HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (18 page)

“Keep going,” said von Sommerberg, in a
methodical, quiet voice. “Really good…, really good.”

“No,” said Larry, quietly. “It’s
over....”

“Emma,” said Lena, softly, gently. “Do you
want to stop?”

Emma stared out into mirrored studio as the
winding gyration of “The Charleston” danced around them
invisibly.

“Please Emma,” said von Sommerberg, his face
hidden behind the camera with the enormous lens. The red light
glowed.

“This was the song,” said Emma, in a
whisper.

“Yes, with the politician,” said Lena,
pointing to the photo above Emma’s head.

“I didn’t know if the pain would end.”

“Oh,” whispered back Lena. “Oh.”

“The pretty girl with the crooked teeth
never let go,” said Emma. “The boys only laughed.” Emma wiped away
tears as Larry moved next to her and held her hand. Emma looked up
to the camera. “I was 16 when my son was born,” she said, in a
stronger voice. “I could not tell my mother When I told my father,
it was only part of the story and he told mother only part of what
he knew. My mother begged for us to move permanently to Europe.
Each year, she returned to Copenhagen to dance and stayed longer
before coming to California, until finally, when my dear father was
ordered to San Francisco, she joined him there and never came to
Long Beach again.”

“The Charleston” had finished its latest
spin. Larry reached up and placed his open hand in front of von
Sommerberg’s enormous lens. The director lowered the camera. Lena
moved from her chair to the sofa, also next to Emma, and placed her
arm around her.

.

A light knock at the main door to the suite
was followed by the door opening and Lori Lewis, in jeans and a Ray
Davies tee-shirt, stepped into the studio. “Larry?”

“Granola girl!” slurred Calvin, in a red bow
tie and tuxedo shirt. “Nice pictures.”

“Where’s Larry?” asked Lori.

“With the Cow and some movie people,” said
Calvin, motioning towards the balcony.

“Movie people?” said Lori, walking past
Calvin, who reached a hand towards her ass. Lori spun and, within
seconds, had Calvin’s arm high up his back, as he grimaced in pain.
“Keep your hands to yourself, old man,” said Lori, just as quickly
releasing his wrist. She crossed to the French doors.

“The Cow’s all weepy – boo hoo – so she must
be telling the story of getting poked at the Pike,” said Calvin,
drinking from his bottle and chuckling.

Lori stopped at the doors. “What are you
talking about?”

“How’d’ya think the Old Man finally chased
off the Cow’s mom?” said Calvin.

Lori turned and walked to the balcony, where
Larry sat with his grandmother. With them were two tall blondes,
one holding a camera with an enormous lens.

“My God,” said Lena, on looking up at Lori.
She patted von Sommerberg on the shoulder and he opened his eyes,
having been soaking up the California sun. He immediately grabbed
the camera and aimed it at Lori. “I’m Lena Martin, from Denmark.
Very good to meet you.”

Lori reached out her hand “I’m Lori
Lewis.”

“Really good to meet you, Lori Lewis.”

The director handed off the camera to Lena
and as the unit turned to him, von Sommerberg reached out his hand
and wound up his smile. “Hel-lowww. Tres. Tres von Sommerberg, from
Denmark. The director, film director, hello.”

Lori shook his hand and walked over to Larry
and Emma, who sat together at the breakfast table. Lori leaned in
to look at both their faces, smiling to each. Emma reached her hand
upward and gently placed it onto Lori’s cheek. Lori reached her own
hand up, gently cupping Emma’s hand and giving it a light kiss.

“Did I call?” asked Larry. “I don’t
remember.”

“We were supposed to have lunch,” she said,
sitting. “It’s okay.”

“It’s remarkable,” said Lena. “Who are
you?”

“His friend,” said Lori, pointing to Larry.
“School.”

“My dearest friend,” said Larry.

“Just amazing,” said von Sommerberg.

.

Lori Lewis slowly turned the page of the
leather bound album, as von Sommerberg photographed her gazing
intently, sometimes getting her eyes just inches from a photo,
sometimes gasping. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen these,” said
Lori, turning another page. “Wow,” said Lori, as she came to the
final image, of the sweating, joyous, smiling, triumphant Astrid.
Lori gazed at it for fully a minute before closing the volume.
“Larry, ask her if she sees her mom when she looks at me.”

“Um, yeh,” said Larry, “but I can’t.” Larry
motioned with his head towards the kitchen. “Uh, can you help me
bring something out from the kitchen?”

