction,” said Larry. “Buck it up, Ed.”
.
“Aww, man,” said Ed. “I’m dying here. Can you please have Ralphie pull over?”
Larry looked directly to Ed. “Lori’s waiting for us,” he said.
“Even Olympic swimmers go to the ba-bathroom,” said Ed. “I think she’d understand.”
A road sign announced, “Fruita, 6 miles.”
“In Fruita,” said Larry, as the Lincoln approached a tunnel, carved into the base of a butte.
“Really amazing,” said Tres.
.
Larry raised his hand and motioned towards the driver’s compartment. I turned and rapped on the smoked glass. The glass lowered.
“Stop as soon as you can,” said Ed.
“Fruita,” said Larry.
“Fruita....” The glass raised.
By the time the Lincoln pulled off Interstate 70, onto CO-340, Ed was shifting in his seat. Larry whispered to Gina, who held the cloth bag Larry had been sitting on.
“I won’t be long,” said Ed, as the Lincoln pulled into a grassy rest area, across from Rib City.
“This is Ed’s stop,” said Larry.
Ed carefully climbed over Lena and Tres, before he could back out of the cabin. “Ed,” said Larry, motioning to Gina to hand Ed the bag. “Go to Rib City... Here’s money to buy a mess of ribs.”
“Ribs? Are you sure? Ribs is messy.”
“And take your phone, so you can call when they’re ready.”
“Won’t Ralphie get pissed? Ribs in the Lincoln?”
Gina held the bag out, jiggling it in her hand. Ed took the bag.
“And you got yer phone?”
“Wouldn’t leave home without it,” he replied.
As soon as he got out of the car, Ed ran to Rib City, across the rest area parking lot, alongside a mounted Vietnam-era military helicopter.
Larry typed on his cell phone. When he appeared to have finished, I heard a beep behind me, from what sounded like it was Ralphie’s phone.
The Lincoln glided away from the rest area.
“Is Ralphie moving the car?” asked December.
Larry said nothing. Gina leaned into Larry’s shoulder.
“We are back now on the highway,” said Lena.
December pulled at Larry’s sleeve. “Hey, dat’s someone we left, back dere.”
Larry picked up his cell phone from the cup holder.
“So what’d ya order? Okay, w’ull, bye.” Larry hung up.
Larry leaned into the leather seat and closed his eyes. Tres and Lena looked at one another.
“Dat’s it?” said December. “We’re just gonna leave him?”
“He’s got ten thousand bucks, a pink slip and a mess of ribs,” said Larry, his eyes closed.
“Dem’s some mean jeans,” said December. “You better not do dat to me!”
.
“Baby! Baby! Baby!” yelled December, frantically working her way past me and Larry, so she could break loose and run to Lori Lewis, standing tall, like a bronzed goddess, walking from a sidewalk towards the Lincoln. December leapt onto her body, and Lori caught her at the hips and held her legs for long seconds as they kissed deeply.
December’s legs unwrapped from around Lori’s torso, and she slid down, her arms wrapped around Lori’s neck, pulling her into a deep forward stance, her arms around December’s back and their lips locked. The two stood kissing, without any change in position for a quarter-minute before anyone stepped from the Lincoln. I got out, followed by Gina and Larry, and the two filmmakers. After ending their kiss, December began groping Lori’s body. “Oh, yeh baby... oh... look how strong you are, oh yeh.”
“Where’s Ed?” asked Lori. “I thought he came, too?”
“Hunny ditched him this morning,” said December, feeling Lori’s ass in her hands. “Cold, if you ask me, but....”
“C’mon, pumpkin,” said Lori, gently pushing December’s hands away. “Let’s get out’ta here.”
Two young blondes, each carrying shoulder bags, trotted past Lori and December. “Good luck, old lady,” said one.
“Hot, actually,” said the other, as they passed.
.
Ralphie took the Lincoln through the crests and passes of the Rockies, and descending into the wide, desert-like plains of western Nebraska, with its rolling sand hills. December missed most of the scenery, as her own eyes and hands were focused on her lover, as me and the filmmakers and Larry and Gina tried to keep up conversation.
The lovers gave themselves to one another, as discretely and completely as two rutting people would after having not seen one another in two months. December’s first orgasms were almost muted affairs, but the long ride out of Colorado and entry to Nebraska was marked by December becoming anything but discrete as she ground and mashed into Lori’s body.
“Oh my God,” said Lena, at one point. “It’s almost too much.” She didn’t seem intent toward any path of action, and said her piece, with gasps of her own.
Half-an-hour into Nebraska, December and Lori were each asleep in one another’s arms, sunshine streaming in through the tinted windows, illuminating the paleness of December’s skin, against Lori’s deep, rich bronzed tan. The two bodies, intertwined, purred as one.
“So will the movie ever be shown?” I asked,
“The movie?” said Lena, not breaking her view to the two women.
“Larry’s grandmother?
The dancer? That one.”
“Only for the Royal Troupe,” said Tres, “and anyone they think will want to attend. Maybe the Royal Family will be given a copy…. But they don’t display failed projects.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you’ve worked very hard….”
“Right, it was really something,” said Tres.
“It could have been really something,” said Lena.
“Do you have… any other… um… projects?” I asked.
“My industrial holiday is complete this week and I am done with my vacation money, so I must return to my medical practice,” said Tres.
“Your… medical practice?” said Larry.
“We are oral surgeons,” said Lena, pointing to she and Tres.
“What about my investment,” said Larry, as though waking from a slumber. He sat upright, erect, engaged “I mean, didn’t I have, like, a million dollars or something in that?”
“One million and four hundred thousand in dollars,” said Lena. “Almost ten million kroner which makes you a leading investor in Danish cinema for the calendar year. You will have quite a credit next year.”
“What do you mean by credit?” asked Gina.
“A company that invests in the arts can claim a credit. It translates to real money,” said Tres.
“You could set up a Danish arts company just for the credit alone,” said Lena.
“We have lost money each of three years to create this film, even with Larry’s big investment,” said Lena, “but the value of the credit keeps us profitable... barely, but we did not lose money.”
“Only because the Dogme95 film style is cheap,” said Tres.
“That’s true,” said Lena.
“So I don’t get to attend the opening night, but artists like me, huh?” asked Larry.
“And your credit,” said Lena, “has a cash value of maybe half a million dollars, which is probably two years of patronage residency.”
“Residency?” asked Gina.
“Arts Patronship Residency,” corrected Lena. “Those who fund the arts, live for three months each season with the rising artists, together in a colony either in Copenhagen or Skagen and the artists propose their works. Our film commission came from Ingeborg’s family, after we met them at a residency event five years ago.”