by Joseph Glenn
“Looks like it’s been closed longer than that,” Alex said. He pointed at the peeling paint on the animals of the merry-go-round.
As if on cue, a seat from the nearby Ferris wheel collapsed and fell part way out of its frame. It dangled, still secure at one corner.
All three of them laughed at this.
“The carnival days didn’t last long,” Meredith continued with her narrative. “I think they used it for three or four years before they shut it down. I didn’t get the sense it was ever very popular with the folks who live here. Tyler wrote me that it was more of a hit with the staff than the residents.”
“Seems like a strange thing to build here,” Alex observed, giving Meredith the impression he was speaking and thinking at the same time, as people his age are inclined to do. “I mean there are no kids living there.”
“I think it was supposed to create an impression of festiveness,” Meredith said. “Ridiculous, of course.”
“I suppose it was fun while it lasted,” Alex ventured. “Not a bad life, really, riding roller coasters and Tilt-a-Whirls all day.”
Bill, silent during this exchange, drew his breath at this, but remained silent. Meredith knew he was holding his tongue, and very well, she thought. Her initial concerns that he would have difficulty with his new position were expelled. She put her arm through his and pulled herself closer. She justified the slip in body language as, she assured herself, it might appear to the unwelcome intern as though she were leaning on her assistant for body heat.
“Now it’s a ghost carnival,” Alex noted. “I wonder why they haven’t torn it down. Without all the snow, it’s probably a real eyesore.”
“Money, I expect,” Meredith surmised. “Who’s going to disassemble it? Who would take it away? And to where?”
She stood up and approached the Ferris wheel some yards in front of them. The broken seat was one of the lowest, just a foot above her head. She pulled on it until it broke off completely and fell into the snow at her feet.
“All the parks were going to have unique identities,” she said when Alex and Bill caught up to her. “The one in Wyoming had an old west theme. But as the horses died off, presumably from neglect, they were not replaced. They started dropping off right away; I’ve heard they were turned into the ‘chef’s surprise stew,’ but that’s just a rumor. Crystal Park had a water park. Gone now, of course. I heard they filled the pools in with cement. I guess they had to. After they were drained people apparently kept falling into them.”
“Or jumping?” Bill suggested.
“Or jumping.”
Chapter Four
Meredith chuckled as she re-read the questions Dr. Makepeace expected her to pose. The typed, double-spaced pages were actually more like a script. Not only were Meredith’s exact words printed out, the pauses she was to take after each question were also indicated. These were the moments when she was to wait for Dr. Makepeace’s responses. She was left to guess what he would say; he had not included his dialogue on her copy. But he had clearly indicated her reactions to his answers. Following some introductory sentences, including, “Makepeace is his real name, not just his vocation,” the pages of questions began:
1. Dr. Makepeace, how long have you been the Chief of Operations at Fallow Park? [Wait for Dr. Makepeace’s response.]
2. Chuck? Great. And you call me Merry. I can’t help noticing the battery of citations and plaques that adorn your walls. [Notice photographs. Make a large dramatic gesture to call the audience’s attention to the trophy wall. Continue with the dialogue, but realize that the cameraman will certainly want to stay on the prizes and awards as you talk. I believe this is what they call “voice-over” work.] It’s quite an impressive collection. Is there anyone you haven’t met? [Wait for Dr. Makepeace’s response.]
3. Ooh, is that you with the President? [Wait for Dr. Makepeace’s response.]
4. That’s an amusing story, Dr. Make, hmm…Hah, Chuck! I’m sorry; I’ll get it right, I promise I will! It’s just that you cut such an imposing, authoritative figure, it feels so strange, almost disrespectful, to be on a first name basis with you. I notice your photos tell the story of your rise to the head of Fallow Park—the first and by far the best known of all the parks. I can tell it’s been quite a journey. [Lean forward as though about to share something personal, strive for an element of a “secret confession.”] I must say this out loud; I hope you can indulge my impertinence: It’s not every cop who walked a beat in Cincinnati who ends up with a Ph.D. and is on a first-name basis with a world leader. But I suppose that’s the nature of your job. The Chief of Operations at the premier park, the model for all the parks that followed, is no small job. It really must be said that Fallow Park continues to set the standard on how these communities are run. I’m curious to know how many people are employed here. [Wait for Dr. Makepeace’s response.]
