"

Theirs was a higher life, 'twixt heaven and earth amid the storm-clouds, touched with the sublime. The rest of the world came nowhere, had no proper status, no real existence.

In fact, the nearer home things came, the more she (Madame Bovary) shrank from all thought of them.

"

Flaubert

Translator: Alan Russel

Chapter Four

i.

Bob waits with Helen at the bar. Friends have gathered and all are in deep with conversation.

In a nearby newsstand is Philip stocking up on chewing gum and browsing through colorful fashion magazines. He is still wearing his new jeans and orange pullover.

Marie is trying to get comfort from Crystal in the bar's low-lit ambient lounge. She is not successful. It is one thing for Crystal to be a sounding board, but quite another for him to offer consolation.

"It's your own fault, Marie, for putting Philip up for grabs like you did."

"But," she whimpers, "I thought he'd be grabbed by a casting director, not by this." She slouches pathetically. "Can't you go with Kevin?"

"Look, Marie. I have nothing to do with this. As far as I'm concerned, Souiel is a paralyzed lunatic who should stay where he is." He folds his arms with conviction. "Besides, I have the show to take care of."

Silence follows as Marie decides to drop her plea. She scans the shadowy room and says, half to herself, "I'm so worried about Philip going on this damn trip. Why did Soo-eel, or whatever you call him, have to leave in the first place?"

Crystal's answer is forthcoming. "For a while he was very active, working with Kevin on Friends and The Bear. Then, without reason, he stopped dead in his tracks and became overwhelmed with depression, so much so that he had leave."

"Why?" she implores. "He shouldn't have run from his problems. He should have stayed to work them out and then he'd be here now, and with no problems."

"You can't imagine how bad things had gotten," he says, very sure that she can not.

"And why so far away?" She is riddled with questions.

"The Mirian Peninsula was a fairly arbitrary choice based on cheap air fare and, at the time, a high rate of exchange. However, if you follow his family tree back down to the ground, you'll find roots in Miria. But he went there, primarily, because it was distant."

"Maybe he left for publicity. Lynn told me how unknown they were before Sarro came along." She speaks as though accusing Souiel of a prank.

"She's right. They were unpopular in those days. Souiel was too offensive. He wanted to alienate people because they didn't care enough -- because he demanded their total love and devotion, without reservation. He took it for granted what he was doing was great, and he had no patience for those who irresponsibly practiced criticism. Maybe this only proves how insecure he was, I don't know; but his attitude helped limit their following to a certain character type: the snobbish social outcast, usually male, father dead but well insured, with free time to cultivate unique tastes, who sought out what upset and annoyed everyone else and who, also, paradoxically, was bitter at being an outcast.

"The Vargas/Souiel films," he continues, "with their sarcastic optimism and profound despair, released such a person's tensions and frustrations; so a following grew in spite of Souiel, and in accordance with his rules of religious dedication. So he was getting what he wanted without wanting it, but, alas, as his collaboration with Kevin progressed, there came a discomforting development from within. It is possible to form a partnership based on shared hate for the world at large but, when you realize the world is too established to be crushed, you focus inward. That's what was manifesting itself in the films -- that, in them, Souiel and Vargas were trying," he pauses dramatically, "to crush one another." He is horrified by his words; Marie, less so.

"I wish Philip wouldn't get involved with this."

"It's a perverse elitism."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Crystal explains without further encouragement. "Okay, Souiel has a distinctive mind of his own. When he gives an opinion, you listen and tend to agree with what he says. There's something solid in his manner, neither forceful nor gentle, that compels you and makes you have to believe it. That being a given, he recognized that Kevin was someone special, and he was the first powerful personality to say so. Kevin was grateful to receive recognition from anyone, but especially from Souiel because, well, he liked Souiel. He recognized that Souiel was special as well."

Marie winces and leans toward Crystal as if she might hear him better. Her face attempts to be pensive.

"It's important to be aware that, as an artist, Kevin was malignantly afflicted by that all too common of artistic diseases, elitism. Without any material or tangible proof that one could, say, put on a resume, he carried the rock bottom conviction that he was a cut above the rest."

"How could he know?"

"Sometimes you know, you just know."

Another voice says, "How does a plain girl know she's a little princess? She acts eccentrically. Friends and relatives tolerate it. She mistakes their kindness for evidence of her majesty, and she carries that misconception with her for the rest of her life."

"Who's that?" asks Marie, pointing at the sallow-faced man who has walked over to them from the bar.

"Marie, allow me to introduce Michael. Now that he has joined us, the conversation will be spiced with witty observations from left field."

"Hi, Marie. Crystal is such a flatterer." He turns to Crystal for the purpose of his visit. "Where's Kevin?" he asks, tapping his wristwatch. "It's ten-thirty."

"There's lots of time. The flight's been delayed two hours due to weather conditions." Crystal turns back to Marie and continues. Michael remains standing by them with a drink in his hand, acknowledging Crystal's answer with a silent, oh.

"So Kevin was elite in a way that only a total lack of recognition can make a person behave. He was above everyone else through anonymity. Souiel, by appreciating Kevin's inflated ego, or at least, by allowing it to persist, could feel elite to be in Kevin's company. So both were elite; Kevin as the star, Souiel as his fan."

Michael explains, "You have to fan that type of star or else . . ., you know, it'll go out."

