Fifteen minutes after Carlos had left his mother alone in the kitchen, he was closing the front door of his childhood home. A black car, exactly like the one that had dropped him off the previous afternoon, was idling quietly beside the curb. He spotted his best friend and long time assistant, Alex Vale, in the predawn light. Alex was already at the car, standing in front of the passenger-side doors. Carlos was halfway down the front walk when he noticed the expression on the younger man’s face.
Neither spoke as Carlos closed the distance between them. Carlos stopped at the curb, glancing back and forth at the doors on the car and the look on Alex’s face. It was a look that didn’t take Carlos long to decipher. There was annoyance, painted with unease and even a little fear. For Carlos, it was turning his awkward moment into a frustrating one. As he mouthed the name “Simon”, and as Alex nodded in the affirmative, the passenger door near Alex’s right hip popped open. A tanned, moisturized hand pushed the door open enough for Carlos to reach for it.
“Good morning, Carlos,” smiled the bright-eyed, young bureaucrat when Carlos peered slowly down into the backseat of the car. “Come on! We’d better hurry if you’re going to get to the set on time.”
Carlos stood up straight. He rolled his eyes in front of Alex who shrugged his shoulders. Both knew they had no choice. Alex opened the front passenger door as Carlos sat down in the back. The driver was accelerating away from the curb before the two doors were pulled closed.
“How are you this morning,” Mr. Simon asked Carlos with enough enthusiasm and friendliness to white-wash a bloodstain.
Carlos watched him out of the corner of his eye for a moment before directing his gaze out the window beside him. “I’m fine, Mr. Simon. How are you?”
“Me, CC? I’m great. I hope you don’t mind me tagging along for the drive this morning?”
Carlos swallowed most of his anger and disgust for the blonde-headed stranger sitting beside him, invading what little space he could call his own. Still, his displeasure at the situation and the presence of Mr. Simon shone through his expression as Carlos turned in his seat to finally regard him. His anger emerged as a sharp annoyance in his words as Carlos replied, “Well, it is unexpected, Mr. Simon. I would have preferred you waiting until I arrived at the set. And please...don’t call me that. Only those I deem to be close friends call me CC.”
Mr. Simon blinked, looking disappointed for a moment. That moment passed quickly, however, and seemed as forgotten as if it had never occurred. “My sincerest apologies, Carlos. But, you did say you might be able to spare a few minutes this morning. I just wanted to keep you honest, eh!” The man laughed loudly at his own humor.
Carlos rolled his eyes again. “What was it you wanted to discuss, Mr. Simon?”
“Oh! Umm, the script.”
“What about the script? Mr. Vale and myself have worked very diligently on all the material in the story.” Carlos glanced up at Alex who nodded his head from the front seat.
“Oh, yes. I can tell. It’s very good. Very good. I truly enjoyed it.” Mr. Simon smiled at Carlos and Alex, who had turned in his seat. “However, there are a few points...some things here and there that...well...need to be addressed.”
“Sorry,” Alex questioned sharply. It was the first time he had spoken all morning.
Mr. Simon smiled. It was hard to read that smile. His thin, red lips were pointed in the corners. His smooth, pale cheeks barely seemed to wrinkle. His eyes twinkled, maybe with a maddening glee. Either way, the joviality on his narrow, unblemished face was off-putting to the two men watching him.
“I’m not trying to say you’ve gotten in wrong, per se,” continued Mr. Simon. He used his fingers to make air quotes as he spoke. “I’m just saying that the sources you used are not necessarily the correct ones. They are not the ones we would have preferred.”
“I don’t understand,” Alex said, his voice almost at a whisper. He had spent months doing research, checking and then double checking his facts.
“We love the effort put in so far,” Mr. Simon added. “That’s part of why I’m here, to keep you guys pumped and excited.”
“Fired up,” Alex asked, sinking with a defeated feeling into the front seat. His question had been mocking in nature.
Mr. Simon didn’t seem to notice. To him, it was a genuine statement. “Exactly!”
Carlos narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowed again. “Why else are you here?”
“Hmm? Oh,” said Mr. Simon, turning his head to stare at Carlos. “Well, to make sure the story stays true to history.”
“But it does,” Carlos said sternly.
“Well, a perspective of history, yes. But not the correct one. Not the history the people need to have.” Mr. Simon reached down into a black, leather satchel between his feet. Carlos spotted a copy of their script appear from the bag’s interior. There were other things in there as well, a plethora of files for which Carlos was trying not to imagine the contents.
“History, Carlos,” Mr. Simon said brightly as he sat upright again, “is always determined by the winners; by the victors of a struggle; by the strong emerging over the weak. The progressive cause has come out as the victor over those more conservative, less civilized and intellectual that for so long strangled the evolution of a just and equal society.