5. As many as that? I had no idea. What is the current population? [Wait for Dr. Makepeace’s response.] I understand with the closing of Thumper Park in Arkansas that Fallow Park now houses far more people than it was originally designed to do. What a tribute to you and your staff that you are still able to keep the park running so efficiently. [Dr. Makepeace will respond; be prepared to show interest and intense curiosity as I elaborate on this turn of events.]
6. It simply boggles the mind. The pressure of running a facility as big as this must bring a lot of stress to your life. I know a secret about you that might explain how it is you are able to maintain a balance; you were once a pro fisherman. Tell us about that. [Wait for Dr. Makepeace’s response. Dr. Makepeace, that is to say, I, will end my response with a “you should have seen the one that got away” type story. Be prepared to cut me off with the next question. I think this will be hilarious. The audience will understand that I would have gone on for twenty minutes if you hadn’t redirected me to the subject at hand.]
7. My goodness! I think you’re as passionate about fishing as you are about maintaining order at Fallow Park.
Meredith stopped reading at this point.
“Oh my, it’s so explicit, so specific. It certainly takes all the thinking out of it, doesn’t it?” When Makepeace nodded vigorously, she decided she had to be a bit more pointed. “I assume I can paraphrase the questions and speak in a more natural manner,” she said with a firmness that she trusted would more than hint that an affirmative response was expected.
Doctor Makepeace looked concerned. “Well, no, not too much,” he said. In a somewhat wounded voice, but full of an innocent almost childlike disbelief, he added, “Why would you want to make changes?”
Meredith let the question linger, allowing it to stagnate in the stale air of Makepeace’s oversized office, already repugnant with the odor of cigar smoke. She noted that all evidence of Makepeace’s tobacco addiction was out of view. It did appear some effort had been made to prep the office for the scene. Only after she was satisfied that her silence had made a point did she loudly say, “Before we get started, I would like to ask a question of my own. I’ll direct this question not just to you,” and at that moment she paused to add emphasis to her next word, “Chuck, but to the room at large, and particularly to our director.” She cleared her throat and demurely touched her collar bone with the fingertips of one hand. “Are you guys fucking kidding me with this!?”
Some among the crew snorted and even openly chuckled.
“Is there a problem?” a somewhat flustered Makepeace asked.
“Merry,” Austin cut in, “the questions were pre-approved.”
Bill stepped forward from his position of obscurity in the furthest corner of the room. “I wonder,” he began with a voice full of concern, “if Ms. St. Claire wouldn’t benefit from a five-minute break.”
“No time for that,” Austin snapped without looking at him. If he had looked up and realized it was just Meredith’s assistant interjecting, he might very well have lost control, Meredith believed. Not that it would have mattered much; Bill’s comment was not
made with any expectation that it would be taken seriously. Meredith knew it was his way of telling her she was going too far. “What difference,” she could imagine him asking her, once they were free of the others, “does it make what questions you ask him? You knew going into this project that this is what it was going to be. They didn’t hire you to editorialize or attempt to take over the picture.”
Makepeace was another story. It was clear to Meredith that he had not overlooked the insubordination element of Bill’s interruption. “Isn’t that really Ms. St. Claire’s call to make?” the director of the park asked. Meredith’s initial take on the man was confirmed: He was so clearly the hot-headed type, the sort who could not understand how an underling would be so presumptuous as to speak for his supervisor. “Of course, if it will only take a few minutes to help her understand how well-planned my questions are,” he suggested to Austin. “Maybe a break would be a good time investment.”
