Anton
Becki and I catch a cab outside the hotel to a place in Alphabet City not advised for romantic walks in the cold. We're dropped off in the driveway of a building more bunker than garage surrounded by chain-link fence. Heavy steel shutters block the doors. I hand the cab driver a hundred dollar bill and don't wait for change. After he drives away, we go to the apartment building next door. It has two heavy locks, but that's not the kind of thing I worry about. The stairs stink of urine, vomit, and weed. She doesn't ask and I don't answer any questions. On the third floor a gold plate proclaims “Don Juan Films.”I knock and wait, then knock again. I almost knock a third time before the door opens. A shirtless black man opens the door. Becki has to crane her neck to see his face, and he's at least half as wide as he is tall. “What?” It's the warning bark of an angry dog.
“I need to speak with the Don,” I say pleasantly.
“Why the fuck do you need to do that?” Barney has tree-trunks for arms, and he crosses them on his chest to make sure I see them. He was a pimp until he found his way into the Don’s service renting talent. He also faithfully knocked around anyone that asked too many questions. Everyone is good at something, and Barney was good at kidnapping teenage girls and keeping them prisoner a few days until they signed consent forms to appear in the Don's movies. Now, as Don Juan’s bodyguard and main star, his job is mostly the same. However, he gets to go on camera and do the only thing he ever enjoyed. Lately, he keeps the pimping to a minimum, and only for "Money Contacts."
I sigh, but keep smiling. "Just tell him Anton Lazarus is here," I say. "He will want to see me." I look down to indicate Becki when she is looking at Barney's feet.
Barney looks her up and down and closes the door.
Bumping Becki with my hip, I say. "If he doesn't let me in, I will unravel his intestines and make him eat them." Becki fights back a chuckle. "That way, he could die knowing it was impossible to digest his last meal.” She looks at the kickplate to keep control, but I a snicker escapes.
Barney returns and unchains the door. He has white smudges under his nose. He leaves Becki and I in the lavish living room, himself going down the hall where techno music is playing. Becki tries to sit on the couch, but I stop her. "You don't want to do that."
We stand around several minutes before a door past the kitchen is slammed and the Don enters wearing a bright purple shirt and sunglasses. He speaks with a Russian accent that I know is fake, full of grotesque with rumbling 'r's. "I really did not anticipate I would receive another visit from Mr. Eleazar. The men in the F.B.I. told me you were dead."
"Did you keep in regular contact with that type of person?" I ask.
The Don is grim-faced. Since last I saw him, he's shaved his head shiny-bald to look like Anton LaVey in a photo shoot. He looks like a madman. He can't hold the expression. He laughs and embraces me. "Tony, it's good to see you." He pats me on the back and steps away. "Come back to my office. We can sit on the good furniture." We go through the kitchen down a dark hallway. The office is lit only in black light, and one small terrarium for a python that can barely move in its confines. “I thought we finished our business. Did you not have the film which you so badly needed?”
“Yes, I do,” I say, my voice high and inviting. It’s a sadomasochism film that will keep a President from instituting polices that would feed millions of children worldwide in a program that paid for its self. My film assures he is drummed out of politics and commits suicide at the foot of his mother’s grave. It’s too bad, he's a really nice guy. “It will work perfectly.”
“Then why do you return?” Don Juan asks, turning on the computer at the desk. The screen lights his face white. While he talks, he edits 'Blood-Girls in Heat,' his newest masterpiece. "If you are a satisfied customer, why are you coming back to me? And more importantly, who is this lovely young lady you bring along?"
“This is the friend I told you about.”
"Really?" The Don looks up to reassess Becki. "This?" He nods his head. “She has looks, we could turn a profit, but she's not worth the money you've been talking about.”
Becki gasps and sits up straight. I put my hand on her shoulder to calm her.
"I was giving you a good deal with that offer," I say. "Luckily, I've got the vision you lack. I'm talking numbers that will make you shit your pants."
She pleads, "Anton, no, this is not..."
"I said be quiet!" I say. "I'm talking biggest star in the entire world, and I'm offering you a deal."
The Don chuckles. "I don't have the money for makeup to make this a Becki Murphy! I don't even care if she can sing."
"Can Becki Murphy sing?" I ask.
"Hell no!" The Don tries to seem absorbed in his cutting. "When that one drops a couple brats and the coke gives her crows feet she'll be forgotten, and you've got not better hope for this. You have got to be crazy, Tony."
"Anton, we've made a mistake," Becki says. "I've made a mistake..."
I look her in the eyes. "I told you to trust me," I say. "The Don won't do anything to hurt you." I smile at her and him again. "She needs some convincing as all."
"Barney has reasonable rates."
"Not like that. You made a movie that will teach her everything she needs to know, and I have been unable to find it."
He still seems unsure. “Why does she need to be taught? Is she that bad?”
I shake my head. “Young, Midwestern girl, strong religious upbringing. She wants to be in the business, but has never seen one of these movies. She is a family friend, and I said I knew the best director in the business.” I draw my crocodile leather wallet and drop the last ten bills. They spread like a geisha fan and the Don counts it with his eyes. “I thought I’d bring her here and show her some of your work, maybe meet one of your stars if possible.”
"Barney has reasonable rates." The Don waves the bills under his nose, and folds them into the breast pocket. “You pay this much money to watch movies?" He waits for a response and repeats, "Crazy man." He turns the monitor to face us. "I just finished archiving all the old films onto my hard drive. I even found a movie I made with VHS!"
