The Book of the Film of the Story of My Life

by William Brandt

Matt nods.

  “I don’t know if pregnancy is having any effect. The postnatal period could be a little hairy. You might want to think about hiring someone.”

  “What, you mean like a nanny?”

  “A bodyguard. Best to be on the safe side I always think.”

  Matt chews his lip. “Can I ask you something straight out?”

  “Sure.”

  “What did you guys talk about this morning?”

  “Oh, nothing consequential.”

  “Because if there was something specific, I’d like to know.”

  “Well, Matt, if, without betraying a confidence, there’s anything I can pass on to you, I’ll certainly pass it on.”

  “Frederick, I really appreciate that.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. As Melissa was saying just the other day, it’s important to remain open.”

  “Yeah, that’s very true.”

  “Open to new possibilities. We must always be ready to embrace change. Perhaps on occasions, even repeated change.”

  “Frederick, I really appreciate this talk we’ve had. I feel like you’ve really opened up to me. You didn’t have to do that, but you did.”

  “I believe in remaining open. As indeed does Melissa. We both feel it’s important not to be jealous, or, indeed, exclusive, or possessive, in our relations with other people. We feel that keeps the relationship alive and honest, if people always feel free to express what they’re feeling at any moment.” I sigh and look dreamy. “Yes, I really do thank you. It’s been such a huge relief. Since I met Melissa.”

  We wander back to the party. Matt, it seems to me, is looking preoccupied. People are standing around, now, drinking, dancing, talking. I notice Melissa chatting to the Irish Brothers. Standing on either side of her like that, they look like a pair of bookends.

  “Frederick.” It’s Ella. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” She has an extremely serious expression on her face. It’s so serious, in fact, that there’s a strong possibility that she will preface whatever she’s going to say with the words “it’s really none of my business.”

  She leads me down the beach a little way. “Frederick.”

  “Ella.”

  “It’s really none of my business, but I’ve been talking to Melissa. She told me everything. Frederick, as I say, tell me it’s none of my business if you want to, but . . .”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “I’m concerned. I don’t think you should be putting any pressure on her right now.”

  “Pressure?”

  “After all, it’s been less than a year since Gary died, and . . .”

  “Since who died?” I haven’t the slightest idea what she’s talking about.

  “Gary,” she repeats, as if I’m being deliberately obtuse.

  Clearly someone has been allowing her overheated imagination to run amok again. This must be what it’s like having Alzheimer’s. “Oh, sorry, yes, of course. Gary.” Wait till I get my hands on her. I’ll kill her.

  Ella shakes her head. “She must still be in a very fragile state.”

  “She is, yes. That’s true.”

  “Imagine losing someone in that way.”

  “Yeah, just imagine.”

  “Horrible.”

  “Awful. Horrific. Very much so.”

  “I don’t know why people do it.”

  “I’ve often wondered. But then, that was Gary for you.” I shake my head slowly and look sorry in what I hope is the right sort of way.

  “Given your ambivalence, don’t you think maybe it’s a bit soon? For both of you?”

  “Ambivalence? Who says I’m ambivalent?”

  Ella smiles. She puts a hand on my arm and gives me her severe-but-caring look. “Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great you’re together. You seem really happy. Much happier than you ever were with Sophie.”

  “Er, really?”

  “You seem much more yourself. Doesn’t he, Russell?”

  Russell, who has wandered over with a brandy, nods. “Yeah, definitely. Definitely. Much more. Much more at ease. More natural. More relaxed.”

  Ella turns back to me. “But she needs time, and so do you. Isn’t that right? Russell?”

  Russell nods. “Yeah. Oh, yeah. Gotta take your time, eh. Can’t rush it. Can’t rush a thing like this. It’ll all fall over if you do.”

  “That almost happened to us.”

  “Yeah.” He nods.

  “When we met, we rushed right into it. We had to back right off for a month. Didn’t we?” They look lovingly at each other.

  It’s a common misconception. The happy couple thinks they know why they’re happy. In actual fact the real experts are the ones like me. We, who have taken our marriages apart, are the ones who know how it was put together. Successful marriages are based not on rational accommodation but on complementary pathology. Thus, Ella is controlling, rigid and obsessed with insignificant detail, while Russell is highly suggestible, lax, and so vague he wouldn’t know a detail if it bit him on the arse. They make a wonderful team and they’re very happy together. Also, just as important, are environmental conditions. Russell and Ella have an adequate combined income, a house, a baby, and—and this next really is the crucial one—adequate whiteware.

  Ella squeezes my arm again. Russell narrows his eyes. “You know, Frederick, I always think a relationship is like an unfamiliar road. If you go too fast you’ll crash at the first corner.”

  Ella beams.

  “Wow. Did you think of that all by yourself?”

  Ella smiles and Russell looks proud.

  “Thanks, guys. I’ll really think about that.” I put my hands on an imaginary steering wheel. “A relationship is a road . . .” I stare into the middle distance. “Poop, poop.”

  I head off in search of Melissa, but I’m spotted by Charles, who is in the middle of a small but expanding circle of admirers. “Hey, Frederick! Mate! Guess what? You’re the only one on the entire island who hasn’t seen Shag City already. Be interesting to see what you think of it.”

