by Weston Ochse
Arrgh!
But they were seriously looking at it? They'd said so. I had an email to prove it. What had I done?
Arrgh!
In hindsight, I don't bear Darren any ill will. He was just checking on my story, maybe considering poaching me from my agent, maybe just keeping his finger on the pulse of the industry. In the end, it was my mistake. I didn't know enough about the secretive cloak-and-dagger nature of the individual production companies to keep my damn mouth shut. I've since heard dozens of stories like mine, each one a sad morality tale where the writer ends up looking like a buffoon.
To this day I wonder if I'd not been so damned naive, would Wesley Snipes be Buckley Adamski, garbage man at the end of the world acting as badass as he had in any of the Blade movies? I'll never know.
Kind of ironic that the first time I remember to actually pitch the screenplay to someone in the industry I screwed it up.
DAWN OF THE DEAD.
The next actor to show interest was Ken Foree. You'll remember that I'd met him at the first Horrorfind. My agent called and, based on our mailings, told me that Ken had received the proposal, read the screenplay and wanted to attach himself to it.
What did this mean?
Turns out that by attaching him to Once Upon the End, I could pitch the movie including the information that he's attached to a specific part, in this case the lead, which should get more interest in obtaining a producer, director and actors for the other parts.
Ken Foree is going to be in my movie? Hell yes.
My agent tried to set a few meetings with Ken and myself, but between his acting schedule and my G-man schedule, we never could get it together. But no worry, she said, consider him attached.
TWIN PEAKS MEETS THE TOWERING INFERNO
The next person to show interest was Reggie Bannister. You'll remember that he and I had also met at Horrorfind. We'd been corresponding off and on since then. I lived in San Pedro, one of his favorite haunts. He had a band called Reggie B and the Jizz Wailing Ya Doggies that played at Sacred Grounds a few times. We emailed and called. Finally, I decided it was time to officially pitch him.
When we first met for lunch, he was living in Long Beach. He invited me over to his house, then he, Gigi and I went to a local watering hole. We talked about the business. Gigi had some great ideas and was working on several linked stories centering on her American Indian heritage. And of course, I pitched and passed Reg the script.
Nuff said.
About a month later, I saw him at ScreamFest Los Angeles where I made sure I said hello. Reg embarrassed me several times by talking up Scary Rednecks to some of his fellow actors. Kane Hodder, the immense, lantern-jawed actor who played Jason Vorhees in Friday the 13th Parts VII and VIII, Jason Goes to Hell and Jason X, asked for a copy which I gladly gave.
Then I asked him what he thought of Once Upon the End. Reg admitted that he'd liked what he'd read, but wanted to read it again. No problem. I'd learned my lesson. Not only would I tell no one that he was interested, but I didn't even mention to him that Ken had attached himself.
Time passed.
I wrote and interrogated bad guys.
Reg co-starred in Bubba Hotep.
Then in October of 2003, Reg and Gigi invited me to participate in a Halloween Celebration in their new town, Crestline, California. They'd recently bought the Crestline Theater, were in the process of renovations, and were producing a Haunted House.
"Who else is coming?" I asked
Angus Scrimm, who played the Tall Man in the Phantasm movies, Ken Foree of Dawn of the Dead and Texas Chainsaw III fame, comedian Count Smokula, Edwin Neal of Texas Chainsaw, Bill Mosely of House of 1000 Corpses, Hank Garret of Amityville Horror and Exorcist 2, Felix Silla of Star Wars, Adams Family, and Buck Rogers fame, and the Scream Queen, vivacious and wonderful Brinke Stevens.
Now that sounded like a blast.
They even made a poster with Angus Scrimm's, Ken's and Leatherface's pretty mugs along with a big catfish in honor of my story in Scary Rednecks called “Catfish Gods.” So I drove up to Crestline, looking forward to an amazing weekend. I'd also set up a book signing, so I was going to be busy.
The area was heavily wooded, not at all like Los Angeles. The San Bernardino Mountains reminded me of the Smokies back in North Carolina. Many movies and TV shows had been filmed up there, not the least being Twin Peaks.
