“No. Most are only maybe ten, twenty minutes. Some are longer. There are a couple of much longer ones.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“You can come back and see the rest.”
She lifted the tray of tapes.
“Shall I look at them in numerical order?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No order or message or anything?”
“No. Absolutely not. That wasn’t his vision of things. His idea was that there was no pattern. It would have been too simplistic. He thought patterns were for cowards, actually.”
“Will you sit here and watch them with me?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I’m sorry. I can’t watch these anymore.” Her eyes held a memory. “I’ve seen them all too many times. I couldn’t sit through them again. It’s too exhausting.”
I pulled one of the chairs up next to the trunk and started poking through the tapes.
“I’ll tell the people out front you might be here awhile.”
“Okay.”
She came up to me. “Thank you, Porter.”
“This is one of the weirder moments of my life, I think?”
“Just remember that Simon was very, very unhappy all his life and that he was always searching for something, for true life, he wanted to capture truth. Maybe that’s silly, but that’s what he wanted to do. These tapes are sort of a personal collection. He chose each for something he liked. He threw out many more. We talked about it once. He was trying to assemble a collection of filmed moments. Not like a movie. Not a sequence. Just a collection.”
“Has Charlie seen these tapes?”
“Charlie? Of course not! He wouldn’t understand.”
“So—?”
“So I’m asking you to look at them.”
“Why?”
“Well …” She gazed at me with her wide blue eyes, and they seemed full of answers that remembered not only her time with Simon Crowley but her life before that; she seemed to be intimating that one thing was connected to another and that all were connected to everything else, that the only way to understand it was to let her explain it to me in her own way, difficult as that might be. “I need to—I want you to see them because then I can talk about something else with you.”
I know enough from my work that during an interview it is sometimes more useful to indulge the evasiveness of the speaker than to challenge it. The evasive statements carve out a kind of negative space around what is being avoided. So I just nodded. Caroline leaned forward and gave me a lingering kiss next to my ear. “Can we see each other tomorrow in my apartment again?” she whispered.
I nodded yes—stupidly.
She left and the door clicked shut. The sound of it bothered me, then scared me, and after a moment I jumped up and checked the door to be sure that I had not been locked in. Then I took one tape, labeled TAPE 26, put it into the machine, and hit play.
TAPE 26
[Dark shapes, sound of a truck engine.]
First voice: … Gulf Stream, man, boat was maybe fifty feet long.
Second voice: What do you got on one of those numbers—six chairs?
First voice: Yeah, two down front in the back, couple on the sides. [Engine is louder. Sunlight flashes onto the scene to reveal a huge metal lip of some sort; beyond it is a continuous stream of streetbed, potholes. The truck can be heard to shift gears, brakes screeching. Far-off traffic, sirens. The truck stops. A man dressed in a garbageman’s uniform appears, dragging a large can; in go bags of garbage, shoes, loose magazines; then another man, with another can, and then the first with another; after half a dozen cans the roadway beyond the metal lip blurs for ten seconds, then the screech of brakes; the men appear, rhythmically, dumping in garbage cans, one after another: trash, clothes, wet paper bags, a few bottles, a broken radio, newspapers that should be recycled, bags, bags, bags, an old computer monitor, some children’s toys, magazines, Styrofoam packaging, papers … ] Saw a beautiful run out there, actually.
Second voice: What were they?
First voice: Yellowfins, around thirty pounds. I went up on deck, it was beautiful … [Truck lurches forward again; men bring more cans, dumping in one after another, breathing a bit with the effort, the sun now in their faces. Beneath their heavy green shirts are torsos thick in the shoulders and arms. When the light flashes across the men’s faces, they appear to be older than one might expect, given the considerable effort of lifting the heavy cans.]
