"Strange Bedfellows" [R] - Part 4

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS"

Part 4

PRESENT DAY . . . Despair threatened to overwhelm Idril, as she poured herself another drink. For thirty-four years, she had managed to forget that disastrous night at that party in Berkeley Square, in London. Nothing really terrible had occurred. Not really. But that night had hinted plenty of signs of the disaster that eventually enfolded for her. Looking back, she realized that after that night, she should have packed her bags, bid Belthazor good-bye and find another sucker willing to act as a beard for her and Raynor. But feelings toward the good-looking half-daemon had taken hold of her . . . and like the idiot she was that summer, she had to see matters through the end.

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JUNE 21, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Sebastian Crowe, Idril soon discovered, turned out to be a 46 year-old warlock who presently owned a Georgian-style townhouse in London's exclusive Berkeley Square that had been owned by his family for over two centuries. She also learned that Mr. Crowe's family has practiced magic for hundreds of years. But a developing fascination with the darker aspect of magic during his years at Oxford University had led him and two cousins to kill a fellow witch for a powerful sorcerer's staff. This act led them to become warlocks and according to Belthazor, Mr. Crowe has remained devoted to magic for darker purposes, ever since.

Idril found the warlock's townhouse a veritable masterpiece in 18th and early 19th centuries luxury. Hollywood could not have done it better. Furnishings that harked back to the elegant eras of both the Georgian and Regency eras filled each room. Idril has grown used to great wealth during her 48 years as a daemon. But she felt more comfortable with the flashy wealth of Hollywood, Las Vegas and the jet setting noveau riche. This aristocratic setting made her feel out of place. And gauche.

To make matters worse, Idril discovered that both Tarkin and Christine were among tonight's guests. Although she failed to spot the daemon, she saw the blond witch conversing . . . quite happily with Belthazor's mother. Great. She needed this like an encounter with the Source, himself.

The townhouse's owner approached the demoness, after Belthazor detached himself to converse with other guests. He happened to be a slim, elegant man with a sensuous, yet equinnine countenance and thick blond hair. Despite his decadent appearance, a ruthless intelligence gleamed from his gray-blue eyes. Eyes that Idril found very unsettling. They seemed to look right through her and unlock any secrets she might be harboring. In fact, Idril began to wonder if he might be a telepath.

"So, you're Colerid . . . uh, Belthazor's companion for the evening," he drawled in an English, upper-class accent. His eyes swept over Idril's figure with sharp precision. "Very lovely. Belthazor always had such . . . interesting tastes. I understand that you're a . . ." he leaned forward and whispered, ". . . daemon, as well?"

Idril straightened her posture in order to emphasize her superiority over the mortal. "Yes. I am. I'm with the Thorn Brotherhood."

Crowe took a sip from his martini glass. "You know, I never could understand why your order is called the 'Brotherhood'. Especially since there are females amongst its members." He gave her a direct stare. "Do you?"

The warlock's question took Idril offguard. She had never questioned the order's name or anything else about it, in her life. She had always been a loyal member. "Huh? I mean . . . uh, well . . . I guess . . . I guess I uh, never really thought about it."

The warlock seemed unimpressed - almost disappointed by her response. "Hmmm. Well . . ." Nimue appeared before the pair and Crowe nearly sighed with relief. "Elizabeth! Darling!" Idril realized that Nimue must have been using the name Elizabeth amongst the mortals. Crowe pecked the older female's cheek. "I was just getting to know Coleridge's young lady. Um . . . what's your name, dear?"

"Idril," Nimue said, giving the younger female a tart smile. "Although I do believe that she sometimes uses the name, Diane Hayward."

An insincere smile curved Crowe's thin lips. "How charming." He glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, Miles is here. At last. Pardon me, ladies." He quickly left the two daemons alone to greet another guest. Idril suspected that she had just witnessed an escape - from her.

Nimue took the younger demoness by the arm and guided the latter toward the long refreshment tables. "You look quite famished, my dear."

"Well, it has been a while since I ate," Idril admitted. She picked up a plate - along with a napkin - and began to fill it.

The older female did the same. "I must say that I am curious. About you and Belthazor. How did you two meet?" She instructed a servant to place some smoked herring on her plate.

Hesitating, Idril selected a stuffed artichoke. "At a nightclub in London, earlier this month. At some place called . . . um, the Triple Six."

"Oh yes! The club owned by Miss Bloome." Nimue continued to select more food. "She's quite the entertainment entrepreneur here in London. I'm rather surprised by Tarkin. His taste in women usually do not include women of Miss Bloome's caliber. He has always preferred the sub-standard kind. If you know what I mean."

Idril wondered if the other woman regarded her as the 'sub-standard kind'. "I, um . . . I guess. As for Christine, well she is pretty cool." Memories of that first night in the witch's apartment flashed in Idril's mind. "Tarkin seems to think so."

