Original Sin

 @copyright 2020/Mike Consol

Ciro Amalfi ate his dinner at restaurants five of seven nights a week, usually with a friend, and the other two nights he was at home finishing off leftovers. He didn’t like keeping things in the refrigerator and fending for himself. A man could starve that way. It was easier just to go out. Tonight, he and sister Maribel were at one of L.A.’s better trattorias, and he was talking to her about Vera Hawkins. They were the only two children from the Amalfi family and looked out for one another, which is why Ciro wanted his sister’s opinion about the newly emerging situation with Vera. 

Ciro was a decorated documentary filmmaker and Vera owned a small and unremarkable talent agency that represented actors seeking entry onto the Silver Screen. Maribel already had her phone in her hands, Googling this Vera Hawkins woman for a photograph. She appeared to be in her early forties and quite attractive, and Ciro’s distinguishing characteristics were hair loss and weight gain, and what body he did have was tense and stiff. It made no sense for the two of them to pair up in any physical sense. Ciro knew that, as did Maribel, and yet Ciro was talking as though romance might be in the air. 

“She’s after me,” he said. “She wants something from me and in return there’s something in it for me. Not in so many words, but Vera is clearly coming onto me.” 

Maribel looked at her phone again and then back at her brother. “Are you sure you’re reading the situation correctly?” 

Miffed by the question, Ciro replied, “This isn’t my first seduction play. It used to happen quite often when I was younger and, shall we say, more fragrant. I never had an interest. I always had that sense of belonging to Hilda.” 

Maribel nibbled at a scallop. 

Ciro had been thinking for days that he was never a man to succumb to a woman in this way, so why now? Why so much allure? And no sooner did he form and express the question to himself than he knew the answer: His wife, who had passed from cancer almost three years ago, was gone and the cloak of loneliness surrounded him. All attractive women had taken on a certain appeal, but Vera Hawkins was a bright, burning light among the gender. He had always liked her personality and commitment to the arts and the devotion she showed to her people. She was one of those women who got more beautiful with age. She had never looked so full of character as now, and Ciro was all about character. He built his documentaries around characters who typified the subject matter he was exploring.  

But what was going on now is out of character of character for Vera — looking to sleep with a movie director to get a project done and advance the career of one of her clients, if that was truly what was going on here. Was it possible she saw something in him below the grizzled layers of crusting flesh, that there was something deeper at play, something honest and meaningful? He could barely stand to think the thoughts because he didn’t want to rationalize. He was too mature to pursue silly flights of fancy. He was one of those men who believed there was nothing worse than being an old fool, and he feared he might be drifting that direction. 

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said. “Let me give you some background. First the long-term background. I’ve known Vera twenty-some years and we’ve run across each other every couple of years, on average, at industry events or around town. We’ve never even collaborated on anything, never hired a single one of her actors. I make documentaries with real people; her agency is aimed at placing actors in standard fare Hollywood movies. Tough business.” 

Ciro then talked about the call that came from Vera Hawkins earlier in the month. They had lunch a couple of times and in both cases Vera was pitching him about a client named Octavia Chase, an actress who started a band called Original Sin, which had taken off.  

“It isn’t a tier-one one pop band,” Ciro said, “and probably never will be, but it’s drawing pretty big audiences and co-headlining its own tour at the moment. Two studio albums have been produced and she has more than 17 million followers on Instagram and Twitter, and they’re loyal and responsive. These are people who will show up at the box office, according to Vera.” 

Ciro picked up his phone and activated a short video clip. “Look at her,” he said, holding the screen toward Maribel’s face. “This is what she looks like on stage. She dresses like Eve from the Garden of Eden, with the long dark hair, no tattoos, and she carries a big red apple around the stage with her for part of the show. She gets almost naked by the end of show and, believe me, this girl can pull it off. She’s good at what she does but Vera insists she’s an even better actress than singer. She just hasn’t had the break she needs yet. Vera keeps telling this client to let music be a sideline, that her real calling is the movie business. Immensely talented — or so says Vera — and all she needs is a break like this to get the acting career started in earnest. Of course, I’ve heard that one before.” 

“Don’t tell me she wants her to star in one of your documentaries,” Maribel said. 

 

“She wants the documentary to be about Octavia Chase and Original Sin.” 

“Wouldn’t that just boost the fame and fortunes of the band and make her all the more convinced music is her future?” 