First voice: So I was up there and we saw them. Incredible. The water was blue, so blue, you know, and then the captain calls out, “Here they come,” and I’m up there on deck and I see this flashing … these shapes, and they’re going fast, flashing, like, maybe ten feet under the surface, and it’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw. [Truck lurches forward again. The men work steadily, pausing only to pull the lever that activates the digestive compactor of the garbage truck. And then more societal excrement: bags, broken ceiling tiles, a bicycle, cat litter, garbage bags, ripped and spilling open to reveal eggshells and coffee rinds and pork chop bones and fashion magazines and cigarette butts and a woman’s slip, dirty and translucent and beguiling as it momentarily floats atop a froth of garbage.] It was something I was never going to forget, them just coming at me like that, like a couple hundred of them.
Second voice: Yeah.
First voice: Some kind of beautiful thing, I’m telling you. [The garbage truck lurches forward again, screeches to a stop, and the men resume their work. This continues for about twenty minutes. They say nothing to each other. The tape ends.]
I put another one in.
TAPE 32
[The screen shows the backseat of a large car, a limousine. It is night. The radio is playing, faintly. The bottom half of the side window is visible. The car is moving through traffic, passing taxis, the lights of storefronts, people on the streets in winter coats. It is New York City.]
First voice: It’s on already, I just hit the button.
Second voice: You’re a very fucked-up guy, you know that? [The back of a head, close to the camera. Camera tries to focus automatically on dark hair. Head moves, camera refocuses.]
First voice: Give me that thing, man.
Second voice: I drink one more drop I’ma be sick, I’ll just shoot it.
First voice: Just open the window ’fore you do.
Second voice: I’ll be too gone do it.
First voice: Naw.
Second voice: Shit.
First voice: Ask Max or whateverz name a go overt Tenth Avenue.
Second voice: I’m not ready.
First voice: Just tell Max.
Second voice: He’ll think we’re bunch of fucking perverts.
First voice: He’s getting paid.
Second voice: Max! Tenth Avenue, Forty-sixth Street! [A sound.]
First voice: What’d he say?
Second voice: He said sure.
First voice: He said Bush is going to get reelected.
Second voice: Fuck you.
First voice: Jesus, I feel great, I feel like my fucking head is mag-lev.
Second voice: Mag-lev?
First voice: Magnetic-levitation, man. The Japanese train is going fucking two hundred miles a hour and it’s not touching anything, going above the rails. Second voice: We can’t be doing this.
First voice: Too high to die, man.
Second voice: Come on, what the fuck.
First voice: We’re almost there, look! There’s one. Tell Max slow down. [Sound. Car is moving more slowly.] There’s one.
Second voice: God, no!
First voice: She wasn’t so bad!
Second voice: She was huge!
First voice: There!
Second voice: No!
First voice: Yeah!
Second: Max, stop it here! Stop it here! [Face in the window, blonde girl with bad teeth.]
Girl: Hi, fellas.
Fi
rst voice: Hi to you.
Girl: What’s happening tonight? It’s cold and I’m all lonely out here.
First voice: We’re sorta lonely in here.
Girl: Looks like you have, like, a whole bar.
Second voice: Yeah, comes with the car.
Girl: That’s great.
First voice: Billy, she for you? [Pause. Cars pass outside.]
Billy: Open the door. Let me get a look. [Door opens. Girl pretends to dance, moving her hips back and forth, clawing her short dress upward.]
First voice: Billy?
Girl: Round the world is gonna be one-fifty.
Billy: You’re too ugly, spend that kind of money.
First voice: She’s not ugly. Plain, perhaps. Nondescript. Generic. A certain utilitarian—
Girl: What’s he saying?
Billy: You sound like you’re interested, my man.
First voice: I could be int‘ressed. I could be very int’ressed. But then again, you’re buying. [The girl sits in the car, one leg in, one leg out.]
Billy: Closa door, it’s cold.
Girl: I could do you both, if that’s—
First voice: I’m not into that shit. I seen Billy naked and it’s no treat.
Billy: Fuck you, Simon.
Girl [pulling up her dress]: Which of you gentlemen—
Billy : It’s gonna be him, but I’m paying. So we agree—
Girl: I said one-fifty for round the world.
Billy: That’s bullshit. I’m not paying that.
Girl: What does he want anyway?
Billy: What’d you want?
Simon: Plain fuck.
Girl: Most guys want blowjobs.
Simon: Hey, no rhythm in it, no power. [Takes a long drink from a bottle.]