“The dream is being achieved boys! It’s here and we’re a part of it! This...your scipt, The Glorious Cause...” Mr. Simon tapped the bundle of pages he held like holy scripture as he spoke with honest passion in his voice pouring out from his soul. “This is the story of how it has all come to be. You have been asked-chosen-to tell it! But you have to have the correct history. We must show the people what they need to see.”
Carlos and Alex exchanged uneasy glances. There was more trepidation in Alex’s gaze than in Carlos’. Carlos simply felt...curious. “We must,” he asked.
“Yes! The Glorious Cause must be the final nudge to forever closing the door on our dark and narrow past.” Mr. Simon held the script in front of Carlos. “The right history must be used, my friends. This is too important.”
Mr. Simon smiled again as he watched Carlos take the edited draft from his own manicured hands. Alex was watching as well, unnerved by the cold shiver that traveled down his back.
* * * *
Carlos Columbus Audaz sat silently under the wide bank of windows in is quiet, spacious office. His gaze was fixed on the bands of unfiltered sunlight pouring into the room, stretching over the hardwood floor and across his desk to the other side of the room. Somewhere beyond his barren, mono-colored walls a door was suddenly and loudly slammed shut. Carlos looked up from the patterns of light and shadow keeping him transfixed. He should have been better occupied. There were schedules and designs to approve. There were meetings to be preparing for. There were script notes to be going over. Carlos rolled his eyes. The script, he thought with a level of disdain he had been struggling with all that morning.
Whomever had slammed the door was marching fiercely and urgently toward his office. Carlos had a hunch who it would be. He made no effort to sit up in the black, polished leather executive chair. The head of the studio, Douglass Stoll, had proffered it to Carlos-along with the swanky, spacious office-as a gift for signing onto the studio’s monumental project.
The office door opened with a frenzied whoosh. His long time friend and lieutenant, Alex Vale, stomped over the threshold in the wake of air thrust through the mostly empty room. Alex slammed the door behind him in the same motion, approaching Carlos’ desk before the clattering impact had reverberated all the way around the cavernous office space.
Carlos didn’t flinch, even when the copy of the script he had spotted in Alex’s white-knuckled had was suddenly thrown down onto the cluttered surface of his desk. Pens rolled onto the floor. Cold, stale coffee swished over the stained rim of a nearby mug. He lifted his green eyes slowly toward Alex’s face. Carlos didn’t seem impressed by the passionate display being put on before him.
Alex didn’t wait for Carlos to regard him. He was already yelling by the time their eyes locked. “This is outrageous! Absolutely and unequivocally infuriating and insulting!”
Carlos furrowed his brow. “What?”
Alex staggered backward half a step. “What do you mean, ‘what’? The script! That’s what!”
“Oh.”
Alex’s jaw dropped, stunned by the lack of anything reciprocated from the person he had for so long found himself admiring the most. “What do you mean, ‘oh’? You’ve got to give me more than ‘oh’. Have you read what they...what he has done to our script?!”
Carlos closed his eyes as he nodded his head.
“And all you can say is, ‘oh’?!”
“What would you like me to say?”
“Something! Anything!” Alex leaned closer toward Carlos, bracing his hands flat on the thinnest layer of papers strewn over the top of the desk. “Seven months, CC. Seven months of hard work, of traveling around the country doing more research than I know I’ve ever done before. We watched...didn’t we watch resources-museums and libraries being closed around us?”
Alex paused for a only a moment, waiting for Carlos to answer him, wanting Carlos to answer. “Didn’t we?!”
“Yes! I know. I remember,” Carlos replied defensively.
“And you can sit there so calmly? So quiet and passive? They have closed the door on everything we did! The script is completely gutted. It’s soul has been torn out and replaced with...with...” Alex gestured angrily toward the mound of bound papers that was their edited screenplay, “...this garbage!”
Carlos finally sat up. “Do you think I’m happy about this? That little weasel persuaded Mr. Stoll to cancel the shoot this morning. All for the sake of the actors and crew to become acquainted with the changes to the script!”
Alex shook his head. “This is about more than just the script, CC. Look at what they’ve done...at what they’re doing.”
Carlos nodded emphatically. “I know, I know. They are turning an already frustrating and complicated project into a structural and creative nightmare.”
Alex slammed both of his fists against the top of the desk. “NO!” A blob of the cold, stale coffee bounced over the lip of the nearby mug under the force of Alex’s outburst. “Damn it, Carlos! It’s about more than the stupid movie! They are changing history. You sat in those libraries, in those archives with me. You saw the documents, the books, the memos that I saw. We were learning the facts.”
Alex picked up the script again. “What this man, this Mr. Simon-and whoever he works for or with-has done is make irrelevant, just with the stroke of a pen and the seal of the government, everything we found. Everything we know to be true!”
Carlos stood up angrily, his chair rolling backwards into the wall behind him. “What are you suggesting, Alex? What would you have me do?”
