by Mike Heppner
MARLENE: (Holding her breasts.) How about how fucking hot I am?
HEATH: (Good-natured but without much enthusiasm.) You are pretty fucking hot, ma’am.
(Footsteps approach as Stuart runs in from the corner of the screen and covers her with her jacket.)
STUART: What the hell are you doing?
MARLENE: Jesus, Stuart, you’re gonna push me right off the bridge!
(Stunned, she holds the jacket in front of her but doesn’t put it on. Off camera, a car whooshes by.)
STUART: (Pointing at the jacket.) Get that on, and let’s go.
MARLENE: All right! Ask nicely.
HEATH: Yeah, Stu’s probably right. Let’s not push it.
(Heath puts his camera down; the rest of the scene is a close-up of his pant leg.)
HEATH: (To himself.) I think I fucked up the audio when I— (Marlene and Stuart argue in the background.)
STUART:—when I’m telling you something!
MARLENE: Well, I’m sorry! Heath was here, and I was having a good time—
STUART: I don’t care. Let’s go. It’s too goddamn cold anyway.
MARLENE: Why do you always have to make me feel so awful?
STUART: I’m trying to help you, Marlene.
MARLENE: Fine, just ask nicely when you—
(Heath swoops up the camera and turns it off.)
Fragment #7b—“Old Friends” (1:43)
(The scene opens on a bare table in a firelit breakfast room. Pike sits across the table from his old friend, SARAH CRANBERRY, 44. Behind him, a four-paned window looks out on a meadow, where snow is falling. As the scene starts, Stuart is setting a mug of coffee in front of Pike. He points at Sarah.)
STUART: You want me to make another pot?
(She half-rises from her chair.)
SARAH: I can do it.
STUART: No, no . . . you sit.
(He leaves the room, and Pike smiles pleasantly at Sarah.)
PIKE: That’s right, Sarah, let someone else do the work for a change. (He presents his best public relations smile to the camera.) Sarah’s the real reason why I’m here, you know. There’s not a woman alive who can keep me away from Providence for more than forty-eight hours.
(She looks pleased but speaks softly into her lap.)
SARAH: Don’t joke about it, Nate.
PIKE: I’m not, I’m just saying (turning back to the camera) that Sarah’s the best short-order cook in New England. She can do more with one hand than most women with—
(She slugs him.)
SARAH: Don’t say it.
PIKE: (Laughing.) What? What’d I say?
SARAH: (Also laughing, gesturing at the camera.) He’s trying to ask a question.
PIKE: Oh, right. Of course. (He composes himself.) Heath, what was your question?
HEATH: (Off-camera.) Are you—
PIKE: Too slow! Gotta do better than that.
SARAH: You didn’t let him finish. Go ahead, Heath. What’s your question?
HEATH: (Mildly piqued.) That’s okay.
SARAH: (To Pike.) See? You hurt his feelings.
PIKE: No, I didn’t. Heath knows I’m just screwing around. Don’t you, Heath? (The camera nods.) See? Now shake your head. (The camera does.) Good. Now roll over.
HEATH: Fuck you.
(All laugh as Stuart returns from the kitchen.)
Fragment #11a—“Boys’ Turn” (:48)
(Marlene points the camera at Heath, who stands in front of a nondescript brick wall. She laughs continuously throughout the scene.)
MARLENE: All right . . . go!
(Trying to be a good sport, Heath unzips his pants and flashes his dick at the camera. Marlene gleefully Zooms in for a better shot.)
MARLENE: Oh, good, good—that’s good!
(He holds the pose for a two-count, then stuffs himself back into his pants and walks out of frame.)
MARLENE: (Disappointed.) Aw, you moved too soon!
(As she sets up another shot, we hear the garbled sound of Heath coaxing Stuart in front of the camera. Except for the brick wall, the screen is empty. Finally, Stuart comes on, led by Heath.)
MARLENE: And now, the man of the hour . . .
