Greasepaint (4 page)

Chapter Six

Michael and the band perform underneath the hot lights on a small stage. The night club isn't the type of place where people come to mingle, it is a straight up punk bar and the only purpose for walking through the doors is to listen to music and get filthy, stinking drunk. Tonight, though, the bar area is sparse—Corpus Delicti is playing and that means the pit area in front of the stage is filled to capacity. A large audience, for this club, staggers around the makeshift dance floor. People slam into one another as the band rocks on.

This is a paid gig so the band is in full regalia. The horror punk scene is one that takes their metaphorically-costumed bands seriously and Corpus Delicti is no exception. Ricky, in full zombie make-up complete with ejaculating pus balls and latex “exposed bone” jaws takes stage right on the guitar. Mona appeals to the classic monster fan. Her costume resembles Elsa Lanchester's turn as the monster's lady friend in
Bride of Frankenstein
if Lady Gaga had designed the film's wardrobe. Sexy and scary, she drips sultry as she lays down the deep rhythms with her bass guitar on stage left. Not to be out no-classed, Skeezer wears a Speedo with suspenders as he bangs away on the drums. Naturally a furry type of guy, complete with chest and back hair inherited from his East European ancestors, he wears a detailed Wolf Man mask which at least fifty-three young women would attest to is a highly accurate representation of his personality.

Finally, Michael takes center stage. He handles the rhythm guitar and vocals for the band. His costume is what could only be described as a Goth-Victorian-mortician, reiterating the idea that he is the leader of Corpus Delicti and is “producing the corpse” as it were. The suit is tight and would look equally as dapper on Peter Cushing or Christopher Lee in their heyday. The suit itself comes complete with blood red ascot and bowler hat. Michael's face paint changes from show to show. He literally wears his emotions on his face and, quite unconsciously, the make-up hints at classic clownish clichés. At some level Michael realizes what he is doing but can't escape it. He wants to project fear to the audience and what would be better than his own greatest fear? Just a little tidbit, of course, but enough. Most of the audience will never get the connection and think these guys just looked cool. That small percentage that did make the connection, though…they got it, and that's who the band played for.

The song is a local favorite, “Miss Number Five”, an ode to Jack the Ripper's final victim and the slam-dancing moshers in the crowd throw themselves at each other as the song builds to its final crescendo.

Michael screams. “Miss Number Six, you're the one I pick!”

Cymbals crash, guitars growl and then…silence. The crowd nearly explodes as it cheers. Breathing heavily, Michael leans into his microphone.

“Thank you! We'll be back after a bit, get some booze and tip Connie out you bastards! And don't forget, we'll be competing Halloween Night at Monster Fest and need you assholes to come support us!”

The crowd disperses, moving en masse to the bar area to refill and reload. Connie, the establishment's lone server, approaches the stage as Michael and crew disentangle themselves from instruments, cables, mics, cords and such. Decked out in tattoos, lip ring and exposed midriff it is evident that Connie is a fan too. The house music blares and Connie has to wave her hands to get Michael's attention. He finally notices, unplugs the guitar and slings it around to his back. He hops down from the small stage.

“Thanks, but I don't think this crowd is filled with big tippers,” she says.

“No problem, what's up?”

Connie jerks her thumb toward the back of the bar. “Creepy ass dude back there wants to buy you a drink or something.”

“Suuure,” Michael says. He looks in the direction that Connie is pointing. There is, indeed, a man in an overcoat lurking along the back wall. He goes in and out of the shadow so Michael can't see his face.

“Did he say what he wanted?” Michael asks.

Connie shrugs. “Something about clown school, gotta go.” She turns and leaves as Michael searches for the man in the shadows. As Michael stares, the man steps into a pool of light just long enough to wave. It is Monty Reigns.

Michael sneers and heads in the direction of Monty. From the stage Mona turns in time to see Michael leave.

“Michael! You want a beer?” she asks. Michael does not turn. He can't. Ricky sidles up to Mona and watches Michael beeline through the bar. He sighs.

“Here we go again.” Ricky shakes his head as Mona glares at him. Skeezer pulls the mask off and squints in Michael's direction.

“Hey, ain't that the TV guy?” Skeezer asks.

“Looks like it,” Ricky answers.

“Wonder what he wants with Michael,” Skeezer asks. Neither Ricky nor Mona answer. After a moment he shrugs, no longer interested.

