Three Ex Presidents and James Franco (18 page)

BOOK: Three Ex Presidents and James Franco
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              Clinton, the king of podiums, stood up. The press conference was seated, but he couldn't help himself. Of course, Clinton didn't talk about the play. No doubt he'd been briefed on it, but there was no way he would be drawn. He congratulated Fiona and the Young Democrats of the entire state on their activism and earnestness. The party, the country was proud of them. Nay, needed them. This student motion was just another sign of the vibrancy inside the student movement which the body politic would be fools not to tap.

             

              "Wow, just listen to him," the stranger whistled. "Some say he'd be a great actor. But he's a step above. Every word he speaks every line he says, he has to say as though it’s being recorded. The camera is constantly rolling. He doesn't have time to centre himself, find his motivation. He'd be constantly acting if he ever did anything else to compare it to. Acting is being something you're not. He's always on camera, so that is what he is." 

             

              The interloper gave us time to digest these words, as he turned his attention back to the stage. Clinton was still talking about duty. But there was a noticeable shift. He was obviously beginning to talk about one man's duty, which would lead him to the movie. "This is my queue. Gotta get up there. Great to meet you guys." We disentangled ourselves from each other to hurriedly shake his hand. "And listen," he said to me, handing me his card "If you have any more ideas like that give me a call. I don’t want to be doing the same old stuff forever." And with that he was gone, moving through the media, making his way up to the podium, next to Bill Clinton. 

             

              Having disentangled ourselves, Jake and myself stood awkwardly, both wondering if we should hold hands again. After a few moments I broke the impasse and pulled him close, our faces almost touching. "Well, you've just met James Franco. Finally. So how is the new you?" 

 

              "The new me is a little disappointed. He did seem rather cool, didn't he. I think I was hoping to dislike him more. Maybe if he beat me up the way Tommy Culkin did in high school I'd be a little happier." 

 

              "Where is Tommy Culkin now?" I asked playfully. "I'll get him for you. I'll kick his ass." 

 

              "Tommy is now a doctor in Africa, he's a changed man." He leaned forward and kissed me again. Then he emitted a loud laugh. 

 

              "What’s wrong?" 

 

              "You know, all those nights we spent in my bed, we never did this. We never just held each other with our clothes on and kissed. That’s something James Franco has never seen before." 

 

              "It was such an event he decided to see it in person." I made a joke of it, but the significance of the fact was lost on neither of us. 

 

 

 

94.
The discussion from the podium eventually droned to an end. Clinton was happy to appear in High Noon because it’s about a man facing an impossible challenge. It’s an uplifting tale that speaks to all generations and needed to be rediscovered. James Franco for his part echoed these sentiments and expressed how intimidated he was to be stepping into Gary Cooper's boots. 

 

              With that the event ended. As Clinton and Franco left the press swarmed to follow. We hung around hoping that we would be able to catch sight of Eric when the room had cleared. He was nowhere to be found. I went to Fiona while Jake went to speak to his stepfather. I congratulated her on how well the entire event went and how well she had done herself. 

 

              Had she seen Eric? No, and he should have been there, she hoped nothing had happened to him. If she saw Eric please give a call, to Jake's phone, mine was missing. No problem. Listen this was nothing personal, she hoped I understood that, it was important that both Brandon and myself understood that. I did understand, there were no hard feelings, why couldn't she tell Brandon herself? 

 

              It turned out they had split up. That was why he wasn't there. It gave me no sense of happiness to hear this. I thought better of inquiring as to the reason why and followed Jake who was gesturing to me that we should leave. 

 

              As we left we found ourselves in a milling crowd. The press conference inside had been an exclusive affair. While it was going on a group of Clinton fans had congregated outside, standing off against a crowd holding Obama posters. They did shout at each other a bit, but all animosity disappeared when the President emerged. As they expected, he refused to walk on by. He was doing his best to shake every hand, the crowd pressing around him, as his secret service agents tried to maintain some semblance of control.

 

              As we were jostled in the milieu I was shouting over my shoulder at Jake, "Brandon and Fiona have split up, did you hear about that?" Yes he had and he thought I knew. I shouted back at him that "I didn't know. Why the fuck couldn't you have told me?" In my defence, though I shouted, it wasn't out of some extreme excitement at the thought of a lonely and alone Brandon, it was because the noise surrounding us had reached such a pitch. 

 

              Jake shouted back a response I didn't hear, because at that moment I found myself for the second time in my life standing face to face with Bill Clinton. "Well hi there. If it isn't the love sick writer?" He grasped my hand and shook it vigorously. 

