Bedlam and Other Stories Read Free Page B

he felt ashamed of his weak tone. He tried for something harsher: “You might as well have these guys roasting marshmallows.”
    Garbeau looked at him a while, her suggestive eyes level. She drew herself up so the lines of her body were emphasized. Hartley suffered an asexual pang, a cramp in his chest.
    â€œThis particular scene,” Garbeau said carefully, “may not be perfect in terms of actual experience. We may not get an exact one-to-one correlation with the facts. But the scene will echo the feelings of real people in trouble, everywhere.”
    Nobody else looked Hartley’s way. They made a big, unnecessary production of riffling through the notes on their clipboards.
    â€œThis is just not, not right,” Hartley managed finally over his chest cramp. “Camp was freaky, it was hard .”
    â€œWe know that. We understand.”
    â€œUnderstand? Understand? Look, you think those drugs you have are anything?”
    â€œEasy, Hartley—”
    â€œCamp made those drugs look like the Sunday funnies. Camp was—every minute you realized there were more terrible things inside you!”
    â€œI’ll play it that way,” the actor playing Hartley called from beside the fire. “Don’t worry man, I’ll do it right.”
    â€œHey, pretty boy, I’ll do it right!” Hartley shouted. “I’ll do it right on your face !”
    â€œEasy Hartley” Garbeau put her hand under his shirt. “Easy, easy.”
    â€œCheck out that anger,” the actor was saying to the group round the fire. “That anger is great . That’s what I’ve got to have.”
    â€œ Quiet ,” Garbeau said. “I’ll handle this.”
    â€œI understand,” the actor said.
    An odd sound moved through the shooting crew, a kind of chuckle.
    â€œHartley, please,” Garbeau said in another voice, “think of the story. A man, alone, far from his loved ones. Think of it. He’s forced to take whatever help, whatever small comfort he can get, from others as lost and miserable as himself.”
    Her hand continued to hold him at bay.
    â€œYou really believe this garbage, don’t you?” he said at last. “This whole pack of lies—you set it up.”
    Garbeau just laughed. “Hartley, come on. We’ve had some fun, these last couple days. All right.” She spoke so mildly, like a lover. “We’ve had some good times. But this is serious business. Think of it, please. A man, alone and lost and miserable. He huddles together with others like him, seeking protection from the winter wind. And then that man lifts his head and sings the true feelings. He sings what we all share.”
    Hartley had to look away. He cast his eyes over the metal angles of the cameras, the whiteness of cue cards and notes on clipboards, the gloomy backdrop of a swamp that now seemed miles and miles distant. He saw two other women he hadn’t noticed earlier. He saw a cherry-red van and a driver smelling what looked like an orchid. There were so many in the shooting crew, so many watching him. Finally Hartley looked at the actor playing Hartley. With a start, a flinch he couldn’t suppress, he saw that the kid was grinning. Grinning . In fact the glimmery tones of the actor’s face were stretched so wide and lewdly that all at once there was no room left for doubt. Everyone here knew what Hartley and Garbeau had been doing.
    In a moment the evidence fell into place. “I understand;” and that low-bore chuckle; and Garbeau’s soft, soft tone of voice. Garbeau and Hartley had been the only ones to stay behind at the hotel this morning. They’d been the only ones to visit the bar last night. Everyone here knew .
    Now Hartley couldn’t free himself from that grinning, painted mirror. He tried to straighten up, be a soldier, but instead stumbled backwards on the heels of his unfamiliar sandals. He thought how he must