HEATH: Yeah, Stuart!
(After some hesitation, Stuart pulls down his sweatpants and lets them bunch around his ankles.)
MARLENE: Whoo! Look at that sexy cock!
(He tolerates this for a few seconds, then yanks his pants back up and walks off-screen. Marlene calls to him.)
MARLENE: Wait, hon, if you— (Black.)
Fragment #12a—“Masturbation Fantasy #1” (2:35)
(Early evening on Mount Independence. Shovel in hand, Pike digs a shallow hole in one corner of the construction site, which is covered with trees and underbrush. Someone has made him angry, and he’s taken up the shovel to let off steam.)
PIKE: (To himself but in a loud enough voice for others to hear.) As long as I’m out here, no one goes home. I don’t give a damn. I’ll build the fucking thing myself. (He stops digging and calls out to a small group of workers who are also working with shovels.) Who wants to quit, right now? Any takers? Come on, you hotshots. Who wants to go back to Concord? (One of the workers shouts something antagonistic to Pike.)
PIKE: That’s fine! Talk all you want, buddy. I gotcha right here (makes a fist) in the ball sack.
(The worker continues to shout at Pike, who waves sarcastically.)
PIKE: Bye-bye! Bye-bye! (He briefly goes back to work, then throws down his shovel and marches toward the workers.) Who wants to go home? Tell me now—who wants to go home?
(His voice becomes garbled as he storms away from the camera. When Heath finally catches up to him, Pike is arguing with three hostile workers.)
PIKE: You’re nothing but shit, man. Your mother was embarrassed to give birth to you.
WORKER: Is that right?
(Pike’s rage is centered on one of them, who in turn seems hesitant to confront him directly. The other two maintain a cautious distance, not daring to speak.)
PIKE: Do you know what you are? Let me tell you, this is funny. You are a retarded piece of cow crap. You can eat my fucking turds—right out of my asshole, fuckwad.
WORKER: (Laughing.) All right . . .
PIKE: You shut up! I’m not finished with you.
WORKER: It sounds like you are.
(The workers chuckle to themselves but stop when Pike flies into a new tirade.)
PIKE: Oh, HA HA, right! HA HA! There, I can say it, too.
(The most recalcitrant worker spits at Pike, who doesn’t hesitate to slap his cheek. All three workers freeze.)
PIKE: (Jabbing his finger in the man’s face.) Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again. I’ll stab your fucking eyes out, man. I’ll pull your prison records. You want that? You wanna get raped?
(There’s an abrupt cut, and when the scene resumes, Pike has gone back to his original spot. He speaks in a soft, conversational tone to Heath, who is behind the camera.)
PIKE: The fact is, Heath, I don’t always know what I’m talking about. Hey, I’ll admit it. That’s all right—that’s part of being a good leader. The important thing is to just keep dreaming. And if some people don’t share my dream, then there’s compromise. And I don’t like compromise.
Fragment #12b—“Masturbation Fantasy #2” (1:35)
(Marlene lies naked in bed and speaks to Heath and Stuart, who are behind the camera.)
MARLENE: I guess I don’t understand this scene.
HEATH: Okay. What don’t you understand?
(She’s reluctant to say anything critical but finally does.)
MARLENE: It’s just that we’ve been shooting outside all this time, and now (looking around the bedroom) we’re here. I don’t get it.
HEATH: Don’t you feel comfortable here?
MARLENE: No, I do. It’s just different. I like it better when there’s people watching.
HEATH: I’m watching. Stuart’s watching.
MARLENE: Strangers,
I mean.
(Stuart has less patience than Heath, and he snaps.)
STUART: Why don’t you try it in front of the window, hon?
MARLENE: No, here’s fine. (She looks expectantly into the camera, as if waiting for further instructions.) What do you want me to do?
HEATH: Whatever feels good.
(As directed, she opens her legs and starts to masturbate. Her mind quickly wanders, though, and she comes to a stop.)
