Memphis Movie (24 page)

“Camel,” Lorax said, finally, pulling away a bit.

“Yes, dear.”

“Is this a chestnut?” Lorax opened her small, sweaty palm and something rested there like an egg in a nest.

“Hm,” Camel said. “I think that is a pignut. Yes, a pignut.”

“Can we put it in the stew?”

“Yes, if you'd like.”

“We should get a stew-bone for Fido.”

“Yes, thoughtful you.”

Lorax hummed a little tune and smiled. She looked around, seemingly aware of their surroundings for the first time.

“Oh, and Camel?”

“Yes, Sweet.”

“Isn't that a movie star?”

Camel's attention was drawn to a woman shopping in the leafy vegetables. The woman was Hope Davis.

“I think so,” Camel said. “I think she is a movie star.”

“Ok,” Lorax said. “Ok, Camel. Let's go home and make a stew and talk about movies and vegetables and poems and stuff. Ok?”

“Yes, Sweet.”

“Oh, and Camel?”

“Yes.”

“Let's not talk about the twins anymore.”

59.

“So, suddenly there is this new actress on the set, some brunette goddess from Provo, Utah. Provo, Utah, for God's sake. Someone with no film experience whatsoever, keep in mind, who suddenly has a part in
my film
. How does this happen? This happens because Dan Yumont has an appetite like the jaws of a jail. Exactly like a jail, now that I think about it. So, now there is confusion on the set. Kimberly thinks this new woman—and get this, her name is Sue Pine,
Sue Pine
—Kimberly thinks she is going to get her part. Which, truthfully, if it were up to me she would, she would take Kimberly's part except that we already have so much of her in the can. The sex scene, well, Jesus, I don't wanna film that again.”

Eric was sputtering like an overfilled kettle on the boil. Mimsy placed a cool palm against his temple.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Well, that's it, isn't it? That's the question. That's what Joe LeRose asked today. What is Eric going to do now that his star has brought in talent that has no place? Suddenly it's Eric's problem.”

“Well, it is, Baby. It is your problem. Who is Joe LeRose?”

Eric looked at Mimsy. Her face shown like rose petals.

“Yes,” he said, after a minute. “Yes. It's my problem. I think Joe is an executive producer. Shit, I don't know. I think that's what he is. Maybe Sandy can write this bimbo a small part. Jesus. As if
this film weren't confusing enough. Eden already thinks we have no plan, and he's constantly cooking up ones of his own. Which, well, it's the truth, but we don't tell Eden that. Eden's worrying me with who the releaser is gonna be. Christ, it's not my bailiwick. Call whatshisname—the tub thumper. I am the director. The movie. I am making
the movie
. But, just as it is starting to cohere, starting to look like there's a story behind all the smoke and mirrors, Dan throws me this curve.”

“Did you ask Dan what he expected you to do?”

Eric hesitated.

“I did,” he said. “I asked him how she came to be here and what I was supposed to do about it.”

“And he said?”

“He said, ‘Eric, she fucks like an alley cat.' No kidding. That was his answer.”

“Good God.”

“Right. Good God. What is Eric to do with his star's fuck buddy?”

It was around midnight. On the TV was one of those CNN screens with about 30 different messages showing at once. The sound was muted. Eric looked at it and he thought in the confused jumble of symbols he saw something, a mandala, a
significance
. He was fairly hypnotized by the screen. Mimsy lay beside him reading Marilynne Robinson's
Gilead
.

Eric and Mimsy were in a Peabody Hotel room. They had rented one for their trysts because Mimsy said her apartment was being redecorated. They were registered under the name Mimsy Borogoves to save Eric the anguish of speaking to wannabes. Room service had brought steak dinners about 15 minutes ago. The steaks sat on a table next to the bed. They were a task to be accomplished sometime soon, before the fat coagulated, before the potatoes cooled.

“Are you hungry yet?” Mimsy said, absently, turning a page.

Eric was drawn back from the edge of enlightenment. The room took shape and color around him.

“I guess I am,” he said.

“I guess I am, too,” Mimsy said.

“Let's eat in the bed,” Eric said.

“Let's,” Mimsy said. “Let housekeeping worry about the grease.”

“Right.”

“First let's find something worth watching,” Mimsy said, pulling her plate onto her lap.

They agreed on
The Laughing Policeman
, a Walter Matthau police picture.

“Never heard of it,” Mimsy said.

“It's pretty good. Matthau. And Anthony Zerbe. What ever became of Anthony Zerbe? Well, I imagine he's dead now. It's based on a Dutch thriller, I think. Bruce Dern, too. You know, I asked for Bruce Dern on this picture.”

“Is that Cathy Lee Crosby?”

“Um, yes, yes, it is.”

“Hm.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Eric seemed to be watching the movie keenly.

“You know if they can make Cathy Lee Crosby look good I can make Sue Pine look like a Barrymore.”

“That's the spirit.”

“Really. I'll throw her in there. I'll ask Sandy to give her a nice, nutty, tough little speech and we'll just throw her in. No, wait, wait—”

There was urgency suddenly in his voice.

“I'll get Camel to write her one of his surrealistic little monologues!”

Mimsy's smile threatened to erupt into laughter.

“It's perfect! It might be just what the damn picture needs. I mean it's left-field enough already—but to introduce a new star—see, see—in the credits
And introducing Sue Pine
. See? We go all-out. Rather than hide her, we give her a star-making turn.”

Now Mimsy did laugh.

“No good?” Eric asked, but he was smiling, already way gone into his fancy.

“It's brilliant,” Mimsy said.

“Yes,” Eric said. “It is. It's brilliant.”

60.

