Empire of Light (6 page)

“What?”

“Well, I’m lending it to you. We’ll see if you should keep it or not.”

“Ah. Summer assignment. Got it. I’ll bring it back in one piece.”

“You’re not coming back. You’re finished at AFI.”

“What? You’re joking, right?”

“Pack up and go home. Call it a day. You’ll be missed,” says Edgerton, as serious as a heart attack.

“No. No! My scene on Graham’s short, that shot alone could get me the DP chair on a thesis film—”

“The Directing Fellows all think you’re garbage,” he interrupts. “I overheard one Fellow. She said you couldn’t keep a stuffed elephant’s ass in focus on a sunny day at high noon.”

“Wow…I mean…Wow.”

“Thesis films are too precious to risk on the likes of you. If someone did try to hire you I’d talk him out of it.”

“So what are trying to say?” I ask.

“I’m not tryingto say anything. Go back to Ohio.”

Go back to Ohio?After all I’ve been through this year? I can’t believe this guy!

“You sadist! Why in the hell would you drag me to the ASC Clubhouse to tell me this?”

“I think you could be very good, Jason. You can get here, but you’ve chosen the wrong path. Go back to square one.”

He picks up the camera and hands it to me. He has a hesitation about him, as if he’s entrusting me to take care of something incredibly important.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Just take the damn camera,” he says, practically tossing the vintage piece of machinery into my lap. He gets out of the chair and pours himself a drink from the liquor cart.

“What kind of film does this damn thing take?” I ask as I’m about to open up the film compartment.

Edge walks quickly towards me, careful not to spill his whisky. He grabs my hand before I can swing the door open.

“It doesn’t take any film. Leave it shut,” he orders as he sits back down, minding that he doesn’t topple his drink.

“It’s digital?” I ask.

“No, it’s not no damn digital. Look, I’ve loaded this box with a very special film, and I want you to beta test it for me. It’s high speed and low grain, you don’t ever need a flash.”

“Well, how do I change the roll?”

“No! There is no change out. Look, all you need to know is that you have twelve shots. That’s it! I’ll process the neg for you when you’re done.”

“I can get better after only twelve stupid shots?” I say incredulously.

He gently takes the Brownie from my hand.

“Look, this is as basic a camera as you can get. You feed it light. It returns the favor by miraculously capturing a moment in time. You’ll be shocked at where twelve shots will take you, Mr. Tisse. Feed the box of light. Feed the box of light and see miracles.”

I can’t wrap my head around why Edge is giving this to me, but I think it’s best not to fight him on this. Besides, this camera is the cat’s meow.

“Thanks, Edge. Jesus. I bet there’s a lot of ghost hiding in this box.”

“Kid, you have no idea.”

4 

I Liked Cleveland Better Anyway

“
WELL, WELL, WELL. THE 
prodigal son returns,” my dad says as he picks me up from Cleveland Hopkins Airport.

FYI, my dad has always thrown this little pearl my way whenever I returned home from college (where all expenses were paid by him). I never understood just what the hell it meant until this very moment, thanks to that stupid scene I lit for Graham. The ol’ man has been giving me shit for five years, and I just got in on the joke.

I guess I owe AFI at least that.

As we enter the old neighborhood, I remember why it was so hard to leave this town in the first place. It’s the kind of place that gives the MidWest a good name. The first thing you notice on my street is the vintage "Children At Play" sign attached to an old tree. It features the silhouette of a boy sprinting as if he’s headed home on the last day of school. Unlike the modern signs with featureless stick figures, this kid is wearing a pair of old-fashioned knickers and a smile.

The sign is perpetual summer vacation bliss.

The sign is also a rare antique, but as long as that tree stands nobody will ever steal it; and its security has nothing to do with the folks who live on the street. It stays put because the tree that it is attached to demands it. Like an over-protective parent, the tree has grown up and around the sign and permanently encased its edges within ninety years of bark.

The smiling boy is a captive of time.

When I was accepted to AFI my gut feeling was that I was going to leave this street for good, only to return for Christmas and high school reunions. However, like the kid trapped in the tree, I now realize that I’m probably not going anywhere any time soon.

***

Two weeks seems to blow by at the speed of light. I’m only fourteen stupid days into my exile back to Cleveland and Los Angeles already feels like a distant dream.

Today is like every other Saturday I’ve spent on this street since I was nine. I’m in the driveway playing with my newest toy. Eleven years ago it might’ve been a new Haro BMX, but today it’s a Canon EOS D5 digital camera, fully loaded, that I’m about to pack into the trunk of my dad’s Lexus.

My mom is absolutely stoked I’m shooting Leia’s wedding today. Success in Hollywood would’ve meant me living 3,000 miles away, chasing a pipe dream. Mom never thought of film, or any form of art, really, as a legitimate option for making a buck. But a good wedding videographer can make a decent living—and within the comfort of the Buckeye state.

As I pull out of the driveway and head to the gig, my mom happily waves and wishes me luck.

“Tell Leia we said congratulations!”

“Bitch is gonna break my heart today, Mom!”

***

Leia is only halfway through her make-up, and already I’ve never seen her look so beautiful. This is going to be a looooong day.

“Hey, you!” she says to my reflection in the mirror as the make-up artist works on making her eyes shimmer.

I power up the camera and begin shooting.

“So, are you excited?” I ask.

I don’t hear her response.

I’m too busy focusing on framing her glowing face.

The camera is my carte blanche to examine every aspect of her again. I’m allowed to stare at her in ways that would get me arrested on a public bus. For the next two hours, she’s mine to ogle. I’m truly digging my job right now.

