Something Like Thunder (31 page)

The lecture continued this way, although it quickly became laced with dubious morality. Marcello spoke of techniques to gain both reputation and recognition, such as reviving companies that had failed centuries ago so organizations could claim to have been in business for hundreds of years. Or staging publicity stunts similar to his introduction to fool people into assuming significance, even before a company had produced a single item. His argument was that people took the world at face value. Marcello felt that should be exploited as much as possible. During the lecture, he posed more questions, but Nathaniel refused to answer them because it made him feel silly.

Until the end, at least, when he couldn’t resist. He got that one right too and felt good about himself as Marcello ended the lecture. Surprisingly, this was done without the use of smoke machines or pyrotechnics. Instead he simply thanked everyone for their attention, then waved over the thin man with glasses. Marcello whispered to him, pointing twice to the audience. Unless Nathaniel was mistaken, one of the people pointed to was him.

He stood, but didn’t hurry to leave. The thin man hopped off the stage, ran up to him and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m Kenneth,” he said, already looking elsewhere. “Stick around for a minute, okay?”

Nathaniel nodded. The stage was empty now. Marcello had disappeared behind one of the black curtains. Most of the audience filed out the exit. Kenneth stood next to it, gesturing emphatically to a young girl who shrugged apologetically and turned to leave. Kenneth stared after. When he saw Nathaniel watching him, he smiled. The guy was cute in a bookish sort of way. He strolled over, offering his hand.

“I hope you’re smart enough to appreciate being vetted.”

“Why would I go to an animal doctor?” Nathaniel said, putting on a blank expression.

Kenneth appeared concerned for a moment. Then he grinned. “Almost had me, but your answers to Marcello’s questions were much too sharp. Care to meet him?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Sure.”

He hoped this act wasn’t seen through, because he felt more than a little nervous. Ignoring the stairs at one end, Kenneth climbed on stage and turned to offer Nathaniel a hand. His eyes were sparkling when Nathaniel took it, and despite being thin, he didn’t have much trouble hoisting him up. Then he led the way to the wings. Nathaniel paused, noticing a tripod rigged with numerous lights, no doubt the source of the imaginary camera flashes. He was fingering the equipment with interest when a voice startled him.

“The theater department set that up for me,” Marcello purred. “I love universities. Where else can you find labor willing to work for little more than a pitcher of beer?”

Nathaniel turned to face him. Marcello was sipping from a bottle of water, his face still flushed from giving the lecture. Up close, Nathaniel’s original impression became even stronger.

“Have you ever seen
The Maltese Falcon
?” he asked, unable to help himself.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Marcello replied.

“I just thought… With your name and everything. Never mind.” Nathaniel felt his cheeks burn. He had thought this might be a good way to jumpstart a conversation about film, and eventually Marcello’s production company, but now it just seemed awkward.

Marcello didn’t seem concerned either way, his attention on Kenneth instead. “Where’s the other one?”

“She wasn’t interested in sticking around. Medical student.”

Marcello frowned. “I’m less concerned with what she intends to do with her life than what she’ll actually end up doing. The two rarely correlate.”

Kenneth exhaled impatiently. “What did you want me to do, handcuff her?”

“No matter,” Marcello said, turning to Nathaniel again. “Let’s talk about your intentions. Why are you here tonight?”

“To listen to your lecture.”

“Yes, but you only did so hoping it would enable you to achieve some goal. A dream, perhaps? Am I right?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“Excellent! Come, sit with me.” Marcello led them past audio and video equipment to a canvas folding chair. He sat down, then smiled pleasantly. Apparently “sit with me” meant standing and watching him get comfortable because no other chairs were available. “I always find it wise to begin with the basics,” Marcello said, looking expectant.

“Nathaniel.”

“Very good. Tell me, Nathaniel, why are you studying so tirelessly at Yale? What is your goal in being here?”

“I’m aiming for an MBA-JD.”

“Is that some sort of boy band?”

“It’s a type of degree,” Kenneth snapped. “Business and law.”

“Ah.” Marcello leaned forward. “And what will you do with so many letters?”

Nathaniel risked the truth. “I’m interested in starting my own production company.”

“As in film?”

“Yup. I figured you might have some advice for me.”

“I mostly deal in photography,” Marcello said dismissively.

“But you have your own production studio,” Nathaniel pressed. “Your company makes movies. Right?”

Marcello exchanged a glance with Kenneth, then leaned back again. “I suppose some department might dabble in such. It’s so hard to keep tabs on everything. Tell me more about you. Why the film industry?”

“As you said, for college students the real question is what we’ll do with our lives. When considering the decades of work ahead, I figured it was smartest to go with my passion. I’ve been fanatic about movies since I was a kid. I don’t see that ever changing, and since that could make the daily grind much more bearable—”

“You decided to pair the two.” Marcello nodded as if understanding. “But why not acting or directing? You must have a screenplay on your person somewhere, one that you wrote. Everyone does these days. Where is it?”

Nathaniel smiled. “I don’t write. I do okay with a camera, but I struggled through enough art courses in my first year of college to realize I’m meant for more practical work. I know a good movie when I see one, so I thought I’d give production a try instead.”

“How refreshing to hear,” Marcello said. “There are far too many artists in the world these days. Everyone is writing a book or pitching ideas to Hollywood or describing the content of their cell phones as photography. Don’t even get me started on YouTube. I don’t mind creative impulses, but soon there won’t be an audience left. The world will just be performers, stumbling around each other and impressing nobody in the process.”

“I disagree,” Nathaniel said. “Technology has paved the way for independent productions along all spectrums of art. The world is a more interesting place because of it.”