Nimue added, "And Belthazor." Idril stared at her. "Well, he seemed impressed by her business acumen. At least according to Miss Bloome." Idril decided that Christine may have been lying. Bitch!

A uniformed servant placed a serving of Lobster Thermidor - sauce included - on Nimue's plate. "I must admit that I am rather surprised that you and my son have . . . well, become so interested in each other, lately."

The older daemon's words infuriated Idril. "Meaning what?" she snarled. "That I'm not good enough for him? What are you supposed to be? A character out of a bad soap opera? The clinging mother?"

Blue eyes regarded Idril with a chillness that nearly frozen the younger daemon's soul. "Really, my dear. Don't you think you're being rather rude? And childish? I never said such a thing."

Idril shot back, "But that's what you're thinking, isn't it? I'm not good enough for your precious half-breed!"

"I think you really need to do something about that inferiority complex of yours," Nimue quietly replied. "Before you do or say something that you'll regret." She paused and held out her plate to a servant who was serving canapés. "You know, I never realized that you were so insecure. No wonder Raynor had decided to marry Avara. Must have been a blow for you."

Further angered by Nimue's spiteful words, Idril retorted, "Raynor's marriage to Avara is nothing more than a convenient one. It's a political marriage for the Brotherhood and the Realm. He's still wants me and . . ." She broke off in mid-sentence, aware of what had just slipped out of her mouth.

A spiteful smile slowly curved Nimue's mouth. "Thank you, my dear. You've cleared up everything for me. However, I suggest that you end your relationship with Belthazor before he finds out."

"Find out . . . what?" Idril demanded. "That Raynor and Avara's marriage was one of convenience? He knows that. Everyone does!"

"Yes, my dear. But does he know that you were Raynor's mistress? And that you still might be?" Panic filled Idril's mind, as Nimue continued, "I can only assume that this sudden interest in Belthazor is due to some twisted plan of yours and Raynor's to use my son to hide your tawdry affair from Avara. She's not exactly the type to share."

The younger demoness struggled to keep her anxiety in check. If Nimue ever decide to tell Belthazor about her relationship with Raynor, her plans would be ruined. Even worse, she would lose the half-daemon. And to her surprise, she could not fathom such a thing. Perhaps if she . . .

"Don't!" The word came out of Nimue's mouth like a gunshot. "Don't even think about it."

Idril stared at the older demoness. "I don't know what you're . . ."

Nimue leaned forward - almost in a threatening manner. "You want to kill me, don't you? Perhaps hire an assassin to kill me, before I can tell Belthazor about you and Raynor?" Her voice grew soft . . . and frightening. "I wouldn't contemplate it, if I were you. Belthazor might not take kindly to you arranging his mother's death."

At first, Idril felt an urge to flee from Nimue's eyes - until she remembered something. With a derisive snort, she shot back, "I doubt very much that Belthazor would care. He had no qualms about killing his uncle, as everyone knows. And he doesn't like you very much."

A long pause followed as Nimue stared at the younger female. Idril squirmed with discomfort under the other demoness' gaze. Then the former sighed. "You might be right. Then again . . . you might not be." Another sly smile curved Nimue's lips. "There's something you should know about Belthazor, my dear. He's not a predictable person. In fact, he possesses a great talent for taking others by surprise." She quietly thanked the servant and walked away from the speechless Idril.

Bitch! Hatred and fear raged within Idril, as she stared at Nimue's retreating figure. That interfering, know-it-all bitch! The younger demoness had a good mind to go ahead and hire an assassin to kill that mortal-loving bitch. Unfortunately, Idril had no idea how Belthazor would react. Nimue had been right about one thing - Belthazor was notoriously unpredictable. He may not have harbored any qualms about killing his uncle, but he may not take the death of his mother that kindly - despite the estranged relationship between mother and son.

Carrying the plate of food, Idril sauntered into another room to find an empty seat and stopped short at an unpleasant sight. Beyond the double French doors, Belthazor and Christine stood on a terrace, deep in conversation and obviously enjoying each other company. Even worse, Tarkin was no where to be seen. An ugly feeling gripped Idril that her allure to the handsome half-daemon was beginning to fade.

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"We really need to stop meeting like this," Christine said with a wicked smile stamped on her face. "Or people would start to talk. I believe I saw your mother hanging around, when we were getting our food, not long ago."

Cole handed her a glass of champagne. "About what? We're just talking." He turned to face the view that overlooked Buckingham Palace in the far distance. "As for my mother, she can think what she wants."

Christine took a sip of her champagne. "And what about Tarkin and Idril? They seemed to be conveniently no where to be found. Rather odd, don't you think?" Blue eyes glittered mischievously. "If I didn't know better, Belthazor, I would swear that you were trying to get me alone."

"As much as I enjoy your company, I believe you might have a inflated sense of yourself."