HEATH: (Prompting her.) Marlene?
MARLENE: Hm? Oh—
(She resumes, but with the same empty look in her eyes. Again she slows, and again she stops. Black.)
Fragment #17b—“Vive la Trance” (:34)
(Pike, Heath and Stuart are riding around North Conway in Pike’s SUV. It is early in the project, judging by the winter colors outside. Pike sings “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy” as he drives. Heath has the camera, and he points it at Stuart, who sits alone in the backseat.)
HEATH: Hey, Stuart? What’re you thinking about?
(Stuart looks out the window. His eyes don’t move, even as the SUV slows, stops and speeds up again.)
HEATH: Stuart?
STUART: (Shifting his gaze toward Heath.) Mm?
HEATH: What’re you thinking about?
STUART: Oh . . .
(He stammers, shakes his head and goes back to staring out the window.)
Etc.
6
They came from all directions: Stuart from the south, Cathy Diego and Alice Shepperton from the north, Henry Savage and Celia Shriver from the west, and a whole team of PIRG activists from Augusta, Maine, seventy miles east of Mount Independence. All parties converging on Nathaniel Pike.
Stuart had spent most of the previous afternoon sitting by the phone, waiting for news from Marlene. The call finally came at 7:00 p.m., some ten hours after he’d last seen her. A voice informed him that she’d turned up in New Hampshire and was resting safely in Pike’s camp. When he asked to speak with her, he was told this wasn’t a good idea.
She’d left him without a car, so he rented one in the morning and drove north to White Ledge. When he arrived at the trailhead, he was surprised to find Cathy Diego and Alice Shepperton, who’d come down from Pinkham Notch, where the Appalachian Mountain Club operated a shelter for hikers. With them were a handful of AMC recruits, along with two armed rangers.
“We’re moving in on Pike today,” Cathy told Stuart as a crowd gathered at the foot of the trail. “I ain’t playin’ with this creep anymore. He doesn’t own the whole frickin’ mountain. We’ve got a right to know what’s going on up there.”
Stuart looked toward the parking area and saw his car, which Marlene had abandoned. He approached the car and peered inside. The doors were locked, but he could see his keys, a bag from Dunkin’ Donuts and a pile of laundry in the backseat. This last item caught his attention, and he squinted for a better look. That’s not laundry, he realized, and backed away from the car, nearly tripping on his own feet.
“Hey,” Cathy called. “You coming with us?”
“S-sure,” he said, and hurried to rejoin the group.
If Cathy seemed particularly on edge, her past twenty-four hours had been hectic. Rumor had it that Pike was entrenched, David Koresh–style, with fifty of his supporters, whose own mental conditions were unknown. In addition, one of Cathy’s assistants had seen Henry Savage at a Bickford’s in Concord the night before. Something was up, and Cathy didn’t like the smell of it.
The motley assemblage started up the mountain just before one o’clock, wanting to surprise Pike in the middle of the afternoon. Both Alice and Cathy were adept at handling the trail, which varied between long, muddy stretches of nearly flat terrain and steep hills of broken granite, where the hikers had to use their hands.
Coming out of a deep, brooding silence, Cathy said, “I can’t believe that Reese girl is actually working for Fuckface.” Fuckface was her nickname for Pike, which she also used to describe many of the men in her life, including her husband.
“Really? Who told you that?” Alice asked.
Cathy glanced at her over the rims of her purple-tinted sunglasses. “Who do you think? Pike only calls me on the phone every five frickin’ seconds to brag about it. I should’ve seen it coming. She bailed on us back in Concord, and now she’s completely flaked out.”
“I’m sure she’s just confused,” Alice said. “Men like Nathaniel Pike have very seductive personalities.”
The trail became steep and rocky, and they took turns hoisting one another to a higher level before going on.
Back on flat ground, Cathy said, “I am so over these snotty Ivy League kids. They get the nonprofit bug, and once I’ve gone through all the trouble of training ’em, they’re on to the next thing.”
