Sunset Boulevard

Sarah's visit to the library was surprisingly short.

Upon entering the building, she had approached the front desk for information. The librarian, a walking stereotype of the “sexy librarian,” had politely informed her that the library actually didn't hold any video media.

“You'll want to visit our cinematheque,” the librarian said.

“The cin-ema-tech?” Sara replied, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

“Cinematheque. It's right down the street, behind the props warehouse.”

So Sarah found herself walking down the street. Her professional slacks and blazer were a little too heavy under the warm sun, and she could feel the sweat beginning to gather under the strap of the messenger bag she was carrying. She took some comfort in the fact that she was a least wearing sensible black flats. Thankfully the walk wasn't a long one. She turned the corner off of the faux New York City block onto the street the studio office, props, and wardrobe department shared. The architectural transition from the multistory structures to the single-floored mission style buildings was stark. As her eyes swept the short street, Sarah noticed a small side street that ran down the side of the Wardrobe building. A simple sign indicated with an arrow that the “Cinematheque” was in that direction.

Sarah followed the sign, and found a surprisingly modern looking structure stashed behind the row of studio buildings. Large windows made up the majority of the building's edifice through which she could see a spacious, well-lit lobby adorned with swooping, abstract furnishings that where more art than furniture. Plain block letters etched onto the glass proclaimed that this was the “J.R. Schlesinger Cinematheque.”

Sarah stepped through the double glass doors, and approached a round wooden structure she assumed was a information desk. She stopped short as she saw the attendant.

“I'm sorry, didn't we just speak?”

The woman working the desk arched an eyebrow. She was the spitting image of the sexy librarian. The only differences were she wore no glasses and her dark auburn hair was down in waves, not up.

“No...? I've been working here all day.”

Sarah was tempted to ask the woman if she had a twin sister, but she settled for simply shrugging her shoulders. Her attempts at questioning other attendants had gone nowhere. She needed to keep her eyes on the prize.

“I was looking for information on other seasons of Harem Hotel and I was directed here.”

The woman behind the desk visibly perked up.

“Of course! We have an extensive collection of media relating to the Harem Hotel franchise. Were you looking for anything specific?”

Sarah was a little surprised. She thought the information would be harder to come by. She had to think for a moment. What would be most helpful?

“Do...do you have any of the broadcasts from the other seasons?”

The woman nodded smartly, and gestured for Sarah to follow her. She emerged from behind the counter and led Sarah over to a nondescript metal door. Next to the door, a blue square sign with white letters read “COLLECTIONS.” The woman swiped a key card across an electronic reader, the door unlocked, and she ushered Sarah through.

Beyond the door was a featureless corridor stretching seemingly into infinity. The walls were covered with wooden laminate panels but the floor itself was bare polished concrete. The woman set off at a brisk walk down the hallway and Sarah followed. As they traveled, other corridors met theirs at right angles, running to their own indeterminate end. Sarah's guide eventually turned down one of these branches.

The uniformity of this corridor was broken by the occasional metal door, each distinguished with a blue plaque with white numbers in the same style as the entry door. 15001, 15002, 15003, the woman seemed to be reading the numbers carefully as they went. She finally stopped in front of the door she was apparently looking for. This particular door was already unlocked, and she ushered Sarah in.

“Our complete collection of Harem Hotel footage,” she proudly proclaimed. Sarah couldn't help but gasp.

The space inside looked like a large warehouse. Row upon row of metal racks, full of large film reel canisters, nearly reached the ceiling and ran the length of the room. Sarah peered down one of the aisles between the racks. She could barely see the opposite wall.

Where do I even start? There's thousands of reels in here...

Sarah had checked out movies before from a library. She had been expecting DVD's or Blu-Rays not actual film rolls. Where can I even watch these?

She turned back to the film archivist, who was waiting expectantly, an electronic tablet in her hand.

“Do you have a way for me to view these?” Sarah asked. The archivist gave a single sure nod.

“We have a small theater available for your convenience. You just have to let us know which episodes to pull.”

Sarah's wide eyes swept over the racks and racks of film reels. The archivist coughed lightly to regain her attention, and she turned to see that the woman was holding out the tablet to her.

