The Sincerest Form of Flattery
Feb. 5th, 2011 11:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talonkarrdeA one-time engagement, Darius said: one performance, a huge audience, recorded for posterity. Thirty thousand dollars for a hour long show, half right now and half after. It was of utmost importance, he assured me, and my participation would make all the difference.
It had all the hallmarks of an offer too good to be true. What sort of a person — dressed like he owns half of Chicago — waltzes into a dingy bar, offers a person a drink, and then turns it into a job offer, all in the span of thirty minutes? There were too many strings, and I couldn’t tell where any of them led.
But the check was sitting there, burning a hole in the bartop, and I was between engagements at the moment, professionally. I had been for the last three months, and money was... well, it had been tight a month ago; now it was nonexistent.
My father always told me that fast money made a fool of people. Look at all the lottery winners, he said. Look at all the children who inherited millions and blew it all. Look at all the people who sniped and backstabbed each other to get a promotion for another thousand dollars a month.
I picked up the check.
#
They showed the face of the man i was supposed to impersonate on the screen, and a sudden, the strings became clear.
It was the President. The most powerful man in the world. The most recognizable.
I was sitting in an empty classroom with a projector, watching him making a speech about civility and peace, and all of a sudden I understood the secrecy, the money, the trap. Darius came in after a few seconds, and I spent a good couple of seconds trying to figure out if I should hit him or just run for it.
“Why me?” I asked. What I really meant to say, though, was some combination of how did you find me, how do I get out of this, and why did I pick up the goddamned check?
“Because you can do it,” Darius responded, and blinked. I turned back to the face on the screen and watched for a second, observing his mannerisms and his tics and his diction, and I thought... yes, I could probably pull it off. There would need to be some precise makeup work so it would be perfect, but I could apply that myself. Some of my hair roots would need to be inhibited, some prosthetics applied on my chin, but with the right equipment, we would be indistinguishable from one another.
And the way that he angled his face, the way that he rubbed at his ear between statements, the time between looking at the prompters and the camera, the way he scanned the audience, all of those were easily picked up. The exact delivery would be harder, but he was an orator; he knew where to pause for effect and when to hammer the words home. It could be done. I could play this part.
“Okay,” I granted grudgingly. I could do it. “Why can’t he do it himself?”
Darius’ face fell. “The president has been — and this knowledge is only known by six people right now — poisoned. He's not in any shape to do anything, though the doctor says he'll recover. We've canceled all other non-essential everything and bought ourselves about two weeks, but even then, he won't be able to make it to the opposition rally himself. But since he’s been promising he’d attend, if we cancel his attendance, then the opposition will jump on it, and the coalition bill will fall, and...”
“Why is this bill so important?” I asked.
He almost smiled then, and beckoned for me to follow.
“Let me show you a video.”
There is a line familiar to actors that goes something like this: ‘It is impossible to play someone well without loving them, or killing yourself.’ Those of us who act, who do more than mouth lines and make motions, understand the truth of the statement. It is a frighteningly true statement sometimes — when we play those who are murderers and lunatics, for us to truly play the part, we must fall into their psyches, and sometimes, we can’t pull ourselves out.
I had always been apolitical. But as I studied his work, I realized that even if I did not agree with everything the President said, I agreed with what he wanted — a world that would be better for our children than the ones our parents handed to us. Everyone made that statement, of course, but for most, it was a matter of doing things their way. To him, it was about letting everyone have a say in things that affected them. To him, it was about having locals making choices for themselves on local matters, and federal policies being giving people choices instead of taking them away.
Politics, I had always thought, was a dirty game. But in studying him, in trying to become him, my mind was changed. There were dirty players, and there always would be. But there were also those who were not third-rate stooges to special interests, and whether they succeeded or failed, they existed, and that was important.
By the end of the two straight weeks of study, I realized that even if I did not hew to the party line, I respected and admired the President and what he stood for. If nothing else, I was a very good student of his body of work, and I believed in it.
I do the dress rehearsal of the speech in front of Darius, Penelope, and the four others that are in on the impersonation, and they are speechless for a few moments before they start applauding. Penelope, I suspect, is in tears, and simply sniffles as she claps with the others.
It’s the only applause I’ll ever get for the role. It’s enough.
“Mister President,” Bill, the Chief of Staff, says, “that was incredible.”
“Let’s change the world then, shall we?” I respond, smiling the easy, characteristic smile, and we head for the limo.
