Midnight Movie: A Novel (29 page)

Erick said, “Did it? Did the, um, stench of death make it seem more real?”

I said, “Probably, but I can’t tell you for sure. My screams were probably louder.”

Erick said, “That’s important. Fay Wray had been making movies for over ten years before she did
King Kong
. Her screaming probably added another twenty years onto her career.”

Tobe said, “Good screams make for good cinema. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do.”

Erick asked me, “Do you remember any other weird stuff like that? Like did you shoot a scene on an Indian burial ground or something?”

Tobe snapped his fingers and said, “Now, that’s an
excellent
idea. Erick, do you think you can help me find one of those for my next project?”

Erick gave him a funny look and said, “What, a burial ground?”

Tobe said, “Yeah, man, you could be my location scout. Fuck it, I’ll even give you an EP credit.”

Erick said, “You
are
kidding.” When Tobe didn’t answer, he said, “Aren’t you?”

Tobe just shrugged.

I said, “I guess in some ways, nothing’s changed.” Erick said, “What do you mean?”

I said, “I mean that even back then, Tobe was full of weird ideas. And when he got enthusiastic about something, he’d
go for it
. He’d do whatever he could to make it better. And grosser.”

Erick asked, “Like what?”

Then Tobe said, “Yeah? Like what?”

It was on the tip of my brain … or I guess the tip of my nose. I said, “Okay, I remember you covered Gary with crap.”

Tobe gave me a
look
and said, “I did?”

I said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We were in Billy’s backyard, and we were doing another scene where Gary attacks me, and Billy had done up Gary perfectly. He looked
so
creepy. Like in those old movies, before special effects got all expensive, you could almost always see, I don’t know, the zipper in the back of the gorilla costume or something, which would make it seem less scary. But whatever Billy did to Gary was creepy even in person. It probably looked even creepier on the screen.”

Erick said, “It did.”

I said, “I’m not surprised.” Then I turned to Tobe and said, “So Billy’d spent all this time putting on Gary’s zombie makeup, and you said it wasn’t nasty enough, and you two got into this big argument, right out in the backyard. Poor Gary was sitting there all covered with zombie goop, and you and Billy were going on, and on, and on, and finally you told him you’d take care of it yourself, then you stomped off and disappeared for a half an hour
and came back with a big bag of cow shit, and you told him to rub it on his legs.”

Erick asked, “What did he say?”

I said, “I don’t remember. But he did it. What the heck were you thinking, Tobe?”

Erick said to Tobe, “I bet you wanted your actors to spend the entire movie looking like they were about to puke. Am I right?”

Tobe said, “Who knows what the hell was going on inside of my little fucked-up brain. But it sure sounds like my thought process, doesn’t it?”

Erick said, “It kind of does, Tobe. It kind of does.”

We didn’t know what we were looking for from Helen, but then again, if we knew what we were looking for, we wouldn’t have been looking in the first place. Frankly, she wasn’t of much use; she didn’t really remember much beyond the dead animals and the shit. Weird, no doubt, but it didn’t explain how my piece-of-crapola movie could’ve launched an epidemic. We bullshitted for a while, then we split, because we had a flight to catch. I told her I’d be in touch, and she said that would be nice. And she was right. It would.

In the cab on the way to the airport, Erick asked me if I had any thoughts. I said, “Okay, maybe I wasn’t the most sympathetic director in the world. But I don’t think some feces and some roadkill would cause any problems. Do you?”

Erick said, “Who knows? Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that movies can have a negative physical and metaphysical effect on the viewer …”

I said, “Which they can’t.”

Erick said, “Right. Of course. Which they can’t. But let’s say they can. Has there been anybody in the history of cinema who used shit and roadkill like you did in
Destiny Express
?

I said, “John Waters had one of his actors eat shit in
Pink Flamingos
, and nothing happened.”

Erick said, “True. Maybe we should go talk to John.”

I said, “Nah. Me and John, we have issues.”

Erick said, “Like what?”

I said, “Like Odorama.”

Erick said, “What’s Odorama?”

I said, “Just an idea I came up with that he used before I did.”

