The Day of the Car

Sam Marshall crashed back into the chair that bore his name and
searched his jacket pocket for cigarettes.
'Er, sorry Sam,' said the director, 'we've not actually finished the
scene yet.'
'Screw you, fruit. I need a smoke.'
The director slicked his fringe back into position and rubbed the
Brylcream residue onto his cardigan. 'Looks like we're taking another
break, gang. Back in five minutes.'
The bulking cameras withdrew, their operatives lowered to the ground
as the rest of the crew grumbled like so many back-bench MPs in a
contentious parliamentary debate. Sam lit a cigarette and blew smoke
into the face of the woman sitting next to him, a prim arrangement in
black and white, who, with the addition of an apron, could've stood
smiling in a kitchen as a manly voice extolled the virtues of Echo
margarine or Be-Ro flour.
'Hot enough for ya, Rosie?'
'Mr Marshall, as I keep telling you, it's Rosalynd, not Rosie,' she
said, each word as precise as an ornament in the best room in the
house. 'And please don't blow your second-hand smoke on me. Aside from
being incredibly rude, it reminds me of when I lost my poor
Father.'
'Heavy smoker, huh?'
'No. I meant we lost him during the Great Smog a few years ago. Poor
Daddy, he only popped out to buy a Radio Times and we never saw him
again. The government said it was the 'flu.'
'You oughtta try sucking on a Camel King Size.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Camel. A real smoke. Satisfying. Did a few spots for Camel, they gave
me a year's supply.'
Sam's thumb remained clamped down on the lighter and he looked in
steady fascination at the flame.
'I'm sure I've never had the pleasure.'
'The way you walk, I'd say that's pretty much given.'
'Well, really! There's no need for vulgarity. Why can't you talk about
the script for a change?'
Sam picked up his copy from the floor. '"Empire Productions present
The Day of the Car," he announced, '"A terrifying science fiction
thriller." Well Rosie, it's terrifying crap. Even for crap, it's crap.
And this from the land that gave us Shakespeare!'
'You've studied Shakespeare?'
'Hell no, I'm from Hollywood.'
Rosalynd looked back into her youth. 'I was classically
trained.'
'Sorry to hear that.'
'I often wonder why you came all this way, if you hate it here so
much.'
Sam flicked ash from his cigarette. 'My buddies stationed here in the
war said Brit girls were the easiest in Europe.'
'Oh for goodness sake!'
Rosalynd got up and left the set; up above, out of view, two
electrical engineers stopped making obscene gestures of contempt at Sam
to make obscene gestures of admiration at Rosalynd.
'Gor, tell yer what,' whispered one to the other. 'Bet she's dirty.
Posh ones are always dirty!' A drop of spittle fell from the
electrician's mouth and landed on Sam's head.
'Man!' Sam exclaimed, scratching his scalp, 'If that butt got any
tighter, she could smoke out if it! Whaddya say, Edna?'
'Piss off, yank,' grumbled the old lady, as she trundled past with the
tea trolley.
'That's the smartest thing anyone's said to me since I got
here!'
'And we 'int got none of yer bleedin' coffee, neither.'
'Have you upset Miss Wynters again?' asked the director, loosening the
knot on his lank suede tie.
Sam considered the director, this pale shadow who thought himself in
charge. Not a man he'd want alongside him in battle; wouldn't have
lasted two minutes at Iwo Jima. Could be in the jungle a month and not
need to shave. The sort of creep Dean Forrest liked.
'Pull up a chair, Your Majesty. It's got a woman's name on it, but I'm
sure you don't mind one bit.'
'Look here, just because you're the star, doesn't mean to say you can
go round upsetting people whenever you want.'
'That's where you're wrong, old fruit. The way I see it, no Sam
Marshall, no movie. No day of the car, no night of the car, no morning
tea and cookies with the car. The end.'
'All I'm saying is, with a little common courtesy, making this film
will be more enjoyable for all of us.'
'You talk too much, you know that? Actions speak louder than
words.'
'We want action, but we need you to play your part.'
'When I'm good and ready. Or do you want to tell the producer the
American market just got on the first plane back home?'
'Come on Sam, you're a great actor, and together we can make this into
a great film.'
He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder; it was shrugged off.
'Yeah, and you used to be a great director. So I got told.'
'At least for the sake of the film - '
'What? Some shitty flick where cars come alive and start running
people over? Sure, we're talking Gone with the Wind here!'
There was a commotion at the main doors, where a group of studio-hands
pushed three gleaming cars towards the set.
'Ah, here come your co-stars!'
'What the hell do you call these?'
'Three of our invaders. Well, all of our invaders, what with the
budget being a bit on the tight side. A Ford Consul, a Vauxhall Velox
and a Morris Minor Traveller.' He gave the bulging wing a polish with
the sleeve of his cardigan. 'This is the one that traps you in a dead
end in scene sixteen.'