Billy: That can’t be one-fifty.
Girl: I’ll go one hundred on that, but the room is twenty.
Billy: You can do it right here, the seat’s big enough.
Girl: One hundred, then.
Simon: Billy?
Billy: It’s too high.
Girl: Come on.
Simon: You’re dealing with a very tough negotiator here, lady. This guy works for Merrill Lynch, made a million dollars last year.
Billy [with real anger]: Shit, don’t tell her that.
Girl [attempting a flirtatious voice]: Don’t you want me?
Simon: Yez, sure I do, and I’da pay a hundred, but I’m not paying. He’s got the money, he’s the guy with the money on this deal.
Girl: Seventy-five? But that’s my last—
Billy: Fuck no. No fucking way. There’rz girls out here who look a shit load bettem you and they’ll do it for thirty-five!
Girl: Yeah, right.
Billy: You don’t believe me?
Girl: You want something that’s better, you gotta pay for it.
Billy: All right—we’re gonna go find some other—it looks like there’s a girl right over there, we’ll see—let’s go see what she’s gonna charge—
Girl: Please, please, I need some money. I have a shopping problem. I shop too much.
Simon: You’re a great man, Billy! Don’t cry, sweetie.
Girl: Thirty-five? I’ll—
Billy: Daaah! Too much.
Girl [crying]: You don’t understand. I got all kinds of prob—
Billy: You gotta bring the price down.
Girl: [crying, pride gone]: Twenty? Please? I need some money tonight.
Billy: Five bucks. Thaz my … final offer. [Girl is weeping and cuts her eyes back and forth at the faces of the two men.]
Simon: You motherfucker, no way she’s gonna—Girl [face resolved now]: You ain’t gonna pay me more?
Billy: No.
Simon: You are fucking evil, man. Cold-cock evil. [Takes drink.]
Girl: Twenty? That’s so little. You guys are rich.
Billy: Five, you bitch, haa!
Girl: No.
Billy: That’s it, then. [The girl looks out the window for other cars. None appear.]
Girl: You fucker. Gimme the money first.
Billy: No, you get in first. [She gets in. A hand appears holding a bill. The girl takes it quickly.]
Girl: You gonna watch?
Billy: No, I’m gonna jes get outa the car on this side and stand here for a few minz lookin’ the other way ’n have a philosophical smoke.
Girl: All right.
Billy: Si-boy, you all right with this chick?
Simon: Yeah, I’ll be fine. For someone who is totally fucking bombed, you’re still a mean motherfucker.
Billy: Last thing to go, man, chop off my balls, I’m still mean. [Car door opens, Billy leaves. Door slams shut.]
Girl: Okay, guy. Let’s make this quick.
Simon: You wanna drink?
Girl: [brightening]: Yeah.
Simon: We got all kinds of—
Girl: Just gimme that. [Girl takes bottle.] I’m gonna take a real slug.
Simon: Sweetie, I heh already drink like haff of that, so you takem the biggas fucking slug you want. Get som ta money back. [Girl tips the bottle back and it stays there for a few seconds.]
Simon: Jesus.
Girl: What is that? Whiskey?
Simon: Yeah.
Girl: I loved whiskey all my life. Take your pants off, just take them right off, it’s easier. [Sound of clothing.] I just pull up my dress, see.
Simon: Hmm.
Girl: Just see what we got here.
Simon: It’s clean.
Girl: I got the rubber here.
Simon: Hmmm.
Girl: Waitaminute. [Hand paws through purse.] I gotta use this one. You got a big dick.
Simon: Funny, ’cause I’m a little guy.
Girl: Biggest dick I ever saw was on this short fat guy, Hawaiian or something. [Bored now.] All right, get hard, guy. You can do it.
Simon: That feels good. Very professional.
Girl: Think about giving it to me, guy. About putting it in.
Simon: Right.
Girl: Who’s on top?
Simon: Me.
Girl: Go easy, my back’s killing me.
Simon: All right.
Girl: Go now. Gimme that thing, guy.
Simon: Yeah.
Girl: Uh.
