so many different stories
I get the low down on The Poet from this guy Kate has picked up. His name is Pablo, although he likes us to call him Paul... maybe because he "works" for this famous old English photographer who lives locally in a villa just south of town. The old guy is a friend of the Poet, and is probably a big reason why he chose El Obo for his movie.
Paul is from Puerto Rico, says
Kate.
I played Rico, I say.
I know, man, says Paul. Missed the gig as I
have no money then. Cheaters big in South America, man.
That really the name
of your band? says Kate. Sounds like a motor cycle gang to me.
Yeah, the
low riders like us, I say. Actually, it's The Cheetahs... but people like to
call us Cheaters. We're cool with that.
Suppose it has a certain cachet,
says Kate.
Understand you've actually met Cocteau, I say.
Yes, says
Paul. You know him, yes?
Well no, I say. He never speaks to me.
I've
never met him either, says Kate. Always work through his publicist.
My boss
tell me all about him, says Paul. Tell me he's a genius.
Sure, I say. He
paints, he sculpts, he kills his wife....
Paul looks surprised... grins, laughs. Looks like a young boy, a skinny sambista. Five years ago musta been diving off the wharf, going after coins and plugs thrown in the water by the tourists.
I love her movie, he says. She
hot, man.
Paul knows what happened, says Kate.
I know what my boss tell
me, says Paul.
Cecil, says Kate. His boss is Cecil you-know-who.
The guy
you were telling me about, I say. Photographed Mick in Tangier.
Photographed The Stones, Grace Kelly, de Gaulle... everyone, says Kate.
Great with a Rolli.
No more, says Paul. He mostly blind now.
Married? I
say.
Paul smiles cryptically, looks someplace only he can see.
What really happened with Monsieur
Cocteau's wife? says Kate. I've heard so many different stories.
The snuff
movie, says Paul.
I don't believe that one, says Kate. Urban legend.
Kill her, put her body in a statue in his garden, says Paul.
Ridiculous, says Kate. That's from his movie, Blood of the Beast.
She
run away with El Pele, says Paul.
I might believe that one, says Kate. Who
wouldn't like a nice, warm flamenco singer?
What's the big deal, I say.
They split, end of story.
No, amigo, she drown, end of story, says
Paul.
Cocteau went crazy with grief, says Kate. She was his muse.
Right
over there someplace, says Paul.
In the Atlantic? I say. Off Obo?
Yeah,
man, says Paul. Out there.
Too weird, I say.
I'm thinking about the Poet standing in the watchtower looking out to sea, like the real movie is happening out there. Guess it is.
She with Kyprios in his yacht, says
Paul. You know him? The Greek guy with the big bucks.
No, I say. Not my
scene.
Why was she with him? says Kate.
I dunno, says Paul. Maybe she
like sailing.
Come on, Paulito, says Kate. Don't be so cute.
Kate think
Kyprios is her lover, says Paul.
She got a name, I say.
Domino, says
Paul.
That's who she is in Beast, silly, says Kate.
She Domino to me,
says Paul. She hot, hot.
Not anymore, I say.
It'll come to me, says
Kate. Her real name.
So how did she drown? I say. Was it an
accident?
There was a big, big storm, says Paul. Mister Cecil say she get
taken by a wave.
That's convenient, says Kate. No witnesses, of
course.
We're in the open part of the lobby with the vine and the canaries, which are cheeping away. Drinking Frankensteins, a very nice ale from Dusseldorf which the hotel seems to have in abundance. My tab, of course.
Kate leaves, as she's got to go shoot some stills for the Assistant Director or something.
You like being in the movies? says
Paul.
Something to do, I say. Actually, it's real boring, man.
Are you
loco? Boring?
Lotta standing around lookin' pretty is all.
Hey, I know.
I do some modelling.
Mister Cecil?
Yeah. And Kate.
Kate?
Yeah.
Yesterday we do some nudes. Not boring, man.
I chuckle. That Kate is one sly dog.
Teach me some licks, man.
You
play guitar, Paul?
I want to. I got a flamenco.
Not my thing.
Don't
kid me, man. You're bossa... you can play anything. Better than
Clapton.
Sure... yeah... better than.
Do me favor.
What.
Introduce me to Naomi.
Hey, you want all my women?
It's that sort of kidding talk men get into.
What you think? She belong to the
Poet? says Paul.
I dunno, I say. You know more about him than I do.
She
is very like Domino. You kiss her yet?
Not in the script.
Tell me about
your groupies.
I don't see them. They're invisible.
Invisible heh heh.
Money for nothing, chicks for free... hey, you married?
You're worse than a
journalist.
Sure... but better than a pimp, yes?
You kill me, manny.
How come you're in Obo?
The old man likes it... six months here, six months
Port of Spain.
Port of...
Trinidad, man. I work in a hotel.
So what
do you do for the old man... besides model.
Drive him around... things.
Cositas buenas.
Yeah? Must be nice. Money fer nuthin, chicks fer
free.
's o.k. Not forever.
How come Mister Cecil didn't pull a part for
you in his friend the Poet's movie?
I was in it. Got fired... they say I
can't act.
Now I'm really laughing.
When Kate phone, say she can get
you, they fire me.
What? I replaced you?
I'm nobody, man. Just a
gigolo.