| Subject: Chapter 265 - Part 1(16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, November 15, 07:00:24am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
Extra warning: There's some coarse language here, again. I'm rating it 16 and above.
Dreams in the Dark (265/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
Everything was going according to plan, his intentions certain not to fail. Even as he smiled for the newsreel cameras, he knew he would win. That bastard "Samuelle" would not be revered for much longer.
Ackerman would have been giddy with his oncoming triumph, if he had been capable of such joys; instead, he was merely grimly pleased. His eyes shone into the camera with an unnatural light, as he waited for one of the men to tell him to begin. This would definitely be the start of his triumph.
He had been waiting for this moment for quite some time, his rage at the actor growing worse every moment. He had disliked him from the start, but that lucky punch a few weeks ago--combined with all the man's pretensions of being suited to this work, even his obvious believe that he was *better* at it than all the younger, dedicated, decent men who surrounded him--had deepened the dislike into an implacable hatred. If it would have solved anything, he would simply have called him out, would have beaten him to a bloody pulp weeks ago; his disturbing grin grew. But now he knew a much better way of making the actor pay.
His plan, the news he was planning to give these cameramen, wasn't intended wholly for the world, however; he was smarter than that. He knew that Hollywood fags like Michael always got what they demanded, that the actor could easily talk his way out of having the footage revealed. No--this was simply the recruit's way of starting a few rumors among these newsmen, of winning over all the right-minded members of his unit, as well. At the moment, they thought the man to be from France itself--not a pleasant thought, really, but at least a distant one. Once they learned the truth about the little fairy . . .
It wasn't--even with all his unspoken slurs to the contrary--that Ackerman actually believed that Michael was homosexual. With men such as he, such terms were used simply to deride any male who didn't live up to his own, manly standards. And, in his case, this was based on several, definite factors: a disgust for all women, except in their most sexual or menial of uses, and then only a very temporary toleration; a desire to fight and kill with a pack of like-minded men, a recognition that this was the most noble of goals; a gratitude for being as far away as possible from the brats who would bear his name, a recognition that such offspring were only a necessary evil; and--maybe above all else--a background that was Anglicized in the extreme. Michael failed these qualities on every count--worse yet, was loved by the world for his many deficiencies. His enemy's look grew even more savoringly cruel. And he would punish the actor now for his lack of any true masculine traits.
Michael, his companions, and the colonel were all shooed out of the shot, as they emerged from the barracks, one of the newsreel operators nodding toward Ackerman, as he began the questions which would one day be dubbed over by a more official narrator. "Tell us a little about what it's like to serve with a great actor like Samuelle." Bill's smile grew cruel. Finally, he would win.
He had to tamp down the victorious look a moment later, managing an appearance of absolute, nearly insipid, friendliness--as his companions were forced to watch in silence. "It's been great getting to meet him. He's a wonderful guy." He would normally have--even in this fake mode--have said a "hell of a guy," but he wanted to have as good a chance as possible of getting this on the screen. The newsreel crew looked like they were about to cut him off, when he continued--his victory close. "It's great being able to serve with a fellow Canadian who's made good like him. And he's great at showing me how to pick up women, as well. I've learned quite a few tips from watching him."
The newsreel men seemed a little stunned at the man's profusion, not having expected quite such a turn. Their orders were to go in; get a little footage of the great Samuelle pretending to be in action--the real thing was harder to film; record a few testimonies about what a great guy he was, how well loved he was by his comrades; maybe get, what would soon be, a belated Valentine's Day message from the actor himself to his star wife--at least it would have been recorded on the day in question; and then come home to get it all ready for the cinemas. They merely blinked. It wasn't exactly hard news. They hadn't expected to run into any real obstacles at all.
Ackerman went on, therefore, their surprise giving him his opening. "It's not like his wife is getting lonely, though. Apparently, she's having it off with whoever's nearby, like her new bodyguard, so everything's good there." Managing to look over the actor's shoulder when he had been writing a letter encouraging her to get one was now seeing its payoff. "I guess all that's left is to say a hello to the actor's family back in Ontario." He waved at the camera. "I bet the Tasses miss him." He pronounced the name without its final, accented E, so that it came out rhyming with "ass"; it wasn't exactly unintentional. But whatever damage he had managed to inflict had already been done.
This truth could have reigned, everyone around him stunned into silence. But, a moment later, Eric swallowed his fury, dashing up to Ackerman with a fake grin--catching him in a sort of bear hug, his arm around his neck. "Geez, you kidder." He punched him in the stomach with far more force than his playful manner let on; Ackerman only winced mildly, far too pleased with his efforts to feel much pain. Elkins shook his head at the camera, still laughing. "He's such a practical joker that he never knows when he takes things too far."
The camera crew finally cut after this, were already editing the footage heavily in their minds; it wasn't like most of it would make it to the screen, anyway. And at least half of the man's attack didn't make much sense to the crew, being Americans--ones who were used to the ways of Hollywood, as well. Why anyone would care that some star changed his name or that his studio faked his country of origin was beyond them, was far too normal to think about for long; their confusion almost showed on their faces. Besides, who would make it far if their screen name rhymed with "ass"?
It was only the hints at infidelity which could have any minor effect among these new watchers--and, even if they were of the sort of morality which meant such claims might cause offense, they had already ruled out most of them. They had started this trip in town, hoping that the recruits might have made themselves known there, that they might get some good footage of swooning townsfolk gushing over a star in their midst. What they had found, instead, was that the boys had yet to get out even once--and it wasn't like there were any women around this base that they had seen. They might have questioned whether the recruit were hinting at another sort of sexuality for the actor--but he *had* specified women. That part, then, was obviously a lie.
This alone might have discredited the man's claims in a logical person's mind, but the shock of his subtle attack was having its effect. It was the insinuations about Kitty which had them thinking--even if they knew very well that they could never present them openly to the world. It was fortunate, then, that Eric chose that moment to come up to them, still grinning, voice now confidential. "We're all jealous as hell of him, you know." He shook his head. "If any of us got letters from Kitty Ward like the ones he gets, all full of love and desire. . . Well . . ." He had never actually seen one, was judging wholly by his fervid imagination, but he wouldn't let the woman be sabotaged, shrugging lightly--enraged to his very soul at Ackerman's insinuations about his idol. "I think it's pretty damn noble that he's still here, instead of heading home to her in a heartbeat."
This defense was well-timed, got the newsreel crew nodding, seeing his point. At least one of them had been in the army many years ago, knew that the ones who didn't get letters tended to already be jealous as hell of those who did; that alone explained the man's claims. Besides, once you had signed up, there was no way out. Maybe leaving his beautiful wife temporarily had been a mistake, but this war was clearly a cause the actor believed in; their eyes went, collectively, to Ackerman. Otherwise, he wouldn't bother to put up with idiots like this.
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