Gravity’s Volkswagen

Nine

I arrived back at the gate of Idle Palms to find the same security guard on duty. He was dozing now, seated on a folding stool that I’d have thought provided nowhere near enough support. I gave a nod in his direction, though I didn’t expect anything in return, and I attempted to enter the trailer park. At that point the guard burst into life, sprang up from the stool and interposed his body between me and the entrance.

“Yes?” he demanded.

“It’s me,” I said.

“That’s what they all say.”

“I went out a little while ago. You saw me. You must remember me. We nodded at each other.”

“I don’t nod,” he said, and that sounded all too likely to be true. At that moment he didn’t look anything like a nodder.

In other circumstances, if I’d been in my own country, if I hadn’t still been suffering from jet lag, if I hadn’t been on a film set, if I hadn’t just been pushing a Beetle and its weighty occupant, I might have been calmer, more tactful, more persuasive and reasonable. As it was, the guard and I began arguing, quietly at first, then louder and louder, and before I knew it I was yelling uncontrollably. I don’t remember exactly what I was saying, and I’m sure it wasn’t coherent and it certainly wasn’t having any useful effect on the guard who was yelling back, just as loudly though with rather less passion. But then I became aware of a third voice some distance away, someone else yelling much louder than either of us, though certainly no more coherently. It was Josh Martin and he was running as he yelled, running across the trailer park, coming straight towards us.

The guard and I fell silent, but Josh Martin did not. He ranted on for quite a while, still not with any great clarity, but we caught his drift soon enough. It turned out he’d been in the middle of a particularly crucial take when we started arguing. The automotive freaks had been paid off, silence had fallen, the actors were at a fine level of creative intensity, the cameras had started rolling and then two fucking idiots had started screaming at each other and their voices were now all over his soundtrack.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, quite genuinely.

“Ah fuck it,” he said. “Enough of this crap. You’re fired.”

It seemed an odd way of putting it. He wasn’t employing me, so how could he fire me? Then I realised he wasn’t talking to me, but to the guard.

“I mean it,” Martin said. “You’re canned. You’re gone.”

The guard straightened up, gained a couple of inches in height and a good deal in dignity, and loped away from his post.

“Josh,” I said. “Really. You don’t need to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do,” Josh Martin said coldly, and then he returned to what was obviously far more important business.

I slunk back to my trailer. I felt as bad as could be. I was a complete ignoramus when it came to movie making, but I knew enough to realise that I had committed one of the crassest, most basic sins: don’t go yelling in the middle of a take. I was a fool. I was ashamed. I decided I’d better lie low and stay out of everybody’s way for the rest of the day. I couldn’t imagine that anybody would miss me. But then, in the middle of the evening, there was a knock on the trailer door that I recognised as Cadence’s.

“I heard what happened.”

“Well yes. So did everybody,” I said.

“You shouldn’t worry about it. Shit happens. Especially round here.”

“I feel bad about the guy losing his job.”

“That happens too.”

“Yeah, but I was the one Josh was really angry with. The guard just happened to be the one he could fire. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Hell, some would say he’s lucky to be out of it. Anyway, I thought you might want this,” she said.

It wasn’t beer this time, but a large and expertly rolled joint.

“It’s called Train Wreck,” she said. “It seemed appropriate. And it’s OK, it’s medical. I get it for my migraines. You don’t want to buy it on the street. The money goes straight to Mexican gangs.”

It was good stuff, there was no doubt about that, and it should have soothed me, but it didn’t. It did, however, put me to sleep, and as I drifted into unconsciousness I realised I’d again forgotten to call Caroline in England. I felt bad about it, but somehow not as bad as all that.