Betrayed by F. Scott Fitzgerald by Ron Carlson Read Free Book Online Page A

I’ve seen photos of that model; it’s only two feet tall.”
    “Two feet!” Wesson was astounded.
    “Right. And did you notice how expertly he uses his tail? They really knew what they were doing. I think a guy named Harryhausen did it.” Benson’s collection of Famous Monsters of Filmland was much more extensive than my own. “1 can’t wait to see this finale, I’ve heard about it.”
    I started reel three. The dramatic countdown: 10 X 9 X 8 XX blank 4 X, then that slick numberless black flickering. My instincts were not communicating how I should feel. My pockets were full of diamonds, remember. The Italian Army, a fully equipped modern-type army, had been called in. The phone rang. Men with walkie-talkies directed traffic.
    “Larry here.” I always answer the phone like that; I find it reassuring.
    “Who’s up there?” Accusingly said.
    “Eldon and I and a friend.”
    “What’s that noise?”
    “The army versus the monster.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. I don’t know what you can hear. We’re just sitting around up here looking at the walls, Mrs. Ellis.” As I said her name, Eldon tossed another beer can out over the roof onto the lawn.
    “Well, why are you in the kitchen?”
    “Making sandwiches, ma’am.”
    “At eleven-thirty?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Well can’t you use someone else’s kitchen?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Well, I don’t like it.”
    “I’m bringing the rent over bright and …”
    She hung up. Tanks rolled in and troop convoys converged.
    “He’s heading for the circus!” the commander, who looked like Gene Barry, said. The now fully misunderstood monster turned left, eyes searching, turned right, looking frantically for the way to go. An elephant looked up from his straw dinner. This unmistakable montage was accompanied by the ringing of the phone. Eldon answered and experienced one of the shortest conversations on record. He waved to me and I shut down the projector.
    “That was Mrs. Ellis, our cinephobic landlady. She says she’s called the police. I hate to tell you all this, since this last reel, I’ve been informed, is a prize winner, and we’re continuing regardless of the consequences, which is the manner in which we do most things. Leave at your own risk! It may be only a threat since she calls us nightly and says the same thing.”
    Wesson and Johnny Harmon were the first to leave, and then nearly everyone left. Even Dotty. Being zany is good; jail is bad. Bunny and Virgil Benson stayed. Bunny said she was curious which officer would arrive, and Benson simply said he couldn’t miss the ending. Eldon and Evelyn stayed, Evelyn asking if we thought a policeman would really come. I woke one of the Black Heron regulars, a former creative writing teacher in whose irrigated brain nothing more would grow, who was sleeping in the desk well, and he left, muttering about an absolutely frightening dream.
    The place was a wreck. It looked like the day after The Little Big Horn. But it was a comfortable wreck, and we all stretched out amid the beer can rubble, spilled wine, and cigarette butts. Art for our sake.
    Eldon leaned over toward me and asked, “What did she say?”
    “She said think it over.” I handed him the ring.
    “Think it over?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I said, ‘Ouch!’”
    “Sweet Lord.” He sighed. “What are you going to do?”
    “Watch the movie. I hate these intimate interviews.”
    “‘Ouch?’ You need help.”
    “Not yours. Not now.”
    The elephant had a good grip on the Alien Visitor’s right arm as they wrestled outside the huge circus tent, and he nearly flipped the monster onto his head. Ribbo came bursting back in.
    “The pigs here yet?”
    “No. Sit down and watch the movie.”
    “They can’t invade your private abode without a search warrant.”
    “Shhh, Ribbo.” I pointed at the screen.
    The Alien Visitor circled the elephant in a crouch like the one Krusher Kowalski does, head down, arms out. He