The Candy House, page 28
I wish I could unknow that.
Jules→Stephanie
He was in Special Operations, then worked as a contractor doing stuff the military didn’t want to touch. Bottom line: If you ever find yourself thinking that a mass human extinction event would be good for population control, you might want to get checked out.
Stephanie→Jules
Uh-oh. I think that all the time.
8
Ashleigh Avila→Dolly Peale
Dear Dolly,
INCREDIBLE NEWS. My friend from X has put me in touch with a media relations person in the inner circle of the current regime. They’re willing to let us shoot the documentary there. It’s officially a go!!!!!!! Funding is fully in place—oversubscribed, in fact. Let’s talk schedule.
Wow, right?! Ash
FWD: Dolly Peale→Joseph Kisarian
Jojo, see below. I am beside myself. Ashleigh will be livid when I pull the plug, and obviously the last thing I want to do is to undermine Lu’s opportunity, whatever it may be. But what choice do I have? Waiting will only make it worse. Help!!
Love, Dodo
Joe→Dolly
Last night, Lulu planted tomato seeds in small pots on our windowsill for the first time in three years. I was moved to tears when she showed them to me. We must not disrupt her fledgling happiness.
Dolly→Joe
Ok, so how do we end this without angering or disrupting anyone? Can we say National Security won’t allow it…??
Joe→Dolly
That is untrue. We would welcome closer relations with the new regime in X.
Dolly→Joe
Wait—what???? Are you suggesting that Lulu and I should actually GO TO X and make this documentary?
Joe→Dolly
I can easily take another short leave to care for the twins while you are gone.
Dolly→Joe
Jojo, that is OUT OF THE QUESTION. My part in all of it was deplorable, not to mention that I would have to revisit the boiling oil catastrophe.
Joe→Dolly
Are you not the one who first explained to me that Americans love redemption stories precisely because they are so irrevocably tainted by original sin?
Dolly→Joe
This isn’t a redemption story! It’s a story about how I sank so low that I took a job camouflaging the atrocities of a genocidal dictator!
Joe→Dolly
Are you not the one who told me a good publicist can turn a violent coup into a humanitarian rescue mission?
Dolly→Joe
But I’m not a publicist anymore—I’m a gourmet grocer. My good name is everything to me.
Joe→Dolly
Are you not the one who told me that celebrity is a neutral amplifier—positive, negative, it makes no difference?
Dolly→Joe
Gosh, Jojo, I’m amazed that you’ve memorized so many of my pronouncements. And flattered, I will confess.
Joe→Dolly
I sensed that a day would come when recalling your words would prove essential.
9
Ashleigh Avila→Kitty Jackson
Amazing news, Kit Kat:
I have all of the pieces in place for the documentary, the most important being the cooperation and even—dare I say it?—ENTHUSIASM of the present regime in X. You have many fans in the inner circles of government there. Not only do they love your movies, but they regard you as having been pivotal to General B’s “conversion” (might also be “gelding” or “enlightenment,” depends on the translation). Of course they’re hoping you’ll be willing to share new “intimate” information about General B, now that your legal fetters are gone—the more shocking the better, obviously, not that I would EVER encourage you to exaggerate or lie (perish the thought!), although being dead, the general can’t exactly contradict you and I’ve verified that there is no Mandala Cube in the picture…
Finally, they asked whether you’d be interested in riding some rare stallions from a wild herd that roams their beaches. Short video below; note the naturally curly manes!
Please let me know that I can move forward on this.
XxxxooooAsh
Kitty→Ashleigh
Let me get this straight: I’m being asked to provide salacious details about General B, thus outing myself as a prostitute, in exchange for the chance to ride a curly-maned horse. And the person engineering this is NOT an enemy bent on my destruction, but my trusted helpmate and longtime confidante/publicist whom I PAY to protect my reputation and interests.
Am I missing anything?