  “Oh, I can tell you that right now.”

  A ripple of silence propagates like magic around the group. Tamintha, Charles, Sophie, Matt, Rebecca, Russell and Ella. They’re all there. Other faces less familiar. Sophie turns away, quickly, to the bar. My voice is taking on a timbre it’s never, to the best of my knowledge, had before.

  “A tight first act draws us in, followed by adequate development and complication in the second. A punchy third act with plenty of surprises keeps us on the hook right up to a well-managed and accurately timed climax. Dénouement is to the point and leaves no loose ends. Character development, if somewhat broad, is at least consistent, with strong arcs for all major characters. Dialogue is punchy, terse and to the minute.”

  People are starting to relax.

  “But as to the content . . .”

  People stop relaxing.

  “This film is utterly and unequivocally opposed to everything I stand for, believe in, and hold most sacred. The filmmaker actually seems to want us to believe that a loving relationship can be nurtured by homicidal acts. Further, while it poses as an exploratory, boundary-pushing piece, it’s all in fact been done before. The tired, adolescent thesis that there is some sort of mysterious and meaningful connection between sex and death is yet again run up the flagpole, presumably on the assumption that we’ll all salute. I, for one, do not. How can we show such morally-decapitated fare to our children, tell them it’s art and expect them to grow up happy? What has happened to human values? What has happened to trust, mutual respect? To family? To pacifism? The cynical, unbelievably exploitative way the filmmaker trawls around the world’s trouble spots, presenting the misery and poverty of others as some sort of adults-only Disneyland of thrills and danger, is so breathtakingly immoral, not to mention dense, as to surpass the very concept of irresponsibility. We would need new words to describe adequately the depths to which this crapulous insult to humanity has sunk. It contains everyt
hing that is worst about the West’s neoimperialist adventure-tourism response to the third world’s agony. Furthermore”—I am by now dimly aware that I am dancing up and down and wagging my index finger in a way that is strongly reminiscent of Hitler—“the repulsive notion that true love can somehow be adequately expressed by violence, that danger, lies and manipulation can lead to spiritual renewal, are so monumentally misguided, yet so universally accepted in the cinema today, as to rank with that other, greatest, of all the many, many disservices Hollywood has done civil society over the decades: the evil assumption, so pervasive in the modern cinema as to pass without comment, that irresponsible driving is cute, endearing . . . and fun.”

  I pause for breath. “Although the performances were fine.” I’m panting, my legs are trembling. The entire human population of Makulalanana Island seems to be gathered around me in a semicircle, cocktails momentarily forgotten. Sophie, over by the bar, slowly shakes her head, a tight, embarrassed half-smile on her face. Matt is staring at me, stunned. I straighten my collar.

  Melissa giggles.

  Charles sniggers.

  Matt seems bewildered. “But I thought you said you hadn’t seen it.”

  “I haven’t. But I’ve got the general idea.”

  A troupe of red satin-shirted Italian boys runs on stage, carrying an assortment of instruments.

  “Are you ready to dance?”

  “Yes!” roars the crowd.

  “Come on!” Melissa grabs my hand, leans in close and breathy. “Tiger . . .”

  Somewhat later, I’m staggering along the sand, just inshore of the water line, following the line of torches, straining my eyes for sleeping snakes. The band is still playing but I’ve insisted we call it quits. Must be about midnight. My legs ache and I’m exhausted. I can see the red and green riding lights of the Cocksucker at anchor, floating in the blackness. Below, there’s a dim light in one of the cabins. Gilles is probably having a private party. We pass a shadowy T-shirted figure lurking under the trees. He gives me a gruff “Bon soir.” It’s a strange country, this. Half of them speak a little French, half speak a little English. No one seems to speak all of anything.

  Melissa is schlepping along in the shallows. I’ve warned her about the snakes. She won’t listen. “What a band! That was fantastic.” Where she gets the energy I have no idea. She has a wreath of plastic ivy around her shoulders. She sidles up to me, looking like Bacchus’s head nymph. “You know, you dance quite well.” Well, maybe I do. Only thing is, I’m going to pay for it. I’m going to be walking bowlegged for a week.

  We get to the tent and Melissa immediately turns on the lamp and picks up one of my scripts—a romantic comedy set in a space station—but I interrupt. “Now, listen. What’s all this about Gary?”

  “Gary? He was my boyfriend. My fiancé. But he’s dead.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake. Melissa, you have to stop doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Making up these stories.”

  Melissa puts her hands on her hips and gives me a tired look. “What’s wrong with that story?”

  “A fiancé tragically killed? Come on. How did he die?”

  “A climbing accident, actually.” Her voice is like ice.

  “That’s such a cliché. It’s too much. It’s way, way over the top.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I’ve got news for you. That one just happens to be true.”

  “In fiction the fact that something is true is neither here nor there . . . I’m sorry, what’s true?”

  “It’s true. The story’s true.”

  “You really had a boyfriend called Gary who died?”

  She nods.

  “When did that happen?”

  She sighs. “About nine months now.”

