He watched everything as if submerged in a fully holistic movie.
Not that he was an outdoorsman in any sense other than being physically outdoors. Plum-pudding round, forever dressed in bespoke suits, with vests and ascots, he seemed to want to play the part of an old, odd uncle dandy in whatever film it was that he watched all around him all the time.
Today, he’d chosen a dark cinnamon cloth suitable to the season. Thirty — maybe forty — tiny bright buttons up the front of the vest, with more on the jacket, front and sleeves. Many minute buttons would soon be the new thing, in Milan or New York, she knew. She didn’t know if he picked up on trends early, or drove them.
He sat on a bench, a top—
“What is that?” Sylvia said.
“What?” Marshall appeared astonished.
“Get up,” she ordered.
He lifted his formidable butt off the green planks. “Is the paint wet?”
Sylvia pointed at the cushion on the bench, thick, quilted, cut from the same fabric of his suit.
“It’s a walking suit, dear.” He sat back down. “With accoutrement,” he added in a poor French accent.
“That means you only brought one.”
“I’ll give you the name of my tailor.” Marshall motioned to the open bench space next to him. “Besides, your tight young tush should have no trouble.”
Sylvia plopped down and tossed her head back far enough to see the structure behind her. “What is this place?”
“Griffith Observatory. I’m embarrassed for you having to ask.”
“Why should I know a piece of junk so desperate the company didn’t even repurpose it?”
“Rebel Without a Cause? Terminator?”
“Old movies I should’ve seen. I’m sorry. Life’s short.”
“Ha,” Marshall belted out. “Right you are. I’m trying to help preserve it. The property is Ambyr, but hobbyists are making a go at it.”
“You come here for sex?”
“Not that kind of hobbyists, dear.” He huffed. “Good God. I wouldn’t call you to a brothel.”
“You would.”
“Yes. I would. I didn’t in this case, however. These hobbyists are astronomers.”
“Fortune tellers?”
“Agh,” he belched. “Weren’t you, once upon a time, a woman of science?”
“I learned about photosynthesis. What else do you want from me?”
“Astronomers study the stars. They monitor the heavens, plotting where we are in the universe, along with everything else.”
“The point being?”
Marshall bowed his head, gripped in a sadness so heavy it had to be fake.
“I’m in trouble,” Sylvia said.
“You’re telling me.”
“No, Marshall. True trouble. I think I’ve bitten off more than I can put away for the winter.”
“That is unimaginable. You devour any challenge.”
“This may be my Waterloo.”
“Agh!” he belched again. “Napoleonic Wars you know, the difference between astronomers and astrologers eludes you. Did you hire an actor to play you at school?”
“What a great idea,” Sylvia said. “If I had thought of it, I would’ve hired someone to visit you out here in the rubble. I’m not jerking you around. Listen.”
“Of course.” Marshall put one hand on each of his knees and straightened his back. “Proceed.”
“I’ve taken on a contract for a documentary fully funded with private money.”
“Oh.” Marshall kept his mouth pulled into a circle. He looked off to the right, like he might want to slowly sidle away.
“I know. They want me to track down the Milkman. Some urban legend—”
“I’m familiar with him, or her as the case may be. My familiarity lacks that level of intimacy.”
“You’ve heard of the Milkman?”
“I have a fondness for people that flout the company.”
“Ambyr lets him exist. Lets him report on the viability of its products.”
“It would seem so.”
“If I do this film and raise his profile, am I going to get checked? Is this guy going to get checked?”
“I don’t know. You think the company doesn’t mind at his current level of nuisance. They will if
Not that he was an outdoorsman in any sense other than being physically outdoors. Plum-pudding round, forever dressed in bespoke suits, with vests and ascots, he seemed to want to play the part of an old, odd uncle dandy in whatever film it was that he watched all around him all the time.
Today, he’d chosen a dark cinnamon cloth suitable to the season. Thirty — maybe forty — tiny bright buttons up the front of the vest, with more on the jacket, front and sleeves. Many minute buttons would soon be the new thing, in Milan or New York, she knew. She didn’t know if he picked up on trends early, or drove them.
He sat on a bench, a top—
“What is that?” Sylvia said.
“What?” Marshall appeared astonished.
“Get up,” she ordered.
He lifted his formidable butt off the green planks. “Is the paint wet?”
Sylvia pointed at the cushion on the bench, thick, quilted, cut from the same fabric of his suit.
“It’s a walking suit, dear.” He sat back down. “With accoutrement,” he added in a poor French accent.
“That means you only brought one.”
“I’ll give you the name of my tailor.” Marshall motioned to the open bench space next to him. “Besides, your tight young tush should have no trouble.”
Sylvia plopped down and tossed her head back far enough to see the structure behind her. “What is this place?”
“Griffith Observatory. I’m embarrassed for you having to ask.”
“Why should I know a piece of junk so desperate the company didn’t even repurpose it?”
“Rebel Without a Cause? Terminator?”
“Old movies I should’ve seen. I’m sorry. Life’s short.”
“Ha,” Marshall belted out. “Right you are. I’m trying to help preserve it. The property is Ambyr, but hobbyists are making a go at it.”
“You come here for sex?”
“Not that kind of hobbyists, dear.” He huffed. “Good God. I wouldn’t call you to a brothel.”
“You would.”
“Yes. I would. I didn’t in this case, however. These hobbyists are astronomers.”
“Fortune tellers?”
“Agh,” he belched. “Weren’t you, once upon a time, a woman of science?”
“I learned about photosynthesis. What else do you want from me?”
“Astronomers study the stars. They monitor the heavens, plotting where we are in the universe, along with everything else.”
“The point being?”
Marshall bowed his head, gripped in a sadness so heavy it had to be fake.
“I’m in trouble,” Sylvia said.
“You’re telling me.”
“No, Marshall. True trouble. I think I’ve bitten off more than I can put away for the winter.”
“That is unimaginable. You devour any challenge.”
“This may be my Waterloo.”
“Agh!” he belched again. “Napoleonic Wars you know, the difference between astronomers and astrologers eludes you. Did you hire an actor to play you at school?”
“What a great idea,” Sylvia said. “If I had thought of it, I would’ve hired someone to visit you out here in the rubble. I’m not jerking you around. Listen.”
“Of course.” Marshall put one hand on each of his knees and straightened his back. “Proceed.”
“I’ve taken on a contract for a documentary fully funded with private money.”
“Oh.” Marshall kept his mouth pulled into a circle. He looked off to the right, like he might want to slowly sidle away.
“I know. They want me to track down the Milkman. Some urban legend—”
“I’m familiar with him, or her as the case may be. My familiarity lacks that level of intimacy.”
“You’ve heard of the Milkman?”
“I have a fondness for people that flout the company.”
“Ambyr lets him exist. Lets him report on the viability of its products.”
“It would seem so.”
“If I do this film and raise his profile, am I going to get checked? Is this guy going to get checked?”
“I don’t know. You think the company doesn’t mind at his current level of nuisance. They will if
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