II. "The Glorious Cause"

PART ONE

    Things could go either way.  And, everyone watching the silver-hued screen knew it.

    A boy stands in a room that is hot and cramped.  A ceiling fan turns slowly, lazily moving the warm air around between the boy, walls of overcrowded bookshelves, and the other occupants in the old church office.  The boy can hear a conversation between the two older men behind him, yet he isn’t really listening.  As his eyes explore the titles on a nearby bookshelf, each tome a trophy of socialist and communist ideas and achievements, the boy hears the name of his father.  It’s breathed out naturally by one of the men: the boy’s grandfather.

    Suddenly the boy is much younger, a wide-eyed three year old standing on a gravel driveway.  A tall black man in a slim, dark suit and tie stands over him.  The engine of a taxicab idles noisily a few steps away.  “You won’t understand this now,” speaks the senior to his junior.  “But one day, I am confident you will.  You will always know what it is to know a dream and stop at nothing to chase it down...to make it real and share its glory with the rest of the world.”

    The father crouches down, putting his face closer to his son’s.  The boy can almost see his reflection in his father’s glasses.  “The world is sick, my boy.  Do you understand that?”

    The little boy nods sheepishly, not really sure if he understands or not.  He’s too young, maybe.  But then again, maybe he has an instinct for the things his father is telling him.  Perhaps the passion of one already exists in the other, waiting for its time to mature and evolve.

    “I have to go now,” says the father stiffly, his voice almost flat and emotionless.  “It’s my turn to take up the glorious cause.  I have to fulfill the dream of my father.  One day, I know it will be your turn and I know you won’t fail in helping to fulfill mine.”

    Suddenly, the boy is back in the office.  Sunlight dapples across the floor from behind the loosely hanging blinds in front of the open window.  The boy hears his grandfather speak again.  “I have no doubt, Mr. Davis, that you are the man to trust in these matters.  I can’t think of anyone to help guide my grandson on his journey better than yourself.”

    All at once, the sound in the room is gone.  The lighting was changing, growing rapidly brighter.  Then, the image of the two men, the boy, and the office were gone.  A blank, white screen reflecting the piercing light of the projector illuminated the small seating gallery of the narrow theater.

    “That’s the end of the reel, Mr. Audaz,” shouted a muffled voice, disconnected from the rest of the screening room.

    Carlos Columbus Audaz sat up in his seat, stretching his back.  He turned his head and nodded once to the scruffy face barely visible in the open window of the projection booth.  Carlos also took the moment to glance at the other occupants of the small, private theater.  He counted a half dozen men in sharply tailored suits and even more people in the seats behind them, their small notepads and ledgers open and being updated.  Carlos figured them for assistants or aids or even assistants of the assistants.  Their clothes were far less elaborate in style or brand than most of the executives.

    Carlos sat back into his seat, staring for a quiet moment at the empty screen.  What am I doing, he asked himself.  Is this really it?  Is this what I wanted?

    Carlos felt a patient gaze centered on himself.  He turned his head in time to see his own assistant shift his gaze back to the blank screen still bathed in the bright, white light of the projector.  The projectionist had been running dailies in the industry for years.  He knew to keep the machines running until the meeting in the theater was over and the executives were walking and talking their way to the exits.

    “What is it,” Carlos asked, turning his head to stare at the screen and seats in front of him.  There were only two rows left.

    “I was going to ask you that,” whispered his assistant.  Alex Vale had been working with Carlos Columbus Audaz since Carlos’ very first movie.  Carlos had just turned fourteen and was crafting his amateur indulgence in and around his sleepy Los Angeles neighborhood.  Alex was eight at the time.  He lived across the street from the auspicious young filmmaker.  Alex hadn’t know anything about movie making and, at first, didn’t really care.  He looked up to the big kid in the house across the street and would do whatever had been necessary to have the privilege of being involved in his games and goings-on.

    “You don’t seem quite yourself,” Alex continued, still whispering.

    Carlos shrugged his shoulders.  “I just...I don’t know, ya’ know?  I can’t get comfortable with this one.”

    It was Alex’s turn to shrug his shoulders.  “Maybe it’s just that this is your first big budget?  Like, full-scale instead of our normal, miniscule budget.”

    “I don’t think it’s the budget,” whispered Carlos.  “At least, that’s not the major part.”

    Alex wrinkled his face.  “Is it the acting?”

    Carlos snorted a laugh.  “Ohh,” he moaned softly, “don’t say that.”  He glanced over his shoulder.  The men in the expensive suits cloaked in the soft shadows almost completely enveloping the rear of the theater were still talking amongst themselves.  “But yes, the acting is terrible.”

    Alex chuckled quietly.

    “They are so stiff,” whispered Carlos.  He was directing his voice and frustration at the glowing screen.  “There is not creativity.  The little boy and the damn ceiling fan were the best performers in those shots!”

    “Don’t forget about the schedule,” said Alex.

    “Ohh,” Carlos quietly moaned again.  “Don’t even get me started on that!  Where is the star of this movie?  Why is he never on set?  I wasn’t ready to shoot these scenes.  That set wasn’t even finished yet!  I could see the lights out the window!”

