into each other’s arms, and the movie ends with the Paris skyline.
The lights came up. Zack shared a look with Daniel, their usual silent ex-
change after seeing a film with other people.
Daniel screwed his mouth into his nose and wiggled his eyebrows: Bad
movie. Now what?
Zack smiled guiltily and sighed: It’ll be fine.
17
Lies, nothing but lies!” cried Abbas as they stepped out into the
square. “They were not painters. They were illustrators. Bad commercial
illustrators. It pretends to be Paris after the war, but where was Picasso? Ma-
tisse? Léger? And it was ugly. I have never seen such ugly colors. Like candy
vomit. Candy puke.”
“It was a musical!” cried Elena. “A fun, stupid, Hollywood musical. Only
an idiot would argue with it.”
“Only an idiot would think it pretty.”
They were angrily taking out cigarettes and lighting them—not each
other’s, only their own. Daniel was alone with the Rohanis—Zack was using
the toilet, Ross talking with his assistant manager before he joined them for
drinks. The old people filing past gave the couple dirty looks, not so much for
what they were saying as for their raised voices and maybe their accents.
“It was pretty,” said Elena. “In an ugly, poison chemical way. Things do
not have to be beautiful pretty to be pretty.”
“You are blind. That wasn’t ugly pretty. I love ugly pretty. That was ugly
thinking it was pretty. Which is shit.”
Daniel was amazed they could say such things to each other. He wondered
if it was because they were using English and there was more space between
1 1 2
C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m
their thoughts and words. He noticed they did not slip into French here, as if
French might be too personal.
Zack came outside. “So what did everyone think?”
Leave it to Zack to tap a hornet’s nest to see if it were occupied.
Elena declared, “I love it because it is candy. My husband hates it because
it is candy. He calls it vomit candy. I married a man with no sense of humor.”
“You call it humor? I call it taste. Everything in your movie stinks.” Abbas
jabbed his cigarette at the air. “The photography stinks, the music stinks, the
fashion stinks, the love story stinks.”
“Oh, the love story, yes. You know so much about love stories.” She
turned to Zack and Daniel. “My husband is such a romantic.”
Oh yes, thought Daniel, there is that elephant in the room.
“You didn’t like the music?” said Zack, playing dumb. “But it’s Gershwin.
Not my favorite movie, but I love the music.”
“You see,” said Elena. “Dr. Knowles knows how to take pleasure where he
finds it. Everything does not have to be great art.”
Ross came bounding out of the theater. “I’m free now. Where does every-
one want to go? Are we eating or just drinking? Great movie, right?”
“How about the Green Leafe Cafe?” said Daniel, hoping to get them off
the movie. “The smokers can smoke at the Green Leafe.”
“The movie was shit,” said Abbas. “It was lies, it was ugly, it was shit.”
Ross laughed. “But what did you really think, Rohani? You’re among
friends. You can be honest with us.”
Ross used this joke often. Only Zack and Elena laughed.
They started up Richmond Road toward the café. The sidewalk was nar-
row, and they broke up again. Ross walked with Elena, happily chatting with
her about this movie and others set in Paris. Daniel walked with Zack, who
wanted to talk about Leslie Caron, eagerly analyzing her charms; all Daniel
needed to do was nod. Abbas strutted between the pairs, haughtily silent,
proudly alone.
Abbas felt different tonight to Daniel. Back at the house, surrounded by
others, it was like his sex light had been switched off. Abbas was no longer a
body, just a face and clothes. Not only did Daniel feel nothing sexual for him
but it was unimaginable that they had been having sex. In the movie theater,
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
1 1 3
however, sitting beside his lean warmth and intimate aromas of hair, tobacco,
and soap, Daniel remembered the sex. That was another reason to dislike the
movie: it wasn’t good enough to keep his mind off Abbas. Sitting with Abbas
on one side and Zack on the other, Daniel had felt like a radio tuned between
two stations, full of static. Then the movie ended and there was Abbas again,
no longer entirely sexless but too cranky and opinionated to be enjoyed.
“I love it most when he and she dance,” Elena loudly told Ross. “When
Kelly and Caron look into each other’s eyes, you can tell: they want to fuck out