"Right," agrees Crystal. "We might say that together they formed an autonomous unit. Unfortunately, Souiel wanted some reciprocal appreciation, or star fanning, for himself."

"Which is understandable," adds Mike. "If someone has been giving you a blow-job, you either pay them or give them a blow-job."

"Uh, yes. I think so." He winces. "Notice with what ease Michael jumps from one image to another."

"Or you could blow out their brains."

"Yes, there are several options. Souiel opted for the first, retroactive appreciation. Thank you, Mike. Do you mind?"

He taps Crystal's shoulder, says of his own accord, "See you later," and walks back to the bar stools to join his friends.

"Sorry, Marie. He can be abrasive."

"I seem to bring that out in people." She sighs, remembering Kevin treating her in the same inappropriate way.

"You should be flattered," he adds ironically.

She looks at Crystal as if he has thrown her a curve ball. He continues with his story.

"Anyway, while their friendship was going through these phases, they collaborated on films -- Souiel behind the camera, Kevin in front. They made up the plots as they were shooting. Simultaneously, they dissected their inhibitions, hence the very graphic and sexual nature of the films."

She agrees with a disgusted squint. "They were -- what do you call -- exploitation films. Last night, Philip and I saw Friends and I don't see why such senseless violence deserves an award. That's not my idea of friendship."

Crystal corrects her terminology. "They're exploration films. That's the difference. That's what makes them art." He slaps the table. "Getting back to their relationship. Kevin, because of some lack in himself, could not return Souiel's feelings of appreciation. Who knows why. He loved Souiel, whose work as a cameraman was indispensable, but he could only consider Souiel's efforts an aid to his own work as a self-exploratory actor. Now Souiel loved Kevin and the whole uninhibited concept behind the inhibited characterization Kevin was portraying, since Kevin acted out Souiel's fantasies. Kevin was thin and revelled in being examined. Souiel was fat, balding and dejected in appearance. However, Souiel thought of Kevin as an aid to his work. In the early stage, this similarity of thinking was mutually productive, though the collaboration was growing in a ground that contained the seeds of its own destruction. Ironically, as they worked, they isolated themselves to the point where, in Friends, the entire crew had been stripped to only themselves and their female lead, Diane Heyday.

"Having become dependent, both artistically and emotionally, they became afraid that they were losing their identities, a concern first voiced by divided factions of their audience who, though few, were very vocal. I can't say who started it but, in order to counter that fear, they made the terrible mistake," he swallows, "of trying to dominate one another; of trying to control what the other was doing; and, worst of all, of trying to force the other to 'see it my way.'"

She finishes for him. "And when war became imminent, they were right in retreating to avoid confrontation. Settle back on your own turf, but why that of your ancestors? Why so far away?" She scans the lounge in search of Philip and sees other couples courting.

"But they couldn't just move out of each other. They had grown too dependent. Like two trees growing side by side, their roots had entwined. To separate at that point would mean artistic suicide. Also, let's not forget their following. These people were deeply involved. Vargas and Souiel were not only their friends, but also their role models. A manner of speaking and joking that was pure Vargas and Souiel had evolved, and from that evolved an attitude."

"What attitude is that?"

"The one with the sarcasm about everything -- the obsession with the ludicrous, the tendency to take everything too far. These people were personally affected when the friendship fell apart. They had staked so much of their philosophy on Vargas and Souiel that they became scared for themselves, especially following Friends during the filming of The Bear. Everything was getting too crazy, serious and useless."

Marie exasperatedly implores, "Like who, Crystal, specifically who used to follow them?" She adds, "Other than yourself?"

He blinks and leans away. "Me, Bob Bryant," he looks at the bar and points, "Lamont, Michael, all those people there."

Marie's head spins round to find how different the bar suddenly looks. It is as if Crystal has revealed the true identity of the debonair figures lining the elegant walnut bar -- that they are really a hoary group of methane drinkers.

ii.

Crystal explains, "Sure. They've all come to give their regards to Kevin and wish him luck on his trip. They haven't forgotten the good old days. They're Souielists. They consider Souiel the ambassador of the artistic lifestyle and they feel Kevin is nowhere without him. Would you like to meet them?"

"I guess I should." She looks at the boisterous men in their ill-fitting suits and adds, "Leading an artist's life must make it easy to get overly wrapped up in yourself. These people should be sailors."

"Well, I warn you. Take everything they say with a grain of salt. They're convinced Souiel was the real talent behind the films and Kevin is only reaping the benefits.

"Oh? Why would they think that?" asks Marie in sarcastic response to the conviction in Crystal's voice.

At the bar, Mr. Bryant, short and scrawny, a nest of hair on his head and thick glasses magnifying his eyes, is conversing with a shaggy student whom he knows from the City College of Art and Design where he teaches. Curious passersby are pausing around them. Children, out for a night on the town, are especially fascinated by the men. Mrs. Bryant, the only woman of the group, Lamont, Michael and the rest of the Souielists look on, pondering the discussion. Names of obscure artists are tossed back and forth with appreciation and comraderie between the two men as they loudly make their comments. Their often harsh judgments are nearly meaningless to those listening but are highly valued by each other, particularly when their tastes are found to agree.