Ashleigh→Kitty
Yes, you spoiled bitch, you’re forgetting a couple of things that will accrue to YOU (since no one else really matters) by doing this:
1. Massive exposure as a person willing to do ANYTHING for the sake of democracy—a Citizen Agent before her time, if you will—and a woman so bewitching that she was able to convert/enlighten/geld a mass-murdering despot and thereby transform a volatile region and save the lives of millions.
2. A shot at an exponential rise in cultural status that would place you among the first-namers whose ranks you have zero chance of joining otherwise because a) you’re too old, and b) you were never that good an actress in the first place.
These are the opportunities I’ve created for you. Spurn them if you like, but know what you are giving up, you twat.
Kitty→Ashleigh
You made me cry. I hate you.
Ashleigh→Kitty
Yes or no?
Kitty→Ashleigh
Yes if I can be as far away from you as possible.
Ashleigh→Kitty
That is guaranteed.
Lulu Kisarian→Jazz Attenborough
Dear Mr. A,
Could you please let me know how many people can comfortably ride in your speedboats, so that we can finalize plans for the article/photo shoot with Bosco of the Conduits and Jules Jones, the author of SUICIDE TOUR?
Sincerely, Lulu Kisarian
3rd Assistant to Jazz Attenborough
Jazz →Lulu
Nothing about a speedboat ride is “comfortable” unless you enjoy crashing violently over the tops of waves, as I happen to. The real question is: will these elderly gentlemen be able to handle it? My boats are extremely long, so space will not be an issue.
Lulu→Jazz
Dear Mr. A,
I will warn the elderly gentlemen, but their struggles might make you look more at ease. Appearing to advantage in a watery environment could also be helpful pre-publicity for the Undersea Cave-Warlock role, should you end up taking it.
Sincerely, Lulu Kisarian
3rd Assistant to Jazz Attenborough
Jazz→Lulu
You like me in this role. Why? (five words or less)
Lulu→Jazz
You’ll play the romantic lead.
Jazz→Lulu
How romantic can it be if the MerQueen is not young?
Lulu→Jazz
That depends on the actress. Kitty Jackson is in phenomenal physical shape (prizewinning equestrienne), and I’ve been told that her reputation will soon have a boost.
FWD: Jazz Attenborough→ Carmine DeSantis
See below. What is 3rd assistant talking about re Kitty Jackson?
Carmine→Jazz
There is buzz about a Kitty Jackson doc involving these events from 2008. See link below.
Jazz→Carmine
Why was I not given this background on Kitty before working with her on DAZZLE??
Carmine→Jazz
As it is common knowledge, I gave you credit for knowing it.
Jazz Attenborough→Lulu Kisarian
Need to find a new manager. Carmine is hopeless. Would prefer not to involve 1st or 2nd assistants, as they know him well. Ask around and get me some names.
Lulu→Jazz
Dear Mr. A,
I’m sorry, but as Mr. DeSantis hired me, it would be awkward for me to work on replacing him.
Sincerely, Lulu Kisarian
3rd Assistant to Jazz Attenborough
Jazz Attenborough→Carmine DeSantis
Need new 3rd assistant. Lulu is hopeless. Also pls accept Undersea Cave-Warlock role in MERMANCE, contingent upon Kitty Jackson accepting the role of MerQueen.
10
Alex Applebaum→Bennie Salazar
Dear Bennie,
Good news first: The voice work with Bosco has gone well. Warm milk, in abundant supply here (more cows than people, as they say), seems to calm the raspiness. I’ve rearranged the Conduits’ 15 greatest hits to accommodate his higher range.
Bad news: Bosco on his own will sound, at best, good (not even very good).
Bosco tells me that Jazz Attenborough (as in, the actor) is planning to attend his recording session. Huge fan apparently. Attenborough appeared in musicals early in his career and his singing voice was strong and clear (see below for recording links). What if we invited Attenborough to sing with Bosco?
Even if Attenborough agrees and sounds good (big ifs), any shot at greatness will have to be supplied by the accompanist and the context/moment, à la Scotty Hausmann’s Footprint Concert. Ah, where are Scotty and Lulu when we need them?
