fiction installment 12~
(Sung, the South Korean force behind the fictional “James Bond” reboot, acts and speaks according to his status and native culture. His English is understandable if sometimes stilted. His dialogue—like Fletcher’s, but for different reasons—is unusual. Unlike Fletcher, however, Sung does not cultivate eccentricity.)

Jasper raced away, wondering how Fletcher had heard of the “multi-hyphenate Korean” preparing to reboot James Bond.

But he wasn’t fleeing Fletcher. He was fleeing Brooke. After her cathartic Hamlet, Jasper had no choice but to run. Although, it wasn’t a choice but rather—had he lost his damned mind?

Despite just glimpses of her teaching Dex to swim and playing with Ivy, Jasper had apparently talked Brooke Logan into some foolhardy scheme, twice. These requests to the gorgeous teenager had been so flagrantly out-of-bounds, he had dismissed their implications—until Fletcher accused him of concealing a feverish desire for her.

Far worse, he had failed to consider her feelings!  Until the town’s renowned alcoholic had asked if she kept him awake at night!

At Hamlet’s end, when Brooke curtseyed on stage, Jasper sprinted to his car. Guilty to the core, he had waited, in case Fletcher might explain Jasper’s rude disappearance as typical of selfish, facile actors.

He hated having Brooke think of him like that, but she deserved an explanation–one he couldn’t and shouldn’t attempt.

After speeding south on 375, he parked in West Hurley and phoned the surveillance company. Could they turn off the power and turn on the monitors in his tower? “My meeting in the city,” he said, “got pushed ahead. I’m leaving tonight.”

A woman whose name he didn’t know said, “Consider it done, Jasper,” and reminded him that his wife had stipulated that someone visit the property each week.

“Great if you do that kind of thing,” he said, thanking her and hanging up.

Good thing he’d refused Sasha’s plan to install lenses throughout Windfalls–a vast and various terrain his wife hadn’t once ventured into, remaining always inside a chauffer-driven SUV or on the deck by the pool.

This way, with no outside, monitors if—no, when—Brooke arrived to watch the movie, no camera would capture her knocking on the tower’s door, ringing the bell, possibly even calling his name. Would she do that?

Well, he had certainly done all he could to prompt that during the few five-minute intervals they were alone. He recalled (although he never really forgot) the unabashed light in her eyes, and the energy between them when he had touched her cheek that time in the tower’s kitchen.

How dare he escort her inside! And while leading her upstairs, explain that many actors live separate from their family while developing a character—as if his acting were of that caliber!

Carefree, nonchalant Jasper King never struggled with these complications. He liked women, not girls, for a season or a shoot, and at the end, they parted fondly. Other than this latest unbelievable blunder, his only mistake may have been Allegra, a dancer who had taught a movement-as-character workshop three years ago in L.A. But that relationship had developed because Sasha liked Allegra’s cocaine.

Scheduled to see Allegra on Monday, he phoned his friend Cliff, who lived in L.A. but kept an apartment in Olympic Towers. Cliff answered on the first ring. “I’ll alert the doorman. But try not to trash the place.”

“You know me,” Jasper said. Afterwards, he arranged for house cleaners, which delighted Cliff, whose other friends supposedly left scum in the tub and the beds a mess.

Two hours later, Jasper turned in his summer rental at 54th St. and arrived at Cliff’s spacious rooms overlooking Central Park. On Saturday, he ran beside the Hudson River and practiced recorded French for a remake of an obscure surreal film. He didn’t speak French and had never been to France. So he presumed he would be dubbed. He was cast because of Children’s Minds–and because he wanted the role. Intent on the cadence necessary for the oo-sounds, he didn’t hear the phone ring at first. He interrupted Sung Il Sung known as Sung, mid-message.

Sung asked to reschedule their meeting, because people in London wanted to thrash through the storyline.

Jasper said, “Any time’s fine.”

They met that afternoon for lunch at Jungsik, an expensive Korean restaurant. Fresh scallops arrived. Sung explained that the new James Bond must be proficient in Taekwondo. “Jeffrey says you have a black belt.”

Jasper smiled. “From an unaffiliated school in Sedona, Arizona 15 years ago.”

Sung nodded. Jeffrey had been his agent, too. “I once sparred with you on Wilshire Boulevard, however. With proper training, you could do well.”

Jasper thanked him.

Sung visited Woodstock frequently for Buddhist retreats. “Tibetan Buddhism is more accepting than Korean Buddhism.”

Jasper took his children to that temple one afternoon. “At ages three and eight, they loved the bright silence.”

Apropos of nothing, Jasper said, “Before I left, I saw a magnificent Hamlet at Woodstock’s Playhouse.”

“I appreciate—magnificence.” Sung lived in Seoul. He had learned English as an adult.

Tasting the watermelon, Jasper felt the phrase and flavor combine.

“And the fight choreography?” Sung asked.

“Fight? Oh, the rapiers. I focused mostly on Hamlet’s death.”

“Interesting. Rapiers should still be thrilling. Do you know sword fighting? Fencing?”

Jasper didn’t.

Sung would enjoy teaching him.

After the interview, Jasper flew home, having forgotten Allegra, whom he phoned in the air. She cursed and hung up.

by kathleen maher

full series here

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