The witch's smile widened. "If you say so."

"By the way, about that business proposition of yours . . ." Cole began.

Christine's smile disappeared. "You like it?"

"Why haven't you approached Tarkin about this plan?"

A sigh left Christine's mouth. "Because this is a plan that requires a legal touch. And from what I've heard, you've got a bit of a legal background. What's the matter? Afraid that we might end up spending too much time, together?"

A wide grin stretched the half-daemon's lips. "Trust me. The idea of you and I to . . ." His grin disappeared at the sight of his mother approaching the terrace. "Oh shit."

"Belthazor, Miss Bloome." Nimue greeted the pair with a polite smile. "Enjoying yourselves?"

Cole replied sardonically, "I was. Is there anything I can help you with, Mother?"

Nimue's smile grew cooler. "Not particularly. Just making sure that all the guests are enjoying themselves."

Christine swallowed the last of her champagne and smiled at Cole's mother. "Oh don't worry, I am. This place is super." She turned to Cole. "Do you mind, love? I believe I see an old friend. Excuse me." Flashing one last smile, she turned on her heels and re-entered the townhouse.

"Nice going, Mother," Cole retorted. "I think you just scared her away."

Nimue rolled her eyes. "Nonsense! I doubt very much that I can scare the likes of her. She seems like a very resourceful young woman. She probably thought we might want to be alone."

"Well, she guessed wrong," Cole shot back. He started to turn away.

Before he could escape from his mother, her voice called him back. "Belthazor," she said, stopping him in his tracks, "why don't you stay for a few minutes. We haven't had a decent conversation since . . . last year." She referred to the incident in which mother and son had helped his uncle Marbus escaped the attentions of the Source's bounty hunters.

A sigh left Cole's mouth. "What do you want to talk about, Mother? About how you disapprove of Christine?"

"What makes you think I dislike her?" Nimue protested. "I know nothing about her. On the other hand," she hesitated, "I do know a great deal about Idril. And I cannot help but wonder what you see in her."

Detecting shades of snobbery and criticism in the demoness' voice, Cole became angry. "And what exactly is wrong with Idril? Not good enough for me?"

Nimue rolled her eyes. "Oh dear. There goes that unfortunate phrase, again. I really am beginning to suspect that today's society pays too much attention to soap operas and other melodrama."

"Mother!"

The demoness continued, "There is nothing wrong with Idril. I just . . . I never really imagined her as the kind of woman you would become interested in. Females with a need to cling to a strong, protective male have never been your type, before. You have always preferred your women to be a lot less insecure. What led to you to become interested in Idril, I wonder?"

"Perhaps she seemed like someone new," Cole retorted. "And could it be that she's also very attractive?"

"Hmmm. I suppose. If you prefer beauty of the cheap variety."

Annoyed by his mother's innuendos, Cole decided that he had enough. "Excuse me. I think I'll go back inside . . . where the air is fresher."

"Back to Idril?" Nimue shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps she won't be in the mood to enjoy your company. Especially after tonight."

He should just walk away. Just leave and forget about the acid words that seemed bent upon pouring out of his mother's mouth. Unfortunately for Cole, his curiosity got the best of him. "Meaning . . . what?"

A knowing smile curved Nimue's lips. "Meaning . . . just a minute or two before I had interrupted you and Miss Bloome, I saw dear Idril standing in the room's doorway . . . watching the two of you enjoy each other's company. She did not look very happy." The demoness' smile widened. "Pardon me." Then she brushed past her only son and disappeared into the house.

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PRESENT DAY . . . "Hmmm, you liked her, didn't you?"

Cole glanced up from his plate of Chicken Parmagian and stared at Olivia. "Liked who? Idril?"

Olivia rolled her eyes with contempt. "Give me a break. I'm talking about Christine Bloome. You liked her."

"Of course I did," Cole said with a shrug. "Who didn't? Tarkin certainly did. She was a likeable woman."

A wall of silence surrounded the couple's booth. "Cole . . ." Olivia's voice became sharp. "Cole, look at me." The half-daemon stared into a pair of green eyes that now resembled polished stones. "Do I look like an idiot to you? You liked her, didn't you? A lot."

Cole now realized why his fiancee's voice seemed so sharp. "You're not jealous, are you? I can't believe it. I've just spent nearly a half-hour talking about my relationship with Idril, and the moment I bring up talking with Christine at Sebastian Crowe's party, you're suddenly jealous."

"You liked her . . . didn't you?"

Cole sighed. He realized that he would not be able to avoid answering this particular question. "What makes you think that?"

"Because of the look in your eyes, whenever you mentioned her," Olivia replied. "Christine Bloome, I mean." She paused. "You liked her. Right?"

Realizing that Olivia would never abandon her question, he decided to tell the truth. "Okay, yeah. I liked Christine. A lot."

"Thought so."