“It’s definitely a risk, though very little of the footage would be her on-stage performance. It would be the life of an emerging pop star, the travel, the rigors, the exhaustion, the insecurities. That’s what Vera envisions, and that is the only way I would approach it. I have no interest in shooting a bunch of concert footage. That’s greasy kid stuff.” 

Maribel was shaking her head. “Think about your legacy, Ciro. It’s immaculate. All your documentaries have been substantive. What would this girl from Original Sin get you? What will this Hawkins woman really do for you?” 

This is so cliché,” Ciro said, “but it’s become obvious she prepared to trade sex for the project.” 

Maribel replied to her brother with a dubious facial expression. 

“She’s made it obvious,” Ciro said. “She had been overtly friendly and touchy in a way she has never been before. Invited me over for dinner at her place and suggested I spend the night. Clearly, something between us has changed. The attraction is powerful this time. I’ve never seen her in this way before. This has all happened since Hilda left us, of course.” He paused and looked around the dining space. “I want to be loved, Maribel. I want to be loved as a man, in a physical way. I’m feeling vital in that way again. Sex has never occupied my mind in any real way. My eyes have always dominated my senses, like any movie director, and I’ve never been much for touch and other physical sensations. And yet now … it’s hard to keep my mind off the subject, at least when it comes to Vera.” 

“Ciro, you don’t want to go there.” 

“Look, I know there isn’t a future with Vera Hawkins. I just want a dalliance and I don’t mind being used by her. It’s a fair exchange at this stage of my life.” 

Maribel rested her chin wearily against an open palm. “Ciro, she trying to take advantage of a man who’s still grieving. In any case, the subject matter is not you. This is a time you should be thinking about your legacy. This pop star will do nothing to enhance your body of work. What kind of impact could a documentary about Octavia Chase make?” 

“You know I’ve always been protective of my legacy, and now I don’t think about it all that much.” 

“At this stage of your life protecting your reputation should be first priority.” Maribel aired the statement as a matter of fact. 

“The legacy thing has always restricted me,” Ciro countered. “It’s not like I’ve never been interested in some other subjects, some less weighty subjects, but I’ve held back because of those considerations, the big legacy questions. There’s a part of me now that saying, just live. Your legacy means nothing after you’re dead, and most of my life is well behind me now, Maribel.” He looked down, melancholy in the face. 

Maribel set a consoling hand atop her brother’s. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Maribel. She’s young, I am old, and of course you are right. This would be nothing more than a fling. I understand that. It’s a form of payment or sacrifice to get this documentary made. I would be going into this with eyes wide open and expectations well in check. I have no doubt it’s nothing more than a seduction play, how could it be anything else? Look at me. Look at her. The thing is, I’ve been feeling like I want to be manipulated by the power of this woman. Maybe exploitation will be a titillating experience in this case.” 

Maribel has stopped eating her dinner. “Or a tragic one,” she said. “You will hate yourself after the fact. You’re thinking short-term. You must think about the long game. Think about yourself after this fling is all over. How will you feel then?” 

“None of this would be happening if Hilda was still around. I miss her.” He eyes went downcast again. 

Maribel’s eyes brimmed with empathy. “We all do. Hilda was a good woman and she kept you steady.” After some time elapsed Maribel added, “Have you even tried dating women of your vintage? Someone with staying power?” 

“I just don’t have the patience for the whole courtship thing. I don’t want to do that dance again. I don’t want to go looking for another Hilda. She’s irreplaceable. That’s the memory or legacy I’m more interested in protecting. An escapade with Vera would be a clean and easy point of entry, both parties knowing what they’re in for, and a very simple exit strategy. The problem is, I don’t think I’m going to want to exit the situation once I’m involved. This woman has got me spellbound. Not since Hilda and I first got started have I felt this way.” 

“Listen, I’ve never suggested this before in my life to any man, but if you need some female comfort there are women who specialize in that for a price. A woman who will drop her clothes, please you and disappear without any entangling emotions and no damage to your emotions or standing in history. These women exist for a reason.” 

Ciro winced. “I just cannot see myself doing that. I have no problem with their profession, it’s just not for me. And there’s more going on here than that. I need an emotional connection.” 

Maribel leaned forward. “Vera has turned on the charm. Women know how to do that. You know that. You’re in a business where manipulation of all kinds of rampant. You’ve always floated above that. You’ve always been like a lotus flower in that way. 

Ciro let out a long, ragged sigh. 

Maribel asked, “Are you still meditating?” 

“Very sporadically. I haven’t been able to concentrate.” 

“Well isn’t that the point?” 