“I gotta know, Larry.”

“But I don’t speak her language,” said
Larry.

“Oh, come on,” said Lori, as Larry silently
moved his head back and forth. “Oh, I mean, come on... to the
kitchen.”

The two got up end quickly made their way
from the balcony. “What? You’re not letting on that you know their
language?”

“I want see if they’re playing us for
dopes,” said Larry. “My grandmother’s going along with it, but I’m
gonna get them out’ta here.” The two walked back to the balcony,
looked at each other, and walked quickly back in to the kitchen.
They grabbed what was close at hand and carried out two empty beer
bottles, a nearly-cleared plate of cracker bread and a napkin
holder to the table.

“Oh, sorry, I don’t drink beer, let me get
fresh ones,” said Lori, disappearing again to the kitchen, before
returning with four bottles of beer.

“Napkin?” asked Larry.

.

“I guess I never really paid too close
attention to it,” said Lori, looking at the newspaper clipping of
Herbert Hoover, Emma and her mother. “And I guess I didn’t see
myself in the pictures before, cuz I didn’t look like that when I
was a kid.”

Emma slowly walked through the French doors
and stood next to Larry and Lori. “Please excuse me. I am going to
rest.”

“Grandma, before you go to sleep,” said
Larry, “Lori wants to know if, when you look at her, you see your
own mother?”

Emma put her hands together and slowly
lifted them to her lips, as though in prayer. “No,” she said,
lowering her hands. “I see a loyal friend who makes my grandson
happy.” Larry kissed his grandmother, who smiled, and turned to the
open doors. She walked into the main living quarters, saying over
her shoulder, “You can both stay. You don’t have to leave. You
don’t ever have to leave.”

Larry’s cell phone rang. “It’s the danged
movie people.”

Emma walked towards her bed and Lori, in the
other direction, went to the Victrola, cranked the handle, lifted
the needle and placed it on the start of the disc. “The Charleston”
again wound its way through the room.

“Oh my God,” said Lori, “I haven’t danced to
this in forever.” As Larry talked on the phone, Lori turned towards
the wall and, seeing her reflection in the mirror, leaned slightly
forward and swung her arms and legs. As the chorus swirled, she
dropped her hands to her knees, then back up to swinging her arms
and legs.

Larry lowered his cell phone and just
watched, as did Emma, who had walked back to the French doors, and
was just gazing at Lori dancing.

On looking up to see her audience in the
mirror, Lori stopped dancing. Speaking to the mirror, she said, to
Larry’s reflection, “What?”

“I never knew you could dance,” said
Larry.

“I don’t anymore,” said Lori, “but every
girl can dance.”

‘Why didn’t you go to the dances?”

“Wasn’t cuz I couldn’t dance,” said Lori.
“Just didn’t wanna be thought of as just a girl.”

Emma smiled, turned, and walked off towards
her bed.

“Before I met you, my mom had me in little
girl dance classes,” said Lori, “and my instructor loved the
Charleston, so we always did that one almost every recital. A real
show stopper.”

Larry’s phone rang. He pulled it from his
pocket, looked at the number, smiled and took the call. “Hello? Oh,
hey. No, hasn’t come in, yet. Just a couple weeks more, though….
Yeh, exciting. She is. Hold on.” Larry handed the phone to Lori.
“December.”

Lori rolled her eyes and took the phone.
“Hello? Oh, yeh, heya. No. Just lookin’ for work. I know he says I
am on his team, but I’d like to find something on my own. A pride
thing, I guess. Sure, that’d be okay. Now? Um, sure, okay.
See’ya.”

“Looks like you’ll finally get your
gift.”

“Whatever.”

Larry’s phone rang again.

“Oh, man,” said Lori, “if it’s December,
tell her I went outside or something....”

“No,” said Larry, sitting on the sofa. “It’s
the movie people.” Larry pushed “speaker.”

“Hel-lowww. Tres. Tres von…”

“I know,” said Larry. “… from Denmark….”
Lori walked over and sat down next to Larry. They leaned in
together to listen.

“I have a question for your friend, Miss
Lewis. Is she still with you?”

Lori shook her head no. “Sorry, she’s
outside running…. Preparing for a marathon.”

“Wow,” said von Sommerberg. “Really
something. I want her to be in the movie. We are willing to make
major changes to the film. Can I come back to talk with you and
your grandmother?”