"If you must know," Cole continued, "you remind me a lot of her. Both of you seemed to have a joie de voire that I find very attractive. And you're both ruthless as hell. Ruthless, yet . . . I don't know . . . very compassionate, I guess." Olivia's eyes widened. "I know. Christine is supposed to be this evil witch. But she could be compassionate. One could always talk to her. It's the same with you."

Olivia's face turned pink with embarrassment and she glanced in another direction. "Oh," she murmured. "Thanks. I guess." Then she took a sip of her iced tea. "I guess Tarkin must have been crazy about her, as well."

"At first," Cole replied. Olivia stared at him. "But I think he eventually became tired of her. Or . . . wary of her." He hesitated. "I think Christine began to intimidate him. And I don't think he cared for the idea of some witch being so intimidating. So, he began to fool around with other women."

Olivia asked, "And how did Christine feel about that?"

After taking another sip of iced tea, Cole replied, "I don't think she really cared, in the end. She had other fish to fry."

"Namely you?" Olivia's eyes bored into his.

Cole merely remained silent and took another sip of tea.


End of Part 4

"GODS AND GENERALS" (2003) Photo Gallery

Below are images from "GODS AND GENERALS", the 2003 prequel to the 1993 movie, "GETTYSBURG".  Based upon  Jeff Shaara's 1996 novel; and written and directed by Ronald Maxwell, the movie starred Stephen Lang, Jeff Daniels and Robert Duvall:


"GODS AND GENERALS" (2003) Photo Gallery

"WESTWARD HO!": Part Three - "CENTENNIAL" (1978-79)

Below is Part Three to my article about Hollywood's depiction about the westward migration via wagon trains in 19th century United States. It focuses upon "", the third episode of the 1978-79 television miniseries, "CENTENNIAL": 


"WESTWARD HO!": Part Three - "CENTENNIAL" (1978-79)

I. Introduction

Between the fall of 1978 and the winter of 1979, NBC aired an adaptation of James Michner's 1973 novel, "Centennial". The twelve-part miniseries spanned 180 years in the history of a fictional town in Northern Colorado called Centennial. Episode Three, titled "The Wagon and the Elephant", revealed the experiences of a Pennsylvania Mennonite from Lancaster named Levi Zendt and his bride, Elly, during their overland journey to the west.

In the early spring of 1845 (1844 in the novel), Levi found himself shunned by his conservative family after being falsely accused of attempted rape by a local Mennonite girl named . Apparently, Miss Stoltzfus did not want the community to know about her attempts to tease Levi. Only two other people knew the truth, two 17 year-olds at the local orphanage - Elly Zahm and Laura Lou Booker. Levi eventually befriends Elly. And when he decides to leave Lancaster, he asks Elly to accompany him to Oregon as his bride.

Since "CENTENNIAL" was about the history of a Northern Colorado town, one would easily assume that Levi and Elly never made it to Oregon. Instead, a few mishaps that included Elly nearly being raped by their wagon master named Sam Purchas and a bad wagon wheel, convinced the Zendts to turn around and return to Fort Laramie. There, they teamed with former mountain man Alexander McKeag and his family to head toward Northern Colorado and establish a trading post.

"The Wagon and the Elephant" is my favorite episode of "CENTENNIAL". One of the reasons I love it so much is well . . . I love the story. And aside from one of two quibbles, I believe the episode gave a very effective portrayal of life for an emigrant traveling by wagon train.


II. History vs. Hollywood

From a historical perspective, I believe producer John Wilder made only one major blooper in the production. The fault may have originated with writer James Michner's novel. Before leaving Lancaster, Levi Zendt purchased a large Conestoga wagon from a teamster named Amos Boemer. As I have stated in the Introduction, a Conestoga wagon was a heavy, large wagon used for hauling freight along the East Coast. It was considered too big for mules or oxen to be hauling across the continent. Which meant that the Zendts' Conestoga was too heavy for their journey to Oregon.

The wagon eventually proved to be troublesome for Levi and Elly. Yet, according to the episode's transcript and Michner's novel, the fault laid with a faulty left wheel, not the wagon's impact upon the animals hauling it. In St. Louis, both Army captain Maxwell Mercy and wagonmaster Sam Purchas had advised Levi to get rid of his teams of gray horses, claiming they would not survive the journey west. Levi refused to heed their warning and Purchase swapped the horses for oxen behind his back. This was a smart move by Purchas. Unfortunately, neither the wagonmaster or Captain Mercy bothered to suggest that Levi rid himself of the Conestoga wagon. Since the miniseries said nothing about the size of the Zendts' wagon, it did not comment on the amount of contents carried by the couple and other emigrants in the wagon party.