“I don’t know what I’m doing right now. Other than this, I’m having trouble identifying my next piece of work.” 

“Maybe you should see a grief counselor.” 

“I’ve been doing that for three years, got started even before Hilda died. The grief has subsided but not completely. It’s still in the woodwork, kind of like black mold.” 

Maribel looked straight into her brother’s face. “That sounds awful. I feel for you. I’ve never seen you like this. You’ve always been so focused and driven.” 

“I’ve never had trouble identifying my next subject. I’ve always been frustrated that there are far more subjects to be documented than I could possibly get to in this lifetime. Now I’ve written off a lot of them for whatever reasons, and I’m not finding a new one. At least not a compelling one. What I find compelling right now is Vera Hawkins. The prospect of working in tandem with Vera is the only thing exciting me these days. I can see myself dragging out the making of this documentary for as many years as possible to keep Vera simmering nearby.” 

“You’re depressed.” Maribel shot the words at him. “Now is not the time to be making any major decisions. Listen to your sister.” 

“It’s a mood that’s not going to go away, or it would have gone away by now. I do feel that Vera can lift it, however briefly.” 

“A few blinding orgasms and then the crash. Another woman disappears from your life. How will you feel then? And what happens after that? You might go even deeper in this abyss. I would fear for your mental health. I think this woman is a major risk. You need to confront her. Ask her why she’s been coming on to you and what her intentions are.” 

“Oh, God, what an awful thought.” 

“It’s a question that needs answering. You need to know if you’re receiving her correctly. Let’s say you’ve misread her and she doesn’t have a sexual interest in you, then how would you feel about a documentary about this Original Sin woman? If Vera Hawkins is interested, she needs to speak honestly about the source of her interest, and, if that’s the case, how enduring that interest would be. Why leave it floating out there? Take her to the limit. Make her speak for her actions. She’s not a child, she can take it.” 

While her brother was talking, Maribel did another internet search of retrieve more images of Vera Hawkins and was reviewing some of her pictures and trying to think of a Hollywood actress she most closely resembled. Maybe a slighter version of Angelica Houston. “How long has she been dying her hair black,” she asked. “Vera, I’m talking about.” 

Following a moment of disoriented silence, Ciro said, “I don’t know. Don’t all women dye their hair? Don’t you die your hair?” 

“Just some low lights. There’s plenty of gray in there.” 

“Where did you see her?” 

“Where everybody sees everyone these days,” pointing the phone at him. “She’s attractive but I don’t understand your obsession.” 

“Nor do I, honestly.” 

Maribel sat forward. “Here’s what I suggest: Do a documentary about the movie business, about Hollywood, about movies and how they get made and all the various forms of deceit and manipulation involved.” 

Ciro’s eyes lightened momentarily. 

“Think about what that might be like. Make your friend Vera one of your sources for the making of this movie. That way you get to spend time with her, weave her popstar client into a bit of it, but also go much broader. A whole array of Hollywood agents, actors, casting agents, movie stars and directors and producers.” 

Ciro set down his utensil and leaned back. “I’ll need to sleep on it and see if it has any appeal in the morning.” 

“I think it could work. This way you could produce a piece with some gravitas while still involving this woman who has you wrapped around her pinky finger, and you would be challenging her gamesmanship at the same time, at least with respect to you. If you do this right, she will stand out as one of the chief antagonists. Why shouldn’t you manipulate her even as she’s manipulating you? Fair’s fair.” 

“I’m not trying to disgrace her.” 

Marabella shrugged. “You might even get laid a few times along the way.” After a pause, she added, “I shouldn’t have said that. It was gauche. You know how I feel about gutter language. Our parents didn’t raise us that way, God rest their souls.” 

Ciro wasn’t listening anymore. He was gazing into a distant nowhere and pulling on his chin whiskers. “I need to sketch this out on paper. Figure out what’s possible. Dope out its full parameters. Take down the names of some of the people who should appear in the film, or at least be referenced. A lot of this would have to be generic. It cannot all be personalized and accusatory. And this needs to be much broader than just male directors and producers taking advantage of young women trying to break into the business. That’s all well documented and pretty much passé at this point. It would make sense for this type of project to be the most cinematic I’ve ever made, in terms of cutting from scene to scene and the pacing and all. A little bit MTV music video, back with MTV actually broadcast music videos. 

“Now you’re doing the work,” Maribel said. 