'You're kidding me, right? Half of it is made outta wood! Drive it
above forty and it'd catch fire!'
'Yes, she's got character all right.'
'And these washtubs take over the Earth?'
'They try, but we beat them.'
'Who beats them?'
'Erm, you beat them.'
'If this were the States, the cars would be twice the size, and a
whole army of 'em, Buicks and Chryslers coming down the highway at ya!
Now, that'd be a movie!'
'Not necessarily,' replied the director, rather hurt. 'Seeing these
creeping down a country lane late at night could be quite scary. If it
was foggy.'
Sam kicked the tyre of the Velox. 'You sure this thing can go? Don't
answer that. Remind me how the movie ends.'
'Haven't you read the script?'
'I read all of some of it. A bomb, right? Blow the whole place
up?'
'Sorry, no. Professor Gottfried invents a device that you use just in
the nick of time, saving you and Rosalynd from the cars. Everyone else
in the village has been run over.'
'So the cars blow up?'
'No, ah, they more sort of&;#8230;conk out.'
'"Conk out"?'
'Yes. Actually, that's the next scene, where the Professor shows you
the device, so let's crack on, shall we?'
'Who's the Prof? The tall guy over there?'
'Him? No, no. The little bald chap just past him, in the glasses,
reading The Times.'
Only the British, thought Sam, would make front-page news about owning
a canal.
'I'll introduce you. Warren, come and meet our star!'
'A delight to meet you, dear boy,' said Warren, shaking hands with
Sam.
'You play the German guy, right? Thought you were the janitor.'
'Erm, yes&;#8230;.well, I haven't wielded the broom since my days
as a private in the army. You were stationed here in the war?'
'No. Pacific. Hawaii. Pearl Harbour.'
'Let's go for a take, shall we,' said the director, quickly.
'Rosalynd, over here if you will. Everyone back in position please. So,
this is the scene where the Professor thinks of a way to beat the cars
and Sam's character takes over. Ready everyone?' The make-up girls
retreated as the cameramen closed in on the actors. 'And -
action!'
'I am thinking that these automobiles must haf some veakness vich can
vork against them to our advantage,' said Warren, hunching Professor
Gottfried's words.
'Sure Prof, but what? Bullets bounce right off those cars!' said
Sam.
'We haven't tried talking,' enunciated Rosalynd, each word balancing a
book on its head. 'Perhaps we could communicate to them in some
way.'
'And how do we go about that? Flash our headlights at them? We gotta
kill them before they kill us!'
'But if the cars are controlled by intelligent beings, we could reason
with them - '
'I got a message for you lady, I don't talk to murderers. I say bomb
'em, even if it takes the whole village out.'
'Vait, vait, Miss Smith may be having the point, ja? The cars must be
guided by an exterior power so great, it can control these cars from
space. If ve vere to block this power, the automobiles vould - vot is
your vord - breakdown. I haf been vorking on a project that could haf
the desired effect.'
The Professor opened a cupboard and removed a mass of wires, valves,
bulbs and dials, mounted in a glass case, which had taken the special
effects team a whole hour to put together.
'A new signal-jamming device, as yet, completely untested, yes?'
'Then let's get outta here and test it!'
'Cut!' shouted the director. 'Not too bad everyone, we'll try again.
Rosalynd, a little more submissive, Sam, sorry, but can we have you a
bit angrier please?'
'Hey fruit, I was thinking, maybe my character would deal with the
problem himself? He's a man of action, he doesn't need anyone's
help.'
'But it's in the script! The Professor builds the machine, you use it
on the cars, they conk out, you get Rosalynd and everyone leaves the
Gaumont happy.'
'Something the matter?' asked Warren.
'No offence Frenchie, but people aint gonna believe a little guy like
you can save the world.'
'I knew I should've stuck to Chekov,' murmured Warren, as he went to
see if Edna had any sticky buns left.
'Sam, you can't do everything yourself,' said Rosalynd.
'And they sure aint gonna be listening to anything you say, with those
sticking out front,' said Sam, pointing at Rosalynd's straining black
Angora sweater.
'Oh, you're insufferable!' Rosalynd exited stage left, narrowly
missing being hit by another droplet of spittle from on high.
'Sam, while you're on this set, you will conduct yourself in the
manner of a bloody professional!'
'Whoa, what was that, the Queen's English? Ha! Call me when it's my
next scene.'
'You're in the next scene!'
'Not any more!' said Sam, leaving the studio.
'Bloody yank. Just wish we didn't need him so badly.'
A nearby cameraman dolefully chewed a corned-beef sandwich,
vindictively prepared by his wife earlier that day.
''ere, Robert. Whassis name again?'
'Sam Marshall.'
'Oo?'
'You know, the one who&;#8230;you know, with - '
'Tea up,' grunted Edna, begrudging both words. 'There's no bleedin'
buns left, mind. Jew boy had the last one.'
'Um, I'll tell you later,' said the director, as the cameraman thought
wistfully of a jar of pickle. He would never have married, had he known
there'd be so much corned beef involved.

