Chuck Palahniuk - Tell All

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On Miss Kathie’s dressing table, among thejars of greasepaint and hairbrushes, we see a small paper bag; the sidesare rolled down to reveal its contents as a colorful array of Jordan almonds. Miss Kathie’s lithe movie-star handcarries the almonds, a red one, a green one, a white one, almond byalmond, to her mouth. At the same time, her violet eyes never leave herown reflection in the mirror. A glass bottle, prominently labeled CYANIDE, sits next to the candied almonds. Thebottle’s stopper removed.

Webb’s voice-over continues, “ ‘It’s likelythat my adored Katherine feared losing the happiness she’d struggled solong and hard to attain.’ ”

We see the idealized, slender version of MissKathie stand and adjust her military costume, studying her reflectionin the dressing room mirror.

The voice of Webster reads, “ ‘After so manyyears, my beloved Katherine had regained her stardom in the lead of a Broadwayhit. She’d triumphed over a decade of drugabuse and eating disorders. And most important, she’d found a sexualsatisfaction beyond anything she’d ever dreamed possible.’ ”

The Katherine Kentonfantasy stand-in lifts a tube of lipstick, twists it to its full redlength and reaches toward the mirror. Over the beautiful reflection ofherself, she writes: Webster’s amazing, massivepenis is the only joy in this world that I will miss . She writes, As the French would say … Adios . Thefantasy version of Miss Kathie dashes a tear from her eye, turningquickly and exiting the dressing room.

As the shot follows her, Miss Kathie dashesthrough the maze of backstage props, unused sets and loiteringstagehands; the voice-over reads, “ ‘According to the statements of MissHazie, Oliver “Red” Drake, Esq., had oftentalked in private about ending his own life. Despite the general publicimpression that he and Katherine were deeply, devotedly in love, MissHazie testified that a morose, secret depression had settled over him.Perhaps it was this same secret sorrow which now drove my exquisiteKatherine to eat those tainted sweets only minutes before the hit show’sfinale.’ ”

Onstage, Japanese bombs pelt the ships of Pearl Harbor. Under this pounding cascade ofexploding death, the svelte Miss Kathie leaps from stage right, boundingup the tilting deck of the USS Arizona . Already,her complexion has paled, turned pallid beneath the surface of herpancake makeup.

In voice-over, we hear Webster reading, “ ‘Atthe greatest moment of the greatest career of the greatest actress whohas ever lived, the rainbow reds and greens and whites of those fatalcandies still tingeing her luscious lips …’ ”

At the highest point of the doomedbattleship, the ideal Miss Kathie stands at attention and salutes heraudience.

“ ‘At that moment, in what was clearly andundeniably a romantic self-murder,’ ” the voice- over continues, “ ‘mydearest Katherine, the greatest love of my life, blew a kiss to me,where I sat in the sixth row … and she succumbed.’ ”

Still saluting, the figure collapses,plunging into the azure tropical water.

The voice of Webster reads, “ ‘The end.’ ”

ACT III, SCENE THREE

We open with the distinct pop of a champagnecork, dissolving to reveal Miss Kathie and myself standing in the familycrypt. Froth spills from the bottle she holds, splashing on the stonefloor as Miss Kathie hurries to pour wine into the two dusty champagneglasses I hold. Here, in the depths of stone beneath the cathedral whereshe was so recently wed, Miss Kathie takes a glass and lifts it,toasting a new urn which rests on the stone shelf beside the urnsengraved Oliver “Red” Drake,Esq., Loverboy, Lothario . All of her long-dead loved ones.

The new urn of shining, polished silver sitsengraved with the name Terrence Terry, andincludes a smudged lipstick kiss identical to the old kisses dried tothe magenta of ancient blood, almost black on the urns now rusted andtarnished with age.

Miss Kathie lifts her glass in a toast tothis newest silver urn, saying, “ Bonne nuit ,Terrence.” She sips the champagne, adding, “That’s Spanish for bonvoyage.”

Around us a few flickering candles light thedusty, cold crypt, shimmering amid the clutter of empty wine bottles.Dirty champagne glasses hold dead spiders, each spider curled like abony fist. Abandoned ashtrays hold stubbed cigarettes smudged with along history of lipstick shades, the cigarettes yellowed, the lipstickfaded from red to pink. Ashes and dust. The mirror of Miss Kathie’s realface, scratched and scarred with her past, lies facedown among thesouvenirs and sacrifices of everything she’s left behind. The pillbottles half-full of Tuinaland Dexamyl. Nembutal, Seconaland Demerol.

Tossing back her champagne and pouringherself another glass, Miss Kathie says, “I think we ought to recordthis occasion, don’t you?”

She means for me to prop the mirror in itsupright position while she stands on the lipstick X marked on the floor.Miss Kathie holds out her left hand to me, her fingers spread so I canremove her Harry Winstondiamond solitaire.When her face aligns with the mirror, her eyes perfectly bracketed bythe crow’s-feet, her lips centered between the scratched hollows andsagging cheeks, only when she’s exactly superimposed on the record ofher past … do I take the diamond and begin to draw.

On the opening night of UnconditionalSurrender , she says Terry had paid her a visit backstage, in herdressing room before the first curtain. In the chaos of telegrams andflowers, it’s likely Terry purloined the Jordanalmonds. He’d stopped to convey his best wishes and inadvertentlymade off with the poisoned candy, saving her life. Poor Terrence. Theaccidental martyr.

As Miss Kathie speculates, I plow the diamondalong the soft surface of the mirror, gouging her new wrinkles andworry lines into our cumulative written record.

Since then, Miss Kathie says she’s ransackedWebster’s luggage. We can’t risk overlooking any new murder schemes.She’s discovered yet another final chapter, a seventh draft of the Love Slave finale. “Itwould seem that I’m to be shot by an intruder next,” she says, “when Iinterrupt him in the process of burgling my home.”

But at last she’s managed a counterattack:she’s mailed this newest final chapter to her lawyer, sealed within amanila envelope, with the instructions that he should open it and readthe contents should she meet a sudden, suspicious death. After that sheinformed the Webster of her actions. Of course he vehemently denied anyplot; he protested and railed that he’d never written such a book. Heinsisted that he’d only ever loved her and had no intention to cause herharm. “But that’s exactly,” Miss Kathie says, “what I’d expected him tosay, the evil cad.”

Now, in the event Miss Kathie falls under anomnibus, bathes with an electric radio, feeds herself to grizzly bears,tumbles from a tall building, sheathes an assassin’s sharp dagger withher heart or ingests cyanide—then Webster CarltonWestward IIIwill never get to publish his terrible“lie-ography.” Her lawyers will expose his ongoing plot. Instead ofhitting any best-seller list, the Webster will go sit in the electricchair.

All the while, I drag the diamond’s point todraw Miss Kathie’s new gray hairs onto the mirror. I tap the glass tomark any new liver spots.

“I should be safe,” Miss Kathie says, “fromany homicidal burglars.”

Under pressure, the mirror bends anddistorts, stretching and warping my Miss Kathie’s reflection. The glassfeels that fragile, crisscrossed with so many flaws and scars.

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