Erick asked, “Did he steal it from you?”

I said, “Nah. He just got there first.”

Erick said, “Have you ever spoken to him about it?”

I said, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s focus, here. So in answer to your question, as far as I know, nobody in the history of cinema has used shit and roadkill like I did in
Destiny Express.
”

Erick said, “So maybe if you use shit and roadkill in a movie, something’ll happen.”

I said, “Like it’ll cause any man who sees it to come blue? That’s insane, man. Can we stop talking about this for a while?”

I must’ve sounded pissed, because Erick said, “We can stop talking altogether, if you want.”

Until we landed at LaGuardia, we said a grand total of six words to each other.

Tobe Hooper and I weren’t friends before I shot that movie with him back when I was sixteen, and we weren’t friends after, but I still kept tabs on him throughout the years. Even though he was far from my favorite person in the world, he was still the
hometown boy who made good, so I couldn’t help but be, I don’t know,
intrigued
is the word. I suppose.

Tobe didn’t want to speak with Claire on the phone, and when I called her up at her office, I guess I could understand why.

When I finally got through to her, I introduced myself as the film critic for the
Austin Chronicle
, figuring she’d be more willing to speak with a fellow writer than some random dude off the street. When I went on to explain my connection with Tobe, she hissed, “Jesus. That fucker.” And yet she agreed to see us right away. Go figure.

I was in love with Scott Frost, and it wasn’t just some little-girl puppy love thing, it was the real deal. He treated me like gold, and he was handsome, and smart, and as fine of a boy as he was, he was going to be that much better of a man. He was young, but he was a good one, and having been through God-knows-how-many pseudo—love affairs with God-knows-how-many bad ones, I can speak with authority on that.

Of course I had no idea at the time that Scott had impregnated a college girl. I didn’t find out until five years after I left Austin, and knowing what I knew about him by that point, I can’t say I was surprised. Let’s just say that Scott liked the ladies.

Intellectually, I realized it wasn’t Tobe’s fault Scott got killed by that red Corvette. And from what I’ve learned after many, many years of therapy, it would’ve been healthier for me to have embraced Tobe right after it happened, to have grieved with him, rather than harbor all that anger and resentment for all those years. But, you know, easier said than done.

I didn’t know how I’d react when I saw Tobe. Would I be angry? Forgiving? Ambivalent? Scared? I had no clue, and I was nervous.

First of all, Claire looked amazing. She could’ve passed for forty-five. I’m sure part of it was genetics—I remember her mom was pretty hot—and part of it was many trips to the gym. I’m also damn sure there was some plastic surgery involved.

Second of all, I was pleased as punch that she didn’t haul back, slug me, and give me a black eye. I knew she wasn’t a fan of yours truly, and I was pretty certain there was no way she would’ve forgiven or forgotten. Not that she had anything to forgive—it wasn’t my fault Scott got killed, and besides, I almost died too. But still.

Third of all, thank God that Erick was with me. She seemed okay with me, but I’m not sure that would’ve been the case if I were alone.

The tension was pretty thick, so I skipped the pleasantries and launched right into my spiel:
Destiny Express
, the Game, Tobe’s fault, blah blah blah. I asked her, “Any thoughts?”

She stared at me.
Gawked
is a better word, I guess. Then, to Tobe, she said, “You’re insane. You’re utterly, totally fucking insane. Tell me why I shouldn’t call security right now.”

Tobe said, “Oh, gee, I don’t know, Claire, maybe because we’re trying to save the world, and maybe you can help.”

She sighed and said, “Ooh,
save the world
, such drama. Give me a break.” She took a swig from her massive water bottle, then said, “Okay. Fine. What can I do? What can I say that’ll get you to leave my office sooner than later?”

I said, “Tell us anything you can remember about making the movie.”

Claire said, “There’s not much to tell. I was there for one day, and”—she pointed to Tobe—“this one bit my ear off.”

Tobe said, “I didn’t bite your ear off. Gary did.”

Claire shook her head, then said, “No, he didn’t. Gary was late that day, and you were all pissy and told your weird friend you’d handle it. What was his name, Willy?”