Sam walked tall along the corridor, though no one was present to watch;
must be elevenses or tiffin or half-day-goddamn-closing. The corridor
was lined with posters from past Empire productions, from the
pioneering silent films, through to the proud heyday of the forties,
and to the present of failed space experiments, cleavages, razors and
flick-knives. On seeing the last of these, The Children from Planet X,
starred Dean Forrest, Sam stubbed out his cigarette on Dean's
groin.

It was late afternoon in the studio lot; the grey sky sponged out the
sunset, as if ashamed of the bare blue above. The day was dying a
King's death, a spluttering asthmatic hidden behind a damp veil. The
only brightness visible was the flicker of TV screens from the rows of
terraced housing which hemmed in the studio premises.
Sam thought of home; sunshine, a well-done, tender steak smothered in
onions, yellow taxis and the Washington Redskins. His little daughter,
Suzie. In a way, Sam was glad to be isolated; it made him feel
stronger. He'd get through this and go straight to his log cabin up in
the Cascades, chop some wood and maybe go fishing.
'I say, couldn't squeeze you for a fag, could I?' said a foppish
voice.
'Jesus H, you scared the crap outta me! And who're you calling a
fag?'
Sam turned, to be confronted by a pasty, feeble looking man dressed in
a sailor's uniform, his weasely face fronted by a pair of round,
wire-rimmed spectacles.
'Oh, hello! Would a little Jenny gin steady those nerves?' He held out
a hipflask.
'I'm more of a bourbon man.'
'More for me! Bottoms up!' The sailor took a swig, then looked at Sam
with beakish curiosity. 'I think I've seen you before
somewhere&;#8230;'
'I don't think so.'
'Yes, I know you, Sam Marshall, that's who you are! Mother and I are
such big fans of yours, oh wait til I tell her I've met you! She was
here just a moment ago&;#8230;'
'And you are&;#8230;'
'My friends call me Charlie. You'll be my friend, won't you?' he
asked, with schoolboy coyness.
'Ah&;#8230;'
'Oh, I'm so glad! So you're doing a film too? Isn't it exciting?
What's your film called, oh I bet you're the hero!'
'The Day of the Car. I save the world.'
'Oh, how wonderful! Mine's called The Jolly Roger. It's a
comedy.'
'It'd have to be.'
'I say, there's something Mother and I always wanted to know about
you. Is it true&;#8230;you know&;#8230;about you and Dean
Forrest?'
'Whaddaya mean?'
'You know&;#8230;' Charlie gently butted Sam with his shoulder. 'A
little birdie told me it got rather physical between you
two&;#8230;a bit rough.'
'Hey -!'
'Oh come now,' said Charlie, his smile lengthening. 'I'm really
curious to know&;#8230;and I am a very big fan of
yours&;#8230;'
'Faggot! World's full of 'em!' Sam set off back down the
corridor.
'Well, there's no need to take that kind of attitude, I must say!'
Charlie took another swig from his hipflask. 'But I forgive you! Ooh,
go get 'em, cowboy!'

Within seconds of Sam entering his dressing room, coffee cups were
smashed, bottles of hair oil were thrown at the wall and a vase of
begonias had been deflowered. This only made Sam angrier, his blood
running rapids through his raw-steak body.