“Whatever. I need booze. And a hand job. You seen Connie?”

Ricky is deep in thought as he stares at Michael and Monty. Mona hops down from the stage without a word and goes after Michael. After a deep breath, Ricky follows her. Skeezer watches them leave and throws his hands in the air. He turns toward the bar area and grabs his crotch.

“Connie! Awooooo!”

Michael steps up to Monty, backing the older man against the wall. Monty holds the picture of Michael as a boy in front of him like a ward against evil. Michael shoves Monty's chest, thumping loudly each time.

“You leave me the fuck alone, all right? It's over!” Michael growls.

Monty swats Michael's hand away and shoves the picture in his overcoat pocket.

“Can't do it, kid. Did you see the show tonight? Jesus, they ate it up. This is big time news. Look, this kind of exposure could…”

Michael grabs the lapels of Monty's coat and slams the TV star into the back wall. Michael's size belies his strength and Monty's wind is knocked out.

“This is my life! I won't do this, man. It is a big fucking mistake for you to bring me back into this O…O…Orzo shit, all right?” Michael can barely get the name out. Monty gasps for air, but notices it. He smiles.

“Too…late…”

Michael's face twists in anger. Accented by the make-up he looks like a demented mime. He raises his fist and rears back, ready to blast a hole through Monty's head.

Mona catches Michael's arm. He turns and glares at her. Mona is taken aback by Michael's reaction; she's never seen him this angry. Michael sees how scared she is and drops his arm. He points his finger directly in Monty's face.

“This is bad news for you, motherfucker…bad news…” Michael shakes off Mona's arm and storms toward the exit doors. Watching Michael retreat, she turns back to Monty, ready to say something, but nothing escapes aside from a frustrated “uugh.”

She turns from Monty and follows after Michael.

Monty attempts to catch his breath and rubs his neck. He looks toward the exit doors when Ricky steps up. Monty catches the approaching zombie in the corner of his eye and reflexively covers up expecting another attack.

“Calm down man, I'm not gonna hit you. I'm the guy that you talked to, okay?” Ricky says. Monty nods, grateful no one else wants to smash him to bits for a few moments.

Mona exits the club. The doors open on to a large parking lot. She scans the area. Michael squats on the ground, back against the wall, smoking a cigarette. He has been crying. His make-up is smeared. He plays his guitar between sobs. Mona approaches slowly. Michael looks up, tears streaking down his face. Mona sits next to him and takes his face in her hands. He stops playing.

“This is bullshit.”

“The same stuff from before?” Mona asks. Michael nodded. “Who was that guy?”

“He's got a TV show.”

Mona's eyes grow wide. “Yeah! That talk guy. This could be great for the band…”

“No!”
Michael cuts her off, loud and emphatic. Mona stares at him, startled.

“What the fuck, Michael?”

“There's some things you need to know…about me.”

“It can't be that bad.”

Michael stubs out what's left of his cigarette on the pavement and lights another one. “You ever hear of Orzo the Clown?”

Mona nods. “Yeah. That freak on the TV that killed and molested kids? Damn, that happened forever ago. What does that have to do with you?”

Michael takes a drag and looks at Mona, eye to eye. He readies himself. He has never, ever, told anyone about this before.

“Only one kid survived him,” he says. Simple.

Mona continues to stare at Michael, confused. Until it dawns on her, that is. She raises her hand to her mouth.

“Oh my God…”

Michael stubs out the cigarette and turns away from her. He can't bear for anyone to see him. Ignoring his non-verbal cue, Mona hugs Michael. He has no reaction at first, but this is genuine. It is warm and it communicates a great deal. Michael didn't expect this. He thinks that she will turn and run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. His parents did. Not physically, of course, but they left him alone because they were so unsure of what they had on their hands. He always resented them for that, even if he can't admit it, and expects every reaction to the truth of his past to be the same. He is happy to hold Mona, happy she doesn't leave. Mona rests her head on his shoulder.

“What do you want to do?” she asks.

“I left a long time ago and then, after my parents died, I…I just stayed. I didn't have any money…”

Michael separates from Mona and stands up. His sadness galvanizes into anger. He points toward the club.

“It's shit like that, y'know? All I ever wanted to do is play music…my music, okay? It stops hurting then! But assholes like that won't let it die! I don't even know how they found me. I changed my name for the band, I wear make-up for Christ's sake!”

Mona stands as well. She grabs Michael's chin and forces him to look into her eyes.

