The Great and Secret Show. Clive Barker
from here but up.
The Grove surprised him. It had all the distinguishing marks of a town created on paper – the central Mall, the cardinal point villages, the sheer order of the streets – but there was a welcome diversity in the styles of the houses, and – perhaps because it was in part built on a hill – a sense that it might have secret reaches.
If the woods had any secrets of their own, they’d been trampled down by the sightseers who’d come to see the exhumation. Grillo flashed his credentials and asked a few questions of one of the cops at the barrier. No, there was no likelihood that the corpse would be raised soon; it had yet to be located. Nor could Grillo speak with any of those in charge of the operation. Come back later, was the suggestion. It looked like good advice. There was very little activity around the fissure. Despite there being tackle of various kinds on the ground nobody seemed to be putting it to use. He decided to risk leaving the scene to make a few calls. He found his way to the Mall and to a public telephone. His first call was to Abernethy, to report that he’d arrived and to enquire whether a photographer had been sent down. Abernethy was away from his desk. Grillo left a message. He had more luck with his second call. The answering machine began playing its familiar message –
‘Hi. This is Tesla and Butch. If you want to speak to the dog, I’m out. If it’s Butch you need –’ only to be interrupted by Tesla.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Grillo.’
‘Grillo? Shut the fuck up, Butch! Sorry, Grillo, he’s trying to –’ the phone was dropped, and there was a good deal of commotion, followed by Tesla’s breathless return to the receiver. ‘That animal. Why did I take him, Grillo?’
‘He was the only male who’d live with you.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Your words.’
‘I said that?’
‘You said that.’
‘Out of my mind! I got good news, Grillo. I got a development deal for one of the screenplays. That castaway picture I wrote last year? They want it rewritten. In space.’
‘You’re going to do it?’
‘Why not? I need something produced. Nobody’s going to do any of the heavy-duty stuff ’til I have a hit. So fuck Art, I’m going to be so crass they’ll be coming in their pants. And before you say it, don’t give me any of that artistic integrity shit. A girl’s got to feed herself.’
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