As their artistic assessments lead back to Souiel, Marie and Crystal find a place beside them. Marie quizzically examines the two men and their wild eyes. They are so sure of what they say that she feels uneasy and checks for the nearest fire exit as if, because they are defying sacred ambivalence, the ground may open to swallow them.

The shaggy man, Paul, is breathing heavily. Though a student, he seems fifteen years older than Bob, who appears to be in high school. Paul says, between snorts, "Kevin must be like dribbling like shit in his pants like with Souiel coming back, you know? He'll be finally exposed for the like sham that he is."

"Paul, I'm telling you," says a more subdued but firm Bob. "It was only a matter of time before his importance was dissolved in the greater importance of Souiel. Kevin can be brilliant on occasion but he's no artist. All he can do is assimilate and steal, and his efforts at creating can only expose the selfishness, emptiness and mediocrity of his existence. If only he could hide it in some way, but he can't. It's about time Souiel came back to give us something we can really think about. I can't wait to speak to him again. My only fear is that the Pyramid Award may not be enough to make him subject himself to a return."

"I don't know," says Paul, doubtfully. "Like how like you know can we like trust Vargas in like bringing him back, you know?"

"Well, like we really don't have any choice," says Bob.

"And why is there no other choice?" interrupts Marie.

The sociable Mrs. Bryant incorporates Crystal and the newcomer into the conversation. As Bob and Paul ignore the question, she says, "Hello, Crystal; and hello," directing a greeting to Marie.

Crystal says, "This is Marie, Philip's wife. Philip is going with Kevin to the Mirian Peninsula. Marie, Helen Bryant." He point back and forth.

Bob stops conversing the moment he senses something more interesting. He says, "Ohhhh," for a while, remembering well the sight of Philip from Sarro's party. He kisses Marie's hand with respect as Helen smiles knowingly.

Crystal says, "I was just telling Marie about the Souiel/Vargas split-up."

"You must be getting her into some unexpectedly turbulent conversation," says Helen as Bob interjects, "Marie, can I get you a drink?"

"Please do. An 'Amaretto sunrise' would be nice," says she, in her most ladylike manner.

Bob orders and asks, "What would you like to know?"

She suggests sweetly, "I was thinking maybe this whole trip could be avoided with a well-placed phone call. I have the change if you need." She offers some coins to Bob. The Souielists think this is cute; some think sickeningly cute.

"Marie," Bob smiles condescendingly, "Kevin must be the one to bring Souiel back. It was his fault Souiel left in the first place.

Crystal interjects, "Perhaps it was his fault, but his threatened behavior found its perfect foil in Souiel."

Marie shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I can't accept my Philip going on a journey motivated purely by personal obligation. You've only upset me more."

"Cute," says Michael, high in the clouds, gazing down upon her earthy concern.

"Marie, it's not just that," says Crystal. "Nobody else can find Souiel. The only information we have is that he's living in a little old southern town noted for its backwardness, poverty and linen, some of which I have at home. It's quite lovely."

Bob shrugs as though there is nothing more to say.

Marie asks, "So how's Kevin supposed to find him?"

"Leave it to Vargas to ensure all the attention falls on him when the time comes," says Bob. "He went with Souiel."

"Together?" she asks calmly.

"Yes, but only Kevin came back," says Crystal. "He brought me some linen tablecloths as a souvenir." He looks at her, encouraging her to understand.

Bob adds, "He only stayed a few days."

"What kind of breakup was that if they left together?" She is angry.

"Your hostility is the result of your limited understanding."

"Grr." She reaches for Bob's neck. Crystal restrains her.

"Shall we tell her the whole story?" Bob asks, looking at Crystal as if willing to do a vaudeville routine.

Marie shakes herself from Crystal's gentle grip and holds up her hands. "Hold everything. Could you just wait a minute? I've got to get Philip. He's been at that newsstand for too long." She temporarily flees the barroom and finds Philip studying a gossip magazine.

Paul, still shaggy, is feeling left out, having been usurped as the object of Bob's attention. He was listening intently and impatiently for an opening to speak. Only now does he find one. "So, like, where is this Vargas?"

"Probably upstairs balling his wife."

"Oh," grins Paul with disgust, sadly relinquishing attention as Philip and Marie rapidly draw near.

"Hi, Crystal," says Philip between chews. He smiles.

Marie makes introductions. "Philip, this is Mr. Bryant. He has kindly bought me a drink." She points to a near empty glass. "Say hello to him."

"How do you do, Mr. Bryant?" He politely bows forward knowing enough not to say hello to a drink.

"No, no. Please call me Bob. We met before."

In the silence that follows one can hear the clinking of glasses and the chewing of gum. Everyone is staring at Philip. Marie says, "These people are Kevin's friends from those dark, mysterious days when he and Souiel used to make movies together. They were just telling me how the two of them hated each other so much that when one left the other had to tag along. Now they're going to explain stuff like that. They're willing to tell us what they call, 'the whole story'."

Philip makes doll eyes and bobs from side to side. "Oh good, we're hearing a story." He is seated on a bar stool. With Marie standing beside him, her arm around his waist, they look like a ventriloquist team.

"That's right, Philip," she says. "Now keep it short, fellows. He only has these few packs of gum."

They again think: cute.

Philip impresses everyone with a demonstration of how unexpectedly demanding he can be. "Wait! I have a question. How come Crystal is named Crystal?" He does a drum roll on his legs.