 

 

 

 

Two nights later Ciro Amalfi arranged to meet for dinner with Vera Hawkins at a West Hollywood joint that claimed to be under new management and was getting effusive reviews. He was sitting mid-dining room and took the chair facing the door and went to work on a Campari and soda. Seven minutes later Vera Hawkins walked in and detonated the place. She couldn’t have looked any better in Ciro’s eyes. The slender, bare neck (one of the features Ciro liked best), the fluted, plum-colored hem dress, the glittering wedge sandals strapped around her ankles. It seemed that every head in the place turned and stayed with her — the women even more so than the men, as they took account of her choice of footwear and couture. Most of the men would have paid money to play with her long, lustrous hair. 

Vera walked to the side of the table and stood smiling and waiting for Ciro to get up and give her a respectful greeting. Ciro was stunned for a couple of moments before rising less than smoothly on his 67-year-old knees. He returned her smile, dumbly at first, then they hugged. He liked the way Vera hugged, warmly, pressing her breastbone flat against his and holding steady for a couple of beats. Ciro began to fizz. 

It was a good 25 minutes and three bites into her bacon-wrapped scallops before Vera got to the burning subject, a big-screen take on the life of Octavia Chase and the making of Original Sin. She framed it as a docudrama where her client could reenact to numerous stages of her development and the band’s rise to demi-stardom, something that really showed off her acting chops and re-launched her career on theater screens. 

“Vera,” Ciro said, squirming in his seat and searching for the proper verbal construction. “I’ve done documentaries about immigration, the environment, global agriculture, female hotel workers, emotional strife and so on. I’ve got an Oscar to my credit and several IDA Documentary Awards. Maybe I’m missing something, but this doesn’t seem consistent with my prior work. It doesn’t have the gravitas.” 

Vera was clearly prepared for the objection, countering that the project would add a new appendage to his body of work, a fresh and youthful one, and keep Ciro from being seen as strictly an auteur whose subject matter existed only in society’s sordid underbelly, though she used less lurid wording. 

“I had the same notion, Vera, but with a different topic in mind.” Ciro then reiterated the idea posed by his sister Maribel without crediting her. “A documentary about Hollywood and the movie business, about how movies get made and all the various forms of deceit and manipulation involved.” 

The light in Vera’s eyes dimmed. 

“Think about what that might be like. You would be one of my sources, whether with screen time or not, for the making of this project. We would be collaborators, and I might even be able weave your popstar client into the mosaic.” 

Vera ceased eating. “I mean, that’s so far from what we’ve been talking about.” 

“Is it really? I imagine lots of youth and sex appeal, in addition to the old-guard leadership at the studios.” 

“It seems a concept that’s already been explored to some degree.” The words crossed Vera’s lips tentatively, so as not to sound like she was accusing Ciro of being derivative. 

“It’s never been done the way I’m going to explore it. You know my style, and we could work on this together. You would get screen credit as well.” 

Vera sipped nervously at her sparkling water. 

“I know you’ve been wanting to push your client to center stage,” Ciro said, “but maybe it should be your turn to take the spotlight.” 

“You sound so decisive, Ciro, like your mind is made up.” 

“My thinking is always a work in progress. What is your hesitation?” 

“Well … this would not be well received by Hollywood power brokers,” she said. “I doubt I would ever be able to place another actor. I’m pretty sure I’d be blackballed from the business.” 

“The thought crossed my mind, but I figured you could join my production company and we become co-collaborators — not just for this documentary, we would work together on future ones as well. Ciro Amalfi and Vera Hawkins. You would become a filmmaker and I would teach you the business. It occurred to me that I have no succession plan in place. Most directors eventually die and their work ends. You could carry it on, Vera, not as my surrogate, you would be a moviemaker with your own directorial instincts and priorities. It’s really a wonderful opportunity.” 

Vera was looking a bit less stunned now, though still exhibiting some of the symptoms of shock. 

“Look,” Ciro continued, “we could go deep on this at your place over dinner, if the invitation still stands.” 

“Of course it does,” Vera said. There was disappointment in her voice. 

“You could plump a couple of pillows for me as well.” He smiled mischievously. “I have to admit to being a little surprised by the overnight invite.” 

There was something about the way he said it that landed awkwardly on Vera. The boyishness. The naughtiness. Now she looked slightly startled. “We’ve been friends a long time, Ciro, and you know the guest room is always available to you. I figured it was going to be a long night with a bit of drinking. I didn’t want you driving after that.” 

