Rudolph Wurlitzer - Slow Fade

He paused, realizing that A.D. didn’t know who he was.

“I was second unit with Wesley in Durango when he lost it. He asked me to shoot all this crazy stuff and I did and I’ve just kept going. I developed some footage in L.A. and came here to shoot more. You’re A.D., right? The doctor or shrink who’s taking care of Walker.”

“I’ve been working with Walker on a script, if that’s what you mean. I’m the producer.”

“Right. I knew someone was working with him. Wesley told me he was trying to promote this script as a catharsis for him or something.”

“It’s a good script,” A.D. said. “I think it’s hot.”

Sidney walked to the bed and then to the window and back to the bed again. Picking up an ashtray, he put it back on the dresser, then lit a cigarette and stabbed it out on a paperback book. Finally he came to rest full length on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he said:

“I looked at the script. Tell you the truth, I don’t know what kind of a pull it has. I mean, who cares about India? Indiana maybe, but not India. I’ll tell you another thing. No one wants to go there. I wouldn’t go. I have enough problems. Everyone will get sick and freak out, and it’ll be a producer’s nightmare. Wesley won’t last one week down there. Count on it. I was with him in Mexico. But rain or shine, the old bastard is still trying to get into gear, setting up meetings and leaking all kinds of malarkey to the press. He thinks that if he isn’t riding herd on a project, he’s going to cash in.”

“Is he?”

“I’m certainly banking on it.”

“Doesn’t he want to know about his daughter?”

“Not really. That’s wrap-up stuff. What you do when you have no time left. It’s automatic. Mostly the kids are a pain in the ass. I know this tale you and Walker are laying out has put him through changes.”

“I have more pages for him.”

“Then he’ll go through more changes.”

“What about his wife? Doesn’t she stroke him down?”

“She’s holding on, but it’s hard. He accuses her of waiting for him to die and they fight and she disappears for a day or two and he totally loses control.”

A.D. went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He checked the medicine cabinet. There was an impressive display of mood elevators and painkillers, and he put a few of each into his pocket.

“Are you making a film about Wesley?” A.D. asked, coming back into the room.

“I am, but not like the family soap you’re doing. I’m traveling the low road, catching what dribbles out of the mouth after the main meal is over. Final words and that kind of thing. I pile up moments, vicious little scenes, tearful, angry, guilty, they’re all the same to me as long as they add up to some kind of confession. That’s where the gold is.”

“What kind of a deal do you have with Wesley?”

Sidney sat up on the bed and looked straight at A.D. as if he wanted to impress him with his intentions.

“No deal.”

“You mean he’s not paying you?”

“I don’t want him to. That way I own the stock. I never cashed the checks he sent me.”

“Does he know that?”

“I don’t think so. I sent him a memo which he never looked at and which I Xeroxed, so I’m covered.”

“Can you afford to keep going?”

“Probably not.”

“And you think this can make money?”

“Are you kidding? There’s only one law in this business and that’s box office. I’m doing my best to obey that law. There’s nobody over me and no middle man and it doesn’t cost anything to shoot. I’ve got Evelyn stripped to the bone screaming how she loves and hates him and I show how she gets him up in the morning, convincing him that he has something to live for. I’ve got fights and harangues and secrets revealed. I have this one scene in Mazatlán where he throws a knife at some L.A. lawyer and it sticks in his arm. And Wesley’s in the news, you know. He’s all over the place. Everyone has an opinion on him.”

From that moment on, India was never a serious issue for A.D.

“There should be a way to put everything on the same plate,” he said to Sidney, who had gone over to the door and was trying to listen to what was being said in the other room. “I’ll give you a slice of India if you cut me into your action with Wesley.”

“I don’t need India,” Sidney said. “I need fifty grand. If not from you, then from somebody.”

“We’ll talk about it,” A.D. said, noticing that Sidney had lost most of his initial authority and that the mention of money made his body contract. “Where are you staying?”

“Downtown.”

“I’ll call you when I find a place to stay. I’m at the Hilton and I can’t stand it. The service is lousy and there are too many tourists.”

“I have an extra room. Wesley likes to come down to hide out. Maybe it would make it easier for you.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Sidney stepped away from the door and wrote his address on a piece of paper in large bold letters. “I’ll give you the bottom line,” he said wearily. “I can’t stand the abuse. Like this thing with the video camera. He’s got me so twisted. It’s not like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows exactly where the lens is. But he keeps pulling the rug out from under himself. Every time he quits he asks me back, and then he quits again.”

He opened the door and A.D. followed him into the other room.

Wesley was sitting with Evelyn on the couch. Everyone else had gone. Whatever had gone down with the agent and hotel manager, it had left them in a different mood and they seemed more relaxed, even somewhat animated. Wesley got up and spread his arms, including them in a sudden benediction.

“Every time I shake the goddamned tree and more rotten apples fall out, I think, that’s it, I’m free, and even though I know there are always more, I’m grateful these particular ones are on the ground.”

“Amen,” Evelyn said.

She had curled into the corner of the couch and was looking up at Wesley with great wariness as he put an arm around Sidney and kissed him on the cheek, talking loudly into his ear.

“Your video camera sliced straight through the awning and almost took a guy’s head off. Turns out that one of my pictures, Wishbone , is in his all-time top-five pantheon, and he refuses to make a complaint. All he wants is an autographed copy of the script. Funny, I can’t even remember who wrote it. But I don’t take anything back about the video machine. I hate it. Let’s never mention it again. I tell you what, though, you and me, Sidney, we have to keep shooting. That’s all we’re good for, peering through the lens. But now we’ll mix in some scenes from Walker’s script. What do you think, AD.?”

“You’re the boss,” A.D. said, trying to make whatever switch was called for.

A.D. had not fully recovered from the shock of seeing Wesley and Evelyn for the first time, having been blind, of course, back in New Mexico. He had imagined Wesley six inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier, not this frail and precarious old man who was so obviously on the drift. And he felt unnerved and totally unprepared for Evelyn, with her absence of show business persona, the almost lethal way she sat within her own silence, how physically strong and elastic her body seemed inside her black jeans and simple white T-shirt.

Wesley sat down on the couch and lifted one of Evelyn’s bare feet to kiss. “I want to get moving on India, bring all of that together. It might be time to pull the plug on this screwed-up country and sign up for a location trip. That’s always the best part, when you’re just looking and not trying to force it all into some mediocre story line.”