Darius lingers and stops me just before I get in.
“We’ve gotten some threats — there are those who don’t like what you’re proposing, who are talking about exercising ‘second amendment remedies’. We could cancel now and save face.”
Once, I think, I would’ve bowed out, citing that no performance was worth a danger to my life. But there was more at stake here, and the audience had already taken their seats. “He wouldn’t stop for it, Darius, simply because some crackpot made threats. This speech has to be made. We have to press on.”
#
It is a sunny day, and the people out there are hanging on to my every word. There were some hecklers as I first took the stage, but as the words flow over them, as they listen, as they recognize that they want the same thing I do, that we are one people on one side, they fall silent, and nod, and stop seeing their fellow countrymen as the enemy. I have changed them, today, by being here.
“We must look to one another as friends and family, not as enemies and those who wish destruction upon this country. We all want a better future, even if we think it will come about in different ways. In the end, though, we are all—”
And then the bullet hits me.
I see the flash of the scope a second before he takes the shot, I feel the impact, and then my strings are cut and I feel myself start to fall. It hurts.
Oh god, does it hurt.
The sniper’s aim is off; it passes through me almost dead center, a shade to the right of my spine, instead of where my heart is. Not a bad shot, though; he’s earned his pay - and jail time. But his error gives me a few seconds, and I still have a line to deliver, a performance to finish.
I stagger and clutch for the podium, trusting that my arms still work for a few seconds, even if my legs don’t. I cough and taste blood, but I need to continue.
“—all...one people.” I finish, in a harsh whisper, spitting blood against the microphone. Only then do I let myself collapse.
We strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are heard no more.
The Secret Service is bundling me away, as people try very, very hard to stem the flow of blood. I might make it, I think, but perhaps it’d be better if I didn’t — my performance is done, and I have played my part as well as anyone could have expected. The bill will pass, and perhaps this time will be the last time a public official is shot.
Smile for the cameras, I think to myself. Look up at the night sky one more time.
Remember what it was like to command the attention of thousands, of millions across the globe, and be the the most powerful person in the world for an hour. Feel the satisfaction in giving a master performance, of playing the audience and bringing them to laughter and tears, in giving them hope for tomorrow. And take warmth in being given a chance to weave the future, to create a better world for our children than the one our parents handed to us.
And finally, close your eyes as the curtain falls.
It had all the hallmarks of an offer too good to be true. What sort of a person — dressed like he owns half of Chicago — waltzes into a dingy bar, offers a person a drink, and then turns it into a job offer, all in the span of thirty minutes? There were too many strings, and I couldn’t tell where any of them led.
But the check was sitting there, burning a hole in the bartop, and I was between engagements at the moment, professionally. I had been for the last three months, and money was... well, it had been tight a month ago; now it was nonexistent.
My father always told me that fast money made a fool of people. Look at all the lottery winners, he said. Look at all the children who inherited millions and blew it all. Look at all the people who sniped and backstabbed each other to get a promotion for another thousand dollars a month.
I picked up the check.
#
They showed the face of the man i was supposed to impersonate on the screen, and a sudden, the strings became clear.
It was the President. The most powerful man in the world. The most recognizable.
I was sitting in an empty classroom with a projector, watching him making a speech about civility and peace, and all of a sudden I understood the secrecy, the money, the trap. Darius came in after a few seconds, and I spent a good couple of seconds trying to figure out if I should hit him or just run for it.
“Why me?” I asked. What I really meant to say, though, was some combination of how did you find me, how do I get out of this, and why did I pick up the goddamned check?
“Because you can do it,” Darius responded, and blinked. I turned back to the face on the screen and watched for a second, observing his mannerisms and his tics and his diction, and I thought... yes, I could probably pull it off. There would need to be some precise makeup work so it would be perfect, but I could apply that myself. Some of my hair roots would need to be inhibited, some prosthetics applied on my chin, but with the right equipment, we would be indistinguishable from one another.
And the way that he angled his face, the way that he rubbed at his ear between statements, the time between looking at the prompters and the camera, the way he scanned the audience, all of those were easily picked up. The exact delivery would be harder, but he was an orator; he knew where to pause for effect and when to hammer the words home. It could be done. I could play this part.
“Okay,” I granted grudgingly. I could do it. “Why can’t he do it himself?”