I said, “No. Billy.”

She said, “Right, Billy. Billy Marron. Another piece of work.”

I asked her, “What do you mean ‘piece of work’?”

She took another hit of water, then said, “Tobe was a creep, but at least he was a
talented
creep. Billy was just a creep.”

I said, “Did you ever see the movie?”

She shook her head and said, “Tobe never invited me to see it.”

Tobe said, “Honey, I never invited
anybody
to see it.”

I told Claire, “You aren’t missing much, but some of the effects were pretty impressive.”

Claire said, “Maybe it was all that shit they used.”

Now,
this
was interesting. I asked her, “What do you mean ‘shit’? Did they cover you with shit? Because it didn’t look like shit. It looked like blood.”

Claire gave me a death look. Man, that chick was scary. She said, “Are you serious? It wasn’t literally shit. Do you think I’d let
him
cover me with feces? No, they put some stuff on me that was made from I-don’t-know-what, but it smelled like, I don’t know, maybe a grave.”

I asked Tobe, “Do you know what you put on her?”

He said, “Marron might.”

I said, “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” I turned back to Claire and asked her, “Can you remember anything else? Anything at all?”

She said, “There wasn’t much to remember. I was there for two hours. I flipped some cue cards. Tobe cut off my fake ear … during which he gave me a goddamn scratch on my neck.”

I said, “Was the scratch bad?”

She said, “You know what? Now that I think about it, it was. I remember putting a bandage on it when I got home, and then when I took it off the next morning, it was all red, puffy, and hard. I remember thinking that the goo had gotten in there, and I caught some sort of infection. It lasted for a while. The day before I was planning to call the doctor, it started shrinking, and it was completely gone a couple days later.” She lifted up her hair to reveal her neck, then pointed right below her left earlobe and said, “It’s tiny, but if you look carefully, you can still see it.”

Claire was right. I could see it. Easily. It looked like a big zit scar. I think she was in a bit of denial about the size. I asked her, “Does it ever hurt? Or itch?”

She shrugged, then said, “It itches once in a while, but it’s nothing to cry about.”

Tobe said, “Are you healthy in general?”

She said, “Yes, Tobe, I’m healthy.” She checked her watch, then said, “Are we done here? I have a meeting.”

Tobe said, “We’re done. Do you think I can call you?”

Claire rolled her eyes, then said, “I’m happily married, Tobe Hooper, and even if I wasn’t, there’s no way I—”

Tobe cut her off, and said, “I have zero interest in fucking you, Claire. We might have some more questions. That’s all.”

She said, “Tobe, I’ve told you everything I know. Feel free to see yourselves out. And feel free to lose my phone number.”

While we were in the elevator, I said to Tobe, “Now, there’s one warm and fuzzy chick.”

Tobe nodded. “And to think I actually
did
fuck her. Let’s go see Mr. Marron.”

Okay, fine, yes, we had sex. It was heinous.

One thing Claire was right about: Back in the day, William Marron was a piece of work.

I felt bad for the dude. He meant well, but nobody realized it, because all those good intentions were buried under several layers of BO, blubber, and bad attitude. I hate to sound mean, here, but that’s the only way to describe it. He was fat, and he didn’t smell particularly good, so I suppose I could understand why he was such a grouch. But we had a whole lot in common. He was the only cat in the area who was as into the movies as I was.

The funny thing is, we hung out probably once or twice a week, and we periodically ate lunch at school together, but I never felt like we were really pals. Then again, I don’t know, maybe getting together those few times a month made us friends. Neither of us was a social butterfly, so it’s not like we knew what the hell true friendship was about.

Billy and I hadn’t been completely out of touch; we exchanged e-mails once or twice a year. Nothing important. Just letting each other know we were still alive.

He’d started up a software company in, I think, ’97, he and one other dude. Two years after they opened shop, they sold some sort of finance program to Microsoft, and they were set for life. Since then, he’s mostly farted around with games. He’s sent me a bunch of prototypes, but I haven’t touched them. I don’t do computer games. No time, man. No time.