“You say the word and we drop this, start someplace else.”

Michael is taken aback. He certainly didn't expected this.

“We?”

“We.”

Michael takes a deep breath. “It's gonna get bad.”

“Maybe not. Let's stick it out. We get a distribution deal off of Monster Fest, everything works. If we don't, we leave…simple. The Fest is a good shot, we're the best here and everyone knows it.”

Michael stares off into the night sky. He takes a deep breath. Mona wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“Stop trying to forget…you've got back up now,” she whispers into his ear. He turns then and they embrace.

“We get a deal, we cut an album and it's not about O…O…Orzo anymore.”

“It's about Michael Bain,” she says, “and possibly Mona Bain…who knows?”

Michael squeezes Mona tighter. Tears flow down his face, smearing the paint and causing it to run in long black streaks down his cheeks.

“And Michael Talbot finally dies in that basement,” Michael says. He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes it would be like this forever.

Michael and Mona re-enter the club through the exit doors. Ricky and Monty are still at the wall. Ricky manages to slink into the shadows before either Mona or Michael see him.

Connie sees Michael and Mona from across the bar and bee-lines toward them. She massages her wrist as she jogs up to them, shaking out a cramp. She grabs Michael by the arm and drags him toward the stage.

“Come on! You guys have to get moving!” she says. “You're flippin' late!”

Even as Connie leads Michael by the arm he manages to turn and shoot Monty a final glare. The TV host just waves and smiles and, laughing, exits the club. Michael turns back as Connie pushes roughly him up on to the stage. Mona follows. Seeing the band get back up, the milling audience starts to gather again.

Ricky slips up on stage unnoticed. Skeezer is already seated at the drums.

“You guys okay?” Ricky asks.

Michael nods. Mona picks up her bass.

Michael takes a deep breath. “Bride of the Monster on 4. 1…2…3…4!”

The guitar screams, the drums shake the building, the bass thunders the spine of the song and, for the first time in a long time, Michael pours himself, his real self, into the music.

Chapter Seven

Michael and Mona cuddle on the couch in the loft. The evening spent with shared secrets and reaffirmations temporarily quells the shadows, the demons. As they doze, the blue light of the television flows over and around them, creating allegorical cave shadows, dark representations of the real beings, against the wall by the drums. Mona's breathing is even and untroubled, her head lying on Michael's chest. Michael fights the tug of sleep, his head bouncing to an unheard rhythm. He snaps his head up one final time, eyes wide trying to shake off the drowsiness. Michael manages to flip the channel with the remote before his head falls one more time. His eyes shut. He breathes three…two…just a breath. Action.

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

Two CHILDREN are playing in the living room. They are incredibly bored. The usual cars and trucks hold no interest for them. Child #1 pushes a fire truck across the carpeted living area. Child #2 watches the truck roll along and hit a couch. Both of them sigh.

NARRATOR (O.S.): You kids bored?

Both of the children nod their heads.

NARRATOR (O.S.): Want to have some fun?

The children perk up and nod their heads enthusiastically.

NARRATOR (O.S.): Then it's ORZO TIME!

A loud
bang
is heard and the room explodes in confetti. Circus music begins to play…the theme of the Orzo show. The children look around in disbelief and wonder. From behind the couch, two white-gloved hands pop out. One hand is holding an Orzo Action Figure. The other hand is holding a Dumpy Dan Action Figure.

NARRATOR (O.S.): How about some Orzo Action Figures?

The children leap up and run to the couch.

CHILDREN: Yay!

The children snatch up the Orzo figures and the white-gloved hands recede behind the couch. The children immediately begin playing with the figures on the floor. They push away the other toys in order to make room.

NARRATOR (O.S.): That's right, folks, your kids can now have Orzo and Dumpy Dan right at home!

The children continue to play. From behind the couch Orzo rises up, a malicious grin on his face. The children have disappeared and Michael, fully grown, is playing with the action figures. He voices the figures as he acts out the action.

MIKEY (using an Orzo voice): Come here and I'll show you the most wonderful things!

Michael answers himself in his normal voice.

MIKEY (CONT'D): I dunno, Mr. Orzo…my parents are waiting.

The real Orzo stands behind Michael placing the white gloved hands on his shoulders. Michael stiffens and the action figures fall from his hands to the floor.

ORZO: Awww…c'mon Mikey! What little boy doesn't want to play with Orzo?