That is, until the wedding ceremony begins.

The very second she stands under the
chuppah
and makes eye contact with Avi, the vibe changes to something all together different. It’s only now that I realize why my subconscious wanted me to shoot this wedding. It’s forcing me to focus on what makes Leia happy, through a wide-angle lens for an entire day. And what makes Leia happy is this self-assured young Jewish man named Avi, whom Leia’s mom loves to death.

My filming morphs from a perverse thrill into an act of torture.

This is just incredibly wrong. I want to pack up my gear and flee like an escaped slave, but the wedding and reception is on a goddamn yacht that is currently only on its first lap of twenty on the Cuyahoga River. I’m stuck until we dock. This is the longest boat trip in the history of boat trips. Columbus had an easier time, and he had to deal with a damn mutiny.

Finally, after several tortuous hours, I’m standing at the bottom of the gangway, on solid land and drenched in sweat. My suit started sticking to my back after running around the reception area trying to get decent shots of that damned chair dance. It was down hill from there.

By the time we docked, I was spent. The point was driven home. She’s not mine anymore and never will be again.

As the passengers disembark, they meet the newlyweds, who stand at the end of the gangplank, and wish them luck. This turns out to be a bit of a snafu. At most weddings, the Bride and Groom are the first to leave, making a mad dash for the honeymoon in a limo. However, because the guests filed past the newlyweds and straight to their cars, Leia and Avi are left at the end of the night standing on the dock, alone.

Except for me, of course.

I power up the camera and ambush them.

“Hey, kids. What’s new?” I ask.

“Nothing much. Oh, we got hitched today!” Avi says feigning like he forgot he got married.

Hilarious.

“Where’s the limo?” I ask him.

“
That’s
what this string around my finger is for! Jeez! I guess we’re cabbin’ it, honey,” he jokes. “But first, I gotta go pee.”

He gives Leia a quick peck, waves at the camera and then disappears into the dock’s office.

This is the first time I’ve been alone with Leia since I can remember.

I power the camera down.

“Hey, I just wanted to tell you thanks,” I say.

“You did me the favor, champ.”

“No. I mean, you got me through the year at AFI. Talking to you…Even just thinking about you was a treat.”

“Glad I could help. But I’m not sure daydreaming about me is going to do you any good now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So, I have to ask, did it hurt having to shoot this? I mean, having to document every second of my wedding to another man?” she asks cautiously.

“Hell yes,” I answer.

“Good. I was going to let you off the hook, but I wanted you to suffer. Maybe this will learn you not to be such a dick,” she says, punching me in the arm. “Back in high school I always imagined this night to be with you!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I know you did, too. So why did you check out?”

“I just…I guess I just wanted to have my act together before bringing you into my hell.”

“Jesus, Tisse. If everybody waited to have his shit together before getting married, the entire planet would be single. Avi and me? Together, just maybe we can manage to get through life without burning down the kitchen.”

“So, you would’ve followed me out to Los Angeles and lived in a single apartment and ate Top Ramen noodles every night?” I ask.

“Who knows? That’s why people talk!”

“Yeah, I see your point.”

“Don’t do that again,” she demands.

“Well, that ship has literally already sailed, Leia. Up and down the Cuyahoga River for six goddamn hours—”

“Not me!” she says. “I’ve moved on. Happily. The next girl. Don’t flake on her.”

Avi reappears from the dock’s office just as the limo finally arrives.

“Thank you for shooting our wedding,” Leia says before she kisses me on the cheek. I power up the camera as they scramble into the car. Leia rolls down the window and blows kisses into the camera.

Killing me.

The limo lumbers down the wooden dock and comes to a slow stop before turning onto the shoreway. Its brake lights temporarily bathe me in a harsh red glow, then it speeds away and I’m engulfed by the blackness of Lake Erie.

Of all the hundreds of people involved in the wedding, I’m the very last one left standing on the dock, completely by myself. This is the second goddamn time I’ve been left alone on the curb as somebody else drives away with the girl.

Suddenly, in the window of a travel agency, a bunch of fluorescent signs burn to life. One of them is an advertisement for Southwest Airlines.

Wanna Get Away?

“Fuck yes.”

Another sign flickers to life, this one in the shape of Italy with its distinctive stiletto boot. The cursive text glows green.

See Italy!

5 

The Hunt for Caravaggio

“
SO LET ME GET 
this straight. You want to take the rest of your tuition money and spend it on a trip to Europe?” my mom asks.

It’s funny how my well-conceived thoughts sound so stupid when restated by my mom. It’s a gift.

“Just part of it. Frugal trip. I could even save a little dough and stay with Giacomo in Naples for a couple of—”

“Giacomo!” she exclaims.

Damn. Why the hell did I bring up his name?

When my mom thinks of Giacomo, she thinks of Little Italy. And when she thinks of Little Italy, she thinks of gangs of track-suit-wearing thugs beating the hell out of black people.

Back in the day, my elementary school once hired this soccer coach straight off the boat from South Africa. The poor guy decided to visit Little Italy because he had such a great time at the one in New York.

Big mistake. Because back then, Cleveland’s Little Italy was
not
like the tourist version in New York. Our version hated outsiders, especially us “Melon Johnnies.” So when this very dark-skinned African had the audacity to wander into the neighborhood, strutting down the street and shoving a cannoli down his throat, during the Feast of the Assumption, no less, all hell broke loose. A roving band of teens gave him the good ol’ Rondney King beat down. He arrived at school that Monday with a bandage around his head, a broken arm and a crutch. Dude looked like a negro Elmer Fudd. I laughed my fool head off.