“You can make your selections through this if you want. It's a lot easier then walking the stacks and pulling the film yourself.”

Sarah took the proffered device and began to scroll through a long, long list of seasons. It was scarcely less overwhelming then the stacks of physical film. She finally picked three seasons, basically at random.

“Can you pull up to the first challenge of each of these seasons?” Sarah asked, passing the tablet back to the archivist. The woman surveyed the screen for a moment before punching in some additional instructions.

“We certainly can. I've submitted the request to our projectionist. If you'll follow me I can take you to the theater while they pull these.”

Sarah stayed close to the archivist as she followed her. She wasn't sure she could find her own way back out of the endless corridors if they got separated. As they exited “COLLECTIONS,” her guide made a sharp turn, and began to cross the lobby. A set of double doors were marked with their own blue sign, “THEATER.”

It was a movie theater, that's about all Sarah could say of the room. It was plain and utilitarian, though the seats were comfy enough. It wasn't a large theater, maybe only about one hundred seats. The archivist watched as Sarah took in her surroundings.

“This theater is mostly used for study and critical viewings,” she told Sarah. “though we do have a full-sized screen and surround sound. We recommend you book any viewings for entertainment at the Masterwork Theater. Their venue is a little more aesthetically pleasing and serves concessions. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, I don't think so,” Sarah replied, as she pulled a spiral notebook and pen out of her messenger bag. The archivist nodded smartly.

“Then feel free to take a seat. The screening should begin shortly.”

The archivist held out a duplicate tablet to the one she was holding to Sarah.

“This is for you. It will let you communicate with our projectionist. You can ask them to pull up different scenes or seasons, but please keep in mind we are working with physical film rolls so it will take a minute. Please return the tablet to the information desk on your way out.”

And with that, the women turned on her heel and left Sarah alone in the viewing theater. The lights began to dim so Sarah quickly grabbed a seat and flipped open her notebook to the first empty page. She held the pen to the paper, ready to write. She watched the screen as the camera swept across a white sandy tropical beach, a large resort visible in the background. A title appeared, the letters slowly fading into view across the island backdrop:

Harem Hotel: Island Holiday Season

******

Chloe waited until after lunch to investigate the studio facilities.

She first wanted to make sure Robin was doing OK this morning, but the sleep deprived goth had gently suggested that she would be doing better if Chloe made herself scarce. After that, it had been close enough to lunch that Chloe didn't see the point in leaving yet - she'd just have to stop her exploration to find food anyway. Her delay proved fortuitous. She ran into Samantha in the hotel restaurant and managed to recruit her to the cause.

Lunch completed, Chloe and Samantha walked down the block side by side, sticking to the sidewalk so they could shelter in the shadows of the looming buildings from the hot afternoon sun. They chatted as they walked, initially the banal platitudes of two strangers stuck together in transit, until...

“So you're a screenwriter?” Chloe asked.

“I am! Or, at least, I want to be.” Samantha replied. “I'm having a hard time breaking in...”

Chloe nodded solemnly.

“I can understand that. I'm trying to get into acting but I can't seem to land a role to save my life.”

“You have those looks and you can't land a role?” Samantha scoffed, then blushed slightly at her own directness. However Chloe took the comment in stride.

“There's a million other girls in L.A. just like me. I've heard that from more then a few casting directors. And I don't want to be picked for a role just for my looks. There's countless calls for “cute blonde waitress/barista/dog walker” but I want a role that lets me actually act. I know it's too much to ask for a starring role right off the bat, but is it too much to ask for a serious part? There's enough people in Hollywood willing to sell themselves to get in. I don't want to be one of them.”

Chloe failed to see Samantha look away sheepishly.

“My agent keeps telling me I need to stop being so picky and just take anything right now to get my name out there.” Chloe continued.

“Funny, mine keeps saying the same thing.”

The two shared a look and laughed. Chloe was delighted to realize that Samantha might be something of a kindred spirit. Another young woman smitten with the dream of Hollywood yet struggling to get their foot in the door. A comrade-in-arms, wanting to tell stories that matter, but running into the grim reality that the movie business is, well, a business and just because something has worth doesn't mean that it has marketable value.

“Speaking of agents, how do you think Thomas is doing with four of his clients suddenly missing. Do you think he’s even noticed?” Chloe mused.