That night I toured the Haunted House and spent some time at Reggie's new home, a two story hunter's lodge which blended right into the forest. There I met Jaydon Cross, a special effects whiz and magician who was kind of assigned to take care of me. He was a terrific host, showing me several tricks that I've since seen David Blaine astound street audiences with.
Later I met up with Reggie and Gigi at a local bar where we drank and told tall tales. It was there that Reggie said two things to me.
One—that he'd like to attach himself for the role of Travis MacHenry. Wazoo Cool!
And two— that the screenplay read like it was written by a novelist. Now this was the first time someone had ever mentioned the style in which the screenplay was written. I'd always wondered if it had been written correctly, and just assumed that, because it had generated interest, that it had. Even though I consider myself a novelist, to hear that from Reg made me feel kind of bad.
But he was right.
I could see a glimmer of it back then, which is why it's been re-written with the help of a real screenwriter. Thankfully, Reg thought that the screenplay had enough heart and soul, that he eagerly wanted to be a part of it if I could get it produced.
The next morning shown bright. The sun had a special character to it, as if it promised something spectacular for the day. (Sound familiar? This can't be good.)
Jaydon Cross woke me so we could walk around Lake Arrowhead. We saw Martin Landau during our trek. We also saw a Connecticut-sized cloud of smoke lumbering across the distant sky. As it turned out, there were two fires in the San Bernadino Mountains that day— The Old Fire, which would become the Waterman Canyon Fire and the Grand Prix Fire. The fires would have been easy to handle individually had they not merged later that morning.
All the participants in the celebration were supposed to meet for breakfast so we could plan out the day's festivities. As it turned out, Angus Scrimm and Ken Foree hadn't come because of the fires. Halfway through breakfast, the National Park Service called a voluntary evacuation of Crestline and surrounding areas. By the end of breakfast, roads were closing.
Back at the hotel we had a view of the ominous cloud of roiling smoke that was quickly heading our way. Brinke and Sean O'Bannon, screenwriter and actor, had roomed right next to me. Natives to this part of California, they'd seen more than their share of fires and wanted no part of this one. I didn't blame them. In fact, I looked at the smoke-filled sky and decided to join them.
In hindsight, I think Reg and Gigi were let down by this. They'd planned a tremendous event, had a haunted house ready to scare the mountain Jesus out of the locals and were about to show their adopted town what Halloween was really about. I think I let them down, too. I think they expected more of this Army G-man, and here I was leaving with the others, probably the equivalent of leaving a ship at sea in the face of a storm. If I had to do it all over again, I don't know if I would have stayed, because what transpired was scary as hell, but I wish things could have turned out different.
LIFE GOES ON
The forest service finally put out the fires. I proceeded to finish another novel and prepare for my retirement from the Army. I decided to let my agent do the legwork for Once Upon the End for me.
Six months later came before I knew it. I retired from the Army and moved to Arizona.
A few months later, I fired my agent.
Since late 2004, I hadn't spoken with anyone about the project, as if the flames of excitement I'd fanned for so long had been put out with the fire. I'm sure Ken forgot about it. Reggie and I have lost touch, something which was entirely my fa
ult and something I intend to remedy soon. Nothing new has happened with this project, because I haven't sent the screenplay out to anyone to read. For all intents and purposes, Once Upon the End has reached the end. Maybe that's how it should be. Maybe we should let it rest, achieving fame as a morality tale on how to act and write a screenplay... and how not to act and how not to write a screenplay.
Or maybe it should be something else.
I'll leave it up to you.
SPECIAL SNEAK PREVIEW
VELVET DOGMA
By Weston Ochse
Chapter 1
"Stand very still," Kumi said as she ran the palm-sized instrument across Rebecca's naked torso.
At first, nothing happened. Rebecca wondered if they'd made a mistake. Perhaps they hadn't levied her organs. Perhaps she'd be free of that grotesque burden.