Crystal makes an offering of his answer. "Souiel gave me that name when I first appeared in their films on account of my blonde, delicate appearance and pristine nature. I seemed to him like an easily broken object and that was some time go. I've since then been graduated from Art and Design to become a successful set designer and I have my own apartment. In fact, after Souiel left, Kevin came to live there under my care. My legal name, which I've never sought to change, is Joel Monroe."

"A movie star? I didn't see you in Friends."

"I was an extra in the opening party scene, but then there were only two people in the rest of the movie. I obviously wasn't one of them. I was in Insomniac, as Crystal."

Philip claps softly and obediently slips his hands between closed thighs.

"Thank you," says Crystal, humoring the childish behavior since it is accompanied by several attractive grins and eye aversions. He pauses to get his bearings as conversations continue around him; everyone is only half listening to each other, keeping an open ear in the event that something more interesting is said.

He begins, "We, meaning most of us here -- uh, please raise your hands so you're identified." A few disinterested hands halfheartedly stir. Some onlookers get self-conscious and depart. "We all used to hang out at the Solgar Theatre. This was nearly seven years ago. It was a revival house by the docks with an esoteric taste in films. One day, Lamont . . .," catching the sound of his name, Lamont raises his hand. "Hi Lamont. He made friends with a neurotic little boy who was always attracting attention by getting excited over the movies shown at the theatre. This was none other than Kevin Vargas. Lamont, a statement, perhaps?" By way of introduction, he adds, "You may have seen Lamont as Mr. Security in The Bear That Walks Like a Man. Here he is, in person."

Lamont, an imposing figure, rises to his feet to "oo's" and soft applause. His way of gazing at Philip and Marie suggests he is much older and certainly more mature than they are. Before extinguishing his cigarette, he drags from it a last lung-full of smoke and then rapidly makes his statement. "I discovered Kevin in the Solgar Men's Room, following a well-received screening of the cult classic, King of Hearts. He attracted my attention with his sobs and, when he began to throw up, I offered my assistance. After he regained his color, I brought him upstairs to the balcony where I introduced him to my good pal, Souiel. They soon discovered they had much in common and became great friends. The rest is history." He nods once and sits.

"Wait a minute," Marie cries. "I have a question."

Lamont expectantly looks up.

She becomes nervous from his self-assured gaze and then collects herself to ask, "How did they start making films?"

"As it happens, we were the film makers. Kevin become involved with our movement, not the other way around. Our stuff already had a reputation at the Solgar."

Crystal says, "I was an usher there. Michael worked at the candy counter. During the midnight shows we convinced the projectionist to slip in a few shorts. They were well received under the circumstances -- the entire audience was always stoned anyway at that hour -- and they were screened rather often. I knew Kevin before then, having torn his tickets for admission, but he only became involved with making the films after becoming friendly with Souiel.

Lamont adds, "He really grew up making films with us. If I'm not mistaken, the first time he made love was in the movies."

Philip nods and exclaims, "This is interesting."

"Where were you getting the money for all this production?" asks a still exasperated Marie.

Lamont is evasive. "We managed one way or another."

"Why are they called Vargas/Souiel films?" She is cross-examining.

"That's what happens. You stay home one day and, bingo! You're hidden in the credits; and observe whose name is first above the title."

"And I was under the impression you were just their fans." She looks around at Bob, Michael, Lamont, Paul and Crystal with equal appraisal. Paul enjoys being associated with these men.

Lamont glances at Crystal and corrects. "We greatly admired each other's work so in that way we were fans but we all had something to do with the films and The Bear should rightfully be called ours." He nods at Michael and Bob.

Marie enjoys asking questions so, rather than listening to the answers, she uses the time to think up another. "Did you ever work together again after Souiel left?"

"Not with Kevin. He's such a self-conscious egotist. Though he thinks he's so polite, everything he says sounds degrading and insulting. Even a compliment from him has to have a nasty innuendo. He made Souiel chuck it and leave. Kevin only wanted to get rich and famous and forget about us. He was using us."

Crystal adds, "Kevin wanted to be with Souiel. That's why they left together."

Lamont says, "You're his best friend. I suppose you should know." He sounds doubtful as he lights a distinctive brown cigarello, the only type he smokes.

Bob remains the judicious listener as Helen annoys him by slipping her hand into his shirt.

Crystal takes it upon himself to refute Lamont's comments. "I know how obsessive Kevin was with Souiel, and I also recall how the merest delusion of the tiniest possibility of attaining fame would upset him. Consider how the film, Friends, which, even in the amateurish condition in which it was shown back in those days, made him attractive to strangers. We joked about him becoming a star. Like an open clam at the first sense of danger, he shut himself into a lonely micro-world, focusing paranoically on his first and favorite fan, Souiel, whose devotion he never wanted to lose. This drove Souiel off the wall. He had his own ideas to develop and if Kevin wasn't responsive, he was in the way. And, by the time they reached this point, years had already passed. They knew each other by then, and to know each other that well was to be sick of each other. It's another artist's disease."

Bob helpfully adds, "They would tell each other their ideas and from Souiel would come encouragement and enthusiasm and from Kevin would come dissipation and despair."