Alex
P.S. Where ARE Scotty and Lulu these days (serious question)?
Bennie Salazar→Jocelyn Li
Hi Joc
Listen, I have a proposal for Scotty that is really a proposal for both of you. Bosco is coming to LA to record some Conduits classics acoustically, and I’m wondering if Scotty would be willing to accompany him on slide guitar?
xxB
Jocelyn→Bennie
Hi Bennie, he says sure. We love the Conduits! I had a HUGE crush on Bosco back in the day (don’t tell Scotty). xxJoc
Bennie→Jocelyn
Aces. Ok if Jazz Attenborough (yep, THAT one) joins on vocals?
Bennie Salazar→Jocelyn Li; Alex Applebaum
Joc, Alex,
Putting you two together to work out details of this recording session. Jocelyn and I are high school bandmates (along with Scotty) from that cult sensation the Flaming Dildos. Joc has a beautiful singing voice, as I was reminded recently when we sang karaoke together. Alex was the silent partner in the Footprint Concert and thus instrumental to Scotty’s world fame and the resurrection of yours truly’s career.
So here we are, conniving once again to bump Scotty’s reputation, along with Bosco’s and—let’s be honest—my own and that of everyone else over 60 striving for cultural relevance in a world that seems to happen in a nonexistent “place” that we can’t even find unless our kids (or grandkids!) show it to us. The only route to relevance at our age is through tongue-in-cheek nostalgia, but that is not—let me be very clear—our ultimate ambition. Tongue-in-cheek nostalgia is merely the portal, the candy house, if you will, through which we hope to lure in a new generation and bewitch them.
The thing that changes everything: isn’t that always the goal?
Ok, enough rhetoric. Can you two take it from here?
B
11
Bennie Salazar→Stephanie Salazar
Steph,
I now find myself in exactly the position you were in a few weeks ago: eager to tell the story of a day whose twists only you will appreciate. Does this mean we should’ve stayed married? (Kidding! Your tennis career wouldn’t have happened with me around, and Lupa somehow puts up with me.)
We decide to do the recording at Lou Kline’s old place (now Melora’s, but she was on the road) because it’s got the private beach and dock and lets us go directly from a speedboat ride into a recording session. I wasn’t sure if Jocelyn would be willing to go back to Lou’s house—talk about bad vibes—but she was game to return as a survivor. So she and Scotty arrive around noon and Lupa and I are already there with Alex, a sound guy I’ve worked with on and off since the Footprint. We break out the Jägermeister in Scotty’s honor and have a toast at Lou’s big table with the piles of wax in the middle (It’s still there, can you believe it?) under the chandelier with all those candles in it. Scotty’s in great form—the new teeth are a big improvement over that bright-white set, and he’s a happy man with Joc. I had a good feeling even before Scotty started playing the new arrangements on slide, but when I heard them, I thought holy shit: they actually sounded better, more contemporary and just all-around better, than the originals. I knew then that it was going to be great, no matter what Bosco and Jazz Attenborough sounded like. We’d already done it.
We’ve got the teen and her girlfriends with us and they’re lounging around Lou’s pool in their bikinis because apparently Jazz Attenborough’s name still means something to the 15-year-old set (good sign!). Eventually we all go out onto the deck overlooking the ocean and sure enough, a long black cigarette boat zips into view, the kind you’d expect to be delivering bricks of cocaine outside Miami. It’s going so fast it’s a blur, but Lupa’s brought along the camera she uses to shoot insects in flight, and she takes blasts of the boat and then breaks them down into stills so we can zoom in and see everyone. The scene is intense: in one, Bosco is midair with a Munch-like howl on his face. There’s one of Jules puking over the side of the boat, and then he disappears. Can’t find him anywhere!
