Mirror (45 page)

‘Shut up! Shut up! For God’s sake, shut up!
’ Alison screamed, and rushed across to the movie screen and tugged at it and tore at it until it came tumbling down from the ceiling. Then she turned to the speakers, and lifted them up one after the other, and smashed them against the coffee table.

The projector, however, continued to run, and Boofuls’ flattened-out face appeared on the back of the white-leather couch, silently mouthing the same words over and over. Alison hysterically threw herself at the couch and tried to drag the image of Boofuls off the leather with her fingernails.

Morris meanwhile had sunk slowly to his knees onto the white carpet. Between the finger and thumb of each hand, he held up the two cocktail stirrers.

‘Alison, honey, I couldn’t do anything else. There wasn’t any choice, honey-pie.’

Alison threw back her head and sobbed, one harsh, strangulated sob after the other. ‘Oh God, Morry, what are we going to do? What are we going to do?’

But Morris couldn’t hear her. Morris’ head was filled with the lisping monotonous voice of Boofuls, like an old silk dress being dragged across a floor, saying, ‘
You never wanted to see me, Morris; you never wanted to hear me. I can give you your wish, Morris! I can give you your wish!
’

Morris slowly raised the two cocktail stirrers and blindly prodded them against his cheeks until he found his ears. Then he inserted the points deep in each ear, so that he could feel them pricking painfully against his eardrums.

Alison had stopped sobbing and was messily wiping the tears from her face with her hands. ‘Oh God, Morry,’ she told him. ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand to see you that way. I’d better go call for an ambulance.’

She turned, and there he was, kneeling on the floor with his hands up to his ears, and a cocktail stirrer in each hand. His injured eyes were closed, so that he looked almost normal, and there was an expression on his face of curious calm.

‘
Morry?
’ she questioned him. Then she saw the cocktail stirrers. ‘
Morry!
’

With a small suppressed gasp, Morris pushed the points of the sticks straight through his eardrums, puncturing both of them at once. He stayed quite still for a moment, holding his breath, and then gave each stick an extra twist, so that his tympanic membranes would be completely torn open.

Alison, trembling, picked up the cordless telephone and dialled 911. ‘Mr Nathan’s house,’ she whispered. ‘That’s right, Mulholland Drive. Please, quickly.’

Then she put down the phone and went over to Morris and knelt down in front of him.

‘Oh, Morry,’ she said, and held him tightly in her arms, her deaf and blinded husband, and rocked him, and swore to herself that if she never did anything else in her life, ever again, she would have her revenge on Boofuls.

The morning of the premiere of
Sweet Chariot
, the Los Angeles basin was filled with thick sepia smog. Because of its elevation on the lower slopes of the Hollywood Hills, however, Franklin Avenue was clear of pollution, and when Martin looked out of his kitchen window he felt as if he were staring out over some strange and murky Sargasso Sea.

He drank two cups of hot black coffee, ate a little muesli sprinkled with wheat germ, and then dressed in a white T-shirt and khaki slacks and went downstairs to see if Mr Capelli would like to take a walk down to Hollywood Boulevard.

‘A walk?’ said Mr Capelli. ‘You mean that thing when you put one foot in front of the other and don’t stop till you get home again?’

They walked arm in arm, not saying much, but friends, brothers in crisis. They went downhill on La Brea; and then east on Hollywood Boulevard as far as Mann’s Chinese Theater, where half a dozen workmen were dressing the marquee for tonight’s opening. A huge 3-D billboard had been erected with a fifty-foot acrylic painting of Boofuls, flying through the clouds with a sweet smile of innocence. That scene came from the very end of the picture, when God decides that the young street Arab has done enough good deeds to redeem himself, and accepts His errant son into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Martin and Mr Capelli stood in front of the theater for a long while, watching the electricians connecting the klieg lights. Mr Capelli said, ‘You know something, I saw the Kliegl brothers once, when I was a kid. They were arguing in the street about something really technical, like carbon arcs or something. And one of them said to the other – well, I don’t know which one it was, John or Anton – but he said, “If it wasn’t for me, movies wouldn’t even
exist
.” And the other one said, “Maybe that would have been a blessing.”’

