PART NINE
Carlos Columbus Audaz sighed into the thick glass of the passenger window. He was absently watching the cityscape of Los Angeles stretch past the luxury sedan as it made its way through the half-crowded streets. The endless rows of parked cars lining the curbsides of the cracked, neglected sidewalks were painted in the same unique colors of twilight as the concrete and glass buildings looming over the the wandering pedestrians. Carlos wasn’t that interested in the pastel bands of fading sunlight bouncing off the thin clouds and faint layer of haze casting subtle pink and mauve shadows up and down the city streets.
His mind was lost in the chaos of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The day had become far longer and frustrating than he had first realized. His body was drained of any real emotional energy. Now, Carlos just wanted to go home and sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day and this one would finally be over.
The din of the helicopter still rang in Carlos’ ears almost as loudly as anything else. The gusts of hot wind spraying the stinging dust stirred by the rotors spinning in a blur above the black and blue-painted aircraft had hit Carlos like an invisible wall. He had squinted into the mild, bitter smelling air. There were others gathered at a decidedly safe distance form the vehicle, forming a crescent of curious onlookers. They all stood stiffly, bracing against the torrent of air expelled away from the helicopter coming to rest in the freshly manicured grass. Mr. Simon was already there. Douglass Stoll stood closely in tow, never far from the face of his political bosses.
The rotors slowed closer to a stop, each blade becoming perceptible, when the passenger doors swung swiftly open. A man inside, tall and lean like a spry athlete in his prime was smiling jovially at another man sitting opposite him. The star of the film patted his smaller, stockier traveling companion merrily on the shoulder. Carlos watched every movement without breaking his gaze. He took a sharp breath, inaudible under the gradually quieting whine of the idling engine. He was hardly alone in the gesture.
It was the way the leading man carried himself, his poise and effortless grace when he stepped out of the helicopter’s cabin. It was the sharp lines of his broad shoulders and trim torso. It was the way he wore his clothes, as if every stitch was naturally made to compliment his frame and the motion carrying him forward. Most of all, it was his remarkable likeness to the President of the United States.
“I’m only here for a few days,” Markus L. Tay said a short time later. His eyes took in the other men at the wide, circular table at the back of the overpriced cafe. “There are some things we’re finishing up. And then, I’ll be back and we can really get this movie going!”
Carlos would swear he felt his jaw crack against the table. He blinked, trying to hide the gawking stare of shocked awe he knew riddled his face. He quickly peered sidelong at Alex who only rolled his eyes.
Doulgass Stoll cleared his throat, simultaneously trying to sit up on his side of the semi-circular, crimson, leather booth. He, too, was trying to hide the surprise and flicker of frustration that appeared in his own features. The studio chief was not being as subtle as he assumed he was. “Umm...well...”
“This is Presidential business, I’m guessing,” asked Mr. Simon before Douglass Stoll could finish his stuttering thought.
Marcus L. Tay nodded his head and smiled brightly. “Yes, it is. He invited me back personally.”
“Of course he did,” Mr. Simon said with a pleased and knowing smile.
The whole exchange was making no sense to Carlos. He felt far on the outside of a play he’d just sat down to watch but was already halfway through.
“It shouldn’t be a problem. Right, Mr. Stoll,” Mr. Simon asked, his calm voice rising above the table. There was a relaxed brightness in his voice, a kind of polite merriment. At the same time, there was no denying the subtly of the threatening undertone that rang faintly but clearly in his words.
Douglass Stoll barely regarded Carlos before he spoke. He mostly looked down at the table and his nearly empty glass on the polished surface. “No! It, umm....shouldn’t be a problem at all. I think it will work out.” Douglass Stoll lifted his gaze toward the others at the table. He was a little taken aback by the way Mr. Simon was quietly staring at him, the man’s eery grin unflinching between his smooth cheeks.
“In fact,” Douglass continued, “I’m absolutely sure it will.”
Mr. Simon nodded his head excitedly. “Excellent!”
“The President knows there’s work to be done here,” Markus said, jumping back into the conversation.
“The President doesn’t know the meaning of the word work,” mumbled Alex, staring off into space. His eyes were locked on the table, yet he could still sense the hot glares now focused on him like police searchlights.
Mr. Simon waited to speak until Alex had lifted his gaze away from the varnished grains of the rich wood of the table. “I’m sorry, my friend. I don’t think I heard you quite right. What was it you just said about our President?”
Douglass Stoll was still glaring at him. Alex spotted the beads of sweat on his expansive forehead glistening like grains of find sand on a deserted beach somewhere. “Mr. Vale is obviously frustrated and just in the wrong frame of mind today. I’m sure he didn’t mean that,” said Mr. Stoll encouragingly.
Alex furrowed his brow. He was hoping Carlos might jump to his defense by proffering his own frustrations at the announced delay, this one coming on the heels of so many before it. The entire movie was now a full month behind schedule because of one man. Alex’s eyes shifted for a moment to peer at Markus L. Tay. Well, Alex thought to himself, two men really.