But I must congratulate both Michner and the episode's writer, Jerry Ziegman, for at least pointing out the disadvantages of using horses to pull a wagon across the continent. "The Wagon and the Elephant" also made it clear that the Zendts were traveling along the Oregon Trail, by allowing their wagon party to stop at Fort Laramie. The miniseries called it Fort John, which was another name for the establishment. Before it became a military outpost, the fort was known officially as "Fort John on the Laramie". 

The miniseries' depiction of the emigrants' encounter with Native Americans was not exaggerated for the sake of Hollywood drama . . . thank goodness. The Zendts, Oliver Seccombe and other emigrants encountered a small band of Arapahos led by the mixed-blood sons of a French-Canadian trapper named Pasquinel. Levi, who was on guard at the time, became aware of Jacques and Michel Pasquinel's presence and immediately alerted his fellow emigrants. A great deal about this encounter reeked with realism. The emigrants were obviously well armed. The Pasquinels and the other Arapaho only consisted of a small band of riders. More importantly, no violence erupted between the two parties, despite Sam Purchas' obvious hostility. Due to Paul Krasny's direction, the entire encounter was tense, brief and polite. The miniseries also conveyed a realistic depiction of whites like Purchas to randomly murder an individual brave or two out of sheer spite or hatred. 

Thanks to the episode, "The Wagon and the Elephant", "CENTENNIAL" provided a brief, yet realistic portrait of westward emigration in the mid 19th century. The miniseries was historically inaccurate in one regard - the Conestoga wagon that Levi and Elly Zendt used for their journey west. But in the end, this episode provided a injection of history, without allowing Hollywood exaggeration to get in the way.

"ARGO" (2012) Review

"ARGO" (2012) Review

Ben Affleck must be at a lucky point in his career. His third directorial effort had recently been released in theaters and is already a commercial and critical hit . . . like his two previous films. And he never struck me as the type who would direct and star in a film about the CIA rescuing American diplomats from the Middle East, let alone co-produce it. But he did and the result is the movie, "ARGO".

"ARGO" began in early November 1979, when Iranian militants stormed the U.S. Embassy in Tehran, Iran and took most of the civilian and military staff hostage in retaliation for American offering refuge for the deposed Shah of Iran. At least six staff diplomats managed to get out of the embassy and seek refuge at the home of Canada's ambassador, Ken Taylor. With the six diplomats' situation kept secret, the C.I.A. assigns one of their operatives, one Tony Mendez, to find a way to get the diplomats out of Iran before they could be discovered. After dismissing several proposals, Mendez creates a cover story that the escapees are Canadian filmmakers, scouting "exotic" locations in Iran for a science-fiction film.

Mendez and his C.I.A. supervisor Jack O'Donnell, contact John Chambers, a Hollywood make-up artist who has previously crafted disguises for the C.I.A., in addition to his work in the "PLANET OF THE APES" film series. Chambers puts them in touch with a film producer named Lester Siegel. Mendez, Chambers and Siegel set up a fake film studio and successfully establish the pretense of developing Argo, a "science fantasy" in the style of "STAR WARS" in order to lend credibility to the cover story. Meanwhile, the escapees grow frantic inside the ambassador's residence. Shredded documentation from the American embassy is being reassembled, providing the militants with evidence that there are embassy personnel unaccounted for.

I am going to cut to the chase. I enjoyed "ARGO" very much. What am I saying? I really enjoyed this movie. So far, it is one of the better ones I have seen this year. Once again, Affleck knocked it out of the ballpark with a first-rate thriller that gave audiences a peek into the efforts of the C.I.A. to save those six diplomats who managed to get captured by the militants. Affleck, along with screenwriter Chris Terrio, did an excellent job in setting up the entire story from beginning to end.

One of the movie's gem scenes featured the actual storming of the U.S. Embassy in Tehran on November 4, 1979. It is quite obvious that Affleck, along with cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto, used a hand-held camera style to film this particular sequence. And although I am not a fan of this particular style, I must say that it suited this particular sequence very well, projecting an effective sense of chaos and panic. "ARGO" featured other memorable scenes, including Mendez's efforts to recruit both Chambers and Siegel for his mission, a tense encounter between Taylor's Iranian maid and intelligence officers looking for the diplomats, the humor-filled setup of the Argo Operation in Hollywood, frustrating moments in which Chief of Staff Hamilton Jordan came close to shutting down Mendez's operation, the final escape from Iran by air and a nail-biting sequence in which the same group hit the streets of Tehran for a "location scouting mission" in order to maintain their cover.

There is so much about this movie that I enjoyed that it would take an essay for me to explain in great detail. I do not have the patience for such a project, but I do have to comment on the movie's technical aspects. Not only did Rodrigo Prieto did an excellent job in re-creating the violence and confusion of the American embassy takeover, he also captured the muted glamour and insanity of Hollywood with vivid color. I could see that a great deal of his work benefited from some outstanding editing from William Goldenberg. In fact, I really have to hand it to Sharon Seymour and her production designing team for their re-creation of the 1979-1980 period in American and Iranian history. Seymour and her team were ably assisted by Peter Borck
and Deniz Göktürk's art direction, along with Jacqueline West's realistic looking costume designs.