Kumi cursed, apologized, and then tried once more. As the scanner passed over Rebecca's kidney, an indecipherable series of red glowing letters and numbers and Chinese characters appeared on the small screen. And then the rest of her organs' inventory numbers appeared on the screen as the scanner passed over them. Her kidneys, her liver, her lungs, her heart, her pancreas, even her spleen. Finally, Kumi ran the scanner over Rebecca's head, reading the indicators assigned to the eyes as well as the different parts of Rebecca's brain. Through the entire process, Kumi had remained dispassionate and professional. But when she reached the back of Rebecca's skull, she paused, her hiss and rapid intake of breath giving away something out of the ordinary. Rebecca waited for the woman to tell her what it was. Instead, Kumi hurriedly finished, passed Rebecca a new set of clothes, and told her to change.
A little later, Rebecca stood in the bathroom and began pulling on the clothes. Similar in style to Kumi's, the only major difference was the neckline. Where Kumi's blouse plunged revealing the curve of her breasts, Rebecca's blouse ran straight across her neck in a crew-style cut, just enough to cover her parole collar. The sleeves fell to mid-forearm. The end result was a strange combination of aesthetic and athletic. The pants fit snugly around hips kept trim from a bland diet of prison food and daily Tai Chi regimens conducted out of sheer boredom. The boots were made from a glossy rubber material that was both firm along the edges and form-fitting around the soles and ankles. They were perhaps the most comfortable shoes she'd ever worn. The end result made her feel taller, the taper of the pants accentuating her legginess.
Staring at the effect in the mirror, Rebecca couldn't help liking what she saw. Her prison haircut left her with few hairs longer than three or four inches, with the longest on top of her head. She'd used some water from the sink to tease them and appreciated the way the blonde hairs spiked. Her cheekbones had always been a little higher than the other women she'd known. Her father said it was from the Sioux ancestry. Her mother had said it was from the French. They'd never agreed. But then her parents had never agreed about anything, their displays of unmitigated obstinacy the reason for their divorce when Rebecca was six.
Rebecca had always felt her eyes were the wrong color blue. Her lips seemed fine...until she smiled. Then they twisted into something that hardly resembled beautiful. She hated her smile, and tried to keep serious as often as possible. She'd once taken to hiding her smile behind her hands, but a casual glance at her reflection in a subway car window when she was fifteen cured her of that mistake. Instead of hiding what she'd considered a defect, it had brought attention to her. The action that had been meant to hide instead looked silly and coquettish. She'd never felt, and never wanted to feel, that way.
But not everything was as it was. Small lines at the corners of each eye and the corners of her mouth reminded her that she wasn't the thirty-year-old girl who'd been sent to prison. Interspersed within the blonde hairs were traitorous slivers of gray. The skin across her cheekbones had tightened and shone with the wear of age. Not all bad, but enough to remind her that she'd definitely changed.
She took a longer more critical look at herself. Then after a minute, shook her head. What had she expected? It had been twenty years. Of course she'd age.
She teased her hair once more, and then unlocked the bathroom door. After a moment to steel herself, she opened it and stepped into the room.
Kumita Rasangawan, or Kumi as she'd asked to be called, sat at the table speaking into a slender phone. When she saw Rebecca, she quickly bid farewell, then shoved the device into her pocket. "You look great, Rebecca," Kumi said as she stood. "That color is perfect for your skin."
"Sure. Rust always goes well with a prison tan," Rebecca said, allowing the old smart side of her to surface.
Kumi's smile faltered. "It's not rust. It's ochre," she said.
"Then rust is the color of ochre," Rebecca snapped, but as soon as she said it, she regretted it. This time Kumi's smile completely fell. Sometimes Rebecca could be her own worst enemy. "Listen," she said, "I'm sorry. The stress of everything, you know? Maybe we can continue my re-education program or something."
"Reintroduction," Kumi corrected.
"Right." Rebecca stepped over to the table and snatched up the scanner that Kumi had left on the table. "So are you going to tell me what all those numbers and letters meant?"
"What numbers?"
