Francis

Going into the C.I.A. is one thing, but going into it for the sake
of seeing Percy Pierce is another thing: there is something about love
that inspires one to do one's best and although Francis knows that
Percy and Miranda are almost completely together, she cannot but hope
to be with Percy. It's because they are so completely compatible
perhaps as Ally McBeal and her love are so completely together that she
joined the CIA.


"Percy, we've lost contact," Francis is radiant. She couldn't
be happier.
"Let's go out!"


Perhaps it is the sheer joy or enchantment of being around
someone whom she loves, very deeply: she is happy beyond all
comparison. She loves Percy and this she could not deny. The idea that
Miranda had died made her beyond happy also, that he would love and
prize her exclusively. They would be together at the finest
restaurants, so completely and exclusively together. Was it love at
first sight, the first time she caught a glimpse of him, his bluest
eyes, his blondest hair and his forever gaze, as American as apple pie?
She could only smile back adoringly at him with all her pure thoughts,
as of roses, pure and simple. She loved him or she loved him not, but
all the competition had simply disappeared. So completely was she with
him, together and again forever and forever til the end of time and
oblivion. YES, she thought and she craved his attention more than all
the gold in the world, all the hordes of wealth since time began or
ended: she was happy, intensely, beautifully happy. Percy and she would
dine out and be the lights of the party -- things that they said would
be repeated over and over again, over and over and over again in a
clockwork fashion, beautifully lit and shown almost like a Christmas
Tree, the beauty of which could never ever, even in the most fantastic
of all fairy tales could be described, NO NO NO, not even unto the ends
and puzzles of any universe, whether it was real or unreal, surreal or
serene, knowing or lost. YES, their life together was too perfect to be
described, only if she had a camera?



EATING AT THE TWIN MOON was an event, not unlike
attending a movie premiere. Famous celebrities ate there without being
noticed. They thanked GOD that no one would ask them for an autograph.
EVERYONE being rich or famous or promiscuous or nonchalant, they ate
with a certain degree of class. The TWIN MOON was located on top of one
of the most famous buildings in LA, near Beverly Hills. The night view
from the TWIN MOON was always filled with stars since that was what was
being played on the windows which were really flat-panelled
high-definition screens.


"It's so terrible that you lost your beloved Miranda. What a
name for a woman though. Eureka, Miranda is dead."
"It's not funny Francis. She was my soul and hope, my only love?"
"I'm going to be your number one," for some reason, the song from
Blondie stuck in her mind like something tacked on to a
billboard.
"Percy, isn't it time to move on? She was so independent. She can't
work with other people."
"Perhaps you are right," Percy admitted, drinking his Sauvignon with a
certain degree of sadness.
"We could be," Francis chanced, "so happy together."


Percy felt guilty for loving someone so quickly after the
demise of Miranda. What was he to do though? Francis was smart,
attractive, and kind. The more he stared into her eyes, the more he saw
swans swimming in the lake of her eyes. Whenever he needed some help,
she had been there for him. Where was Miranda? Making movies of all
things, making him wait for hours outside of her trailer while she
wailed out her part, saying the lines over and over again until it felt
right.


You and me, thought Francis, we were going to be kings and
queens of the world. Nothing could stop us now.


They kissed under the false stars.


The pain, the pain of the loss though. It was horrific to
bear, to lose someone who had defined who he was for such a long time.
She was everything to him, and yet more, he thought. Something about
her was magnetically attractive, something strong pulling him herward,
calling him to her. Francis' body resolved that. Her body was made for
forgetfulness, and in her arms, in her cooing words, he found a release
from memory, from time itself, even from striving to become what he
wanted to be. Her cold blue eyes softened as he kissed her: the world
opened up before him, something was definitely not lost to him or so he
thought. He enjoyed not having to be around Miranda anymore; he
couldn't deny it. It was real, the feelings that he had, the feelings
that he was. The sky was a naked violet, its eyes sparkling with
curious glee. Then he thought, that was it. She was so completely in
the moment, Francis, she was so curiously real; that's what he found to
be so strikingly attractive about her, that they could be always in the
present, not obsessed with some code of conduct or some dream of what
the world could be, turn into, become. Would all the flowers of the
world bloom tomorrow? Was he meant to be with her? He didn't know and
yet, deep inside, underneath the eyelids of his desires where all the
creatures of his dreams would come about, very much as figures of
reality came about from a distance, from this distance, he could indeed
feel a pulse of something, something darkly magical and mysterious,
rising from the depth of his consciousness and that was
freedom?