But "ARGO" would have never worked by Affleck's outstanding direction and the talented actors and actresses that were part of the cast. Not only was I impressed by Affleck's direction, but also his subtle performance as C.I.A. operative Tony Mendez, who did not need guns and fighting skills to accomplish his task - merely brains and nerves of steel. John Goodman was marvelous as the witty and slightly cynical make-up artist, John Chambers. He also had great chemistry with both Affleck and Alan Arkin, who portrayed the sardonic and prickly Hollywood producer, Lester Siegel. I was not that kind to Bryan Cranston in my review of "TOTAL RECALL". But it was great to see his magic again, in his fiery and funny portrayal of Mendez's C.I.A. supervisor, Jack O'Donnell.

"ARGO" also featured some wonderful supporting performances as well. Kyle Chandler made two brief, but very memorable appearances and President Jimmy Carter's foul-mouthed Chief of Staff, Hamilton "Ham" Jordan. It is a pity that his role was not longer. I was also impressed by those who portrayed the besieged diplomats - the always entertaining Tate Donovan, Clea DuVall, Christopher Denham and Kerry Bishé. Scoot McNairy and Rory Cochrane were especially memorable as a paranoid Joe Stafford and the hilariously sarcastic Lee Schatz. Victor Garber gave solid support as Ken Taylor, the Canadian ambassador who gave the diplomats refuge. And Sheila Vand was marvelous in the tense scenes that featured the Taylors' Iranian housekeeper, Sahar. The movie also featured solid performances from the likes of Zeljko Ivanek, Richard Kind, Titus Welliver, Bob Gunton and Philip Baker Hall.

Naturally, "ARGO" is not a perfect movie. Not all of it is historically accurate. This was very obvious in one shot that featured a dilapidated HOLLYWOOD sign that overlooks the Los Angeles Basin. The sign was restored to its former glory in November 1978, 14 to 15 months before Tony Mendez's arrival in Southern California. And I found Mendez and the diplomats' encounter with the Iranian airport security guards and escape from the country somewhat contrived and manipulative.

Flawed or not, I cannot deny that I found "ARGO" to be one of the most satisfying movies of the year. I enjoyed it that much, thanks to a first-rate script by Chris Terrio, superb direction by Affleck and an excellent cast that included John Goodman, Bryan Cranston and Alan Arkin. In the end, "ARGO" strikes me as another triumph for Affleck and his two co-producers, George Clooney and Grant Heslov.

"Strange Bedfellows" [R] - Part 3

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS"

Part 3

PRESENT DAY . . . Wide green regarded the half-daemon with slight suspicion. "So, what happened after you had taken the Pectoralis? Don't tell me that all of you had spent the rest of the night just smoking?" Olivia commented wryly. "Because I happen to know for a fact that Pectoralis is supposed to be an aphrodisiac."

"What do you think happened?" Cole quietly demanded. He did not feel prepared to discuss his past sex life with his fiancée. Reaching for his tea, he deliberately avoided Olivia's gaze.

She stared at him with knowing eyes. "Oh, I get it. You had sex. All four of you. And you don't want to discuss it. What happened? You had some kind of foursome orgy or something?"

"We didn't have a . . . foursome," Cole insisted.

More silence followed. Then, "Oh. Oooh! But you had a threesome. Right?"

Reluctantly, Cole added, "Tarkin, Christine and Idril did."

"And you didn't?"

Cole sighed. Hard. "Once. Okay? With Christine and Tarkin." He took a swig of iced tea. Sometimes, Olivia can be a little too curious for her own good. And blunt. "I'm not exactly into multi-partners, anyway. I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy. But I was a little high that night, thanks to that damn stuff." He shook his head in disbelief. "Never took that stuff again, I assure you."

After another silent pause, Olivia said, "I don't blame you. I'm not into threesomes or more, myself. But I once heard about this guy in college, who had a ménage a cinq with four co-eds." Cole stared at her, as images of the redhead with three other females and some guy flashed in his mind. Olivia noticed. "I said I had 'heard' about it, not 'participated' in the act."

"So, you've never . . .?"

With a sigh, Olivia said, "Well . . . okay. I did take part in a threesome once. And to be honest, I found it rather disappointing. My . . . uh, partners seemed more interested in each other and eventually forgot about me. I ended up feeling like a third wheel."

Relieved by this piece of information, Cole continued, "Huh. Well, as for me I had avoided the Triple Six Club for a while, after that night. Instead, I came across this little jazz nightclub in Soho."

Olivia frowned. "So, you didn't see Idril after that?"

"Not for . . . oh, two weeks. I wasn't trying to avoid her or anything like that. I just forgot about her. Idril was a woman one can easily forget."