INT. INSERT PRODUCT SHOT - DAY

In a small insert shot, the Orzo and Dumpy Dan action figures are displayed dumped on the floor. The narrator voices over.

NARRATOR (O.S.): Orzo and Dumpy Dan are available wherever toys are sold.

Fade to black.

In the loft, Michael wakes up as if he has been shot. His head snaps up and he sucks in breath in one large gulp like surfacing in a pond. He looks around the room, panicking. Mona grunts and lolls her head from side to side but remains asleep on Michael's chest. He shakes his head, regulates his breathing, and realizes it was a nightmare. Mona grumbles and gets more comfortable. Michael smiles and strokes her hair. He looks at the television cautiously, not knowing what he would see. You couldn't be too sure nowadays. Michael is greeted with a local news show making the time around eleven o'clock.

Michael watches the generic local news room and a news anchor. It is as if the producers were in on the joke that is his life. Without warning, a graphic of Orzo appears next to the anchor's head. Michael reaches for the remote and turns the volume up slightly, careful not to disturb Mona. The anchor warbles on.

“…the mastermind behind the release of the Orzo Series DVD, Dan Prescott, Jr, is missing.”

The graphic switches to Dan's appearance on the Monty Reigns Show.

“Prescott was last seen at his office in Tempe. Police are baffled as to…”

Michael switches the channel, terrified of what has been happening around him. From the corner of his eye, he sees shadows in the room move and twitch. Michael's attention is pulled to the side as a particularly long shadow moves across the wall. While Michael is turned away, a white-faced…thing appears briefly behind the TV and then disappears. Michael feels besieged on all sides as long, horror movie shadows fall across the couple and then move on.

Michael stands up and Mona, unbelievably still asleep, gently lies down. Michael looks around in horror and then back to the television. Michael switches the channels quickly, one after another. Every time he does, the room flashes as if he is switching their location. Michael finally lands on a channel and then stares at the television. He is unable to pull away. An old episode of the “true life” show
American Crime
, with your host, Bill Cutler, has just begun.

EXT. GOVERNMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

The American Crime logo flashes on the screen. BILL, the austere and incredibly serious host in his late-fifties, introduces the show.

BILL: Welcome back to
American Crime
where we continue our exposè on Reginald Bent. Orzo raped and murdered nine known victims. Each of the victims was a young boy that had visited the show as an enthusiastic audience member. The final victim, Michael Talbot, was saved from the jaws of death by a SWAT team and Orzo's struggle to escape.

EXT. ORZO'S HOUSE - DAY

The house is abandoned. Slurs are painted on the side reading “Better off Dead” and “Pedophile Bastard.” The lawn is overgrown and the place unkempt. Even without its own sordid history, the neighborhood kids would avoid this dump like the plague.

BILL (V.O.): But Orzo had a dark side. This house in Phoenix played host to the most sinister of acts.

The adult Michael appears and walks around the lawn. He stares at the house, shivering, and hugs himself.

INT. BASEMENT - DAY

The adult Michael is chained to the wall.

BILL (V.O.): The brutality of what happened in that home may never be known.

Michael looks around, confused and scared. The doorway to the basement opens up and a figure blocks the light. Michael begins to shake his head, crying. He holds the sides of his head together like it might explode.

EXT. ORZO'S HOUSE - NIGHT

News footage of young Michael being taken out of the house, wrapped in a blanket. An ambulance is waiting. On a gurney, covered in black, the corpse of Orzo is rolled from the home. Michael begins screaming as he sees it. The police officers and paramedics try and calm him down.

The adult Michael wanders into the scene. He stares at his younger self. Younger Michael notices and looks directly at Michael.

YOUNG MIKEY: Help me.

Michael reaches out to his younger self. They nearly touch.

INT. RECORDING STUDIO - NIGHT

Michael is in the recording booth. He is playing his guitar, the same sweet, sad song as before. A large pane of glass separates the recording booth from the production booth. A large mixing board is lit and running.

A white-gloved hand turns a knob.

Michael's hands cramp and a terrible, awful chord blares out. Michael looks down at his guitar and his hands; nothing like this has ever happened before.

The white-gloved hand clicks a button. Orzo's face leans into the microphone used to speak to the recording area.

ORZO: What happened, Mikey? We'll have to do it again. And again. And again until you get it right.

Michael looks up and turns toward the mixing area.

MIKEY: You're not real.