Ciro’s face noticeably dropped. Vera immediately recognized the misunderstanding and the discomfort seeped in. “I mean, there’s always Uber, though I thought we might continue the conversation over breakfast in the morning.” 

Ciro went mute and started concentrating on his plate. 

Vera excused herself to use the ladies’ room. It was a longer visit than usual, and by time she returned to the table Ciro was signing the credit card bill to bring their dinner to a swift and nearly wordless conclusion. 

 

 

 

 

From behind the wheel of his Audi sedan, Ciro began driving in the general direction of his home. Oncoming headlights glistened through brimming eyes. Finally, he stopped at Beverly Gardens Park, turned off the motor and called sister Maribel. She answered and knew immediately her brother was under duress. 

“All those years with Hilda and I never philandered — not once. No desire,” Ciro said. 

“What happened? Did things get physical between you and Vera?” 

Ciro was now gasping for breath. “What was I thinking? My god, my body parts bob like gelatin when I walk. What woman of her age would tolerate such a thing? I was already dieting and losing weight in anticipation of being with her.” 

“Tell me what happened.” 

“I completely misread her.” 

There was silence for a few moments before Ciro said, “I need to think about things. I need to reconsider my exaggerated self-regard.” 

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” 

“How could I have been so stupid? My loneliness has affected me more deeply than I had imagined.” 

“You’re a man after all,” Maribel said. “Would you rather that impulse have taken complete leave of you?” 

“I’m exactly what I feared becoming — an old fool, the worst kind of fool.” 

“You were not foolish, Ciro, you were mistaken.” 

“How can I ever face her again?” 

“I promise you this is a much bigger deal to you than her. Vera won’t give it more than a thought tomorrow.” 

“You don’t understand. I posed your idea and then took it a giant step further. I asked her to join the production company and become my co-collaborator, thinking that would somehow keep a romantic engagement intact for the long run. That must have been in the back of my mind. It just came out of me without ever thinking about it beforehand.” 

“Oh, god,” said Maribel, before realizing that she was probably compounding Ciro’s grief. “Just withdraw the offer if she ever brings it up. Were you drinking at the time?” 

“It was a come-on. I made a pass at my friend and then she was up and off to the ladies’ room.” Ciro choked at the memory. 

“She probably didn’t even take it that way.” 

“Oh yes she did. It was obvious.” 

Maribel could hear that her brother had slapped the car’s instrument panel. 

“Any attractive woman has had the experience,” Maribel said. “This can’t be new to her.” 

“She probably thought she did something wrong. It was all me, not her. I adore Vera, even now.” Ciro whimpered before adding, “I’ve never felt so humiliated.” 

“This will pass.” 

“Dinner at her place,” Ciro said. “Silly me, I thought she might take off her blouse after dessert. You knew the whole time,” Maribel. “You tried to warn me.” 

“You’re underestimating Vera. She values your friendship and your professional association, or it wouldn’t have lasted this long.” 

“Maybe she likes older men; I actually entertained the thought. Idiot!” 

“Stop, please. I know you’re hurting but this isn’t making things any better.” 

“I probably even smell old. Isn’t that what the young say about the old. I could have at least worn cologne to mask the funk. Hilda would have been so disappointed in me.” 

“Stop with the self-flagellation. You’re spiraling.” 

“Things will never be the same between me and Vera. I just hope to hell she doesn’t come back to me about either one of these projects. How could I have been so weak?” 

“You made a mistake. You’re allowed a few of those.” 

“She’ll never trust my intentions again.” 

“Any man is susceptible to an attractive woman’s charms. This cannot possibly be the first time her friendliness has been misinterpreted by a man. It’s happened dozens of times, I can assure you.” 

“This is different.” Maribel could hear Ciro had the handkerchief out and was dabbing at his eyes. “I’m 67 years old, I’m considered a cinematic intellectual. How blind could I have been to the nuance? 

“This is how it happens, you know that. She was trying to win you over. There was probably nothing very subtle about it.” 

“I can’t be this susceptible, not at this stage in my life.” 

“I blame her!” Maribel barked. “That woman knew what she was doing, and she knows you are still coming off the loss of your wife. She was playing a game, trying to lure you into a ridiculous movie project straight out of left field so she could advance her agenda at your expense. It was female manipulation of the worst kind.” 

“And I let it happen. Sex and vanity.” 

“It’s what happens to men in these situations. Any man. It’s not just you, Ciro, it’s the way the male is constituted. It’s chemistry. Isn’t that what original sin is all about?” 

@copyright 2020/Mike Consol