“She’s gone to sleep.”

“May I speak just with you, then?” After a
moment of silence from Larry, von Sommerberg spoke in a side
conversation. “No, he isn’t giving an answer.” Von Sommerberg then
spoke directly into the phone again. “Hel-lowww, I am really eager
to again visit. Lena and I are on the way.”

“No!” said Larry.

“On our way,” said von Sommerberg. “We will
see you in a few minutes.”

“Shit, he hung up.”

“I’m not going to be in a movie,” said
Lori.

“Well, you know,” said Larry, “why not,
yeh?”

“No.”

“You just said you wanted to get something
on your own,” said Larry. “No one helped you get this. Could be
decent money.”

“You promise me, Larry van der Bix, that you
are not fronting this,” said Lori, a stern expression on her
face.

Larry put both hands in the air. “I have
nothing to do with this. If they want you, it’s entirely their own
idea.”

.

“Really good to see you again,” said Lena
Martin. “You must be an amazing runner. Your skin is so clear after
your run.”

“Yeh, well,” said Lori. “Good genes, I
guess.”

“We should sit down,” said von Sommerberg,
“because I am going to talk about something really big with
you.”

Lena shouldered the camera, as Tres moved to
the sofa.

“Put that away,” said Lori, “I don’t want to
be filmed.”

The director nodded quickly and Lena
carefully set the camera onto the hardwood floor. “My film is what
is called for those who know movies, the Dogme95. The director
makes a vow that guides how every Dogme film is made. All the
scenes are shot in the here and now. There is no genre film. But
they are still stories and if I have an actress who can be here and
speak now, then I can weave a new element into my film and that
will make this Dogme film different than all others. You are that
new element, Miss Lewis.”

“You may be a director and you may be a
producer, but I am not an actress,” said Lori. “So it’s nice to ask
me, but I don’t think it will work me being in your movie.
Thanks.”

A booming knock came from the main studio
door.

“What the fuck?” said Larry, rising from the
sofa and crossing the studio. He opened the door. Calvin leaned
into the doorframe, a satisfied grin on his face, as December, in
an oversized hooded sweatshirt and sweats, stood at the
Thorvaldsen, reverently, slowly running her hands over the surface,
as one would over a lover returned from a long journey. After
trading her warmth with the coolness of the stone, she dropped her
hands and walked to the main doors of the suite.

“Hi, sweeties,” December said, stepping into
the main studio. “Ooo, pretty,” she said, “and the mirrors... nice.
Larry, is dis where you live?”

“No,” said Calvin, “remember what I said
coming up the stairs, Hot Stuff? When the Cow who lives here kicks
off, this place is mine.”

“Get out’ta here, Dad,” said Larry.

“… And I could use some sweet thing up here
who can appreciate the good life.”

December, walking in Lori’s direction,
seemed to be pulled magnetically to each item of furniture, which
she touched; to framed photos on the walls, which she looked at;
and, finally, to the Victrola, which she caressed when she reached
it, one hand on the handle and the other on the elegant wood
casing.

Larry, a few steps away, looked to his
father, in the doorway. “Calvin; go!” His father, without a word,
turned and left, the sound of his footsteps growing dimmer as he
descended the stairway. Lena crossed the room and closed the door,
as Larry stepped over to the Victrola, cranked the handle and
dropped the needle onto the Charleston, filling the room with the
opening strains.

“Old timey,” December cooed. “I like it.”
She crossed to Lori and whispered loud enough for all to hear: “Hi,
baby. I bought you something army.” December sat down and put her
hand casually on Lori’s thigh. “Who’re dey?” she said, pointing to
the filmmakers. “Dat’s a big lens.”

The Charleston hit the chorus, and suddenly
December looked up. She stood and ran to the middle of the studio,
declaring, “Oh! I know dis one!” and she proceeded to dance a
version of the Charleston that was heavy on leaning forward and
running one’s hands across the knees.

Von Sommerberg picked up the camera and
began to lift it to his shoulder, before Lori put her hands onto
the camera, and said, “No, please, no, just let her dance.”

The filmmaker looked up to Lori, who stood
over him. “Only because that it is you who asks.” He set the camera
dawn and turned again to December, who danced on the floor where
once danced Astrid Ullagaard, and now a woman identical in
appearance to the famous Scandinavian. After the disc finished its
play, December laughed. “I learned dat in high school.”