Marcello narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “And yet you wish to be in a position of deciding what is of value and what isn’t. From what I understand, the gatekeepers are all dead and the rabble has come pouring through. Do you really think you can sort them out?”

“That’s not my goal. I want to help a select group bring their vision to life, but that doesn’t mean denying others that right. Art inspires art. David Lynch’s movie
Blue Velvet
was partially inspired by the song of the same name by Bobby Vinton. Then in the eighties, a metal band called Anthrax recorded
Now It’s Dark
, which is inspired by Lynch’s movie. A world full of artists can create for each other. And before you think I’ve got my head in the clouds or shoved up my ass, I assure you that I’m stone-cold pragmatic. I’m willing to deal with hard facts so that true art can happen.”

Marcello considered him anew. “
Blue Velvet
is a Tony Bennett song. Bobby Vinton merely covered it, but I suppose that only proves your point. A world full of artists…” He chuckled as if amused by the idea. “I’m on vacation for the next week, enjoying the hospitality of this fine university. That doesn’t mean work ceases while I’m away. Perhaps during my stay, you’d be willing to assist me with a few tasks? We can put that pragmatism of yours to the test. Some of your idealism too.”

Nathaniel grinned. “Where’s my pitcher of beer?”

Marcello’s dark eyes twinkled in response. “I’m sure Kenneth would be happy to accommodate you in that regard. I have an appointment, otherwise I would happily tag along. You’re a strapping young man. See if you can’t help me out of this rickety old thing.”

Nathaniel took his hand but he barely needed to pull. Marcello was more agile than he appeared. His palm was warm but dry, and after a gentle shake and a cordial nod, he wandered toward the nearest hall. Once he was gone, Nathaniel turned to Kenneth.

“Is he always like that?”

Kenneth sighed as if exhausted. “Trust me, usually he’s worse.”

* * * * *

“But it’s Sunday!”

Nathaniel’s expression pleaded with Rebecca to be patient. She stood between him and the front door as if to prevent him leaving. “This is a big opportunity.”

“I know, but we’ve hardly seen each other lately.”

“We live together. Besides, you’re the one with so many extracurricular activities that you don’t get home until ten most nights.”

“On the weekdays, but you’re right. I’m a horrible friend.”

“You’re not. I’ll only be busy this weekend.” He grimaced. “And the next.”

Rebecca put on her best pouty face. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Now how do I look?”

She straightened his tie, gave him a hug, and brushed at the crinkles in his suit. “Knock ’em dead.”

“Thanks.”

“Break a leg.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Kick their asses!”

“Feeling violent?” Nathaniel asked, but he offered her a peck on the cheek on his way out the door. He was standing by his car when another pulled up beside it. Nathaniel glanced over and groaned.

“Hey!” Caesar said, his head appearing over the roof of the car.

“Didn’t you get my text?”

“Yeah, but I thought we’d have time for… You know.”

“We don’t.”

Caesar closed the car door and walked over to him. “A kiss at least.”

Nathaniel complied.

“When will you be finished? We could—”

“It’s going to be a long night. That’s what I was told.”

“Oh.”

Another sad face. Sometimes being loved was such a burden. Not that he would trade it for the world. An idea occurred to him. “Hop in your car and follow me.”

Nathaniel drove to the nearest shopping center and pulled up to the liquor store. He motioned for Caesar to wait as he rushed inside. When he came out, he was carrying a bottle of wine. He got in the passenger seat of Caesar’s car and handed him the bottle.

“What’s this?”

“Rebecca’s favorite,” Nathaniel said. “Swing by there later today and surprise her. She’s feeling lonely. Take care of her for me, okay? And none of that homework crap. Just be her friend.”

Caesar nodded. “Okay. How about a keg while we’re here?”

“Nope.”

“A quickie?”

“Not a chance.”

“Some inappropriate groping?”

Nathaniel grinned, gave Caesar a kiss worth remembering, and went back to his own car. With that miniature crisis taken care of, he could focus on the work ahead. He was looking forward to it. Drinking with Kenneth last night had been interesting, but not enlightening. Kenneth enjoyed talking about himself. Nathaniel now knew more about him than he cared to: born and raised in Richmond, came out when he was eighteen, went to Virginia Tech nearly ten years ago where he was vetted by Marcello in a similar fashion—except according to Kenneth, he had answered
every
question posed to the audience. Correctly. Nathaniel never would have guessed the guy was in his early thirties. He aged well and flirted a lot, but Nathaniel’s relationship with Caesar had given him plenty of practice in deflecting such behavior.

He hoped their session today would focus more on actual work and less on Kenneth’s life story. They met in an office on campus that the university was allowing Marcello to use. The big man was nowhere in sight, which was disappointing, but Nathaniel soon found himself preoccupied by the project.

“We’re selling cologne,” Kenneth said, pulling up a sales pitch on his laptop. “What better way to do so than with pigs?”

Nathaniel, sitting next to him, glanced over at the screen to see he was serious. “Oh.”

Kenneth nodded sympathetically. “Exactly. You want to support creative types? This is the sort of madness you need to rework into a logical process. Luckily, this concept isn’t so bad.” He clicked a few times, bringing up a rough storyboard. “You have a pig farmer, covered in mud and shoveling manure out of a pen. He’s filthy, as is the barn and the huge hog he’s tending. The farmer checks his watch, notices his lack of time, and sprays on his trusty cologne. Magic happens, and we see the farmer looking clean and handsome. The barn is full of nice fresh hay, and the hog has been replaced by an adorable piglet. All this happens just in time for the arrival of his beautiful date, who will appear at the side of the frame here. The photographer is pushing for six sequential photos, but I want it done in four so the details remain sharp in the magazine.”

“Wait,” Nathaniel said. “This is for a print ad? I figured it would be a commercial.”