 

 

 

95.
A long time ago, I was walking down a busy street once on a hot summer's day, when I happened upon a seagull with a pigeon in its mouth. The pigeon was alive and writhing, if a little stunned. The seagull was trying to take flight, awkwardly flapping its wings, unable to take off due to the weight of the pigeon. When I saw the scene, I immediately turned away and got sick. I wasn't the only person who had noticed. A car beside me screeched to a stop in shock. A shopkeeper, who had been at his door started to shout, then ran towards the pair shooing the seagull away. He took the pigeon in his hands and brought it back to his shop where I fancy he nursed it back to health. 

             

              Whenever I recount this episode people usually shrug and ask what the big deal is. You needed to have been there to understand. There was something primeval awoken in everyone who saw it. Seagulls don't eat pigeons. Not where I come from anyway. To recount the episode is mundane, but seeing it made me feel that there was something wrong with the universe. Something sinister and unnatural was happening. 

 

              I could go into how all of this is indicative of human programming. We know what’s natural and what’s not, what’s right or wrong. But I have given enough lectures on biology already. I use this example to explain the feeling I got when I saw Eric and James. There was something wrong with the vision. I didn't get the same primeval revulsion, but the same involuntary shock. 

 

              Eric looked sheepish and panicked. James was glowering with his familiar, simmering rage. I saw them over the shoulder of Bill Clinton. And just like I turned to get sick that hot summer's day I gave into my immediate reflexive action. I dived for the ex-President. 

 

 

 

96.
I ended up in hospital with two broken ribs. The secret service agents saw to that. Still, I was lucky. I really should have been dead. 

 

              While I recuperated I had Eric for company. Not in person. On television. The hero of the hour. As I had dived for Clinton, Eric had dived for me. To get me out of the way. As this happened, James drew his gun for the last time. Before he could aim he had received a bullet in the head. 

 

              The secret service later told me that had James not drawn the gun at that moment, I would have had their full attention, and it would be me in the morgue instead. Indeed, had Eric not blocked me in mid air I would have landed on Clinton and then I'd probably be dead. The agent who told me this said it with an eerie sort of pride. 

 

              In the confusion I had ended up in custody. There were still websites in Europe carrying the picture of me being dragged from the scene, a co-conspirator in the assassination attempt. The immediate news coverage painted Eric as a quick witted by-stander who saw me leap for Clinton and interjected. He was all over the news. When the truth was out the press had moved on to something else. Mercifully my innocence had been reported by the Irish press at least. 

 

              I was happy for Eric. Things had come good for him in the end. It chills me to think what was going through his mind when he dived to save my life. He hadn't had the best of years, which had ended with being held captive by a man he knew to be crazy. That his thoughts in his isolation and fear had turned in the end to me, and my safety, was unfortunate. He had been petrified into caring for me, even loving me maybe. Into sacrificing himself for me. He deserved better than that. 

 

              And who knows, maybe he'll end up back with Fiona. He's the hero who risked his life to save Bill Clinton. Surely that’s worth a lot to her. 

 

 

 

97.
As I write this final instalment I am on a plane back to Ireland. Brandon is sitting beside me. My fears that he'd stay with Fiona weren't realised. As it transpired, ever since the play they had been discussing me. Fiona always wanted to make a political issue of it, despite Brandon's appeals not to. Her decision to ignore his pleas ultimately lead to him ending their relationship. 

 

              When I asked him to explain himself he just said we're friends and need to stand by each other. When I asked for further elaboration I was told that’s the point. There should be no need for further elaboration. Friends stick by each other. Just like that movie, High Noon, in which the sheriff defends his friends, even though they have abandoned him. He didn't like the play, but it was mine, and that was good enough for him. 

 

              My relationship with Jake has taken an inevitable hiatus. I need to go back to Ireland and he needs to decide whether or not to salvage his academic career. I expected him to be emotional about James's death. I suppose I expected him to show the same grief someone will show at the loss of a pet. Instead he took it stoically, as though a relation who's loved one had died from a long gestating disease. 

 

              He'd attended the funeral in LA. The only people that turned up were the media. The funeral of the would-be President killer, an event most people wished to avoid. After being, albeit briefly, a suspect in the case it was best for me not to attend the culprit's funeral. Bill Clinton sent a wreath. He'd heard the stories, like everyone else. The man discharged from the army who had a grudge with the establishment. Jake was quite touched by the gesture. He has decided to read more about the Clinton legacy. I suspect he'll end up like his sister in the end. 

 

              I'll see Jake again. I know that. Brandon and I will get off the plane and hug goodbye. In all probability we will see each other the very next day, but we will nonetheless have a meaningful farewell. The drawing of a line under the year that was. As we hug I'll wonder at how my feelings towards him have changed. How his embrace is the embrace of a friend. Someone I would die for, but not the root of my existence. And I will think of Jake, and how we will surely see each other again. 

 

 

BOOK: Three Ex Presidents and James Franco
7.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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