Orzo leans into the microphone again.

ORZO: I'm as real as you make me, kiddo.

MIKEY: Get out of my head!

He leans in again.

ORZO: It was never your head I was interested in.

Michael's face contorts in anger. He stands and lifts his guitar like a club.

MIKEY: You're dead!

Orzo stands and does the creepy clown wave, just fingers, from behind the glass. Michael SCREAMS and charges the glass swinging his guitar. Cut.

EXT. GOVERNMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

Bill has turned to the camera. He is pointing at it, at you, the audience.

BILL: You hear me, Mikey? You can't run away. Orzo will never die.

Michael is a statue, transfixed by the screen. Mona continues to sleep, oblivious to what is happening around her. Michael's eyes grow wide and his hand trembles as he uses an incredible force of will to change the channel.

The screen flashes and, for a brief instant, what appears to be some kind of sporting event materializes on the screen. Michael's hopes are dashed as the screen flips yet again. Bill is back, standing in front of the generic court house.

EXT. GOVERNMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

BILL: As long as you're around, Orzo's around, kiddo!

Michael changes the channel again, growing angrier. He tries to press his thumb through the remote, willing the change to take. The screen flashes. Orzo has taken Bill's spot in front of the court house.

EXT. GOVERNMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

ORZO: Cause there's a little piece of me inside you! Just a little bit…

Orzo laughs.

Michael's body trembles. From fear, from anger, from desperation…all of it acting in collusion. He screams at the top of his lungs and, with a running start, rams his foot into the television screen. The crash startles Mona awake and she opens her eyes in time to see sparks and smoke wash over Michael's leg. With a tug, Michael extricates his leg from the old set top and watches as it teeters and falls.

“Michael?”

Michael shakes the remaining glass from his foot and stands over the wreckage like a hunter over a recently slain bear. Mona cautiously comes up behind him.

“Jesus, Michael. What happened?”

Michael ignores her and continues to stare at the television set. He spits on the thing in contempt and screams again.

“I am sick of running from you!” he yells at the still-smoking machine. “Do you understand me? This is MY LIFE! In spite of you!”

At that moment, Michael's cell phone rings. It is quickly followed by the house phone. Michael turns at the sounds, whipping his head around.

“THIS IS MY LIFE!”

Mona moves forward at that and takes Michael's face in her hands. He looks Mona in the eyes, not really seeing anything but his pain. He pushes away and Mona stumbles onto the couch.

“Michael, baby?” she asks, only a little afraid. Michael sees her fear then and it helps to push the demons back a little. But only a little.

“This is my life…” he says, quietly. The phones continue to ring, unabated and unaware of anything but their own needs. Mona cries then and, rising, hugs Michael close.

“I know, baby.”

The phones' maddening noise continues, the rhythm section of a new sound as the door to the apartment shakes—what sounds like forty people knocking on the door in rapid, staccato fashion. There are voices behind the door, needy voices. Michael and Mona look around the room trying to find an escape route, a way out…anything. The ringing stops but before they can breathe a sigh of relief, it starts again following the backbeat of the door knocks.

“Reporters,” Michael says.

Michael motions toward the window. He and Mona get it open and clamber onto the fire escape. They look down at the usually vacant alley to find it filled with news vans sporting large satellite dishes, journalists of all ethical stripes milling about and, of course, the average American rubberneckers. The groups of reporters crowd toward the door of the building, pushing and bustling as they fight for territory.

Mona hugs Michael close. “Shit,” she says. Michael can only nod.

“What's the date?” he asks.

“The 29th.”

“Two days until the show,” he says. Mona already knows, of course, it just feels good to verbalize it. They sit and hug. “I hope we can make it that long.”

No sooner have the words left Michael's mouth than a single, forward thinking reporter happens to look up toward the fire escape. Michael and Mona can see him point, hear him shout something and then, like lemmings, the rest of them turn en masse. A couple of the taller individuals actually jump, trying to pull down the escape but they are unsuccessful. Regardless, the reporters shout questions toward Michael, cameras turn their way with the powerful on-board lights playing over the couple on the fire escape.

The media sensation has begun.

Michael and Mona don't move a muscle. They can make out words like “Orzo,” “Michael” and “Monty” but, thankfully, that is all. As far as the press knows, Michael thinks, he is a lonely, tortured musician with a horrible past that sits on fire escapes and wallows in melancholy. Michael laughs to himself. Irony.