Crystal continues. "Souiel had grown to hate this little movement he and Kevin created due to his own self-disgust. He hated himself, so naturally he would loathe his self's externalized manifestation. However, since he chose to see it as an attitude that had gathered form and substance, he decided it was possible to escape it by leaving Dieledon, the place where it dwelled. As for Kevin, Souiel was the most important person in his life, so they left together. They weren't the only ones to leave. Things were breaking up all around. Everyone was feeling the need to move on. I had gone back to school. Lamont went west. As for the two of them in the Mirian Peninsula, they were together barely a fortnight. I conjecture that, though far away from Dieledon and its memories, they were each other's strongest reminders."

Marie motions that she has successfully finished her drink. Bob calls the bartender for another of the same.

"I'm letting myself go tonight," she explains.

Philip rubs his eyes, suppressing a yawn, and asks, "What happened after that?"

Crystal answers, "Kevin moved in with me and pined, still obsessed with Souiel and the thought that Souiel had alone discovered something that Kevin was still missing."

Bob searches for his wife whom he finds standing beside him. Now secure, he glances invitingly at Paul. They resume commenting as Bob hands Marie her second drink.

"Thank you," she says, turning to Philip. "You're the one who should be drinking this. After all, you're the one who's flying tonight." Tears well in her eyes at the thought of Philip's imminent departure.

"Not now, Marie," is Philip's heartless response as he tries to be difficult. He says, "I'm listening to Crystal. So go on, Crystal. What did he do?"

"He independently produced a film called Plants."

Bob encapsulates his negative review. "It depicted the lowest form of life imaginable."

Crystal says, "As you see, it went unappreciated. After that fiasco, Kevin began watching television till all hours. He read infrequently, mostly plays and screenplays, stared at movie books, listened and seemed to receive immense consolation from select rock stars." He cups his hands over Philip's ear and whispers into it. "He'd often masturbate, mostly over magazines or comics." Out loud again, he theatrically continues as Philip's head rattles with the secretive murmurings. "His desire to live disappeared with the loss of Souiel. He was in a state of despair as he sought to melt his personality into a shapeless, emotionless mass of habitual actions and triggered responses."

This causes a sip of Marie's drink to squirt down the wrong tube. She sniffs and soundlessly mouths with disbelief the words she has just heard.

Crystal continues, "Unfortunately, he wasn't doing enough to even succeed at so mechanical a form of obliteration. He did nothing. He just sat around my studio, depressed. Sometimes, to break the monotony, he complained."

Marie asks, "Gee, Crystal. Why didn't you do something, like throw him out on the street?"

"Because I understood the way he felt and I believe he has a right to those feelings, however paralyzing they may seem. Who's to say? He didn't bother me. I think I got more work done because of him. Why should he be forced to change just because he seemed so unconstructive and unhappy? It's his right. He had a place of privacy with me for as long as he needed. I worked. Money was coming in." When he blinks he sees a flash still of Kevin in bed under pillows. He can almost hear the desperate, muffled moan of a person with no energy, but absolutely wide awake.

iii.

Philip remarks, "Gee, Marie. Things didn't look so good for Kevin in those days." He asks Crystal, "Couldn't he do anything about it?"

The response is encouraging. "He couldn't, but someone else could. If this were a newsreel, the inspiring strains of our city anthem would begin whistling in the background right about now."

Marie aimlessly hums the appropriate tune.

Crystal mimics newsreel narration which gradually fades back to his own voice. "There is always a man who comes to the rescue of the struggling creative artist, whether to save him from the wiles of the world, or from the hell of himself. At least there should be, right Philip?"

"You bet." He shakes his fist in the air.

"And Thomas Sarro is that man."

Philip rapidly claps his hands. Marie loses all desire to hum, mumbling, "I shouldn't have taken him to Sarro in the first place."

"Sarro became interested in the collaborative efforts of Vargas and Souiel while teaching a film course at Maxwell House University. His theory of the stage line drew him to the films because of what seemed like a blatant lack of a stage line."

"What's the stage have to do with the movies?" asks Philip.

"I'll give you an example. Two people are conversing; let's say it's you two. I'll be the camera. I'm here on this side of you completing an imaginary triangle. Philip is on the right; Marie on the left. The line between you two is the stage line and I'm on the audience side of it. If I get a close-up of either of you, it should be at an angle on this side of the line. If I walk between you two to the other side so Marie is to my right and you're on my left then I've broken that line. To cut suddenly from one side to the other wouldn't seem continuous. There'd be different background. You'd be in reversed places. It wouldn't make sense.

"Oh no, it does," assures Marie.

"Oh good. Well, in Vargas/Souiel films, the camera wasn't merely recording from a stage line. It was a character itself, and it moved like one. This is Souiel for you. He may not be seen but he never lets you forget he's there. He increased the viewing angle from one hundred eighty degrees to three hundred sixty, and beyond since he weaved about so freely. You wouldn't guess from his physique but he was a ballerina cameraman. From this, Sarro went on to develop theories on what he termed, 'the floating stage line,' something that separates film from all other flat mediums. The floating stage line, as he found it used in the Vargas/Souiel films, produces a strangely dislocating and liberating effect for the viewer. The way in which the camera glides around a character isolates the character from his surroundings. His background is ever changing. He is set up as something profoundly self-contained. The circular motion creates a barrier. Heads become planets in a fantastic, facially expressive galaxy. Then, when two of these isolated objects interact, it is as if they go out of orbit in rebellion against the force established by the camera. Friends, especially, demonstrates this because it is so basic. There are really only three characters in the film, Kevin, Diane, and the all seeing eye of Souiel."

