around seedy video libraries in search of under-the-counter horrors. Andrew Minihin's page concluded, "They're only special effects, and if you can't tell the difference you must be sick in the head, so fuck off to a nuthouse and let the rest of us enjoy them." Sandy refilled the glasses while Roger scanned the pages. "Somehow I doubt Graham would have had much time for them," she said.
"I remember now, they presented him with a copy of their organ, gave him one of their organs as you might say. He thought the joke was on him. He was kind of relieved they weren't any help, because he would have felt obliged to invite them to his premiere. Imagine having to introduce these guys to royalty."
"It isn't how squalid it is I mind so much as how meaningless."
"Sure, the cinema disappearing up itself, or reverting to a kind of magic show. If you have to spend your time reminding yourself it's fake and that's the point, what is the point? Maybe it's a rite of passage for people who never grow up. But when audiences have had enough of being shocked they generally want something more subtle, and you might be helping to revive that by finding Graham's movie."
"I suppose so."
"Listen, don't let me bore you. Maybe you're thinking I'm like those guys, living in the movies because I'm scared of real life."
"Why should I think that? Using your talent is part of real life, and you're using yours to make people see what you see, make them look again."
He smiled rather wistfully at her. "The best I can hope for is that we're both right. Movies are somewhere I could go and let my feelings out for a couple of hours, once I was old enough that my folks had to accept I could go out by myself. I guess I got into the habit of suppressing how I felt in case it made them anxious. I should tell you they had their reasons. I had a sister who died of meningitis when I was three years old and she was six."
"Poor little thing. Do you remember her?"
"Sometimes I dream I see her face, but I don't remember it really. The one memory I have is of her coming into my room and standing at the end of the bed with the light from the doorway behind her. She looked as if she was drawn in light, turning into light, you know? My folks tell me that must have been her saying goodbye the night they had to take her to the hospital."
Sandy licked a stray tear from his cheek. A hint of after-shave underlay the salty taste. "I wouldn't say you were afraid of reality."
"Maybe just of getting involved in case I lose someone else." Then he grinned. "That's Hollywood bullshit, don't you think? It doesn't work that way unless you've seen too many movies and let them do your thinking for you. Deep down most of us need someone. I do."
"It's mutual," Sandy said, feeling as if his former awkwardness had been transferred to her.
"I hope you don't just mean that the way Charles Dickens did."
"Nothing so literary. I mean what I feel."
"You feel good. I'd say we've something more to celebrate, but we've killed the wine."
"I can think of a better way to celebrate."
This time it was unhurried and inventive, and taught them more about each other. Afterward they lay exhausted in each other's arms, and soon they were asleep. Whenever Sandy awoke, his closeness was a renewed surprise and a sleepy pleasure. Once she awoke convinced he had a dog which they'd forgotten to let in, and was halfway to the door until she realized her error. She was missing the cats, she told herself, but snuggling under the duvet with Roger was such a compensation that she slept again almost immediately.
***
In the morning he brought her breakfast in bed and then worked at his desk. She showered and hoped he might join her without being asked, but this was one shower scene he was shy of. She used his toothbrush and went out to find him, his
"I remember now, they presented him with a copy of their organ, gave him one of their organs as you might say. He thought the joke was on him. He was kind of relieved they weren't any help, because he would have felt obliged to invite them to his premiere. Imagine having to introduce these guys to royalty."
"It isn't how squalid it is I mind so much as how meaningless."
"Sure, the cinema disappearing up itself, or reverting to a kind of magic show. If you have to spend your time reminding yourself it's fake and that's the point, what is the point? Maybe it's a rite of passage for people who never grow up. But when audiences have had enough of being shocked they generally want something more subtle, and you might be helping to revive that by finding Graham's movie."
"I suppose so."
"Listen, don't let me bore you. Maybe you're thinking I'm like those guys, living in the movies because I'm scared of real life."
"Why should I think that? Using your talent is part of real life, and you're using yours to make people see what you see, make them look again."
He smiled rather wistfully at her. "The best I can hope for is that we're both right. Movies are somewhere I could go and let my feelings out for a couple of hours, once I was old enough that my folks had to accept I could go out by myself. I guess I got into the habit of suppressing how I felt in case it made them anxious. I should tell you they had their reasons. I had a sister who died of meningitis when I was three years old and she was six."
"Poor little thing. Do you remember her?"
"Sometimes I dream I see her face, but I don't remember it really. The one memory I have is of her coming into my room and standing at the end of the bed with the light from the doorway behind her. She looked as if she was drawn in light, turning into light, you know? My folks tell me that must have been her saying goodbye the night they had to take her to the hospital."
Sandy licked a stray tear from his cheek. A hint of after-shave underlay the salty taste. "I wouldn't say you were afraid of reality."
"Maybe just of getting involved in case I lose someone else." Then he grinned. "That's Hollywood bullshit, don't you think? It doesn't work that way unless you've seen too many movies and let them do your thinking for you. Deep down most of us need someone. I do."
"It's mutual," Sandy said, feeling as if his former awkwardness had been transferred to her.
"I hope you don't just mean that the way Charles Dickens did."
"Nothing so literary. I mean what I feel."
"You feel good. I'd say we've something more to celebrate, but we've killed the wine."
"I can think of a better way to celebrate."
This time it was unhurried and inventive, and taught them more about each other. Afterward they lay exhausted in each other's arms, and soon they were asleep. Whenever Sandy awoke, his closeness was a renewed surprise and a sleepy pleasure. Once she awoke convinced he had a dog which they'd forgotten to let in, and was halfway to the door until she realized her error. She was missing the cats, she told herself, but snuggling under the duvet with Roger was such a compensation that she slept again almost immediately.
***
In the morning he brought her breakfast in bed and then worked at his desk. She showered and hoped he might join her without being asked, but this was one shower scene he was shy of. She used his toothbrush and went out to find him, his
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