Rebecca stared stone-faced. So it's going to be that way, she thought. "The numbers assigned to my organs. I'm sure you know what they meant."
"Not really." Kumi shook her head rapidly as she stepped over and tried to snatch the scanner back. But Rebecca pulled it away and turned. "They refer to ownership and a transmittal number. Without a computer, I can't tell who they belong to."
Rebecca shuddered and made a face.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know," Rebecca said, returning the scanner. "I don't really feel like I own my own body anymore. It's a weird feeling to be free, but only on the outside. Very strange."
"I know what you mean."
"Do you? Who owns your organs?" Rebecca asked.
"No one. Mine aren't worth anything," Kumi said, her voice so low that Rebecca couldn't help but feel bad for the woman.
Were useful organs a sign of status in the world? What had Kumi said earlier about Rebecca's organs? Something about how they were unspoiled by toxins. Did that make Rebecca special? She kept her face impassive, but her insides squirmed with the irony of the situation.
"No one as in no one wants your organs?"
"I grew up in Sri Lanka," Kumi said as if in explanation. She quickly changed the subject. "But you asked about your organs. Nothing I saw was out of the norm, except that all of your organs have been levied."
"That's not the way things usually are?"
"Not really," Kumi admitted. "Most people have one or two organs that have been cataloged and found to be valuable, but you, probably because of your incarceration and solitary confinement, have almost perfect organs. All of them have been levied, and although I don't have the codes, I can tell that some very high prices have been bid."
"Wait. I can get paid for these?"
"Of course you can."
"So if I need the money, I can sell my liver?" Rebecca asked.
"You need your liver to survive," Kumi said flatly.
"Oh."
"But you could sell your spleen," she added.
Rebecca shook her head as she imagined selling her spleen for the price of a new car. "What does a spleen go for nowadays?"
"Based on your readings? You could get somewhere around a hundred thousand for it," said Kumi.
"For my spleen? But it doesn't do anything. Who would pay that much for a spleen?" she asked.
Kumi shrugged. "Lots of people. Chinese herbalists pay a high price for healthy human spleen."
Rebecca remembered that Chinese specialists in Eastern medicine used to deal in bear bladders and elk hearts. They'd always been into special body parts. She'd remembered running across an online network back in her information warfare days. When she'd gone to jail, hunting those animals had been illegal; but then so h
ad been the harvesting of human body parts for sale. She supposed the natural evolution was to the human spleen—whatever it did.
"So what you're saying is that I could go into a hospital, have them take out my spleen, then walk out with a bundle of cash?" Rebecca almost laughed. The entire idea was ludicrous. Selling off part of her had never crossed her mind. She reminded herself that the whole idea had made her ill when she'd first heard it, now here she was contemplating the possibilities of a get-rich-quick scheme. How easy it was for crazy things to become normal.
"That's about right. There isn't any cash though. Everything is electronic now. Your account would be credited."
"Do I even have an account?" Rebecca asked.
Suddenly Kumi smiled. "Yes, you do. I don't know why I didn't mention it earlier. You have quite a significant amount of money in fact."
"What? Where'd it come from? I didn't have any money when I was arrested."
"Besides the computer equipment that was confiscated at your arrest, you had a home and some furniture. According to the records, no one came to claim your property, so the state sold it at auction. At the time of your incarceration, after paying court costs and fines, your net worth was $23,000."
Rebecca felt a pulse of excitement course through her body. When she'd had money, she'd given it away. She'd never had a need for it. But having money now seemed important. Although she didn't know the cost of a bar of soap, she knew that with money came a certain freedom that she'd need to survive. She held the possibilities at bay as she waited for Kumi's answer.
"And now? How much do I have now?"
"A little over $74,000 Global Dollars," Kumi replied, the sparkle returning to her eyes.
"Oh, my God!" Rebecca stared for a long moment. Suddenly she frowned. "Is that a lot? I mean, I don't know the value of money now. What can I buy with that?"
Kumi shrugged. "About the same thing you could have bought in 1995 Legacy United States Dollars."