Alex’s face twisted with confusion. A flicker of sadness passed over his eyes. He stared at his best friend for a long moment. “It’s not just about you, Carlos. We made this project into something real. Now, it’s being turned into...into propaganda by nameless and faceless bureaucrats.”
Carlos took a slow, deep breath. “Fine. What would you have us do?”
“Let’s confront him,” Alex said quickly. “Let’s find out where Mr. Simon found his ‘facts’ and check them against our sources.”
“Alex-”
“We can go to Mr. Stoll, argue our case. He’ll have to see our side of things! Right now we’re the only ones who can show our sources. We can hold up what is being denied to exist!”
“Alex, he won’t listen,” Carlos shouted, his voice booming off the empty walls of the office. “Look around you. Where do you think we are? What do you think this place is?”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “So what do you suggest?”
Carlos didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Alex didn’t wait very long for a response. “Carlos, what are you going to do?”
Carlos’ shoulders sagged. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. He lifted his head to meet Alex’s intense gaze. “I don’t know what to do.”
There was a small noise behind him. Carlos heard it, but only just barely. It was the sound of the glass in the window bouncing minutely under a change in the air. Carlos’ mind was aware of it yet gave the sound no immediate priority. It was simply a noise behind him, nothing more.
Alex’s voice dropped to a somber, uneasy tone. “We’re being used, CC. We are being put as pawns on a board to be in a game being played by much more powerful people. I’m scared, CC.” Alex didn’t look away from his older friend as he spoke. His dark blue eyes bore holes through Carlos, as he if he were no longer simply looking at a man, but instead were looking past the flesh and bone to the part that mattered most. “I’m scared we’re being used for something very dark.”
Carlos blinked uncomfortably. He considered the younger man’s words for a moment. “Alex...I can’t fathom the thought that-”
Carlos suddenly paused. The noise from behind him had returned. The vibration in the window was louder and more sustained. Beyond the trembling glass, the air outside was becoming alive with the whirring din of rotor blades buffeting against the wind. Carlos turned around. His eyes scanned the crystal blue sky, spotting the point in the cloudless view were the dynamic sounds were emanating. A helicopter was descending toward the studio.
“Why do I have a feeling...” Carlos muttered, mostly to himself. It was the size of the helicopter, becoming more discernible with each new second he watched it, that gave Carlos reason to suspect the primary occupant of the aircraft.
“What is it,” Alex asked from behind Carlos. He was still standing on the other side of the desk.
Carlos turned around. “I think the star of our movie is finally showing up for work.”
Alex watched without an utterance as his older friend and boss quickly shuffled and scattered the clutter on his desk in a desperate search for something. A small, black notebook revealed itself in the scurrying movement. Carlos smiled excitedly at the find. He picked it up, circling around the desk in excited haste. “Now we finally might be able to do something significant.”
Carlos was at the doorway, a step into the corridor beyond his office before he stopped to look back at Alex. The younger man was still standing in the same spot in front of his desk. Carlos looked at his friend for a long moment. Above them, the helicopter soared low over the rooftop, the whine of its engine loud under the drumming whir of the long, sleek rotors chopping through the California air.
Alex didn’t look up at the reverberations in the ceiling. He still hadn’t even turned around. Carlos knew he needed to say something. He knew he needed to encourage his friend, to reassure him that he wasn’t going to let their project be pulled out from under them. Maybe he could say those things later. He wanted more time to make the message count. Tonight, Carlos thought to himself. Once everything else is arranged and we’re back on track. Alex has to understand that, at least. He knows we’ll talk.
“Alex...” Carlos started to speak.
“I’ll be along in a second.” Alex turned around. There was less than a dozen paces between them. Yet, for the first time the two friends felt like they were seeing each other across a wide and bottomless chasm. Alex nodded his head once, gesturing toward the corridor beyond Carlos. “Go ahead.”
“You have to come too,” Carlos said, watching his friend strangely. He didn’t like the tone in Alex’s voice or the feeling in the air between them. It was dark and awkward.
“I am,” Alex said simply.
Carlos stood in place for only another moment. He nodded in acknowledgement, then started up the quiet hallway. Alex watched him then turned his head slowly back toward the desk and the altered screenplay. Alex had known Carlos Columbus Audaz for a long, long time. Longer, in fact, than anyone other than his family. The other kids in the neighborhood had each made their way through the rotation of friendships, to acquaintances, then peers, and finally strangers to Carlos. Somehow, Alex Vale had persevered through the social gauntlet of the reserved man who had grown up across the street. Their bond had become something that seemed wholly unbreakable.
Alex hesitantly picked up the accursed script. He sighed, the paper feeling like an anchor in his grip. The type set seemed more like unholy branding in the recycled, egg-white, rectangular space. Unbreakable, Alex said in his mind, continuing his brief reflection on his friendship with Carlos, until now.
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