“Let me ask my own questions,” Merry said. “Or at least let me translate them into modern English. ‘Adorn?’ Does that word even exist anymore? I’m not going to parrot a pack of self-serving, substance-free questions and act like I care about the answers. I’m a talented actor, or at least I’ve come to believe so, but I’ve got my limitations. No one could pull off this scene. And I find it hard to believe that Dr. Makepeace’s fishing exploits were pre-approved by his buddies in the Administration—or by anyone else.”
“I added that to make it more conversational,” Makepeace began to explain in a contrite style that conceded he may have overstepped, but still letting her know he was full of wounded pride. “I guess we could cut that part. Maybe just jump ahead to the part about visiting Camp David; I’ve got a picture that goes with that story.” He reached across his desk for the frame.
“Let’s go ahead and shoot something,” Austin said. “Merry, why don’t you follow the questions, but change words as you need to.”
“But not too much,” Makepeace protested, “because I need the cues from your questions to prompt my answers. I’ve been rehearsing this for the past two weeks.”
Meredith made little effort to conceal her exasperation. She responded cautiously, with carefully measured words, as though addressing one of limited mental capacity. “Suppose I ask the questions and, instead of relying on rehearsed answers, you listen to what I am saying and answer off the top of your head? I’ve participated in many interviews. Trust me, this is how they’re usually done. I promise not to throw any trick questions at you.”
The strong-willed child was won over by this; Makepeace nodded his acquiescence. But he looked doubtful, and to his belligerent demeanor he added an element of scanning and vigilance. His darting glances suggested he was prepared for more disappointments, and that he seemed to think they might come from any direction. But finally he pasted on a vacuous expression and an exaggerated, open-mouthed smile in anticipation of filming.
“Okay,” Austin said, “action!”
Meredith began. “I’m here in the office of the Chief of Operations, Doctor Charles Makepeace,” she said. She spoke the next line in a different voice, straining not to clench her teeth. It was as though voicing the words pained her. “Makepeace is his real name, by the way, not just his vocation. Won’t you say hello to our viewing audience, Doctor Makepeace?”
“Thank you, Merry,” he began slowly, “and on behalf of my staff, welcome to Fallow Park.”
“Doctor Makepeace, I think the audience would benefit from an understanding of just how big an operation this is. For many people, a lot of people watching this show tonight, the various parks are big, mysterious places. We feel we’re completely in the dark about them. And it’s true, in my short time here so far I’ve come to understand there’s so much I don’t know. I suppose the most obvious starting point is the numbers. Everyone wants the bottom line, right? What kind of numbers are we talking about?”
After a brief pause, long enough for him to realize it was his turn to talk, Makepeace said, “Yes, I’ve been here ten years. Oh, and please call me Chuck,” he nonsensically added. He stopped, looked at Meredith’s blank face and the perplexed faces of the camera operators. He cleared his throat and gave indication he was straining for a more responsive reply. “Today there are more than four thousand people employed at Fallow Park. There are just shy of fifty thousand residents.”
Meredith lowered her head, pretending to read the questions on her lap, but smiled broadly enough at Makepeace’s buffoonery and pomposity that she felt assured the cameras must be picking up her amusement.
“And this isn’t even the biggest park, is it?”
“Actually, one of the smallest. But, of course, we were the first, so we’ve always been the best known, the most scrutinized. Truth is, we’re used to being under the microscope or, should I say, in the spotlight?” He must have assumed this line was humorous because he hesitated, waiting it seemed for some reaction to his reference to the present circumstances. When no response was elicited, he dropped his optimistic smile, but continued to hold the pause, as though the cleverness of his phrasing would yet produce an ah-ha, “got it” moment. He finally offered, “We welcome the kind of assessment your show subjects us to. I’ve always said life is not a dress rehearsal. There are no ‘do-overs,’ to put it in your showbizzy terms. There are no second chances. I,” he fumbled for words, consulted his script, “You’ve got to be ready to, uh…” He stopped and shook his head. “No, this isn’t right. Can we pick that up from a few lines back? Maybe start again from ‘I’ve been here ten years’? I’m afraid I just wasn’t feeling it.”
