“Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.”
-Jesus Christ, REVELATIONS, our holy lord, to his name, forge it, break it, burn it, oh holy holy holy holy holy…
“Shit!” cried out Lily-Jane. Her wedge was caught in the grate on 34th and Broadway. The sky was ominous and the people around her were worse. Shouting, running down the sidewalk as cars honked in the clogged street. Lily-Jane, panicked, asked passersby for help but no one came to her aid, their animal instincts kicked into gear S: Survival. She tugged on her calf with both hands, trying to wrench herself free. She looked up as the sky darkened further and rain began to fall, but she felt wetness from below as well, as her foot was swallowed by dirty gray water rising from grate.
The thing to do may seem obvious, but Lily-Jane couldn’t lose her new Jimmy Choos just like that. She had just gone shopping Thursday on 5th Avenue, picking out the perfect outfit to a montage of easy pop songs. The blue and the sun mixed for a perfect New York City fall afternoon. And there was reason to celebrate. The next day, now today, was the most exclusive, gallant, exuberant party of the year and she was invited. The occasion? A hurricane was headed for Manhattan and they were going to revel like it was the end of the world. “Rage Against the Rain Machine,” titled and hosted by local royalty Angelo Alfonsi, was to be held in the Lower East Side with airplane thick glass lining the top floor penthouse of Angelo’s apartment building.
And so, it is clear, Lily-Jane wasn’t about to lose her shoes. Showing up wet wasn’t an issue. It was in theme. Finally, she managed to wrench her foot loose and looked up to a giant green screen just as a word slashed through the scene, “Cut!”
A man rushed over and put a bathrobe around Lily-Jane. She shivered and whispered, “Did we get it?”
“I’m not the one to answer that,” replied the man whose bald, pale head was hidden underneath a black baseball cap. She’d seen about ten thousand of these identical production crew members and sighed in resignation.
Why had she accepted this role? Another disaster movie with no symbolism or weight behind it. To be fair, the script had seemed promising. A substantive critique of the policies around climate change and the lack of preparation by leaders. But that had been whittled down until there was hardly any personality left in the thing at all.
But, at the very least, she was only a few blocks from her brownstone apartment in Chelsea. Waiting there was comfort and warmth and hot towels and perhaps she could convince Jonathan Chutney, who played Alfonso, to come for a nightcap and rehearse lines. Just then, a TMZ paparazzo flashed from the side of the set and captured her daydreaming. He shouted at her, “So, Lily-Jane, is this going to be a big piece of shit movie or what?”
She pounced. Her head was swimming in red and she reacted without thinking, “I hope you get swept away in the next hurricane, asshole!”
Poor move. Her publicist tried to smooth things over, but the whole thing would be online before long. Airhead Brat Lily-Jane Wishes Death on Reporter. What a catastrophe. She would have to do several interviews of damage control before her public image would be repaired. The studio would certainly see to that.
Chutney had seen the whole debacle go down and rushed to her aid, gallant as a fairytale. “Come on, let’s go.” His driver appeared a few minutes later and they were headed south. Lily-Jane suggested in a rare bold turn to go to her house so she could change, and Chutney consented. The paps didn’t know where she lived and the thespians made their way from the car door to the front door undisturbed.
Inside, Lily-Jane excused herself to change. She was horrified when she looked in the mirror. Adding to the ugliness of the video, she was disheveled and her skimpy bra was visible through her stained dress. Her Jimmy Choos were also busted. “I am destroyer, maker and ender of all things,” she said out loud.
Once she had gathered herself and made something presentable out of the state of disarray, she opened the door and found Chutney on her couch, flicking through a photo album.
“That’s private, don’t you know?”
“Nothing’s private in this world, anymore,” he replied. She rolled her eyes. Being cynical wasn’t cool anymore, didn’t he know? He was so old school, but in a boring, drawn out way. Why had she invited him back anyway or found him charming? It all seemed like a distant memory as the desire to be alone with her self-pity rose in her gut.
“Well,” she said, “thanks for taking me home,” hoping the message would be clear. He didn’t budge.
“What did you say in the bathroom?” he asked after a minute, finally standing and approaching her.
“Oh, it’s a phrase my mother used to say. She was very religious.”
“’I am destroyer, maker and ender of all things.’ Is that it?”
“Yes, that’s right…” she replied. Had he been listening to her? She hadn’t spoken that loudly.
He turned away from her and sat back on the couch, opening the photo album and asking, “Is this your mother?” pointing to a photograph.
She took three steps towards him, just enough to make out the photograph. “Yes, it is. Wasn’t she beautiful?”
“What happened to her?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said she ‘was’ beautiful.”
“Oh, she died. It was horrible, all over the news. Didn’t you see it?” Lily-Jane had drifted in thought as Chutney shook his head in negative reply. “Of course, you wouldn’t watch the news. Well, do you remember that awful wildfire a few years back in California?” This time he nodded in the affirmative, his stare concentrated on her mouth as she had taken a seat on the couch next to him. “She burned. Or suffocated. I’ll never know for sure. I suppose this film was in part to honor her memory. But to be honest, I was also excited when my agent told me you were attached to the project.”
“Why didn’t she leave?”
“I told her to,” replied Lily-Jane slowly, deliberately, lost in a memory. “She wouldn’t listen. Said she had lived longer than I had following her instinct, something like that. I relented. It’s the biggest regret of my life, so far.”
Chutney and Lily-Jane sat in silence for several minutes this time. Then, sirens echoed from the street and woke them from the trance.
“Will I see you on set tomorrow?” asked Chutney, rising and putting down the photo album.
“Well, of course. That little drama today won’t stop me.”
“Ok.” He left.
Nine months later, the film was a huge success. A rare critical darling and box office smash. Everyone agreed that Chutney was paramount to its success. But the real reason it worked was Lily-Jane. She died on set. Drowned in a climactic scene when she wouldn’t break character, saying a line about being destroyed. Just as the original script had forecast. She and her mother smiled up at the In Remembrance at the Academy Awards.
So, what did it all mean? Anything at all? What did you think? Shoot me an email at patrick@patrickchristman.com