That's the one I want to see. 'Princesses of the Nazi Regime.' The movie opens with two blonde women, nude. They are nude save for Nazi arm-bands. They have a blonde surfer tied to a bed. The word ‘Jew’ has been scrawled on his chest in blood that looks fake. The girls are taking turns whipping the man with riding crops while the other fucks him. He is begging to be released. I turn it off right as they begin the razor blade scene, leaving the rest up to the imagination. “Thank you for your time, we need to be going.” I stand up, and help Becki to her feet. Her face is stoic, devoid of any expression. “I'll call you soon.”
“No. You go,” he says to me. “She stays with me.” He gets out of his seat. “She needs her... screen test.” He comes around the desk to Becki.
I laugh nervously. “I’m really sorry, sir, but we have some important business to attend to. We really need to get going...”
“So you go,” he says, gently caressing her neck and hair. Her faces tenses, and she looks like she wants to scream. She has learned to obey me at least. “I will be gracious enough to offer a finder’s fee if you leave immediately. Otherwise, I will need Barney to escort you out.”
I hold open my jacket, revealing the gun. “I don’t think so.” He laughs. I figured he would. “Becki, look at the door,” I say. She closes her eyes, and I allow the Don to see every life he has broken. In my eyes he bears witness to every life he has broken at once, and I bleed it in his soul.
The Don can no longer find his breath, and is shaking his head to clear his eyes. He sees addiction and suicide, loss, and regret. There are tears and prisons and dark nights in the cold. Calls are made late at night to families, and friends try to forget. The Don slumps into the nearest chair and watches while I call a cab. He will be dead within the hour. I don't notice when Becki opens her eyes, but she watches him without speaking the entire time. The Don doesn't understand he should call Barney for help.
We go out to the front hall to wait. Barney is on the couch watching wrestling. He heard nothing. “Evening, Barney,” I say, taking a seat next to him, too close for his comfort. Becki tries to sit in the chair, but I wave for her to stop. "You don't want to do that."
“You done with the Don?” Barney asks. His voice rumbles in his chest.
“Quite done,” I say, grinning. I need to leave a clue. “Do you spend any time Upstate, Barney?” I ask.
"What you trying to say?" He stretches his shoulders until the muscles crack.
"We're headed Upstate," I say. "I know you'd know that. It's cold up there."
“I ain’t never been out of the City,” he mumbles.
“That’s depressing.” I raise my eyebrows at Becki. “Shall we wait for the cab outside?” She says nothing.
Barney doesn't object to our leaving, and resumes watching the TV. We go down to the sidewalk but don't speak during the five minutes we wait. The car has been recently washed, and the back seat smells of disinfectant. A television gives cab-riding etiquette and New York news under gouged plexi-glass mounted in the front seat. There is little traffic, and the driver lets the car race at full speed through Lower Manhattan, ignoring pedestrians and a few lights.
“Anton,” Becki says. There is no emotion in her voice. “Why did you show me that?”
I’m quiet for a moment. “I told you that your father was an embezzler. I told you that your mother had an affair. Your record company paid them a lot to stay together, so you would not need any time off, and so you could have the happy family illusion.”
“Do you have to talk about this in front of a stranger?” she wails.
"The cabbie is a Serbian Ex-Patriot who once raped a woman, impaled her infant on a sword, and then raped her with the weapon." I wave to the driver when he looks in the mirror. He does not react. "He can't understand a word we say."
“I know my father is a thief," Becki says slapping her thighs and looking at the floor. "I know my mother is a slut. You don't have to keep telling me!”
“Now I’m going to tell you the cause,” I say, glaring out the window. “The woman in that film was named Helen Leggs. "'Nazi Princeses' was her first film, and your father's favorite movie. She had a long and illustrious career. The first time he stole from the company was when Helen Leggs announced her return to adult film. She offered any fans the chance to be in her movie for a fee of $10,000. Your father convinced your mother and his coworkers he was attending a conference and put it all on his business card. When he arrived, he couldn't go through with it, but he already had the $10,000. That was how he discovered how little attention was paid to the company finances. He kept the money and stole a lot more."
Cars are backed up near the Park. A pizza delivery driver edges his way in front of our cab, and the driver rages. When he notices Becki cowering from his voice, he waves to her and smiles in the rear view mirror, saying something soothing. She doesn't respond, but I indicate with my expression we accepted his apology and he should mind his own business.
"He confessed to your mother a year or so later, when he thought he was about to be caught. She was more concerned with the film and didn't believe he did the noble thing. Have you wondered why Uncle Jack hasn't been around? Your father thinks the affair is over, but he's wrong." I roll down the window and let the cold air sting me. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have to.”
“Why?” she demands. "You were ready to sell me to that guy, and you expect me to trust you?"
"Didn't like what he said about you?"
"When did you call him? How long had you been planning to show me off to a pornographer?"
"That man is dead now," I say. The driver does recognize that word, and it always catches his attention. He listens for any other words he may recognize.
"And what if his bodyguard heard what happened?" Youthful vigor is so amusing.
"He would be dead too," I say softly. "You need to see these things because tomorrow, I need you to hold a gun and know you are doing what is right. If you don't your sinful mommy, your sinful daddy, and most of the rest of the sinful world is going to spend all of Eternity with me, and I’m not going to be in a good mood.”
“Find someone else,” she snorts.
I chuckle. “Sweetheart, you promised me tonight. Tonight’s not over yet.”
She says nothing.
Go to Chapter 50
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