Marie asks, "Is this the same movie we saw last night?"

Philip says, "I guess, now that you mention it, it was rather effective."

"See? But somebody had to tell you. Sarro was the one who did that; he had the reputation and he spoke with a voice that got people listening. He had already delineated other recent trends in cinema and his film books were widely discussed. His abilities, first as an interpreter, then as a teacher, are not to be underestimated. Through his articles and in his book, The Great Underground Films, and then through touring colleges all over the continent, he not only 'theorized' their films into critical acclaim, but he made them popular, as well. One wouldn't, at first, think the Vargas and Souiel films had any commercial potential. They depicted people on the fringe of society, who couldn't help being different, who were simply searching for mutual consent in order to do what they liked with each other, and not only with each other's bodies, but with each other's minds. Relationships were designed to drive the other crazy. As for the cinematic style, it was expressionistic, with visual forms of the characters glorified above all else."

"I wouldn't put money into that unless Philip was in it," interjects an inebriated Marie.

"Of course not," agrees Crystal, applying her comment to the topic of discussion. "It doesn't seem real. The characters must exist in a removed reality in order to function. The only way they could become more relatable was if their world was incorporated into the 'real' world. That's where Sarro helped. He was the mediator. He linked the films with this disparate city, emphasizing the difficulty of pure social interaction in both. He treated the characters and film makers as products of their environment, as products of Dieledon; not necessarily everyman's image of himself, but of the kooks next door, and in so doing, Sarro broadened understanding between people. Vargas and Souiel were the ones searching for their own identities; the ones acting without a secure future in mind; the ones who didn't go to psychiatrists, striving to fulfill romance on their own in an era that had balded the idea of romance to the point where one had to be perverse in order to avoid feeling cliche, false, or just simply ridiculous. It's been said of Sarro that he inflamed these feelings, but at least he integrated Vargas, Souiel and people like them into society."

Philip is impressed. "I suppose they were charming in a perverse way."

"Crystal," remarks Marie. "I had no idea you were such a theorizer."

"Though I've often thought about them, I find my opinions still evolving. I'll let you in on a secret. I'm working on a book about Vargas and Souiel. I already have the publisher."

Philip asks, "When did Sarro come along?"

"Two years after Souiel's departure, Sarro got in touch with me about the films. A butchered copy of Friends ran at a performance-art show that Sarro attended because one of his students was among the live acts. He said she portrayed a burning bridge. He called me the next day. I suggested he come over and meet Kevin Vargas in person, since Kevin had lately gotten into a pleasant mood. He decided, oh well, happy, sad; it's all the same. After two years, Kevin was beyond despair."

"Sun broke through the clouds, eh? Was it a new girl in his life?"

"No, Marie. It was an internal thing; it had nothing to do with anybody else. It's ironic, though, that Sarro's interest followed in the wake of Kevin's internal metamorphosis.

"Their first meeting, which I arranged immediately, went very well. Sarro's interest increased, not so much from Kevin's film theories, but because of his good mood. How could someone who made these atrocity films come across as so soft spoken and calm? I knew that Kevin came from a noisy family background, so he assumed politeness as a form of rebellion, but against the backdrop of the films, talk show hosts across the continent were soon to ask that question. Months later, Sarro introduced him to Lynn. They eventually married and then, with good reason to be content and self-satisfied -- since he was also becoming famous and independently wealthy -- he became moody and cataclysmic, out of habit I guess, since he had gone beyond despair."

"Gee," adds Philip.

"Sarro went on to hire me and Bob and the rest of our group and, look who's heading this way. It's Kevin and Lynn." He continues, "Everybody, that is, except Souiel, who remains, till this day, the mystery man. Being in exile gave him certain advantages for becoming a legend in his own time."

"Hi Crystal, Philip, Marie and well well, what have we here? Everybody. Hi, Bob." Kevin, jabbering, and Lynn approach the bar.

"Hi, Kevin. What were you doing up there all this time, making little Kevins?" asks Bob.

Philip and Marie are startled in spite of themselves.

"Yeah, we made a few. Two of them got botched up in the process so we flushed them away, but the third's coming along fine. I left him in the sink."

"Hello, Kevin. I'm Paul Gayney." Bob's shaggy companion is introducing himself. "Best of luck on your, like, trip." As they shake hands, Paul restrains a snicker, made only more insidious by his sweaty palms. Kevin looks confused but feels intimidated.

Bob persists. "Did you have a good time up there? How was it?"

"I have no idea." The stranger, Paul, has upset Kevin's easily upset lighthearted manner. "Lynn, what do you think?"

"I really enjoyed it." Lynn knows how to satisfy Bob. "I mean, it's always been great ever since I turned four and my cousin showed me how to do it myself; but also, knowing Kevin is to be away for a while and that his trip will probably radically alter his status here in Dieledon . . ., this made it incredibly exciting. But, as I said, I just like doing it and since thin people tend to be oversized, I especially like it with Kevin." She hugs Kevin's shoulder, her smiling mouth tightly shut. Kevin appears dazed. Listeners are amazed. Bob is delighted. Some may recognize this as a method of attention-getting while maintaining a distance from those around one by seeming extremely odd.