“Ava said a reasonable explanation would be provided for each of us suddenly being gone for a week,” Samantha replied, keeping her gaze steadfastly ahead.

“Yeah, but what about Bailey? She is his fiance. Most people that deep in a relationship just don’t suddenly ghost their partner for a week.”

Samantha didn’t immediately respond. Chloe turned to look at her companion for the afternoon to find her face flushed. Must be the sun. It’s pretty warm today.

“F-family emergency maybe?” Samantha finally responded when she realized Chloe was watching her expectantly.

“Maybe...Still seems like a stretch to me. At least we’re just Thomas’ clients. Can you imagine trying to explain all this to your significant other? I’m glad I’m not in her shoes…”

Samantha said nothing and the two pressed on in a suddenly heavy silence. Chloe could feel the change in the air, but she wasn't sure why it happened. **** to bring back the convivial conversation, she felt driven to say something.

“How's Cassandra doing?” Chloe asked.

Samantha tensed up slightly.

“She was pretty quiet last night. She didn't really want to talk...”

“How about this morning?”

Samantha shook her head.

“She was gone by the time I woke up.”

Chloe frowned. Cassandra's upgrade had obviously not shaped up the way she had hoped.

The awkwardness returned and this time Chloe decided to leave it undisturbed. Samantha also kept her thoughts to herself and the rest of the walk continued in silence until the two of them turned the corner and began to approach the row of low studio buildings.

“Which one should we check out first?” Samantha finally asked.

“Let's start with the studio office.” Chloe replied after a moment of thought. “They might be able to answer all our questions there.”

Chloe led the way into the office. They found themselves in a dated waiting room that looked straight out of the 60's. A young, slim woman, her brunette hair up in a prim bun, was sitting behind a wooden desk off to one side of the room. She nervously eyed the pair through her square-framed glasses.

“Can I help you?” She squeaked.

“Yes, we have some questions about renting Soundstage 1?” Chloe asked.

The young woman visibly relaxed.

“Sure! What would you like to know?”

“Well, I...” Chole stammered. “ How...what exactly does it do...?

“Soundstage 1 uses movie magic to transport you to other places, or even other times. You just let us know the details, when you want to rent it and for how long and we'll take care of the rest.”

Samantha gaped.

“It's a teleporter?”

The young woman behind the desk scoffed.

“No, it's a soundstage. You aren't actually physically transported to a new place, it just looks like it.”

Samantha seemed visibly disappointed, but Chloe pressed on.

“How big is the soundstage?”

“How big do you want it? We can do up to five square miles.”

“Five square miles?!” Samantha exclaimed. “The building isn't that big!”

The receptionist simply shrugged, and said “Movie magic.”

“I've got to see this,” the screenwriter said. “How do we rent it?”

The receptionist took a paper form, attached it to a clipboard, and slid it across the counter along with a silver ballpoint pen.

“Just fill this out, the more details the better. Just so you know, there's a rental fee of 200 BP per hour, one hour minimum.”

Samantha eagerly snatched the clipboard and made her way over to one of the retro armchairs across the room from the reception desk. Chloe followed her. She took the seat next to Samantha, leaning over the armrest so she could watch her fill out the form.

“What do you have in mind?” Chloe asked as Samantha began to scribble in details.

“The neighborhood I grew up in.” Samantha responded. “It's bigger than the soundstage building and it's a place I know it well so we can see how this works.”

Having finished filling out the “Location” field, Samantha's pen hovered uncertainly over the “Date” box.

“In for a penny,” she finally declared, writing 9/9/2003 in a neat print.

“I would have been in middle school.” Samantha answered Chloe's questioning gaze. “Several new houses went up while I was in high school. This will be another easy way to test what the soundstage is capable of.”

“And that specific date?”

“I just picked it at random. The year is what I was more focused on.”

The form was surprisingly straightforward for what it purported to do. Samantha's pen was finally stopped by two questions with simple check yes/no answers. “Populate?” and “Interactive?” She had to ask the receptionist about those two.

“'Populate' fills the set with simulations of the people that would normally be in that space.” The receptionist answered. “'Interactive' indicates whether you want the set to respond to your presence. If you answer 'No' you can walk around and experience the set, but you can't interact with it or the 'people' in it.”