“Mr. Vale’s frame of mind is just fine,” Alex said evenly, though his words were sharp. “I am simply finding this entire discourse, not only confusing, but alarming. And I think it sucks that between the studio chief overseeing this project and the director in charge of it, I’m the only one raising the obvious concern!”
Markus shifted in his seat, trying to sit up straighter. He turned his body slightly in an effort to address Alex directly. Alex noticed how the actor was trying to wear the look of a role and a figure he had no real grasp on. The charm in his college-boy face and eyes that couldn’t seem to stay centered on one thing for more than an instant was lost on the dispirited writer. Here was the professor’s pet repeating the words and phrases read to him like a parent reading slowly to a young child.
“The President cares very much for this project. He understands your concerns. That’s part of the reason I’m here,” said the Presidential performer, smiling warmly. To him, Alex knew, this was all true. This script was holy. Whatever honesty in the President’s words may or may not exist, Alex could see the glimmer of genuine earnestness shining from Markus’ heart through his eyes.
“I have to go back and tell him what everyone is thinking. He wants to know how he can better help the project,” Marcus continued. “Everyone there does.”
Mr. Simon sipped casually on his cold iced-tea. He was savoring the taste, the flavor of each drop rolling over his tongue and smoothly down his wet throat. Good tea, real tea, was already so expensive. The rich smell of the leaves that had been soaking someplace out of sight was worth hesitating to admire and remember. Mr. Simon liked the restaurant they had chosen to dine in. He was going to have to remember it. He swallowed another sip, then quickly added, “Not to mention your research.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. That’s taking up a lot of time as well. And the President knows the production is taking a bit of a shellacking because of my being in Washington.
Alex narrowed his eyes. “A shellacking?”
Markus looked at Alex again, confused. The term seemed so natural to his ears and mind. Everyone at the White House seemed so used to the word, Markus assumed everyone else was using it as well. “Yeah. Look, Mr. Vale, the majority of the movie’s budget is coming from the government. Everyone involved-the crew, the other actors, even yourself-is getting paid no matter what.”
“How is that a valid argument?” Alex turned his head suddenly to his right. His look was piercing and fiery as it took in the silent form of his friend and boss. “And why aren’t you saying anything?”
Carlos gestured dumbfoundedly. He had no idea what to say or what to do. Internally, he was lost in the mire of a fierce war of conscience. There was no denying the logic, artistic passion, and integrity of Alex Vale. Simultaneously, Carlos knew what they were facing. He understood the power staring them down from across the appetizer-laden table.
“Alex, maybe we could enjoy the rest of our lunch and finish this discussion back at the office,” Douglass Stoll said calmly, though it wasn’t as much of a request as it was a superior giving an employee an order.
“No, Mr. Stoll. That won’t be necessary. I’ll excuse myself now so you gentlemen can continue having your pleasant lunch and bilking of the American public.” Alex stood up with anger in each motion of his body. “Besides, there is nothing different I would say or feel later that is different from this moment.”
Markus looked hurt the most out of the four men still seated in the crescent-shaped booth. “No, hey...”
Alex held up his hand. “Sorry, man. I’ve lost my stomach for any more of this.”
Carlos watched his best friend walk with fiery haste toward the front of the quiet restaurant. When he was out of sight, his eyes drifted back to the table to meet the varying gazes waiting for him. Markus L. Tay seemed concerned. His light, hazel eyes angled slightly down as he sat disappointed at the turn of events. Douglass Stoll was slightly slouched, a figure of conflicting fear and embarrassed frustration whose chest was rising and sinking with quickened, shallowing breaths. Mr. Simon seemed unmoved. Perhaps he had been waiting for one of them to break all along.
Carlos remained silent. His thoughts were tangled and spinning madly. He had no idea what to say. He feared he would only make things worse. A part of him wanted to do just that. A part of him wanted to join Alex, to completely disrupt the growing travesty before the wretched tentacles of faraway bureaucrats completely strangled the life out of the film. Yet, he hadn’t moved. Carlos was still sitting in the posh, maroon, leather booth.
Mr. Simon had noticed this very fact. “Is this going to be a problem?”
Douglass Stoll and Carlos Columbus Audaz exchanged uneasy stares. They were both conflicted, but one had already long ago sold out his soul. His principles were hollow words he kept in a frame in a room somewhere in his house. The other felt the slope getting slick under his feet. He could feel the gravity at the table and considered how long it would take before he could no longer pull himself free.
Douglass Stoll answered Mr. Simon’s question. “No. It won’t be a problem. Everything is good.”
Mr. Simon smiled. “Excellent,” he said then took another small, savoring sip of his iced tea. He absolutely loved the flavor of it. Life was so good right then, he couldn’t help but smile a little more.
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