Tom Piccirilli - Headstone City

Dane cut in. “Listen, I want to ask you-”

“What the title means, right? It drives everybody crazy. There's all these weird theories running around on the Internet, geeks who find all kinds of bizarre symbolism and make these freaky connections to the Bible.”

He nodded. “I watched it twice the other night and it still makes no sense to me.”

“The original title was The Mouth of Hell. Think about that one for a minute, see if it makes any more sense to you.”

He remembered that the caves deep in the mountains where the terrorists hid the missiles were called that. “Okay, see, now that's a cool action title. And it ties in with the story.”

“Sure.”

“But why heaven? And where's the canopy?”

“Everything is dependent on test screenings,” she explained. “They show the movie to a couple hundred people and have them fill out forms on what they don't like about the film. It allows them to feel powerful. You turn two hundred fans into film critics and they start tearing the whole movie to shreds. So a bunch of them said they didn't like the title.”

“Why not?”

“They said it didn't resonate enough. That's one of the boxes they could check. If the title resonated with them.”

“And Under Heaven's Canopy resonates?”

“They thought it sounded more like a date movie. And the producers were already hung up on the hell part, you know? It was in their heads. They couldn't clear their minds of it, so they just turned it around, turned the hell into heaven. If the viewers in the screenings didn't like hell, then they've just got to love heaven, right?”

“These producers, they make a lot of money?”

“Christ, yes.”

Dane was starting to think maybe he should move to the West Coast, where it seemed like any shithead could make a bundle. Dane tried to picture Under Heaven's Canopy as a date flick. A couple of teenagers out on a Friday night, feeding each other popcorn, and then Glory Bishop comes out onto the stage and goes buck wild. It might make a few watchdog groups unhappy, but maybe that was really the whole point.

As they drove down to the south shore and started getting closer to the Hamptons, Dane felt her personality begin to shift. Getting into movie star mode, putting up a front that was attractive but still a wall.

The theater was much smaller than he'd anticipated and he nearly drove past it. On the main drag, about a hundred yards from the beach. With a bait & tackle shop on one corner and a boatyard across the street.

“Good, we're right on time,” Glory said. “A few cheesecake photos up front as we enter. We watch the damn movie, and we're out of here.”

“It starts this early? It's barely even dark.”

“This is the indie circuit. Personal projects. It's for the fans and the new directorial geniuses just making their mark.”

“Which are you?”

“I'm only going as a favor to a friend.”

“To make the movie look more important?”

“Yes.”

“So you're not in the hot tub with another chick?”

Home to dozens of the wealthiest, most notable celebrities of the day, Bridgehampton stood out as one of the swankiest areas in New York, but that didn't mean they knew how to throw a party.

The premiere was held at a regular, small movie theater, was small with an old-fashioned ticket booth and velvet-rope barricades out front. Dane kept waiting for stewards to come around with caviar and champagne, but everyone who showed up looked fresh from a frat house. He recognized two movie stars dressed down in jeans and wearing stocking caps, their clothes so wrinkled it looked like they'd just gotten off a bus.

There were maybe a dozen members of the press and a couple of reporters from the local station. About a hundred fans lined up, folks taking pictures and waiting for autographs. Dane knew he was going to feel out of place, but he never thought it would be because he was overdressed.

Salty mist blew heavily over the building, and sand wove along the sidewalk. Memories of Atlantic City heaved again but Dane fought them back, trying hard to hold on to his good mood.

He caught on quickly. He wasn't really allowed to talk. Just grin noncommitally at people, wave like he knew them. Every time he asked Glory Bishop a question, she nodded and let out a little laugh. No matter what it was, he got the nod and the laugh for the benefit of the cameras. So he shut the hell up.

She kept finagling him to walk in front of her. He realized he was supposed to look like a bodyguard more than anything else. He decided to pose as much as possible. He imagined one of the Monti mooks handing Vinny a supermarket tabloid with Dane's face on the cover. At a premiere with a movie star only a week after getting out of the can, and with a Monticelli death warrant hanging over his head. Not too shabby.

None of the celebrities talked to each other. They went out of their way to ignore everyone but the paparazzi and entertainment reporters. Glory answered a few questions and Dane stood in the background, glancing left and right, playing his part. When she peeled from the press, Dane kept a step in front of her and walked into the well-lit theater.

“How'd I do?” he asked.

“You smiled too much. All bright-eyed and happy. Fame and wealth are supposed to make you sullen.”

“I'll start mauling photographers next time.”

The director of the film jumped up onto the stage and gave an introduction to his movie. It was an artistic vision he'd had since he was in high school. It had cost 1.2 million to make and was already up for a Spirit Award. Dane didn't know what a Spirit Award was, but the crowd was impressed, so he applauded with them. He asked Glory how the flick could already be up for awards when this was the premiere and she explained that it had already done the festival circuit. This was just the general release. It would be shown on about twenty screens in three cities and then go straight to DVD and do well on cable.

“That'll get them their one point two back?”

“Hell yes.”

“All that cash in movies and your husband went in for trafficking? What'd he do wrong?”

“He's a dumb, greedy shit. The risk was part of his juice. And the coke habit made it that much worse.”

The film opened with a panning shot of the East Side IRT City Hall subway station. There were no gorgeous chicks in a hot tub. After a half hour he realized there were hardly any women in the movie at all. As near as Dane could tell, the film was about three homeless guys who lived in the subway riding trains all day and night long. Shaving in their seats, eating whatever the other passengers left behind, reading lost books. For a while Dane thought it was a comedy. He laughed out loud a couple of times and got shushed by a woman in back. Glory Bishop giggled beside him.

Afterward, the director and some of the actors stood in front of the screen and answered questions from the audience. The director said the film was a metaphor for limbo. The way station between heaven and hell as represented by Manhattan social strata. Folks applauded politely.

Dane leaned over and asked, “Is it going to be the same on the way out? You might have to give me a crash course in how the wealthy look sullen. I've been told poor people like me appear too bright-eyed.”

“Don't worry about it, we've done our part.”

“You mean you don't want to hang around and schmooze with your buddies?”

“They're not my friends. The guy I'm doing the favor for isn't even here.”

He figured she'd want to eat at one of the fancy seafood restaurants in town. He drove slowly, checking out the establishments that might meet her criteria, but Glory Bishop asked him, “You afraid of speeding tickets?”