"Please, please, Felix, we have to talk." I'm practically gasping and I keep turning around to see if anyone's watching me.
"But you aren't listening, you little fool," Felix snaps. "The movie is over. You don't need to explain anything to me because it doesn't matter anymore. It does not apply."
"But they killed Sam Ho that night, Felix, they killed him," I say in a rush. "And there's another movie being shot. One you don't know about. There's another crew here and Bruce Rhinebeck killed Sam Ho-"
"Victor," Felix interrupts softly. "Bruce Rhinebeck came over this morning and talked to us-the director, the writer, myself-and he explained the, um, situation." A pause. "Actually he explained your situation."
"What situation? My situation? I don't have a situation."
Felix groans. "Forget it, Victor. We're leaving tonight. Back to New York. It's over, Victor. Goodbye."
"Don't trust him, Felix," I shout. "He's lying. Whatever Bruce told you, it's a lie."
"Victor," Felix says tiredly.
I suddenly notice that Felix's accent has disappeared.
(Bruce replaces the cardboard frame in a piece of Gucci luggage with sheets of dark plastic that disguise the explosives, which are made up of narrow gray odorless strips. Embedded in the strips: gold-plated nickel wire. Bruce has lined up fifty-five pounds of plastic explosives end to end, then attached them to a detonator. The detonator is powered by AAA batteries. Occasionally Bruce glances at an instruction manual. Bentley stands behind him, arms crossed, staring silently at Bruce, at the back of his head, at how beautiful Bruce is, thinking, If only.., and when Bruce turns around Bentley plays it cool, just nods, shrugs, stifles a yawn.)
"I suppose I can tell you since obviously you don't like Bruce, even though I think he's quite charming and should have been the star of this production," Felix drones haughtily. "You know why Bruce should have been the star of this production, Victor? Because Bruce Rhinebeck has star quality, Victor, that's why."
"I know, I know, Felix," I'm saying. "He should've been the star, he should've been the star."
"According to Bruce he has really tried to help you, Victor."
"Help me with what?" I shout.
"He says you are under extreme emotional pressure, possibly due to a major drug habit," Felix sighs. "He also says you tend to hallucinate frequently and that nothing coming out of your mouth is to be believed."
"Jesus f**king Christ, Felix," I shout. "These people are murderers, you ass**le. They're f**king terrorists." Realizing how loud this comes out, I whirl around to see if anyone's behind me, then lower my voice and whisper, "They're f**king terrorists."
"He also said he thinks that you're quite possibly an insane individual and also-however improbable the director and I thought this sounded-rather dangerous." Felix adds, "He also said that you'd tell us they were terrorists. So."
"He builds bombs, Felix," I whisper harshly into the phone. "Oh f**k that-he's insane, Felix. That's all a lie."
"I'm terminating this phone call, Victor," Felix says.
"I'm coming over, Felix."
"If you do I'll call the police."
"Please, Felix," I'm moaning. "For god's sake."
Felix doesn't say anything.
"Felix?" I moan. "Felix, are you there?"
Felix keeps pausing.
"Felix?" I'm crying silently, wiping my face.
And then Felix says, "Well, perhaps you could be useful."
(In the Jardin du Luxembourg he's hungover again-another cocaine binge, another sleepless dawn, another sky made up of gray tile-but Tammy kisses the French premier's son, fortifying him, and in a flea market at Porte de Vanves, both her hands on his chest, he's hooking her in with his right arm and he's wearing slippers. "Soulmates?" he asks. Tammy smells like lemons and has a secret, something she wants to show him back at the house in the 8th or the 16th. "I have enemies there," he says, buying her a rose. "Don't worry, Bruce is gone," she says. But he wants to talk about a trip to southern California he's taking in November. "S'il vous plait?" Tammy whines, eyes sparkling, and back at the house Tammy closes the door behind him, locking it as instructed, and Bentley's making drinks in the kitchen and hands the French premier's son a martini glass filled to the brim with a cloudy gimlet and as he sips it he senses something behind him and then-as planned-Bruce Rhinebeck rushes into the room shouting, holding up a claw hammer, and Tammy turns away and closes her eyes, clamping her hands over her ears as the French premier's son starts screaming and the noise being made in that room is the worst ever and Bentley wordlessly pours the pitcher of drugged alcohol into the sink and wipes the counter with an orange sponge.)