    “Carl!”

    Carlos lifted his head with a start.  He spotted the head of the studio turning off the aisle and onto the row in front of he and Alex.  Another man in an expensive suit was a few steps behind.  The studio chief was known as Douglass Stoll.  He was in his late forties and a weathered veteran of Hollywood and the media industry at large.  His teen-model good looks had become weighed down and faded by time and choices that weren’t always the best.

    “Mr. Stoll,” Carlos said with polite enthusiasm.  He stood up as his boss approached, Alex following suit a heartbeat behind.

    “It’s looking good, son!  It’s looking good,” Douglass Stoll said earnestly, shaking Carlos’, and then Alex’s, hand.  “Carl, I’d like to introduce you to someone.  This is Mr. Simon.  He’s the new liaison from the Administration.  He’s here to help with the film.”

    The slender man with a tight fitting dark suit, flat chest, and olive skin stepped foward when Douglass Stoll gestured to him.  He nodded toward Carlos and Alex warmly.  Instantly, Carlos was hesitant about the man standing in the next row.  Who was this person?  What was he here to do?  And why did there seem to be an air of superiority radiating off of him?  These were all questions flowing through Carlos’ mind.

    The man’s smile broadened as Douglass neared the end of his introduction.  “This is my first time in Hollywood.  It’s very exciting.  So I just want to help in any way that I can.  If you need something from Washington and the Administration, just let me know!”

    Carlos let himself smile, though it wasn’t one of joy or amusement.  “How about the star of the movie?  Our lead actor was supposed to be here four days ago but apparently he’s in Washington doing God knows what!”  Carlos’ pitch climbed strangely as he was speaking, the words beginning to come out in one rushed breath.  His tone went from honest curiosity wrapped in sarcastic-borderline condescending-politeness to curt, bitter, and mockingly pleasant.  There was no hiding the hostility he felt and exuded.

    Douglass Stoll took a deep breath, his eyes wide with worry.  He peered at the man standing near his left side.  Mr. Simon was still smiling broadly, his grin now somewhat menacing.  He laughed, a nasally rapid guffaw.  Douglass Stoll breathed with relief, even joining in on the laugh a little bit.  Carlos and Alex eyed each other then looked toward Mr. Simon.  Neither could figure out what he was so amused by.  Carlos had told no joke nor had he made any attempt at all to be funny.  The scene was becoming suspicious and unsettling.  Carlos began to wonder if the government stranger before him was advertising signs of mental instability.

    Mr. Simon’s laughter settled to a chuckle.  He took a slow, deep breath.  Then, still smiling with amusement said, “He’s with the President of the United States.  You can’t rush those visits.”

    “Besides, he’s learning about his character,” Douglass Stoll quickly added.  “It’s all for the movie.  And that’s important to us, right?”  He tried to glare at Carlos without Mr. Simon noticing.

    Mr. Simon didn’t seem to care about the look on the older man’s face, even if he had noticed.  “I’ll see what I can do.  But the President makes these decisions,” Mr. Simon said, shrugging his shoulders passively.

    Carlos suspected he was just being told what he wanted to hear.  It was in the stranger’s eyes.  The words slipping off his tongue might have simply been disingenuous, but his small, crystal brown eyes were screaming his true, concealed insincerity.  Carlos had had enough for one day.  He broke the probing stare he had been locked into with Mr. Simon.  His gaze shifted to Alex instead.  Alex instantly understood.  He seemed to have been waiting for that look from his boss.  With a prompt and courteous nod to the two older men facing them, Alex turned to his right, starting hastily for the aisle.

    “We’ve got an early start tomorrow.  We’ll be on location outside of the city.  If you’ll excuse me...” Carlos was only looking at his boss as he spoke.  He didn’t feel a reason to acknowledge a man who had nothing to do with himself or nothing genuine to add to the production.

    Carlos didn’t wait for any farewell words or gestures.  He turned away from the two men almost as soon as he was done speaking.  He felt their gaze on his back as he turned onto the aisle at the end of the row of seats.

    “Oh, Carlos,” Mr. Simon called after him.

    Carlos stopped in mid-stride.  He shifted his eyes to the right, taking notice of the way the other men in suits were watching him.  He noticed the way the assistants were trying to watch without looking up from their notes.  There was an element of relief Carlos detected from all of them.  They were thankful it was not one of their names that had been called, that it was now him stuck in the long stare of Mr. Simon’s sharp, brown eyes.  Carlos didn’t say anything when he turned himself around just enough to regard the government avatar.  He didn’t need to speak.  Mr. Simon was already waiting.

    “I’d like to talk with you.  Perhaps, tomorrow morning?  Before you...umm...have to be on set?”

    Carlos lightly bit the inside of his lip before he answered.  “I might have five minutes.”

    Mr. Simon continued to smile pleasantly.  If it was an attempt to be disarming, it wasn’t working at all.  “Sounds good,” he said enthusiastically.