Kevin accepts the statement like an award. "What can I say?"

"Just think. Soon you'll be up there with Philip," says Lynn, speaking figuratively. She punches him on the shoulder.

"Did you get the clothes?" asks Crystal as if to demonstrate a point.

"Ohhhh. Thanks, Crystal. I forgot all about them. I'll check if they came in in a minute; but first, a toast."

Marie sobs and swells with inebriated sadness, two drinks being a lot for her. "Oh, Philip." She turns to Crystal. "Why aren't you going with Kevin. To hell with the show. He needs you. Why look at that. He would have forgotten his clothes if it weren't for you."

"Marie, there's nothing to discuss. I'll have nothing to do with Souiel. In the past he used me for his own small vision and if there's anything I hate it's to be used. If I do something for someone, that's fine, but for someone to use me? Not if I can help it. I've found he has no compassion, feelings or understanding for other people. To put it bluntly, he's a spoiled brat."

"All right. Calm down," says Michael, patting him.

Kevin says, "Everything you've said to describe Souiel goes for me, too."

Crystal explains, "Yes, but you're different. You don't impose yourself on people. You're passive. People do things to and for you. That's why you're potentially romantic and understandable. All is vanity; there's nothing in this world to be desired, so why initiate anything? That's not to say people in depression don't want anything. Often, they want the most fantastic things, but they just sulk and let time pass without doing anything about it, so they never get what they want. Their lives pass uneventfully. On the other hand, things happen to you and you tend to get what you want. Fully aware that it's all stupid and vain, you'd never initiate such frivolities as your wants and desires yourself, yet you still get them."

"That's right, Crystal." As he breaks into a broad smile, his upper teeth bite his lower lip. "I get everything I really want. Now why don't you save Marie a lot of torment and distress by joining me on this excursion?"

"I'll tell you what. If Philip doesn't want to go, I'll go."

"Well Philip?" asks Marie. She sniffles.

"But Marie, I want to go. How often to I get to travel abroad?"

"That's true," she admits, making a long face and examining the floor.

Kevin is pleased. "How do you do, Philip. Do you speak more than two words?"

"Hello. Sure, and I do want to go. Will we have time for sightseeing?"

"We'll make some time."

Crystal taps Kevin on the shoulder. "What about your new clothes?"

"Right. Excuse me. Order the champagne. I'll be right back."

iv.

Kevin returns ten minutes later wearing his safari outfit. "Forget the rest of the stuff. I'm leaving it here."

Bob is awaiting everyone's pose for the toast. "Gentlemen, ladies, to Souiel's return and to the new dawn it brings."

In the stillness, Kevin whispers to Philip. "I should get you one of these outfits."

Bob has been continuing. "To the prospect of the future when we will all be back together again, and, when reunified, we can truly affect the world. Cheers."

"Hear, hear!"

All sip except Marie who gulps the whole shallow glass.

"You better remember where you left him, Kevin."

"Don't bring him home in a box."

The Souielists pat him on the back.

Kevin says, "Shall we be going, Bob?"

"The car's waiting out front."

Kevin nudges Philip. "Say good-bye, Marie."

"Good-bye, Marie." He adds, "I'm gonna miss you."

"Oh, Philip." She shakes her head and honestly adds, "I'm going to miss you, too. You don't realize how much." Philip embraces her as she blows her nose. "Good-bye," she says as she walks them to the car.

Outside the Clairol, under the protective awning that contains and preserves the protective indoor warmth, Lynn casually says, "Hm. Nice car, Bob. It resembles a fish."

"Thanks, Lynn. I had it restored. It's a classic. All original parts."

Philip has second thoughts. "Oh, Marie. I can't go." He embraces her.

"Oh, Philip." She is so relieved she could cry.

He reconsiders just as suddenly. "But I must."

She stamps her feet and yells, "Philip!" She frowns and sniffs.

Kevin tells Lynn and Crystal, "I think you two had better stay with her," looking at Marie who has become somewhat drunk. "Bye, Crystal. Bye, Lynn. See you soon, I hope."

That reminds Lynn, "I doubt I'll be here when you return."

"Do what you will, but please leave a message. I love you. I want to see you again."

They tightly embrace for a brief second.

Kevin, Philip, Helen and Bob board the exotic (and running!) car. They drive away, leaving Crystal and Marie on the steps. Marie is gripping the thin golden handrail.

Crystal feels there is still more that needs to be said. He tries to clear discrepancies between statements made that evening by Lamont and himself. "Marie, I hope you're not too confused. The great films, the ones in the theatres today, employed the talents of men such as Lamont, Bob and Michael, but they are entirely Vargas/Souiel ventures, except, arguably, the last, The Bear That Walks Like a Man. Lamont was only in charge of some early exploitation films, mostly horror or reenactments of sensationalized news stories, or cheap pornography. Also, I meant to add that Lamont and Michael did finance the films, with quaaludes. Lamont supplied the pills and Michael sold them over the counter, the candy counter, that is."

Marie does not look at Crystal but Lynn stares back in total disbelief. Marie says, "Oh," but it sounds more like a moan. She wanders away. Lynn coldly says, "Excuse me," and follows her to the bar.