After some discussion with Chloe, Samantha checked “Yes” for “Populate” and no for “Interactive.” They figured it would be the best way to experience what “movie magic” was truly capable of. Having finished filling out the form, Samantha returned the clipboard to the receptionist who immediately began reviewing the paperwork.

“This all seems to be in order,” she finally declared. “Let me send this off to our stagehands. Give them about fifteen minutes, then your set should be ready.”

The receptionist spun in her chair to a set of pneumatic tubes set into the wall behind her. She placed the form into a canister, loaded it into one of the tubes, and whoosh, it was gone. Off to the stagehands, presumably.

Samantha: 2900 – 200 = 2700 BP

“Anything else I can do for you two?” the receptionist asked, turning back to Samantha and Chloe.

“Yeah, could you tell us about the Props and Wardrobe Departments? What are they about?”

The receptionist looked at the pair like they had asked her what air was for.

“They provide any extra clothing or items you might need for the soundstage.” She replied. “Please be aware that any items from Props and/or Wardrobe can only be used on the soundstage. The relevant department will transport your selections to-and-fro the soundstage for your convenience.”

And so they don't go elsewhere, was the clear subtext. It didn't take a genius to read between those lines.

Chloe had more questions, but Samantha was already heading out the door. Chloe thanked the receptionist for her help, and followed Samantha outside.

A short walk later and the two were standing in front of the massive building that contained Soundstage 1. Chloe strained her neck as she looked up the tall unadorned edifice. Yes, the building was big, but big enough to contain an entire neighborhood?!

There was a massive roller door, large enough to drive a truck through, but Chloe and Samantha were standing next to a standard sized metal door. A pair of lights - one red, one green - hung on the wall in between the two doors. Chloe was familiar with a closed set light, but these lights were labeled with big block letters “Preparing,” and “Ready.” The red “Preparing” light was currently lit. Samantha was staring at the light, her hands fidgeting.

“How long has it been?” she asked.

Before Chloe could respond, the lights switched, the green “Ready” light now illuminated. Chloe and Samantha waited a beat, but there was no further instruction. The pair shared a nervous look.

“I guess we just go in...?” Samantha wondered.

“After you,” Chloe said. “It's your neighborhood.”

Samantha grasped the metal door handle firmly, breathed deeply, and pulled it open. Nothing could be seen inside the soundstage, the contrast between the bright sun outside and the dark interior was too great. She turned and looked at Chloe who could only shrug.

“In for a penny...” she echoed.

Samantha nodded, turned back to the doorway and stepped through. Chloe followed.

Chloe was blinded by a bright flash, like someone had just powered on a bank of stage lights. Her vision slowly returned as the light faded from a blinding white, to a more natural tone. She could feel on her back the same warm faux-California sun they had just left behind, but the locale was completely different. The pair found themselves standing on a small residential cul-de-sac. The circle was ringed by a series of stucco ranch style homes, each showing their age but well cared for. A broken sidewalk ran around the perimeter of the street, unevenly shaded by a ring of palm trees. Chloe was amazed, but her reaction was nothing compared to Samantha’s. The screenwriter’s mouth was gaping as she slowly spun in place, taking it all in.

“This is incredible!” She exclaimed. “This is really what my neighborhood looked like growing up!”

“Are we sure it’s not a teleporter?” Chloe semi-joked, but it flew right over Samantha.

“Definitely sure. See that empty lot on the corner down by the road? They built a house there my sophomore year of high school.”

As Chloe looked towards the patch of dirt and scrubby grass Samantha was pointing at, a large yellow school bus slowly slid up to the curb. The doors opened, and a small squad of middle-school kids disembarked. Samantha’s jaw looked like it was about to dislodge.

“Those are my friends!” She squealed. “Maria! Vanessa! Carlos!”

Samantha waved as she called out, but the kids trooped on by, laughing and calling out to one another like she and Chloe were invisible.

“We didn’t check ‘yes’ to ‘Interactive’” Chloe mused as she watched the brightly colored backpacks recede, and split towards their individual homes. “I wonder what would have happened if we did?”