    Carlos turned and continued up the aisle without another word.  The sunlight beyond the lobby windows struck harshly against his eyes.  Carlos winced as he walked the last few steps to the glass door.  He suddenly drew a sharp breath, pausing for a heartbeat over the padded threshold.  Sensors were hidden in the matt-black paneling encasing the near-spotless doorway.  They triggered a feature of the building that had been making Carlos cringe.

    “Have a pleasant day, Mr. Audaz,” rang a digital, female voice.

    Carlos had known it was coming.  He’d been through the doors a half dozen times by that point.  He also knew that if he continued to stand in the doorway, the sensors under his feet and mounted within the sides of the doorframe would detect him, triggering the the computer to speak again.  It was just one of the many, many wonders of the ever-growing Forefront Studios.

    Carlos didn’t wait for the ghostly, unsettlingly friendly voice to courteously ask him if everything was all right.  He was a few steps from the curb on the wide sidewalk before he heard the door tap lightly against its frame having shut automatically.  Alex was already standing there, his sky-blue cell phone pressed tightly to his left ear.  There wasn’t much conversation to hear.  Unless he really had something to say, Alex Vale tended to be the attentive listener in a conversation.

    Carlos wiped a layer of sweat beading on his forehead with the back of his hand.  His soft, black hair was already damp and greasy-looking in the warm afternoon.  The temperature didn’t tend to bother him.  He had lived in Southern California nearly his entire life.  Broiling asphalt and sultry breezes winding down the bustling streets and avenues of Los Angeles to only brush the sweat more evenly across his light-brown skin was a part of life.  In a way, he kind of liked it.  For Carlos, it was home.

    A wet, salty droplet slipped off his short, ebony bangs.  It stung against his eye, interrupting his thoughts.  Where is that driver, Carlos asked in his mind.  Alex seemed to sense Carlos’ unvoiced query echoing through the ether of the universe.  He turned to face his boss, shrugging his shoulders in reply.  Carlos inhaled sharply, then suddenly felt his heart skip a beat.

    From beyond the concrete wall behind the theater, the devastating pop of a gunshot coursed through the air.  Both Carlos and Alex flinched instinctively, ducking into an automatic half crouch.  Screams erupted beyond the the white-painted slab that ran the length of the studio’s perimeter.  Glass exploded, the sharp hiss echoing up and down the street beyond the solid partition.  Carlos and Alex looked behind them at the theater’s side and the wall behind it.  They tried to stare past the unblemished concrete to the barbarous world that had suddenly seemed to take shape where moments before there was the illusion of peace and order.

    More shots rang out, the deadly rounds tearing, unseen, through the heat of the day.  Both young men stumbled backwards off the sidewalk into the studio street.  A terrifying storm of frightened screams and vengeful voices cursing and shouting each other down was making Carlos’ pulse race.  Car horns blared, adding to the unseen chaos before suddenly being silenced by a third round of crackling, deafening gunfire.

    Carlos glanced at Alex as if to ask what they should do.  But the pale, wide-eyed expression on Alex’s face revealed the same question awaiting an answer.  Another car horn bleeped loudly.  Both boys jumped with a shout then looked at the black, armored sedan idling in the street nearby.  The driver’s door opened hurriedly.  A man in a black suit and tie stood up, rising part way out of the vehicle.  He looked at both young men at once.  “Mr. Audaz, this way please!”  He had to yell over the soundtrack of battle beyond the wall.

    Carlos peered quickly at Alex who finally ended his phone call.  The two friends ran the dozen steps to either side of the car, practically leaping into the rear passenger seats before the driver accelerated up the subtly curving road.

    “To the office, sir?”

    Carlos blinked, trying to get his senses back in order.  He wiped more sweat from his face.  It felt like it was just trickling from every matted strand of his black hair on his head.  “No,” he answered, directing his voice toward the front of the car.  “Home.  I think we’ve had enough of this place today.”

    “A government agent and a gun fight.  Are we in somebody else’s production,” asked Alex.  His chest heaved.  He was trying to steady his breathing.

    “It would be nice to know if we were,” Carlos responded.  “But I don’t think so.”

    The incident had caught him off guard.  The whole afternoon had turned out that way.  Despite the reference to Mr. Simon by Alex, Carlos found himself disinterested in the mysterious bureaucrat.  He couldn’t stop his mind from focusing on the sounds from outside the studio.  They had been far away but not far enough.  He had been close enough to hear the shot crack open the hot air of the late summer day.  He had been near enough to feel the fear in the those curdling screams.  They had rippled through the air, through his skin and veins like overwhelming waves.

    Suddenly, absently watching the studio gates pass by the passenger window of the armored luxury sedan, Carlos began to think of how he truly felt: the hot, dark fear retching out of the recesses of his soul.  He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about his severe vulnerability, how a few different choices might have put him on the other side of that wall behind the theater.

    As much as he was thinking about himself, Carlos realized something else.  He couldn’t stop thinking about his younger cousin.  Carlos knew, as stunning and forever impressing onto his memory the events of the day were for him in the world, they might not have been anything in contrast to the life unfolding for eighteen year old Gabriel Audaz.