AS Miranda fully absorbed what was happening right in front
of her eyes, her dark shades, two patched shadows, protecting her from
absolutely seeing what was going on right in front of her eyes, she
wondered about nothingness. She felt nothingness with all its hardness
and its lack of meaning. Nothing was permanent in the world? things
were always changing. Nothing lasted. She did not even hate Percy. She
was presumably dead anyway. What did she matter to Percy once dead?
Didn't she want him to be happy? She didn't want anything from him any
longer. Under her blonde hair, under her shades, she felt a bit like
stone, perhaps as Medusa was Francis and that's how Francis made people
feel, like stone. She watched Francis and Percy from a corner, eating
her salad with a fork and a knife, silvery when meeting
tongues.


Francis felt certified with Percy. Their kiss minted their
relationship. She felt secure, no longer feeling the rough winds of
being alone, the sharp winds that would strike at her and she would
have no one to turn to when she had been slapped. She did not like that
feeling, less and less. She could call someone now, she could call him
and confide in him her troubles, her silly thoughts, even her girly and
charming moments (those moments in which she was alone out with the
rain, thinking herself a rainy child of the stars): she felt that Percy
understood her which was a powerful feeling. They drove through the
city of Los Angeles then, smiling, even knowing their future would be
perfect. Miranda was driving behind them, her new blonde hair whirling
in the wind, chasing the past, chasing what she did not know about
either Percy or Francis.


"Did you ever dream that something like this could exist?
That we could be so perfect for each other?" asked Percy.
"NO. I never thought life could really be like this, a dream, you and
I, and that I wouldn't be yelling at you, driving you crazy, screaming
even for a while, totally unhapp," Miranda responded.
"It's that we were meant for each other, is it not? We were meant to
complete each other, is it not?" Miranda continued.


Their life had been more like a dream than something real,
thought Miranda. That's why it had to end. It was good that it ended
the way it did. No longer were they able to communicate with each
other; they were locked away in the room of their own minds, unable to
get out, STUCK, not to explore any single thing, but STUCK, unable to
move on. Francis had provided the out for Percy.


"I could be an excellent front for an agent," Miranda spoke
frankly.
"We have enough fronts. We don't need any more fronts."
Miranda looked into Francis' eyes. Don't you recognize me? She wanted
to ask it so badly. NO, Francis did not recognize her. The
reconstructive surgery had changed her body into someone different. She
was suddenly not as striking as before, but not only that, she even
looked a bit strange, worried, different, certainly not a part of the
crowd. Miranda was still beautiful, and yet, terribly different. The
air of loneliness sat around her along with its stale flavour.
"Francis, that is your name, is it not?" Miranda asked.
"Yes."
"I could be an excellent front. Terrorists are attracted to me. While I
am seducing the terrorist, you can get all the information that you
need."
Francis looked into Miranda's eyes for a while. She would have to
review the qualifications and other things. For a moment, she felt that
she recognized her, even just a little. Did she recognize her though?
Her reconstructive surgery had not turned out as expected. She appeared
strange like an exotic animal in the jungle or a treasured find, not
someone to be seen as a model of beauty or action, but someone who only
had herself to look to in order to see what she may become. What did
Francis care anyway? Her heart was freezing, and that's the way, that's
the way she liked it. It appeared to her for the first time that she
was very much in command of her life and even of those around her.
Interviewing possible agents gave her a sense of security and power.
What did she recognize in Miranda's eyes that was so strange and
difficult to understand? What did she see? She saw someone who was
intensely shy, someone hiding behind her face, her body. Francis was
her body, she thought. What would she do when her body changed? She
would find a new model, someone else to imitate or be. Was it as simple
as all that though? Wasn't she looking through a glass darkly into
Miranda? Wasn't she even disturbed by what she saw? Miranda was
suffering? and that was nice, it was even enjoyable to watch. Is that
what she now found so enjoyable? Even if she did not recognize Miranda,
somehow she felt an incredible pleasure as if she were letting out a
deeply-embedded pain, something stuck inside of her for such an
extended time that she had not even known it was there.


"She's obviously not someone who can be a front, even if I am
willing to bend the rules a little," Francis commented, "There's
something strange about it. I can't quite put my finger on it. It's not
something that is really scarry, it's just something
strange."


"You said that you felt like you've met her
before?"


"I did Very much feel that way, as if we had met in a dream.
You know one of those dream characters that one meets and they say
something very deep, eerie, and strange -- some truth that you've
always known, but you were so afraid of hearing or listening to, but
when she says it, it's fine. There's really nothing wrong with you.
It's not a very good way of explaining things,
but?she's?"