  “But that’s terrible.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “I mean, I’m . . . sorry.”

  “You and me both.” She sighs again, more heavily. “He would have been so thrilled to be here. To meet Sophie Carlisle too.”

  “He was a fan?”

  “Big time. He would have loved Shag City. If he’d ever had the chance to see it.”

  The wind has been taken out of my sails.

  Melissa continues “He was very talented. Critic, writer, director, cameraman, lighting, props, you name it. He did it all.”

  “He was in the film business?”

  “That’s how we met. He was the cameraman on my first film job. We were having trouble getting the right angle, and he came over and said something, I forget what, but our eyes met and it was just . . . wham.” She smacks a hand into her fist. “You know?” I can tell from her voice that her eyes have gone all distant and dreamy.

  “Yeah.” I do know what she means.

  “He really believed in me. He really gave me the confidence to get to where I am today.”

  “Well, I’m really sorry. What happened?”

  “I told you. He had a climbing accident.”

  “He somehow doesn’t sound like the type to go climbing mountains.”

  “He wasn’t. He was climbing a fire escape. One of the rungs was rusty. Or to be more accurate all of the rungs were rusty. Anyway, I’m sorry if you didn’t like the story. You said to stick to the truth so I stuck to the truth.”

  “Oh, forget it.”

  “I told Ella some other stuff too.”

  “What stuff?”

  “I told her you proposed to me. I suppose that was another dumb idea.”

  “Never mind. Just try to keep me up to date.”

  “Do you want to know what my answer was?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “I said I thought it was very sweet and I was very touched but we should wait a bit.”

  “At least until my divorce comes through.”

  “That’s exactly what Ella said.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “We’re thinking maybe spring, summer. Probably back in New Zealand. Nothing big, just family, a few close friends.”

  “Okay.”

  “We want the ceremony in a garden. Nonreligious and we’re going to write our own vows.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She almost smiles.

  “What about the honeymoon?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “How about Kenya?”

  “Fine. We can go on safari.”

  A small, sad bell has been ringing for some time. “Did Gary ever work in that little sex shop round the corner from you?”

  “Yeah, he did. He used to mind the shop for Ernie from time to time. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get good staff in those places.”

  “God almighty, I . . . I knew him.”

  She half cranes her head around to look at me. Her eyes are wide.

  “I went into the shop a few times. He was a really nice guy.” Melissa’s eyes fill with tears. “Oh, hell, I’m sorry.” Now I feel really terrible. I don’t know what to do.

  “That’s okay.” She sits up and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She has that laboratory animal look again. She settles back again with the screenplay.

  “I noticed you were talking to the Irish Brothers.”

  “The who?”

  “The twins.”

  “Oh, them. Yeah. Funny little guys.”

  “They just happen to be the hottest producer-director team on the planet.”

  “Is that so?”

  “They were in Empire just last month. What did you talk about?”

  “Football.”

  I’m so jealous I could die.

  Chapter 15

  “HOW DID GARY FEEL ABOUT you being in porn movies?”

  “He was always very supportive.”

  “Didn’t he feel jealous?”

  “No.”

  “But how could he not feel jealous?”

  “He just didn’t.”

  “But how could he really care about you if he didn’t mind you doing someth
ing like that?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  She’s silent for a while. It’s pitch black in the tent, although the flaps are open to let some air through, and I can hear the sea whispering, only feet from our heads. A whisper of a breeze brushes past. All the torches have burnt out, but it brings with it nonetheless a hint of wood smoke and gasoline. It’s hot. We’re lying on top of the sheet, limp, our bodies giving moisture to the breeze. The cigar is dry on the back of my throat. When she speaks I can smell the sweet alcohol on her breath. “Well, I guess he just understood that what he had was the real me, which is something different.”

  “The old separate personas trick?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand.”

  “Worked for us.”

  “But for how long?”

  “We’ll never know.”

  “You realize what you’re talking about?”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “The divorce of sex and intimacy. Citing irreconcilable differences. But then, that’s your job, I suppose. Sex without intimacy.”

  “I don’t agree. What I’m really selling, or at least what they’re really paying for, is intimacy. Not sex. Sex is just the package.”

  “How can you sell intimacy?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Sounds like false pretenses to me.”

  “Come on. Someone buys a flash car, what do you think they’re paying for? Transport?”

  “And what about the movies you make?”

  “Same thing.”

  “But what about you? Where are you in all this? How can you have sex with someone and feel nothing for them?”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s the easiest thing in the world.”

  “But why do it?”

  “Why don’t I get a proper job?”

  “Well . . . if you want to put it that way, okay, why don’t you?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who’s hiring me, here.”

  “But I’m a tortured desperate individual. I have nothing to lose. You, you’re young, you’re . . .”

  “I have my whole life ahead of me?”

  “Something like that. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not judging you.”

  She sighs. “Oh, you’re probably right. It’s not the sort of thing you want to do for too long. It does kinda wear you down.” She sighs and rolls over again. She seems restless. “And it hasn’t been the same since Gary died. He was really very supportive. He liked me being in movies. He thought it was cool. He always said I had it in me to be a star.”