Simon: Can’t feel that rubber.
Girl: I put it on.
Simon: Sure?
Girl: I put it on, you can’t feel it because you’re feeling me.
Simon: Huuh.
Girl: I’ll squeeze again.
Simon: Uh. That was. Yes, that was good.
Girl: Go, go, go, guy, I ain’t billing by the minute here. [Something has jostled the camera and now the screen shows the girl’s face; her eyes are open and she looks around while the figure works away on top of her, then she notices the bottle next to her on the floor of the car and grabs it and takes a long drink while he pounds her, the whiskey spilling down her chin. She tips the bottle down, adjusts her hips slightly, and then tips the bottle back again, this time draining an inch out of it. She closes her eyes and lets the bottle fall to the floor of the car. Then she presses both her hands on the figure’s back.] Go now, go, come on, give it to me, guy, come on. [There’s a long groan and Simon’s head slumps intimately against her neck for a moment, but she is already rolling out from beneath him, pulling down her skirt.]
Simon: Fucking rubber.
Girl: It was all right.
Simon: I think it fell off, I couldn’t feel it.
Girl: Naw, I could feel it. [Points to his groin.] It’s right there! [She finds the bottle again.]
Simon: Take it with you.
Girl: Fuck no, just throw it on the street outside.
Simon: No, I meant the bottle.
Girl: Hey, thanks! [She opens the door and almost immediately comes the sound of another door opening.]
Billy: You still in there?
Simon: I’m all right.
Billy: She’s taking our fucking whiskey!
Girl: He gave it to me. [Kicks doo
r shut.]
Billy: You stole it!
Girl: Fuck you, you asshole.
Simon: She’s mad at you still.
Billy: Max! Max! Let’s get this thing rolling! [The car starts to move. Billy presses the window button and sticks his head out.] Five dollars! Hey, ev-rey-body! This fuck-ing bitch is giving it out for fi-ive dol—[He pulls his head in fast.] Uh-oh, she’s catching up. [Something hits the car, the sound of glass breaking.]
Simon: She threw the bottle?
Billy: Yeah. [Looks toward the front of the car.] Max! Don’t worry. The car’s fine. No problem. Bill me with any problem! [Car slips along in traffic. The jiggle of city lights, the flow of traffic.] That was fucked up.
Simon: A dark episode.
Billy: Very dark.
Simon: And where to next?
Billy: I got Harlem, I got East Village, Central Park West … I got all kindz possibili-ties.
Simon: Hey, we should turn that thing off.
Billy: It’s a two-hour tape, there’s gonna be plenty a—
Simon: Gimme that wire. No! Just give—Billy, you fucker—[The image breaks. The screen is a snowy static.]
TAPE 69
[Opulent room with high ceilings and thick red drapes to the floor. Well-dressed people moving about. A woman holding a clipboard. An older gentleman with gray hair surrounded by other, younger people. The camera is not stable, as if handheld or even concealed. A group of men enters casually, but all in the room turn. One of the men is Bill Clinton. He is younger, his hair only newly graying. He is the one, he is the power. Several come over to him. It is clear that they are used to being with him. He is obviously a tall man. The camera nears, unsteadily. A voice is heard to say, “Mr. President?” Clinton looks up, then back at his listener. They talk further; Clinton is waiting to respond, nodding, eyes cutting around the room. The woman with the clipboard approaches him and it is clear that she must speak in private for a moment. The camera is close now. It seems that the camera is concealed upon the person who is drawing closer.]
Woman with clipboard: It’s just a scheduling problem.
Clinton: I can’t do it.
Woman [toward camera]: Paul? Can you hold them off another hour?
Voice: I don’t think so.
Clinton [face reddening, intent]: I don’t have time for this.
Voice: We could split the difference and say—
Clinton: No, goddammit. When are you people going to understand that when I say no I mean it? And that your problem is not my problem? Solve it. You all are smart people, I read your résumés. Tell him we’ll screw him on the bill if he tries this again. [Slashes hand through air.] Gonna kill me with chickenshit like this. [Clinton detaches himself and moves across room to greet others. Tape ends.]
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