"Why?"
"Because if we work together, it'll take a whole day to drive to the mountains. Then we'll be up there a minimum of a week, another day to drive back . . . I'd say give yourself a good ten days just to be sure."
"Can you help me, Mr. Venasque?"
"I can teach you to fly. That's the first step."
"What do you mean, fly? Really, like a bird?"
I almost heard him smile. "Birds don't fly, Mr. Easterling. They live. Part of their way of living is to travel off the ground. But ask a bird how he does that and he'll look at you funny. The same when someone asks you how to walk. Put one foot in front of the other. Sure, that's the mechanics of it, but how do you walk? Or find the right balance to ride a two-wheeler bike? You do it. You find it. I can teach you where it is in you."
"And you do this with anyone?"
"Anyone who can pay."
"How much is it?"
"A thousand dollars."
"That's not much to fly."
"It's not such a hard thing to do. If you're not satisfied at the end, I'll give you your money back."
"Why do I want you to live out in the desert, speak like a guru, and tell me it takes years to master the art?"
"You read Siddhartha and Castaneda too many times. Come and see me and we'll talk some more. Listen, 'Miami Vice' is on in five minutes. A show I never miss. Come and see me."
My first day on the set of Wonderful, I watched Gregston carefully. He was amiable but intense, short-tempered, balanced by a terrific sense of humor. When he wasn't working he sat alone and read a novel by Robertson Davies, or sketched in a leather notebook he kept constantly under his arm. The cameraman, George Lambert, said Weber's whole life was in that notebook, but didn't elaborate.
Over coffee, the director told me about the character I was to play. What he said wasn't special, but spoken with such conviction, and in such picturesque detail, that I got the feeling there really was a Mr. Pencil out there in the world who was W.G.'s friend.
The first of my two scenes was shot in the backyard of a gorgeous house in Brentwood. All I had to do was cook hamburgers over a barbecue and smile. The boy playing my son ate fire. He stood in front of the camera, stuck a great burning torch down his throat and belched back flame, while grinning Dad back at the grill and the rest of the adoring family looked on.
On our fifth day of filming, Maris got permission to watch. Unsurprisingly, she and Weber hit it off instantly. He had her sit right next to him, where they talked and laughed like banshees between every take. Even Weber's people were surprised at this, judging by their looks and asides to each other. I was too busy barbecuing and smiling to have any real misgivings, but it was the first time I'd ever felt even vaguely uncomfortable about her with another man.
At lunchtime, we snuck off to a corner of the big yard to eat alone, but hadn't been there five minutes before Weber came over and asked if he could join us.
"Weber says I look like the only woman he's ever really loved. But she won't love him back."
"How come?" I bit a little too hard into a chicken wing.
He smiled. "Her name is Cullen James, and besides looking as great as Maris, she's also too goddamned loyal to her husband. She was the one who gave me the idea for this movie. I had the most extraordinary experience with her a couple of years ago that has kept me thinking ever since." He put his full plate down on the grass and lit up a cigarette instead. "Cullen had these dreams at night. Sequential – one following the other perfectly, night after night. Always in the same place: a fantasy land called Rondua, sort of like in Lord of the Rings, but wilder and far more frightening. Right after we met and I was trying to pry her away from her husband, I started having dreams in Rondua, too. Every night I traveled there. We even met up with each other there once. I couldn't begin to tell you what it was like. Take an old-time 'Purple Haze' acid trip, multiply it by about sixty, and you're at Rondua's front door. Giant dogs two stories high wearing bowler hats, a king named Sizzling Thumb, even the fucking Devil was around. His name was Jack Chili. It sounds nuts, but it happened. Believe me. Imagine sharing the same dreams with someone. Being able to talk about what you've both seen the next morning! It was really the only transcendental experience I've ever had, but it made me one hell of a believer."
"What happened to her? Are you still in touch?"
"Yes. She was attacked in New York by an escaped murderer. Killed him with a crowbar when he broke into her apartment."
"Jesus!"
"There's more. She swears she didn't do it. That her child from Rondua, 'Pepsi,' came over and did it for her."
"She sounds mad."
He shook his head vigorously. "No, she's full of magic. After she described what happened, I believed her."
Maris and I looked at each other. She spoke first. "Do you believe in magic, Weber?"
"Yes. Look at you, Maris. How is it possible in one lifetime to meet two women with almost the same face? Don't say coincidence. That's the easy way out."
Maris looked at me and mouthed the name "Moritz Benedikt."
Weber look at the ground. "I've given up trying to understand God. How He works. That sounds obnoxious, but when I saw Maris today, I could only shake my head. It doesn't disturb me anymore, although it used to. In college I majored in philosophy and religion. I was sure that was the way to get to the bottom of things. That, and some thinking on your own." He waved the thought away. "Silly little student. Do you ever read Emerson? He said it best. I like him very much. 'Do not require a description of the countries towards which you sail. The description does not describe them to you and tomorrow you arrive there and know them by inhabiting them.' That's it. That's how it is."
The second shot took place in Malibu. Mr. Pencil sets up a tripod on the patio of someone's beach house. Opening a briefcase, he takes out a sniper rifle, assembles it, and attaches it to the tripod. I didn't like it because the act was too close to what had happened with Nicholas. I told Weber that, but he only said "Use it! Show how Mr. Pencil dislikes what he does for a living, make him even more repellent."
Intercut with this would be shots of a bunch of nudists on a cruising boat. Accompanying them is a Dalmatian that roams the deck sniffing people and things. They talk and laugh and have a lazy, sexy day at sea. Suddenly one of them rears up with a big bullet hole in the middle of his chest, like a bright red carnation. Then the dog is hit too and knocked overboard.
Cut back to Pencil pulling the trigger again as he shoots everyone on the boat. Perfectly cool about it, he stops once to wipe sweat from his eyes before returning to the job. When he's finished, he takes the rifle and tripod apart, repacks them, and leaves.
The part with the people on the boat would be done later. Today was just me and my gun at the beach.
A firearms expert showed me how to put the pieces together without fumbling or looking confused. Luckily I had done something similar in an earlier film, so it wasn't hard after a couple of tries.
Everything went fine until I saw the dragon. I saw it through the telescopic sight of the rifle while looking out to sea, supposedly at my target. The creature was far away in the water, but the scope's magnification put it right on the end of my nose. It was black and long and essed up and down in the water, as if on a frolic.
What does a sea serpent look like? Here's the surprise: All that was going through my mind was how beautiful its eyes were. Totally feminine and sexy. Giant and deep, purple, and flecked with coppery yellow. I think there were even long lashes, too. It slowly turned its head toward shore and looked at us.
Someone off to my left screamed.