Pirate Cinema

Chapter 6

The war hots up/Homecoming/Drowning in familiarity

Opening night was upon us before I knew it. Right up to the time that we opened the house, I was convinced we'd never pull it off. Aziz's beloved White Whale had packed in the day before, leaving us without wheels with which to move in the last of the goods. Instead, we ferried massive armloads of junk down to the cinema on the buses in enormous black rubbish sacks, getting filthy looks from the other riders. Without the White Whale, we couldn't erect our temporary hoardings and we didn't have our hi-viz vests and safety hat disguises, so we just scurried through the door and hoped that no one called the filth. We got away with it, though no one left again until it was truly the middle of the night.

But Aziz came through with new transmission gubbins for his van -- it turned out he had two more vans just like it up on blocks that he cannibalized for parts, drafting us all as unskilled manual labor. So we were able to ferry our audience down to the Sewer Cinema entrance in groups of twelve, picking them up at pre-arranged spots all over town, sticking them in the back of the van (we'd papered over the windows so that no one could see where we were going), then pulling right up to the hoarding and ushering them out in hi-viz and helmets that we stripped off and tossed back into the van so it could go for the next ferryload of passengers.

I'd left Jem in charge of making people feel welcome while we filled up. Most of the at- tendees knew one another from Confusing Peach parties or other social events, but we'd asked our friends to put the word out to their friends and friends-of-friends and had got a rush of RSVPs in the last few minutes. The Honey Roasted Landlords played three sets, Chester and Dog tended bar -- we set out a donation cup to cover the drink we'd brought in, and plenty of people showed up with bottles of something or other that went into the communal pool -- Cora and 26 made sure nobody fell into the open sewer.

Aziz and I dropped off the last load at 11:00 P.M., four hours after we'd started, exhausted but grinning like holy fools. Aziz revealed two musty, wrinkled tuxedos he'd dredged up from one of his boxes and we both changed. Mine was way too big, but I rolled up the sleeves and turned up the trousers, then shrugged into my hi-viz and helmet and ducked inside to the most roaring, exciting, ridiculous, outrageous party I'd ever seen.

As I took it all in from the doorway, nervousness took possession of my belly, gnawing at my guts. The tux was redonkulous in the extreme, I looked like an idiot, my film was stupid, they were all going to hate it and me, I'd dragged them all into a sewer --

I knew that I had to grab the mic and start talking right then or I never would. So I did. “Erm, hullo?” I said, holding the mic in a death-grip. “Hello?” No one seemed to notice my amplified voice around the edges of the conversation-blast.

Jem grabbed the mic from me and pointed it into the nearest amplifier. Immediately, a feedback squeal that rattled my teeth. All conversation ceased instantly, as people shouted and clapped their hands over their ears. Jem handed me back the mic and said, “You're welcome.”

“Thanks,” I said, my amplified voice loud in the sudden silence. I'd had a whole flowery speech worked out, thanking people for coming and introducing our project and so on, but I couldn't think of any of it just then. All those faces turned toward me, all those eyes staring. The whispers.

“Erm,” I said. “My name's Cecil B. DeVil. My friends and I made some films. Let's watch them, okay?”

Of course, 26 wasn't expecting this, so she wasn't ready, and the lights stayed on and no films played on the screen. Everyone was still staring. Someone giggled. “Well,” I said, “Well. Erm, while we're waiting, erm.” I felt for something to say. Then, the words came. “You know TIP, right? Theft of Intellectual Property Act?” People booed good-naturedly. My heart thudded and my fingertips tingled. “The thing is --” The words were right there, tip of my tongue. Faces stared at me. Smiling, nodding, wanting to hear what I had to say. Twenty was frowning at her screen, trying to get the beamer working.