In the next-door dressing room, Rosalynd looked up from her copy of
Picture Post. 'Sam! Why - why didn't you knock?'
'I don't. Got a problem with that?'
'You really must try to learn some manners.'
Sam replied by kissing her, taking all he could, until Rosalynd pulled
away and slapped him, the red handprint barely showing on his
face.
'Oh, this is too much like one of your awful films!'
Rosalynd bit her lip as she checked in the mirror to see if her hair
lacquer had maintained its grip. It had, but now there was lipstick on
her teeth.
'Hey, I'm the one with the gold star on his door. Damn near enough got
an Oscar nomination for War in the Pacific.'
'But you didn't. And that was several years ago.'
'I know. Reagan got it. Damn good man. Damn lousy actor.'
'Oh, what do you know about acting? You've never done rep, never
performed Shakespeare or Marlowe,' said Rosalynd, as arch as a
fairy-tale bridge.
'Sorry, I clean forgot you were starring in the greatest show on
Earth. What Oscar winners you ever been in?'
'None, if you must know. But I've been in a couple of Empire's before.
Good films. People loved them.'
'Not about killer cars, huh? We're sinking in this picture like we're
sinking in this lousy weather of yours!'
'Even you?'
'No. No! I'm the star, you need me to sell this junk outside of
Britain.'
'And don't we all know it.'
'Her Majesty out there aint helping. A traffic cop could direct a
movie better.'
'Robert Stirling is a fine director! There's a lot of pressure on him
- '
'Yeah, and it's gonna get worse before I'm through.'
'Really? Then why don't you just&;#8230;bugger off?'
'What? When I just met a cool lady like you?'
'"Cool lady". You sound like that awful singer you all like so much.
Not as if he can hold a note.'
'Jeez, it's like Technicolor ran out halfway 'cross the Atlantic!
Everything here's black and white: the clothes, people, food, weather,
even this movie's black and white!'
'The only films we make in colour are historicals. For those of us
that have a history.'
'Hey, wait a minute! If it wasn't for the States, you guys wouldn't
have a future, never mind a history.'
'Yes, thank you for turning up.'
'That's great, you come running to us for help and as soon as we've
saved your lily ass, you run back and act like you never needed us in
the first place. Shoulda left you to Hitler. Yeah, mighty fine European
he was, huh, real cultured. How'd you like sharing a continent with
that nut?'
'Do you mind? I'm British, not European. And if it wasn't for us, your
country wouldn't exist.'
In one violent action, Sam hoisted Rosalynd out of her chair and onto
the table.
'If it wasn't for us, you'd never have seen any action in the
war.'
Rosalynd knew it was wrong, but as Sam kissed her, without care or
timidity, she stopped the pretence of resistance. As Sam pumped away
inside her, Rosalynd thought of what her mother might think, what her
neighbours might think, what her friends might think. Better to have
him inside than on the outside, perhaps. Sam was thinking too, of who
he could have next.

Sam pulled roughly out of her and gently lifted up her chin.
'Got some colour into those cheeks at last.'
Rosalynd, still clinging to Sam, gazed up at him in pained pleasure.
'It's&;#8230;nice that we're going to save the world together. Isn't
it?'
'Sure kid, whatever you say.'
Rosalynd jumped at a knock on the door.
'Miss Winters,' said Jim, the breathless director's assistant, 'Sorry
to bother you, but have you seen Mr Marshall? He's got a phone call.
From America!'
'Oh, er, oh, yes, I know where he is. I'll tell him for you.'
'Thanks, Miss Winters.' Footsteps tailed off down the corridor.
'Must be my agent. Better take the call before he reverses the
charges. If he hasn't already.'
Sam helped himself to a cigarette from Rosalynd's carton of 'Craven
A'.
'Guess I'll see you in the next scene.'
'When our characters kiss.'
'Yeah.' Sam opened the door to leave. 'You know, if I wasn't such a
hero, I think I'd let the cars win?'

Sam went to reception and collected the call. 'Hey, Louie. Got
something for me?'
'Great news Sammy, I got you another movie! And guess what, it's
abroad again!'
'Can't you get me work back in Hollywood? I don't like this travelling
so much.'
'Now don't start giving me trouble here, I had to work hard to get you
this. So, there's a little travel involved, how bad can it be? You know
I can't get you parts round here no more. There's Dean's plastic
surgery and you've got to pay off that alimony somehow. She was
screaming down the phone at me just the other day.'
'OK. OK, I'll do it!'
'Fine, now you're talking. When you're done in Great England, you'll
fly straight to, ah&;#8230;Japan.'
'Jesus, Louie, are you crazy?'
'Now, Sam, that's all over, finished a long time ago.'
'You've gotta be out of your mind - '
'You want me to give her your hotel phone number?'
'OK, I said I'll do it! What's the movie about? Little yellow men from
Mars who kill people as soon as their back's turned?'
'Lemme see now&;#8230;there's a giant lizard gets woke up by an
A-bomb and stomps around, kicking the crap outta everything. Japs call
you in to help destroy the monster. I got them to agree to you
directing your own scenes.'
'Just get me outta here, this place is falling to pieces. Feels like I
can hardly move. I wanna just make this film and go do the next.'
'Word is Empire are gonna have to sell up soon. Globex could be taking
over, next year maybe.'
'They're welcome to it. Gotta go Louie, sounds like they need me
again. Call me when you got more news, OK?'
Sam replaced the receiver, took a smoke and rubbed his eyes.
'Looks like the mountains are gonna have to wait, Sammy boy.'
With that, he walked back to the film set to save the world.