Dan Yumont took Sue Pine to dinner that night down by the river. The restaurant was cool and dark and there were few rubberneckers or fans. Still, Dan and Sue were given a semi-private room, off the main floor. There they sat at a table with a white tablecloth and Dan squinted into the middle distance and Sue Pine kept pulling on his fingers as if milking them, her eyes nearly vacant. She felt as if she had been swept into a tidal wave from which she would be late coming down.

Dan's other women, while this was occurring, were chewing on their separate disappointments. But only one of them was a cauldron of boiling rage, a toxic impulse arising in her like bile. Only one, this time.

“I can't believe I'm here,” Sue Pine said, as if she had just landed in the Emerald City.

“Movie magic,” Dan said.

“You have powers.”

“Yes. Because I have money. Because I am famous,” Dan stated baldly.

“And a reputation,” Sue Pine said.

“Yes, that.”

“Why the bad rep? From what I've seen you're a—a stand-up Jack.”

“A reputation is built slowly, brickbat by brickbat.”

“Yours is womanizer-bred.”

“Yes.”

“You don't seem dangerous.”

Dan only squinted.

“It's funny, I was just reading about you in the gossip columns while I was in Orlando. Something about being mistaken for a terrorist on your arrival in Memphis.”

“I lit a match on the airplane.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To hide the smell of my fart.”

“Hm. How do you like Memphis?” Sue Pine asked. “I've never been here.”

“How would I know?” Dan said.

After they ate Dan and Sue walked a bit. This part of downtown, from which you could still see FedEx Forum, was as yet not entirely developed. There were still dark pockets of empty buildings and broken alleys. Through one of these alleys Sue espied the river.

“Oh, Dan, let's go through here. Look at that river. It—it—”

“Just flows on,” Dan suggested.

“Yes, exactly,” Sue Pine said.

Halfway through the darkened passage Sue Pine pushed Dan against the damp, dank wall and pushed herself against him, grinding her pubic bone on the front of Dan's jeans. She kissed him hungrily.

She spoke into his mouth, “It's been hours,” she said.

Dan's eyes were open. On the wall just opposite them was graffiti. The yellow paint read
GODISALIVEMAGICISAFOOT
. Dan smiled.

“She's got a great ass,” came a voice from down the shadowy corridor.

Dan turned his head slowly. Sue Pine pressed herself harder against him.

There were three of them. A black kid, a Hispanic kid and a guy who looked Asian, possibly Vietnamese. Behind them, in the light at the end of the alley, a young woman stood, shifting herself uncertainly from one foot to the other, chewing a fingernail. She appeared to be as white as Sue Pine. Their aggregate age couldn't have been 65.

Goddamn, Dan thought. I'm about to be mugged by the Rainbow Coalition.

“I said, she's got a great ass,” the black kid said.

“I heard you,” Dan said.

The teens were stopped short. They looked at each other apprehensively. It was the voice. There was something familiar about it, something dangerous, something challenging.

“You might wanna share a woman as fine as that,” the kid suggested.

“I might,” Dan said.

Again the nervous eyes.

Sue Pine now turned her eyes toward the gang. She was scared shitless but they were kids. This did not seem comforting. Their mouths were vicious.

“Move away from her, Big Man,” the leader now commanded.

“She not enough for you?” Dan asked, motioning with his chin toward the doll at the end of the alley.

The gang didn't like this questioning of them. They were dead sure they wanted to be in charge.

“She's too much for you, white boy,” the Hispanic kid offered. The thread of the conversation was hanging loose.

“What did you have in mind, guys?” Dan asked.

“Oh, maybe your money first, smart ass. And then your woman.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So—uh, you just move her aside and we'll, uh, show you what we mean.”

Dan peeled Sue Pine off him, gently.

“Show them your legs,” Dan said.

“Dan,” Sue Pine said, her voice a jerrybuilt construction.

“Show them what they want,” Dan said. He was looking at the leader of the gang, who was smirking now. He thought he was on the brink of getting what he wanted.

Sue Pine was wearing a shin-length black dress that clung to her like silk. She kept one steadying hand on Dan's chest and with the other inched the dress slowly up her legs. Every eye, save Dan's, was on her.

When the dress was about four inches above the knee Dan spoke.

“That's enough,” he said.

Only then did they see the pistol in Dan's hand. It was the size of a holiday ham.

“Fuck,” the black kid said.

“Not tonight,” Dan answered him.

“Fuck,” the guy repeated. He looked at his compatriots.

“Jesse, let's get out of here,” the girl squeaked.

“Don't use my name, dammit,” the kid snapped. He turned on his heel and jogged back to her. Everyone stood still. The air was prickly with assault.

When he reached her he placed a palm against her cheek.

“We go now,” he said. And with that they were gone.

“Jesus God,” Sue Pine said. “Is Memphis always this way?”

“How would I know?” Dan Yumont said.

61.

In the middle of the night Sue Pine woke up, her head full of bees. She couldn't fathom where she was. The last 48 hours had been more than a whirlwind. It had changed her life irrevocably. The light was middle-of-the-night hotel light, a strange diffusion through thick drapes. She was in a hotel room sleeping next to Dan Yumont. Could it be true? Yes, it was. She could make out his face in the murk, a whiskered handsomeness known the world over.

Sue Pine carefully got out of bed. She didn't know she didn't have to be careful. Dan Yumont slept the sleep of the just. He was never bothered by bad dreams, never tossed and turned, had never known the cacodemon Insomnia. Sue turned back to look at his face. She knelt next to the bed and put her face up close to his. She wanted to lick his cheek and lips. She knew the lips would taste of herself. Or a heady mix of her own juice and tobacco and alcohol. It made her dizzy just contemplating it. Her tongue was already tasting him.