Martin smiled. ‘You actually saw that?’

Mr Capelli nodded. ‘That was a long time ago. Maybe things were more innocent then.’

Martin said, ‘I don’t think things have
ever
been innocent, Mr Capelli.’

Mr Capelli squeezed Martin’s arm. ‘I guess you’re right, Martin. I wish you weren’t.’

They went into Maxie’s for a cup of coffee. They said very little; but then they didn’t need to. They were both thinking about Emilio.

When they returned to Franklin Avenue (both perspiring, because the morning was growing hot now), they saw a pale blue Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible parked outside. The license plate was 10 PC.

‘That’s Morris Nathan’s car,’ said Martin in surprise. ‘I thought Morris wasn’t speaking to me – not after I went round to the Fox lot and tried to tell Boofuls what a bastard he was.’

‘Just so long as he doesn’t keep that heap of imported junk cluttering up my driveway,’ Mr Capelli complained.

‘Mr Capelli, that’s a Rolls-Royce Corniche!’

‘Listen, Martin, one day you’ll learn.
All
automobiles are a heap of junk. What are they, plastic, chromium, foam rubber, bits and pieces. This one is a heap of
imported
junk, that’s all.’

‘But you love your Lincoln.’

‘Sure I love my Lincoln. Do you know why? I always kid Emilio it turns itself into a robot, you know, like Transporters.’

‘Transformers,’ Martin corrected him; but kindly.

‘Sure, that’s right, Transformers. He loves it. He keeps telling me, Grandpa, I saw it happen, I saw it change. The wheels turned into hands and the hood turned into a hat and the trunk opened up and two legs came out, and who knows what?’ There were tears in Mr Capelli’s eyes. ‘Martin, he’s just a little boy. I love him so much. Can’t we get him out of there?’

Martin said soberly, ‘Boofuls did promise. So did Miss Redd.’

Mr Capelli shook his head. ‘Those people,’ he said. ‘Those people.’

When they entered the house, however, they were surprised to find not Morris but Alison, sitting on the stairs in a tight white cotton suntop and a wide 1950s skirt and strappy high-heeled sandals, waiting for them.

As soon as she caught sight of Martin, she came up and flung her arms around him and burst into tears.

‘Hey,’ said Martin. ‘Hey, what’s happened? Alison? What’s happened?’

‘It’s Morry,’ she wept. ‘Oh, Martin, it’s Morry.’

Mr Capelli laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Hey, now, don’t get upset. Look at you, you’re all upset! And look at me, I’m all upset, too!’

Martin asked Alison, ‘What’s happened? Alison! Is Morry okay?’

Alison choked out, ‘He’s
blind
, Martin. He’s blind! And he did it himself, with two cocktail stirrers, just like that! And then he stuck them in his ears and made himself deaf!’

‘What?’ said Martin. ‘Are you kidding me, or what? Morris
blinded
himself? He
deafened
himself? Alison – he works in the movies!’

‘Is that all you care about?’ Alison screamed. ‘He’s my husband! I love him! He gives me everything! And now he’s blind and he can’t ever
see
me again, and he’s deaf and he can’t ever
hear
me again!’

Martin held Alison close. Mr Capelli, despondent, sat down on the stairs. ‘I don’t know, what the hell. You sometimes wonder if it’s worth living.’

Martin said, ‘Come on upstairs. There’s another bottle of Chablis in the fridge. The very least we can do is get drunk.’

*

Alison drank two large glasses of cold Chablis one after the other and then told Martin and Mr Capelli everything that had happened last night, the way that Morris had pierced his eyes and ears. ‘I couldn’t do anything to help him,’ she said; and the tears ran freely down her face. ‘I broke the screen, I broke the speakers, but it didn’t make any difference.’

Martin said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Whatever arguments I ever had with Morris.’

Alison wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue. ‘Morry never did anything worse than speak his mind. Nobody deserves to be blind and deaf, just because they spoke their mind. You know, Morry was always speaking his mind, and he was rude sometimes, but he never deserved that.’

