CHAPTER

fifty-two

Tape 128

Brooklyn Pierce

April 4, 2010

Teddy Blake: Go on, Brook. Hey, don’t fall asleep on me, buddy. You were telling me a story.

Brooklyn Pierce: Yeah, right, a story. But come on, don’t you think I’d have done a good one? One for the ages? Like Burton and Branagh?

TB: No hope of Hamlet, huh?

BP: No hope. Pour me another one, okay? A stiff one. I’m gonna quit tomorrow. Cold turkey, I swear, that’s the only way to go.

TB: And nothing doing with a Ben Justice revival?

BP: I told you the damned story, what he sees when he looks at me. Didn’t I already tell you? Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.

TB: But that’s all there is? Christ, then he doesn’t know. You said you don’t even know whether—

BP: Not for sure and, hey, I don’t wanna know. Jamie’s the one wants to make trouble, test everybody’s DNA, but what the hell? I don’t want screen credit, you know what I mean? Christ, I shouldn’t let Jamie talk me into this kinda shit. Is your glass empty? Fill it up. C’mon, I’m not drinking alone.

TB: You’re just an agreeable guy.

BP: Right, that’s me, whatever, I roll with it.

TB: But you did do it, you and Claire?

BP: Hey, man, I rolled with it. I mean, we coulda done the turkey-baster thing, but we figured we’re grown-ups and Mal’s puttin’ it to her, too. I mean, they didn’t quit screwing, so Jenna could be his kid, for all I know. It’s not like docs are never wrong.

TB: And with the screenplay, you weren’t worried about the legality, about the police?

BP: I let Jamie do the worrying. And he said first off, Mal would never call the cops on us. Hell, call the cops, he might as well call People magazine—

TB: But when did you tell Jamie? If he’d known when the old man was alive—

BP: Christ, I don’t remember, musta been pretty recent. This visit. I don’t remember telling him, honest, but I must’ve, huh? I oughta lay off this stuff, quit it cold. Anyhow, what was I saying? Yeah, yeah, second thing: We can’t get in legal trouble ’cause none of it’s fuckin’ true. I mean, hey, it’s a screenplay, piece of fiction, made-up shit. Right? Claire didn’t come on to me like that, like in what we wrote. Asked me, as a friend, as a favor. Christ, I musta been pissed.

TB: Drunk?

BP: Pissed off, angry, and hell, drinking again, too. Telling Jamie. I mean, I didn’t think screwing Claire would fuck up my life, you know? I was so young, and she was so damn beautiful. I guess I wasn’t thinking at all much, but I figured we’d still work together, Malcolm and me, but it was like, after that, every time he looked at me, you know, he musta sensed it. He’s lookin’ at me, but he’s seeing a man who fucked his wife and I blame Claire, which is shitty ’cause she’s gone. But she had no business telling, threatening him when she left. Mal was always gonna get screen credit for Jenna. That was the deal.

BP: And the property passed to her.

TB: But that’s got nothing to do with it, never did. No, really, Mal loves her, and I barely know her. I mean, I went to parties with her when she was on the Coast. Jamie wanted me to come on to her, marry her, you know? Get the land back for him. That was a little too weird for me, I’m telling you. Plus, she was practically jailbait and when Mal found out she dated me, he damn near threw her out of the country.

TB: So she doesn’t know?

BP: Jamie says Mal owes him for what old Ralph did, cutting him out of the will ’cause he caught him one time with a boy, and for what Mal did, passing Jenna off as his own, said it was some kinda fraud. That’s what Jamie says, and he’s my friend. Mal shoulda given Jamie a big chunk of land, bought him off a long time ago. Jamie’s always after him, picking and picking. You know how Malcolm wants to fix it so nobody can ever build?

TB: Lower his taxes, right?

BP: Jamie’s about given up with Mal, but Jenna might listen. Jamie wants Mal to quit what he’s doing with that conservation shit, ’cause if he does that, Jamie will never be able to talk Jenna into giving him a hunk of land, or even selling it cheap. Mal’s a fucking artist, busy playing with his doll-actors. He’s not an adult, he’s still a fucking child-genius-director, too busy doing holy theater, too damned holy to cast a movie star as Hamlet.

TB: Has Jamie ever canceled a board meeting?

BP: He does a great Mal imitation. And Jamie’s got this local guy, writes a gossip blog or something. Jamie plants shit with him alla time, keeps the townies fired up against the theater. Stall, stall, stall.

TB: Right. And then you handed him the keys to the kingdom.

BP: Mal hasn’t exactly helped my career, you know what I mean? Everybody figures there’s a reason he won’t work with me, like I’m unreliable or something. And I wasn’t, not back then. Shit, I was somebody. I was box office gold. God, if he’d just give it to me, I know I could do it. Goddamn, but I want that part.

TB: “They all want to play Hamlet.”

BP: Don’t go making fun of me.

TB: No, I wasn’t. I wouldn’t.

BP: He won’t give it to me. Christ, I shouldn’t be talking to you. I screw everything up, don’t I? Sometimes I wish I was fuckin’ dead, wish I had the guts to swim out into the ocean, just swim out till I can’t move my arms anymore, just let go and drown. “’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.” See? I could do it; I know I could.

TB: You’d be great.

BP: Don’t fuckin’ make fun of me. What the hell do you want anyway? I shouldn’t be talking to you, either. I yak it up when I drink. Am I talking too much?

TB: So there’s nothing to that thing about Mal setting the clinic on fire?

BP: Hell, no, just Jamie’s idea of a good climax for the screenplay, see? You’re not taping anymore, right? Hey, is that bottle empty?

TB: No, no. Here you go.

BP: And why shouldn’t I help Jamie out? Jamie’s gonna get land for his hotel now, get this place, too, so maybe he’ll be satisfied, but I don’t care. Fill my glass up, okay?

TB: Don’t tell me you’re not going to get anything out of the deal?

BP: Money is all. I’m gonna get some money, Jamie says, but I don’t care. Because that’s not what I want.

TB: What do you want, Brook?

BP: Besides another drink? Hell, I want to be seventeen again. I want to play Ben Justice again. I want to play Hamlet. And don’t you even say it. You know what? I don’t like your fucking attitude. I’m changing my mind about this, okay? This isn’t something I ought to be doing. I want that tape. C’mon, give it to me.

TB: Hey, you can trust me. You know you can trust me. This is all off the record.

PB: You promise? You fucking promise?

TB: Cross my heart.