"Well, as you've said, she doesn't belong in the intelligence
service industry."


"No she doesn't. Somehow, her eyes seemed to be pleading with
me though. She just looked so strange. No one could of had a face like
hers. Her face appeared to be so awfully lonely, as if she could not
even understand herself. No one could understand her and she somehow
wanted me to understand her situation."


"You are reading much too deeply into the situation, much too
deeply."
She said, "Terrorists are attracted to me. That's what she said,"
Francis commented abruptly, "Isn't that a strange comment to make? Why
would anyone say something like that? There are no fronts for
terrorists anyway."
"Some strange things happen," Percy snapped, "Why are you obsessing
over this woman?"
"I don't know? it was like we knew each other. It was like she was
Miranda or someone like her, except terribly transformed, almost into a
monster of some sort. It wasn't pleasant at all. I felt sick inside as
though I had killed someone."
"It certainly wasn't Miranda although she could certainly have said
something like that. Don't worry about it. Strange thing happen. Don't
let this little thing bother you. After all, you can't let anything
happen to you that you do not desire in some manner."
"You're right. I shouldn't have interviewed her. There were all these
blanks in her application and then, there were teardrops on it? that's
what made me want to talk to her, I suppose."
"That was your mistake?"


Teardrops on her application: that was the saddest thing that
Francis had ever seen. Why had this woman even applied? Why was she
crying? Did she lose someone, someone dear to her in the service? Was
she the lover of someone? Had she lost her identity somehow?
Loneliness: that's what Francis saw in her eyes, a loneliness that
could only be described as someone completely foreign, not able to be
understood at all, an alien almost. She felt an incredible hatred for
this woman. How dare she ask, how dare she ask to be admitted into the
intelligence service? Then the teardrops, what did it mean, she
wondered.


"I did not know whom else to call. I'm so sorry. I want to
speak to you about something. Will you please meet me?"
"No," replied Francis.


"Sometimes I just want her dead. That's why we sent her
there, isn't it? We sent her there to die?"
"She wanted the mission. She even wanted her body changed. How was she
to know that the change in body would destroy who she was."
"We should have warned her. It was an impossible mission anyway. She
was our only link, no other whatsoever."
Francis had been glad to let Miranda go on that mission, a mission that
would literally change her identity. She wanted to get rid of her
anyway and THE MISSION had provided the perfect chance. She had felt no
guilt about the MISSION since Miranda had volunteered. THIS STRANGER
who popped into her life now somehow made her feel guilty. She could
not get rid of the feeling that this person was indeed Miranda. This
was a dead person come back to life. How horrible, how terrible that
was! She was very much tormented by the thought that this strange,
animalistic figure who had tried to invite herself into her life would
suck all the life out of her, make her confess such things as she dare
not admit. Miranda wanted it and she got what she wanted. It was as
simple as that. Miranda had been stupid. That was it and it would
always be it. There was this strange craving that Francis had though, a
secretive desire to meet this stranger, a desire to confront her with
her choice.


"You chose to go. No one forced you. NOW, you appear as an
erotic and strange animal. It's TRANSFORMATION! You were bound to turn
into someone different anyway. You've been given a second life Miranda.
You are completely free from your former identity. It's like you've
been reincarnated."


Miranda let out a deep breath. She took out a cigarette and
lit it, threw the match away:


"YOU KNEW what it meant, my mission. You prodded me, you
questioned my reputation, you told me that no one else could do it but
me."


"It was your FINEST ROLE. LOOK AT YOU, you're still within
the role. You're still playing that hermetic North Korean person you
were supposed to be. What a great actress you are!
Brilliant!"


"Francis, was it all for Percy?"
"No, part vanity, part happiness."


Would that be her conversation with Miranda? No, it would
not, for Miranda was so ashamed of being duped by Francis that she
could never admit to being herself. Miranda was never fooled so how
could Miranda be Miranda?


"Those tears on the application? What are they all about? Did
something happen?"


"Yes, it's just that my friend, Miranda, was in the service.
I don't know what happened to her. I presume that she is dead, is she
not?"


"I'm afraid that the information is confidential. No one was
supposed to know about her involvement in the matter."


"You would, of course, notify her family."


"Of course."


"I'm not exactly her friend. I am her sister,
Jackie."


"Really. We sent out a letter?"


"She is missing, you said."


"Miranda never told us that she had a
sister."


"Is it such a shock that even SHE had a
family."


"She was just so independent and secretive. Of course, I
apologize? Why did you apply for the service? Obviously, you are
not?"


"Curiosity."


"What a perfect answer!"