‘But you really believe that Lejeune did it?’ Martin asked her.

Alison nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have come here otherwise. It was
his
face, it was
his
voice. And you remember what he said to Morry, when he was auditioning at Fox? When they had that argument?
You never want to see my face again, you never want to hear my name
. Well, that’s just what he said on the movie. Exactly that – like he was talking to Morry face-to-face.’

Martin said, ‘I’m sorry, Alison. I’m really sorry. But there’s nothing I can do. I tried to get to Lejeune, but they wouldn’t let me.’

Not long afterward, Ramone appeared. He stood in the doorway with his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans, looking like Carlos Santana on his weekend off. Martin told him, ‘There’s nothing. There’s no news.’

‘Maybe you should switch on the television,’ Ramone suggested. ‘They’re showing an hour-long program, “The Making of
Sweet Chariot
”, just about now, Channel Four.’

‘I don’t want to watch that,’ said Mr Capelli. ‘Maybe I’ll get some pizza.’

‘Pepperoni, deep-dish, with extra chilis, mushrooms, onions, and sweet corn,’ said Ramone, easing himself onto the couch.

Mr Capelli stared at him in astonishment, but Martin gave him a nod to tell him that Ramone never took anybody for granted. ‘I’ll have whatever,’ he told Mr Capelli.

Alison said, ‘I’ll pass. I’m sorry. I don’t feel very hungry.’

For some reason, all four of them turned toward the mirror, where the gold-painted face of Pan grinned at them in silent triumph. They looked like a group portrait printed on sun-faded paper; an evanescent photograph of four people who had been brought together by pain and friendship and circumstance, and who would soon have to face the most harrowing experience of their entire lives.

As if to mock them, the mirror seemed to darken and dim, until they could hardly see their faces in it at all.

Mr Capelli watched the mirror for a moment, and then angrily and with great determination went off to buy some pizzas.

Just before six o’clock that evening, Martin said, ‘Come on, I can’t stand waiting around here any longer. Let’s go down to Mann’s and see the damn thing for ourselves.’

‘You go,’ said Mr Capelli. ‘I’ll wait here. Just in case – you know – Emilio gets to come out of the mirror.’

‘I’ll stay, too,’ said Alison. ‘You don’t mind if I stay?’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ Martin told her.

At that moment, however, Ramone said, ‘Look, on the television, there it is!’

It was a CBS report by Nancy Bergen, transmitted live from Hollywood Boulevard. In the background they could see the crowds of fans already assembling – even though the first stars weren’t expected to start arriving for at least an hour – and the huge triumphant marquee picture of Boofuls.

Nancy Bergen was saying, ‘– motion-picture event of the decade – unknown child star discovered by June Lassiter at 20th Century-Fox – extraordinary natural talent for song-and-dance – won him the lead role in a thirty-five-million-dollar remake of a musical that was actually never made in the first place – or at least never completed –
Sweet Chariot
–’

Martin put in, ‘Notice how she hasn’t mentioned Boofuls, not once. He’s still bad karma in Hollywood, always will be.’

Ramone said, ‘Bad karma? He’ll be catmeat if I ever get my hands on him.’

Nancy Bergen went on, ‘– such confidence in
Sweet Chariot
’s success that they are holding simultaneous premieres throughout the United States and Europe – which means that in London they’re holding their first screening in time for an early breakfast, and in New York it’s going to be a one-o’clock-in-the-morning affair – so sought after have the premiere tickets been, however, that –’

‘You want some more wine?’ Alison asked Ramone.

‘Oh, sure, thanks, just a half glass,’ Ramone told her.

‘– thousand people will see
Sweet Chariot
simultaneously –’

‘How many did she say?’ Martin asked.

‘What?’ said Ramone.

‘How many people did she say would be seeing
Sweet Chariot
tonight?’

Ramone shrugged. ‘I don’t know, man. I didn’t hear. Must be quite a few thousand.’

Martin quickly pressed the remote and flicked the television from station to station, but none of the other channels were carrying reports about
Sweet Chariot
.