"So, when did you seriously begin to get involved with her?"

Cole took a bite of his Chicken Parmagian. "After I saw her two weeks later. At the Royal Ascot at Windsor. I ran into her on the third day. Both her . . . and my mother."

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JUNE 19, 1969; WINDSOR, ENGLAND . . . Cole and his two companions cheered, as their favored racehorse crossed the finish line ahead of his competition. Impeccably dressed in a black morning suit with an ice blue waistcoat, a matching cravat and a gray silk top hat, the half-daemon happily watched his choice being led to the winner's circle.

"I've got to say Bel . . ." Tarkin immediately corrected himself. ". . . I mean Cole, you really know how to pick the winners."

Cole allowed himself a superior smile. "What can I say? I've always had an eye for horseflesh. Especially the thoroughbreds. I might even breed some, one day."

"That's nice love," Christine commented, as she grabbed Tarkin's arm. "But right now, I want to see the horses for the next race." The witch and the two daemons happened to be guests of an old friend of Christine's, who had rented one of the private luncheon rooms or 'boxes' of the racecourse's Grand Stand first floor balcony. They left the box and made their way toward the stalls. Like Cole, Tarkin was dressed in a similar black morning suit and a tan waistcoat. Christine wore a tailored forest green dress suit with a matching wide-brim hat. For a woman who usually wore flamboyant outfits, she looked surprisingly elegant and relaxed.

While examining the entries for the next race, the trio encountered a familiar figure strolling from the other direction. "Look who's here!" Christine declared cheerfully.

Cole stared in amazement at the dark-haired woman that approached them. "Is that Idr . . . uh, Diane?" he declared. "What are you doing here?" Like Christine, Idril also wore an outfit more conservative than she was used to. Unfortunately, the demoness seemed uncomfortable and out of place in the elegant surrounding.

Idril smiled at the trio. "Wow! Image seeing you three here! I'm here for the races, of course. What . . . uh, where have you been?"

"Around," Cole curtly replied. "Why? Have you been looking for us?"

"Oh . . ." Idril shook her head. "No. Of course not. Why should I? I guess I just figured that we would encounter each other, again." Her eyes flickered at Cole. "So, um, are you guys staying here in Windsor?"

Cole replied, "I believe Christine and Tarkin will remain here. I'm returning to London, later this evening."

"Mind if I join you?" Idril asked in a suggestive voice.

Before the half-daemon could answer, another female's voice cried out in a familiar Irish lilt, "Good heavens! Cole? Is that you?"

Cole glanced to his right and stared at the approaching figure of his mother. What in the hell was she doing here?

"Is that . . .?" Tarkin began. He had apparently spotted the older demoness, as well.

The half-daemon heaved a sigh. "My mother," he murmured ominously.

The auburn-haired demoness halted before her three fellow daemons and the blond witch. "Belthazor." She offered her cheek to her son - who reluctantly kissed it. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You know me, Mother," Cole replied airily. "I'm never far from a race course. Although I realize that I've forgotten that you always attend the Royal Ascot every year."

Nimue smiled coolly. "Not every year. I haven't been here in three years."

Cole glanced around. "And where is your faithful retainer?" He referred to a wizard that has been a companion of his mother's for the past seven years.

"If you're referring to Sebastian, he's back in his box," Nimue explained. Her glance fell upon Cole's companions. "Tarkin," she said to the stocky daemon, "you're looking very well. And still by my son's side. As usual."

The younger daemon squirmed with slight discomfort. "Nimue. It's . . . good to see you. Again. Uh, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine." He nodded at Christine. "This is Christine Bloome. She's a witch from the Cimmerian Coven."

A slight, approving smile curved Nimue's lips, as her eyes swept over the blond witch. "Nice to meet you, Miss Bloome. I've heard a great deal about you and your coven. Very commendable."

Christine smiled back. "Thanks."

Nimue's gaze fell upon the dark-haired demoness. "And Idril. I'm rather surprised to find you here. I didn't think that the Royal Ascot was quite . . . your taste." Her expression seemed to hint that Idril belonged to a flashy, late night party in Vegas, instead of the Royal Ascot.

Idril's face turned red, making her look even more ill at ease. "I . . . uh, I mean . . . someone had suggested . . ." She paused before finishing lamely, "Uh, someone had suggested that I . . . come here."

"Oh, a friend?" Nimue's eyes briefly shifted toward her son. "I see. By the way," her blue eyes gleamed mischievously, "I thought you three might like a spot of news. It seems Raynor and Avara are back from their honeymoon."

To Cole's surprise, Idril's expression tightened slightly. Tarkin said, "Well, that's good news. I hope that they enjoyed themselves. The wedding was rather nice."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?"

Cole stared at his mother. "I'm surprised that you were at the wedding." He paused. "Considering your . . . feelings toward Raynor."

