Steve Erickson - Zeroville

“God love you,” Dotty laughs, “as our viking friend would say, you’re probably the only one in Hollywood naïve enough to believe it and sincere enough to mean it. I’ve been Hornbecked, Vikar. Like what they did to Billy over at Universal, which is one level of purgatory away from retirement. ‘Vice president of cultural affairs’? It sounds like I’m having a tryst with Chairman Mao. One morning I’ll come into the studio and my furniture will be out on the lawn. The funny thing is I was doing better when the studio was tanking four years ago. Now it’s the hottest studio in the business and I’m on the way out.” She sees the look on Vikar’s face. “Forget it. I hear you’re editing the Max Schell picture.”

“Another as well, with Rod Steiger as W. C. Fields.”

“Jesus,” Dotty rolls her eyes.

“There’s a very attractive actress in it.” Vikar can’t think of her name. “The one from Lenny .”

“Our viking friend is in Spain making a big picture,” Dotty says.

“He called me.”

“It’s MGM but maybe we can fix things so you can work on it in post. You probably could learn some things on a big picture like that.”

“Viking Man said perhaps a John Huston movie as well.”

She says, “You’re still vexing them, from what I hear.”

“Perhaps I’ll always be vexing.”

“It’s good for the town to get vexed now and then. Don’t worry about me, Vikar. It’s pretty civilized, really, this vice-president thing. Not that many studios would take the time to ease me out rather than just pull the lever on the trap door underneath, and the writing is on the wall anyway — all the higher-ups are devouring each other, which is what they do when they get successful. Evans is entertaining enough and I’ll make the best of it, as long as I don’t have to score his coke or deal with the crazy Germans at the top of the food chain.”

For several moments, neither of them says anything. Finally Vikar asks, “Are there any movies I should see?”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Not a comedy,” he says.

129.

Because Dotty doesn’t hear the “not,” she recommends The Lady Eve at the Vista. “Positively the same dame!” Vikar remembers from the burglar in his apartment, and is enthralled by Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda’s love story of labyrinthine treachery and desire. This is a very good movie, he concludes, disconcerted only by the laughter around him.

He reads a nineteenth-century French novel called Là-Bas about a writer living in a bell tower in Paris. The writer becomes obsessed with an historical figure named De Rais, who at the behest of the king of France became Joan of Arc’s right-hand man. It’s not clear, even to history, whether De Rais betrayed Joan or defended her, but after she was burned at the stake he went on to become the greatest child murderer in history, leading a cult of homicidal priests. Investigating De Rais, the writer receives strange letters from an unknown woman called Hyacinthe. God I hate this book, Vikar thinks to himself as he reads Là-Bas in a single night; the next night he reads it again, and the night after that, each time telling himself, God I hate this book, until finally, halfway through the eighth consecutive reading, he whispers to himself, God I love this book.

130.

When Michael has Fredo killed, it isn’t just Cain slaying Abel. It’s Abraham sacrificing Isaac, because Michael has assumed the role of father to his older brother, who has assumed the role of son. Michael sacrifices the child to the god called Family; he destroys the family in its corruptible human form to preserve the idea of Family that’s more divine, and to preserve Michael’s love for Family that the older brother has betrayed. God has love only for purity, and everything is washed pure by blood, burned pure by fire, rendered pure by gunshot.

131.

Vikar is in an editing room on the Paramount lot one morning when he gets the phone call. The line has a lot of static and the voice on it sounds as though from the other side of the world, which it is. “… making my Lawrence of Arabia , vicar,” he finally hears. “Barbary pirates, bedouin armies, desert battles, Moroccan castles — well, they’re really Moorish castles …”

“You sound far away,” Vikar says. There’s a delay in the voices back and forth.

“Of course I sound far away,” Viking Man says, “I’m in the fucking depths of Spain, not far from Gibraltar. Some grand surfing, though.”

“How’s the movie?”

“I’m going to be David Lean while I’m waiting to become the next John Ford.”

“What about the other David Lean?”

“There you go getting wry on me, vicar.”

“They made Dotty vice president.”

Sometimes the lag in transatlantic response is longer. “I just talked to her,” Viking Man finally says. “Listen, vicar, this call’s expensive and I don’t know how long the connection will last, so here’s the thing. While you’re busy getting wry on me, I need you in Spain for a couple of months.”

“What?”

“Dot’s going to get you out of that W. C. Fields nonsense and I’ve set it up with the MGM front office, they’re making the arrangements. Someone will pick you up — probably day after tomorrow at the soonest — put you on an Iberia jet out of LAX, and someone will be waiting for you on the other end in Madrid.”

“I’ve been reading this book.”

“While we’re still shooting, we need to sync and assemble as much of a rough as we can if we’re going to stay on schedule. We’ll do the fine cut back in L.A. Seville is the nearest city but they don’t have the facilities so we’ll set you up in Madrid and get dailies to you there, fly them in or send them by truck over five hundred kilometers of bad Spanish roads if need be.”

“God I love this book.”

“We’ve found a cutting room we can use in the Chueca section of town. We’ll put you up in a hotel somewhere around the Gran Villa.”

“I can’t come …”

“We’re losing this connection, vicar.”

“… I’ve read this book five times and need to read it again …”

There’s a particularly long pause and Vikar wonders if the connection has broken. “What are you talking about, vicar,” Viking Man’s voice finally comes through, “is this book of yours chained to the Hollywood Sign? You’re going to be on an airplane thirteen fucking hours, you’ll be able to read it another five times.”

“I want to stay in Hollywood.”

“God love you, vicar, but you’re being a pussy. Don’t you understand? This is Hollywood.”

“What do you mean?”

“This godforsaken stretch of Gibraltar. The cutting room in Madrid. Paris, Bombay, Tokyo, fucking Norway, wherever — it’s all Hollywood, everywhere is Hollywood, the only place on the planet that’s not Hollywood anymore is Hollywood. You got a passport?”

“No.”

“Of course you don’t. Well, that’s just going to add another day or two. I’ll get Stacey or Kate or one of the girls in the Culver City office to expedite things but of course you’ll need to apply yourself, can’t do that for you. They’ll also get you a copy of the script so you can be looking at that. I wish there was a way to get you shooting boards but that will have to wait until you get to Spain. Now there’s one more thing. You still there, vicar?”

132.

“Yes,” Vikar says.

“The Generalissimo over here,” Viking Man says, “is dying and taking his sweet time about it. There are more troops than usual in the streets and things are a bit tense and may get more so. So I’m having the girls in the front office pick you up one of those woolen ski caps nobody wears in L.A., and before you get off that plane and go through customs, I want you to pull that cap down over your head. Do you understand?”