Crystal decides that, since it is not raining, and since the night air is balmy, he will stay outside, declining the hansons, preferring the exercise. He looks up at the clouds tinted fallout orange by the mercury street lamps and thinks, soon Kevin and Philip will be up there.

Marie orders another drink. She puts her head on the counter and begins to sob. Lynn approaches. "Don't cry," she says, putting her arm around Marie. There is a good pianist at work nearby.

"Calm down, Philip. We're safely in the air. You can undo that seat belt."

"This is the first time I've ever flown."

"It's not so bad, is it?"

"Look, I can see the moon. And how about that! The clouds are below us."

"It's beautiful. Do you want a drink or something?"

"No. I just want to watch. Oh! and take pictures. I gotta get my camera." Philip climbs over Kevin and opens the compartment above.

Back at the window, Philip is snapping away. He says, "This is a good angle."

"There's not much light."

"The moon is bright. I'm going to take pictures from the other side."

This part of the plane is nearly empty so Philip can move about freely.

"Okay." Kevin gets out of his seat this time. Philip finds an empty window seat on the other side. Kevin reseats and searches the airline magazine for an interesting article, preferably about himself. He is about to substitute reading for headphones of music when Philip comes rushing over.

"Kevin, look out the window."

They are engulfed in mist and fog.

v.

It is after midnight when Crystal gets caught in the rain about a block from Sarro's apartment which, to his surprise, he sees is lit. He calls up from a pay phone and a security guard lets him enter the building.

Upstairs, Sarro is seated by his flatbed viewer taking notes. He presses a button and the entrance to his apartment unlocks. Crystal enters.

"Good evening, Crystal. Is Kevin off all right."

"I suppose. The flight was delayed but it must be in the air by now. I was just having a walk when the downpour started."

"You can sleep in the other room if you like. I enjoy walking the city myself, especially in the early morning."

Crystal nods and says, "I'm just restless. Why up so late? Are you re-editing something?"

"No. You know how I like to study film. This is a reel of our old favorite, Friends."

"Why again? You must know it backwards."

"After I wind this back I'll show you what still mystifies me. It's the scene in the cottage with the umbrella exchange; we spoke of it today at the meeting. It's causing a stir in some quarters. I'm preparing for if it hits the papers." He rewinds the film manually by turning a crank.

"Sure, I know it. They have their clothes on. It's the seventh fantasy."

"How well do you know the girl in the film?"

"Diane? Not well. I didn't fawn over her the way Kevin and Souiel did. I don't know what they saw in her except that she would give them the time of day. After the film she went back to her parents down south." He adds sarcastically, "She always spoke of how she hated them, so it was just like her to go back to them for good. I suppose she felt guilty leaving them when her father had cancer. She must have stayed down there to care for her mother and has avoided acknowledging the film for personal reasons."

"Yes, I would assume as much," says Sarro, flicking the switch. Crystal pulls up a chair and sits beside him. Their faces brighten from the glow of the front projection screen. Sarro turns a knob to raise the sound track volume which contains dialogue, spoken matter of factly, as if read off cue cards.

"Well, I'll be going now," says a male voice.

"In the rain?" asks a female voice.

There is a weird moaning eruption of thunder.

"I have an umbrella," is the reply.

During the dialogue is a methodical pan of long, grey sweat pants, and short white pants wrapping pinkish blotched legs that seem hyper sensitive to touch, and the umbrella, a traditional cane-like walking umbrella with a highly polished wooden handle ornamented with a gold band. The camera sweeps the floor to reveal Wallabee shoes and bare legs attached to bare white feet.

"Wait. Let me see this." The umbrella switches hands. "You don't anymore."

"Give me the umbrella," commands the male voice.

"No," says the female voice.

There is a cut to the exterior of a dingy panel-wood house on the outskirts of town by the railroad tracks. A violent thunderstorm is booming and flashing.

Cut to an interior long shot of Kevin and Diane. There is silence as they fight for the umbrella, attacking each other with punches, directed especially between the legs. Although Diane is barefoot, they are both fully clothed and their clothes seem to tighten as they maul at each other's errogenous zones in a scramble to the floor.

Diane rolls onto her back as Kevin pulls the umbrella from her and triumphantly stands with it aiming down between pink knees, raised, and legs timorously spread.

She grabs and wraps her fingers around it and straightens her knee, pushing her foot between his legs even as he enjoys the pleasure of his success in the fight. While pressing him, her toes close together as if she is trying to make a fist with them. He keels forward like a chopped tree, leaning the umbrella into her shirt, stretching, scratching and suddenly puncturing her stomach.

Sarro stills the film. Crystal is surprised. He asks, "Don't you want to see Souiel break the stage line?"

"Not now," he answers in a low, preoccupied voice. "Notice the angle of attack. It appears she was caught with such a penetrating upthrust that it passes under the ribs . . .," he horrifies Crystal by moving the film one frame at a time. ". . . past the diaphragm, and look at her face, as if she can actually feel this. Past the diaphragm and into the heart."

Blood gushes like oil as the shot switches to the other side of the room.

Crystal feels sick. "I'm impressed you would have the stomach to study this. It's disgusting. When it runs by on the screen it's not much more than a shiver. Let me see the next scene, the sunny dawn where they finally meet in real life."

"But that still won't explain the special effects."

Chapter Five

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