“Surely not all of them.”
Cathy scoffed. “Don’t even—I deal with it every frickin’ year. As soon as the novelty wears off, they’re on the next plane to Cancún.”
They’d reached a difficult stretch of trail, where they stopped talking and concentrated on getting up the mountain. Cathy was never much of an outdoors person, unlike her husband, who loved hiking and camping and fly-fishing with his friends in Manitoba. As she climbed, she paid little attention to the surrounding scenery, which, as the forest thinned out, had begun to show itself through the trees. It wasn’t that she disliked the outdoors, just that working for the NHPIRG had spoiled her enjoyment of it. Where other people saw rivers and snow-covered summits, Cathy saw hills of paperwork and flowing streams of red tape. She was one of those permanently aggrieved women who was always running twenty minutes behind schedule. She thought of the men she worked with as morons; the women— if they were younger—as Barbie dolls, and if older as merely invisible. She wasn’t unlikable per se, just impossible to warm up to. Having a conversation with her was like watching a sarcastic comedienne do her routine, only with all of the funny bits taken out.
At the tree line, she stopped the group and told the two rangers, “You guys go first. Let’s give him a good scare.”
“We don’t want to provoke him,” Alice warned. “We still aren’t sure what he’s got up there. He might have weapons, too.”
A worried voice from the back of the group spoke up. “No one said anything about weapons.”
To a general din of dissent, Cathy said, “Come on, we’re wasting time. For all we know, Henry Savage has already beaten us to the punch.”
Before she could give the rangers any more instructions, Stuart intervened. “Let me go first,” he said. “I know this place better than anyone else.”
Cathy still preferred her own idea but reluctantly agreed. With Stuart now in the lead, they left the trail and continued across a rocky, alpine meadow. Seeing the meadow brought back memories, and Stuart reflected on the first time he’d taken this path, in those pre-Kmart, pre–parking lot days. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t started working for Pike? He didn’t even want to think about it. He’d given a year of his life to this folly when he could’ve devoted it to something more constructive, like writing another book or spending more time with his wife.
On the other side of the mountain, Henry Savage and Celia Shriver were also closing in on Pike. They’d taken the western route, which wasn’t as steep and wouldn’t be as demanding on Celia’s old legs. They walked in tense silence, stopping every few hundred yards to comment on what they saw: crowded thickets of zebra-white birch trees; giant slabs of rock embedded in the muck and gravel; blue and yellow blazes painted on tree trunks by volunteers of the AMC; sections of trail where emerald moss formed a slippery carpet under their feet; pellets of dung lying in neat pyramids that resembled piles of musket balls; a length of rubber tubing that ran between the maples where some crafty entrepreneur, legitimate or otherwise, had set up a makeshift syrup factory. Other than the dung pellets, the only evidence of an animal presence was an occasional rustling in the shadows, a furtive movement that could’ve been the wind or a black bear or ano
ther person.
“I like your style, Mr. Savage,” Celia said. “You’re decisive, and that’s a good thing. Most D.C. bureaucrats wouldn’t have the guts to confront Pike all alone.”
“I’m not confronting him, Celia. I’m initiating a dialogue. If he feels under pressure, he’ll balk,” Henry explained for the third time that afternoon.
“Let him balk. Pike’s a dog, a mangy mutt. What he needs is a good kick in the ass.”
Henry put his canteen to his lips and drank. They still had another hour to get to the summit, but the air was thin and his lack of physical fitness was starting to slow him down. It would be so easy to give up and go back to Washington. His actual presence wasn’t required here; he could’ve sent Pike a letter or called him on the phone, as he’d done many times before. He was curious, that was all. Out of sheer interest, he wanted to see the Independence Project for himself.
They finally reached the summit at three o’clock, and from a quarter mile away they could barely distinguish Pike’s hideout through the forest. Even with his binoculars, Henry discerned no clear path to their destination. “Do you hear that?” he asked.