Jazz Attenborough has a kind of wolfish grin, like he’s enjoying pushing everyone to the brink of death or possibly beyond it (where the hell is Jules?). After a while they tear away and reappear in a different boat, this one even longer, canary yellow. On the yellow boat, Lulu and Jazz Attenborough get into a serious conversation that distracts Jazz to the point that he slows the boat down and we’re able to see everyone clearly. Jules is back, looking very white. Attenborough hands over the steering to Lulu and sits down with a kind of blank expression. Lulu knows her way around a speedboat, and they take another few turns before finally heading in to Lou’s dock.
I’m wondering if we’ll have to carry Bosco and Jules off the boat, and I’m also wondering if Bosco will have screamed his voice away. But Bosco and Jules come off the boat bellowing, pumped, both in swim trunks (Jules wore a T-shirt and you’re right, he’s slimmed down!), both of them roaring at the top of their lungs. It’s a geezer fest. The photographer and videographer follow them off the boat, and the teens are whispering and giggling, a little cowed by these ancient alphas, and now everyone’s just waiting for Jazz.
He comes last, with Lulu. I know she’s in her thirties and a mom, but in the company of these geezers she looks 21 again. Jazz keeps turning to her, checking on her, worrying over her injured arm, and my stomach is starting to turn (you know his rep). Then he takes Lulu’s hand to help her off the boat and their faces line up for a second, and I realize that it’s EXACTLY THE SAME FACE. Dimples, cheekbones, chin. Think about it, Steph. She’s basically a clone of him.
There’s more, as I’m sure you’ve heard from Jules. But I’m going to stop there and let you digest.
Love, B
12
Lulu Kisarian→Chris Salazar and Molly Cooke, VIA MONDRIAN
Hey you two,
I don’t think I’ve seen either of you since Colin’s memorial (ten years ago, can that be?), but I think of you both a lot, especially that day when we rode away from the country club on our bikes and fell asleep on the pier. It is one of those way stations that I keep coming back to, maybe because of Colin. Still can’t believe he’s gone.
Anyway, I’m contacting you now at the suggestion of Ames Hollander, who recently gave me some invaluable cleaning help. Small world, great minds, all roads, etc. Who needs a Collective Consciousness?
I’m thirty-five, unemployed, and looking for a way to make the world better, not worse. I know something of your work from Ames Hollander, and from the grapevine, and from the ether (and from your mom, Chris, who brought me lunch recently). If you’ll have me, I would love to work for you.
Awaiting your reply, Lulu
Lulu Kisarian→Joseph Kisarian
Joseph my love,
The general’s compound is a ruin, but they let us walk through it.
A tree with enormous waxy leaves has thrust itself through the middle of the room where Mom and I slept.
They’ve named a holiday after Kitty and filmed her riding a wild stallion into the sunset. They’re going to put her on a postage stamp.
Kitty and my father are planning to make a Western together. Horses and speedboats apparently have more in common than you’d think.
In deep night, when I listen to sounds of the rainforest, I feel like I’ve returned to my mission.
The landscapes are nothing alike.
I see now that the place I’ve been yearning for is my own imagination.
It was with me before and will be always. It’s in every children’s book.
Kiss our babies for me a thousand times, and remember to water the seedlings.
I’m counting the seconds until I see you next week.
BUILD
Eureka Gold
1
It was billed as one of those old-fashioned snowstorms, the kind that had been predicted throughout Gregory’s twenty-eight years but never quite panned out (according to his father), always devolving into rain or half-rain, icing up or turning prematurely to slush, and leading, at the Sunday family dinners Gregory sporadically attended, to nostalgic reveries from his father—who’d walked New York a lot before he got famous—about what real snowstorms used to be like: the softness, the silence, the transformation of a frenzied city into a plush, whispery terrain.
“You say that every single time, Dad,” Gregory would huff. “Word for word.”
“Do I?” His father always seemed surprised.
Now, from his waterbed, Gregory could hear his roommate bustling around their small common area preparing a spate of last-minute weed deliveries to ease people through snow quarantine. “Guess who’s on my list,” Dennis called. “Athena.”