Austin shook his head. “You’re fine Doctor, keep going. Don’t worry; in the editing room we’ll work our magic. You’ll be pleased with the final results. We won’t let you look bad, so don’t worry about appearing foolish.”
“Well,” Dr. Makepeace said with skepticism. “I don’t know. Will I be able to help with the editing? I do have some great ideas about that.”
Austin shook his head. “I don’t know how we can work that. I mean I would love to accommodate you, but we’ll be doing the editing in L.A. I’m certainly not authorized to make any promises. But of course, if you have suggestions I’d appreciate any input from you. Why don’t you put together a memo outlining how you think the film should be cut? I would find that invaluable when I edit the film.”
This throw away offer seemed to appease Dr. Makepeace, and he agreed to continue.
Meredith caught Austin’s quick nod to her and proceeded. She placed her pages of questions face down on the desk between them. “I confess,” she said, “I’m so intrigued by your background as a cop, and your Ph.D. in criminal behavior.”
“Oh, what’s intriguing about that?” he asked with noticeable discomfort.
“I would have thought managing a place like this would require someone who has experience running a city—a mayor or a city council member, maybe some kind of background in hotel and restaurant management.” She was baiting him, but trusted she delivered the line in a naïve enough, straight-faced manner.
“Um, uh,” he stammered. Meredith’s efforts to sound sincere and innocent must not have been completely successful, as he seemed to grasp the potentially accusatory nature of the question. “Well, my experience is not all that different from a hotel management background,” he smiled at this observation. “Yes, I was the warden at Leavenworth for nearly four years—”
“I beg your pardon?” Meredith’s shock and disgust was direct and unmistakable.
“Leavenworth—in Kansas,” he added, as though she might have confused it with some other similarly named penitentiary. “It’s a very large facility.”
“I’ve heard of it,” she said with deliberate crispness.
“So, of course, the kinds of issues that face me here I’ve tackled before. I’m talking about the logistics of housing, feeding, and clothing such an enormous group of people. The enormity of the job—the responsibility you mentioned—and thank you for recognizi
ng that!—well, it’s gratifying to know that you appreciate what I do here.” But she had conveyed no such appreciation, for this was a reference to a question she rejected in favor of her own paraphrasing.
“What an inspiring thing it is to know that the taxpayers—and their elected officials—have placed so much trust in me,” he continued with the same grandiose delivery.
“To say nothing of the men and women who live here,” she added with what she hoped was a permissible tinge of irony, the kind that would survive the editing stage. “To say nothing at all of them,” she added to herself.
“Oh, by all means,” he agreed in a somewhat distracted fashion. “The residents of the park, too. What an honor it is to be entrusted with their well-being.”
Meredith raised her eyebrows at this to visually indicate an increase in interest. She waited as though he had begun an idea that required further elaboration. He met her inquisitive stare and rewarded her with a rambling recitation: “Yes, well, as I guess we all know, the people of Fallow Park are terribly important. If you think about it, they’re really the reason we’re all here. And I mean all of us—everyone from me down to the grounds keepers and the guards, and even the janitors.” She knew he would rise to her bait and put his foot in it. As if to sweeten his idiotic words, he forged on with, “We should be grateful to all the gay people for giving us our jobs, our very livelihoods.”
“Still, when we talk about your celebrated career, we’re talking about a career running correctional facilities,” Meredith proceeded, now with acid in her voice. “What kind of a message does that send to the residents? To anyone, for that matter? You’re trained to work with criminals, but the people here are innocent. They haven’t been convicted of anything. What infractions—”
Austin whistled two sharp whistles, but did not say “cut.” “Merry,” he said, “get off this topic. It’ll never make it into the finished film.”
