Bruce Wagner - The Chrysanthemum Palace

“How long does the makeup take to put on?” asked the boy, running thin, dirty fingers over the polyester hem of Thad’s royal tunic.

Clea swatted his hand away; he silently mouthed Fuck You.

“You knew I was out here,” said Thad. “I thought you’d have called.”

“I didn’t know how to reach you!” said Morgana. She talked too loud.

“How long does the makeup take to put on,” the punk testily implored, giving the fabric a yank.

Thad obliviously shoved him, hard enough to put an end to the entreaties. Morgana looked as if she might reprimand her son but begged off when she saw no real harm had been done.

“What do you mean, you didn’t know how to reach me?”

His sneer reconfigured itself into a kind of fluorescent incredulity.

“You didn’t tell anyone where you were staying,” said Morgana.

“I always stay at the Chateau. You know that. And Miriam knows—”

“Well, I don’t know how to reach Miriam. How would I? And believe it or not, your lodgings are not as legendarily known as you might think. But here I am, so what difference can it possibly make?”

“I didn’t mean to intrude while you’re working,” said Klotcher conciliatorily, mindful of the tension between the two. “I thought Miriam gave a heads-up. She must have told someone, or there wouldn’t have been a drive-on.”

I eased my way back to the bedroom while Clea protectively remained. I had planned to leave but, after retrieving my things, hung back to listen.

“I’ve been taking your mother around with my realtor.”

“Oh?”

“We looked at a fabulous horse ranch in the Malibu Hills,” said Klotcher. “Twenty-two acres.”

“Lovely but not for me,” said Morgana.

“I think it was once owned by Bo Derek.”

“You’re moving here?” said Thad, further dismayed.

“Not on your life, ” said Morgana. “It’s a nice way to see the city, though — it is such a luxury to look at property knowing you have absolutely no intention to buy!”

“I want to meet Cabott 7,” said the boy.

“I’m sure the feeling’s mutual,” said Thad. “But I’m afraid the court has ruled against the android having contact with minors. Stipulation of parole.”

“What’s parole?” asked the child, faintly flummoxed.

Klotcher guffawed while Clea nattered about how nice supper at L’Orangerie would be. The little shit harped on What’s parole until Morgana set him straight.

“My son has a warped sense of humor and should not, as a rule, be taken seriously.”

“Are you going to be a regular?” asked the boy.

“No,” said Clea, protectively. “He’s guest-starring.”

“You should be in another Jetsons, ” he said, like a pint-sized agent.

“Aren’t you meant to do something in La Jolla?” asked Morgana. “A play?”

“Postponed,” said Thad — prevaricating, as they say. Suddenly he grimaced, as if discerning great hooves of headache kicking up dust in the distance.

“Can I see the ship?” asked the boy.

“He wants to see the ship,” said Klotcher.

“Go for it,” said Thad. “Anyone hassles you, say you’re my guest.”

“I want to meet Cabott 7.”

“I told you. He’s not allowed around minors.”

“Thad!” admonished Morgana.

“But why? Why isn’t he?” pleaded the boy.

“I said. Major Cabott’s not allowed around minors because he’s a pedophile. In fact, that’s what we call him on the bridge — Major Pedophile!”

“What’s a pedophile?”

“Those are androids with very special powers. Android priests — machine-men of the cloth! Now go bother someone else.”

Klotcher laughed and Morgana clucked in disapproval as the child dashed out.

“I’d like us to have lunch on Saturday,” said the producer. “Can we go to the Ivy on Saturday? I read your book… and so did Mikkel Skarsgaard. Do you know his work? He’s very intrigued. Miriam didn’t tell you about this?” The boy shrieked for his great-uncle, making a general ruckus. Klotcher left to find him, with a parting shot to Thad: “See you on the bridge!”

“Who the fuck is Mikkel Skarsgaard,” asked Thad of Clea.

“A famous Danish DP. It’s good.”

“ What’s good?”

“It’s good that he read it.”

“Why is that good ?” he said, annoyed.

“Because he’s really hot.”

“Oh goodie, he’s hot. He’s hot hot hot!”

“And he wants to direct.”

No one said anything. I was about to come out. I assumed his mother had wandered off with Klotcher. I hesitated. More silence, then Clea entered the bedroom without warning. We heard Morgana return to the trailer — and gave each other a look. The fact we’d have to pass by them in order to exit had a paralyzing (and alluringly voyeuristic) effect. We intuitively sensed a primordial mother-son spectacle looming.

“Awfully small, this trailer, isn’t it?”

“It’s television, Mom.”

“I would think they’d at least have found you something bigger. Don’t the agents tend to all that? Miriam — is she as effective as she could be?”

“Miriam’s not my agent, Mom.”

“She isn’t?” said Morgana, baffled.

“She’s my agent for books. ”

“Then she is your agent.”

“Not for TV or movies. Just books.”

“Well, maybe you’d do better to go elsewhere.”

He let that one go.

“You haven’t done any films lately, have you, Thad.”

“I don’t know, Ma. Have you seen me in any?”

She let that one go.

“Are you really out here taking pictures?” he asked suspiciously.

“There were a few legal things I had to attend to connected to the estate. As it turned out, your father owned a condo in Century City. Another little secret,” she said ironically.

Since his mother had opened the probate door, he decided to step in.

“There’s some stuff I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to wait, but — I wanted to ask… if Dad made any provisions.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. The lawyers are going to be calling.”

“Calling?”

“That’s what I said. You’ll have to ask the lawyers.”

“Because I could use some help! The IRS thing, the ‘offer and compromise,’ or whatever — the thing my accountant was working on didn’t come through.”

“You told me that — at the funeral.”

“I thought I’d be paying pennies on the dollar. That’s how he represented it—”

“You told me, at the Vineyard.”

“—but it just didn’t happen. I might sue the idiot for malpractice.”

“You can’t sue the world, Thaddeus.”

“He never should have repre — you start having these expectations. Anyway, I made a deal, with the government. My accountant made a deal, but it’s usury. It’s like thirty eight thousand a month, for five years. I may as well have borrowed from the Mob.”

“You should have thought about that when you didn’t pay taxes.”

He let that one go too. “So what do the lawyers want? Why are they calling me?”

“About Jack’s will.”

Clea and I gave each other a look again.

“So, who you taking pictures of?” he asked, forcedly casual.

We were actually now spying on them through a crack in the door; a bit insane. Morgana gave her son a blank look. She knew exactly what he wanted from her, but sometimes did the vacant-look routine, just to make him “work.”

“For your book. ”