Darius’ face fell. “The president has been — and this knowledge is only known by six people right now — poisoned. He's not in any shape to do anything, though the doctor says he'll recover. We've canceled all other non-essential everything and bought ourselves about two weeks, but even then, he won't be able to make it to the opposition rally himself. But since he’s been promising he’d attend, if we cancel his attendance, then the opposition will jump on it, and the coalition bill will fall, and...”
“Why is this bill so important?” I asked.
He almost smiled then, and beckoned for me to follow.
“Let me show you a video.”
#
There is a line familiar to actors that goes something like this: ‘It is impossible to play someone well without loving them, or killing yourself.’ Those of us who act, who do more than mouth lines and make motions, understand the truth of the statement. It is a frighteningly true statement sometimes — when we play those who are murderers and lunatics, for us to truly play the part, we must fall into their psyches, and sometimes, we can’t pull ourselves out.
I had always been apolitical. But as I studied his work, I realized that even if I did not agree with everything the President said, I agreed with what he wanted — a world that would be better for our children than the ones our parents handed to us. Everyone made that statement, of course, but for most, it was a matter of doing things their way. To him, it was about letting everyone have a say in things that affected them. To him, it was about having locals making choices for themselves on local matters, and federal policies being giving people choices instead of taking them away.
Politics, I had always thought, was a dirty game. But in studying him, in trying to become him, my mind was changed. There were dirty players, and there always would be. But there were also those who were not third-rate stooges to special interests, and whether they succeeded or failed, they existed, and that was important.
By the end of the two straight weeks of study, I realized that even if I did not hew to the party line, I respected and admired the President and what he stood for. If nothing else, I was a very good student of his body of work, and I believed in it.
#
I do the dress rehearsal of the speech in front of Darius, Penelope, and the four others that are in on the impersonation, and they are speechless for a few moments before they start applauding. Penelope, I suspect, is in tears, and simply sniffles as she claps with the others.
It’s the only applause I’ll ever get for the role. It’s enough.
“Mister President,” Bill, the Chief of Staff, says, “that was incredible.”
“Let’s change the world then, shall we?” I respond, smiling the easy, characteristic smile, and we head for the limo.
Darius lingers and stops me just before I get in.
“We’ve gotten some threats — there are those who don’t like what you’re proposing, who are talking about exercising ‘second amendment remedies’. We could cancel now and save face.”
Once, I think, I would’ve bowed out, citing that no performance was worth a danger to my life. But there was more at stake here, and the audience had already taken their seats. “He wouldn’t stop for it, Darius, simply because some crackpot made threats. This speech has to be made. We have to press on.”
#
It is a sunny day, and the people out there are hanging on to my every word. There were some hecklers as I first took the stage, but as the words flow over them, as they listen, as they recognize that they want the same thing I do, that we are one people on one side, they fall silent, and nod, and stop seeing their fellow countrymen as the enemy. I have changed them, today, by being here.
“We must look to one another as friends and family, not as enemies and those who wish destruction upon this country. We all want a better future, even if we think it will come about in different ways. In the end, though, we are all—”
And then the bullet hits me.
I see the flash of the scope a second before he takes the shot, I feel the impact, and then my strings are cut and I feel myself start to fall. It hurts.
Oh god, does it hurt.
The sniper’s aim is off; it passes through me almost dead center, a shade to the right of my spine, instead of where my heart is. Not a bad shot, though; he’s earned his pay - and jail time. But his error gives me a few seconds, and I still have a line to deliver, a performance to finish.
I stagger and clutch for the podium, trusting that my arms still work for a few seconds, even if my legs don’t. I cough and taste blood, but I need to continue.
“—all...one people.” I finish, in a harsh whisper, spitting blood against the microphone. Only then do I let myself collapse.
We strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are heard no more.
The Secret Service is bundling me away, as people try very, very hard to stem the flow of blood. I might make it, I think, but perhaps it’d be better if I didn’t — my performance is done, and I have played my part as well as anyone could have expected. The bill will pass, and perhaps this time will be the last time a public official is shot.
Smile for the cameras, I think to myself. Look up at the night sky one more time.
Remember what it was like to command the attention of thousands, of millions across the globe, and be the the most powerful person in the world for an hour. Feel the satisfaction in giving a master performance, of playing the audience and bringing them to laughter and tears, in giving them hope for tomorrow. And take warmth in being given a chance to weave the future, to create a better world for our children than the one our parents handed to us.
And finally, close your eyes as the curtain falls.