"Well, as head of one of the Brotherhood's sects, it was my duty to attend. And I don't regret it. I rather enjoyed the ceremony." Nimue heaved a soft sigh. "Much to my surprise. By the way, where are you all staying here in Windsor?"

Recalling Idril's invitation, Cole replied, "I'm staying in London. In fact, both Idril and I will be in London. Why?"

A voice announced the next race over the public announcement system. A touch of frost chilled Nimue's smile, as she glanced at Idril. "Hmmm. Just curious. Well, I best return to Sebastian's box. Enjoy yourselves, everyone. Good day."

Cole stared angrily at his mother's retreating figure. Why did she always find a way to make others feel like shit with her insinuating comments? She practically left Idril quivering like a frightened rabbit. Because of this, he turned to the dark-haired demoness and said, "About London . . . if you would still like to join me, you're more than welcomed." Idril responded with a bright smile.

---------------

Several hours later found Cole back at the London flat he had rented for the summer season. After a small supper prepared by the half-daemon, the couple retired to the living room. A few drinks, some minor chatter and a lot of flirting eventually led to them shedding their clothes for some passionate sex.

The couple were on the wide sofa, their damp bodies joined below their waists. Idril laid flat on her back and her legs wrapped around Cole's waists. She gripped the sofa's arm above her, while she writhed and moaned with pleasure. Cole knelt between her legs - one foot on the floor. He pounded deep into her body, while their moans filled the room. As his passion increased, the half-daemon's thrusts grew harder. Faster. Idril's flesh completely enveloped his, as they both achieved orgasms. The demoness' body arched upward, while she cried out his name.

Panting, Cole slowly eased himself out of her body. He leaned back against the sofa's other arm and watched Idril struggled into a sitting position. "In Caspiel's name!" she declared breathlessly. "That felt . . . I don't think I don't know any words to describe it." She glanced around the room. "Uh, do you mind if I use your sho . . .?" The doorbell rang. The two daemons exchanged glances. Cole remained on the sofa. Idril stood up. "Aren't you going to answer the door?"

Cole closed his eyes and sighed. He immediately sensed the identity of his new visitor. "I'd rather not," he replied curtly.

Again, the doorbell rang. Idril frowned, as she donned Cole's white shirt. "Are you sure? Maybe it's your building manager. It doesn't look like he or she will stop ringing."

More ringing followed. Using his telekinesis, Cole retrieved his discarded trousers and put them on. "Trust me," he murmured, "it's not the mana . . ."

At that moment, a figure shimmered into the middle of the living room. "Really Belthazor! How long were you planning to keep me waiting outside? I must have been ringing forever." Idril gasped out loud, as Nimue's blue eyes stared at the couple's half-dressed state. The older woman drawled, "Well, no wonder you didn't bother to answer. Have I interrupted something?"

Cole glared at the auburn-haired demoness. "Mother! What in the hell are you doing here?"

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JUNE 19, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Idril continued to stare apprehensively, while Belthazor's mother cast a cool eye around the apartment. "Lovely flat," she commented in her soft Irish lilt. "How much did you pay for it?"

"I didn't buy it," Belthazor coolly replied. "I'm renting it. Sixty pounds a month. Now, what are you doing here?"

Nimue shot a disapproving glance at Idril, causing the latter's face to burn with embarrassment. "Sebastian is holding a supper party at his home in Belgravia, on the 23rd. After seeing you at the races today, he has issued an invitation to you." She paused, as her eyes flickered at Idril. "You may bring a guest, of course."

"I'm thrilled," Belthazor replied with a sardonic smile. "Idril and I look forward to seeing you and Sebastian on Monday night. Right Idril?" He glanced at the younger demoness.

Idril opened her mouth to speak. She sputtered a few times - feeling even more humiliated - before finally finding her voice. "Oh . . . uh . . . yeah. I mean, we'll be . . ."

"I believe I've got the message, dear," Nimue coolly finished. Idril's face grew hotter. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be returning to Windsor. And I will see you two on Monday night. Remember - Number 15, Belgravia Square." Fixing the young couple with an insincere smile, Idril shimmered out of the apartment.

A long pause followed. Idril felt a cool draft of air brush against her chest. She glanced down and to her horror, found Belthazor's shirt gaped wide open - and exposing her chest. Which meant that Idril must have seen . . . She hurriedly fastened the shirt's buttons, attracting Belthazor's attention. "You don't think she noticed anything about my . . . I mean, your shirt, do you?"

Belthazor shot her a contemptuous look. Then he sighed and muttered, "I'll be in the kitchen, preparing breakfast."

"But it's not even midnight, yet."

"So what?" With that parting shot, the half-demon turned on his heels and marched toward the kitchen. Leaving behind a very embarrassed and slightly humiliated Idril.


End of Part 3