“How long you thinking of staying in San Diego, Bud?”
“Maybe a week, maybe a year. May head up to Los Angeles for the New Year and catch that big parade.”
“The Rose Parade?”
“Yeah. Supposed to be gorgeous. I’d ask you where’re you headed but I already know. The shop for six days a week.”
“I like my work, Bud. Don’t know that I could just amble about like you do.”
“Virgin, I’d rather punch a cop than a clock.”
The men laughed.
“Merry Christmas to you. And you’ll be mighty welcome should you amble our way sometime.”
“Always good to talk to you, Virgin. Glad you’re a happy man. You deserve such blessings.”
“Thanks to you, Bud.”
“Almost 1954. Can you believe it? There you are with Del and Davey and Jill and, uh, Connie? I get the new one’s name right?”
“Connie it is.”
“Virgil the Virgin has three kids. I understand the biology but the reality’s a fucking mystery…”
The men gave each other a round of holiday wishes, repeated goodbyes, and hung up. They would talk again in a year.
Virgil sat in the quiet, watching the fire until one in the morning. Then he pulled up out of Daddy’s Chair to bank the flames so that Davey would have embers to start up the Yule logs. He found the plug for the Christmas tree lights and yanked it from the wall socket, using the thumb, forefinger, and knuckle stumps of his left hand. After almost forgetting, he stopped in front of the plate that held Santa’s cookies and ate three of them. He hesitated, then took a bite out of a fourth cookie, put it back on the plate, and drank a few sips of the milk that had gone warm.
In darkness, he found his way to the stairs, climbing one riser at a time, his left shoe matching his right foot. He checked on both of the sleeping kids and Connie in her crib beside Del’s side of the bed. Del always laid his pajamas out for him, so once he was out of his trousers and had undone the straps and buckles of his prosthetic leg, he set the thing to rest beside the chair and wriggled into his sleeping clothes.
A short stutter of a hop got him into bed. As he did every night, he found Del’s lips and kissed them softly, causing her to purr through her sleep. Virgil pulled the covers over him—the sheet, the two heavy blankets, and the thick quilt. He rested his head on his pillow after the long day and, at last, closed his eyes.
As he did almost every night, he saw the lightning-like image of a soldier’s helmet exploding in a cloud of blood-red mist. He saw the soggy clumps of what had been the man’s head. Virgil forced himself to think of something else, anything else. He searched his mind for an image and settled on a vision of Bud Boling as a young man, twenty-two years old, standing in the warm sunshine on a California street, part of a great throng of people, all with smiling faces, cheering on a parade of floats covered with roses.
A Junket in the City of Light
What brown fox jumped quickly over dogs that are lazy?
Hey, this writing machine actually works!
What the hell has happened? Who am I today? Still Rory Thorpe, I guess, but who is he?
Last night—just hours ago—I was the guy in a huge movie that everyone was talking about, the guy who made out with a glamorous beauty, a guy with a fine ass. In the capitals of Europe—and America—I was hustled around like a politician, into cars and into ballrooms filled with camera-totin’, question-hollerin’ reporters. I waved to seas of people, many of whom waved back, even though no one knew who I am, even though I am, in fact, a no one. Although, I have in my possession…certain documents…that reveal Willa Sax’s TOP-SECRET CODE NAME (it’s Eleanor Flintstone!).
I was 2 Days into taking the City of Paris by storm, with a 3rd to go, and Day 3 was going to have FIREWORKS! I had all my expenses paid. I was wearing free clothes. I could ask for a sandwich whenever I wanted, even though I was kept so busy I didn’t have time for much more than a few bites.
But this morning all that is over. I have to be out of my room at checkout time. Too bad. This is a nice hotel. The Nazis stayed here.
A good rule of thumb when traveling in Europe—stay in places with a Nazi past. The place in Rome had been Gestapo headquarters during the war. Big rooms. High ceilings. A beautiful garden. In Berlin, the hotel had been leveled when the Russians clobbered the Nazis who were hiding in it. To rub in their victory, the Commies never bothered to rebuild it or much of anything else in that part of East Berlin. When the wall came down, the hotel went back up and now the joint has a special room just for smoking cigars. In London, the old lady of a grand hotel had been bombed by the Luftwaffe sometime between the Nazi glories of Rome and the ass kicking they took from the Reds a few years later. The Queen has had dinner there twice since 1973.
Finally, this Parisian hotel had been the headquarters of the German Occupation Staff. They say Hitler had a cup of coffee on one of the balconies before he drove around to take in the sights of his conquered City of Light.
All this has been free of cost for me, including the hotels in L.A. and Chicago and New York, on the studio’s dime, because I play Caleb Jackson in Cassandra Rampart 3: Destiny at Hand. (Cassandra Rampart a.k.a. Willa Sax a.k.a. Eleanor Flintstone!)
Day 3 of my junket—sorry, my Press Tour—would have been another wild ride of a day. Instead, I have to pack my bags and check out by 1:00 p.m.—I’m sorry, by 13:00…
TO: RORY THORPE
CC: IRENE BURTON, etc.
FROM: ANNETTE LABOUD
RE: PARIS PRESS SCHEDULE
Welcome to Paris!
We know you must be exhausted, but want you to know how thrilled we all are to be working on the French release of CASSANDRA RAMPART 3: DESTINY AT HAND! Our colleagues in Rome, Berlin, and London tell us the movie has been welcomed with wild enthusiasm…thanks to you! Our tracking numbers are strong, just 3 points off CASSANDRA RAMPART 2: AGENT OF CHANGE and only 10 points off CASSANDRA RAMPART: THE BEGINNING. For a sequel, these are fantastic numbers! It seems audiences are responding to the sexual tension between Cassandra and Caleb.
We all feel France is a good territory for the film, as the Cassandra Rampart universe has a megafollowing on all social media platforms.
As Irene Burton and the Marketing Dept. may have already explained to you, France does not allow the promotion of films via paid spots on television—which is why you may notice a few more on-camera interviews during your stay with us. These interviews are crucial in the French market. You have done so well on the U.S. tour and in Rome/Berlin/London there is no question you are warmed up!
So have fun!
Below is the schedule for the next three days. (Separate schedule for Eleanor Flintstone.)
DAY 1
1:10 (approx)—Arrive Charles de Gaulle Airport from London—Transport to Hotel.
7:10—Grooming in Room 4114.
7:40–8:00—Live appearance on “¡Nosotros Cacauates!” This is the most popular Young Adult morning show in Spain with a strong On-Line presence (4.1 million views). They have come to Paris especially for CR3:DAH.