Samantha didn’t answer, and Chloe turned back to see her staring as one final child stumbled off the bus. She was thin, but swimming in a pair of worn overalls and a t-shirt that looked a size too large for her. The girl’s hair was a frizzy brown mess that someone had tried to tame with two hair ties. Her round glasses made her large brown eyes a pair of deep but bright pools. Unlike the other neighborhood children, she was carrying her backpack rather then wearing it, and she had a thick novel shoved under her thin arm.

Samantha was beginning to tremble.

“That’s…” Her voice was so quiet that Chloe could barely hear her over the sounds of the fake neighborhood.

“That’s me.”

The young Samantha didn’t rush home like the other kids. Instead, she stopped on the sidewalk and placed her backpack on the ground. Chloe watched as the girl pulled a windbreaker out of her bag, carefully slid the book into the backpack, then replaced the jacket on top of it. She zipped her bag closed then scanned the cul-de-sac, her eyes wide with the universal look of a child afraid of being caught. Having satisfied herself, she slung her backpack over her shoulder, staggering slightly with the weight, then begin to march off towards one of the squat ranch homes.

Samantha of the here-and-now could only stand and watch in shock. She jumped when Chloe gently touched her elbow.

“Shall we?” Chloe asked, waving her hand in the direction the small frizz of hair was taking. Samantha nodded silently.

They followed young Samantha as she ignored the front door of the house, and instead directed her steps towards an attached carport containing a dated Cadillac sedan. There, she slipped through a side door into the house.

Chloe found she could open the door and step through it just fine. Before she had time to consider what this meant for how much she could “interact” with the set she found herself examining the small kitchen she had just stepped into.

The first thing that struck her was the warmth, though the smells were soon after. The temperature was just past the point of being cozy, but not quite stifling. It felt like someone had been cooking all afternoon, and when Chloe saw the food spread across the counter she suspected that’s exactly what had happened. She felt like she could almost taste the cumin and chili powder in the air. Like everything else in the neighborhood, the worn wooden cabinets looked well-used, but the faded counter tops were clean, at least, in the places where they weren’t covered in food. The kitchen island held a small mountain of tamales and a pan of churros, while fresh tortillas occupied much of the rest of the working space. The afternoon sun streaming through the kitchen window cast the scene in an inviting golden glow, and Chloe couldn't help but smile as she took it all in.

An older woman occupied a corner of the kitchen, her hands and apron dusted with masa harina. Her black hair was streaked with gray, and her lined bronzed face spoke of a life largely spent in the sun. She was tending a pair of cast iron skillets on the stove, but currently her attention was on the younger Samantha. She was speaking to the girl in Spanish, but the tween seemed to understand just as little of it as Chloe did. With a barely concealed sigh, the woman finally switched to accented English.

“School was good nieta?”

“Si Abuela.” The young Samantha replied, sounding for all the world like she was in a classroom instead of at home.

Abuela smiled kindly and nodded approvingly.

“Your papá should be home early tonight. I must finish dinner.”

The older woman turned back to her skillets and the array of tortillas laid out in front of her. Behind her back her granddaughter begin to creep up to the kitchen island, her hand stealthily reaching out for a churro.

“No eating before dinner Samantha,” her grandmother chided her without turning around. It was a gentle reprimand, but it sent the thin girl scurrying from the kitchen.

Chloe turned back to see the Samantha she came in with examining the kitchen, her grandmother, the food, like it was all new and wondrous to her. To be fair, Chloe figured she’d be reacting similarly if she was suddenly standing inside a home video of her childhood.

“Bring back memories?” Chloe whispered, even though she was fairly sure the projection of Abuela was physically incapable of hearing her.

“Yeah...” Samantha replied. She was starring at the churros laid out on the island. Chloe watched as Samantha gingerly reached out and attempted to pick one up. Her fingers phased right through it, like she was waving her hand in front of a projector.

“Figures,” Samantha giggled nervously, and led the way through the door her younger self had disappeared through. Chloe followed.

The next room was a empty dining room so the two pressed on into the room beyond that where they rediscovered little Samantha lying on the floor, her feet up in the air behind her. A composition notebook and math textbook were spread out on the plush beige carpet in front of her, but she was busy flipping through channels on a large CRT TV with the volume down low. Chloe could have sworn the young girl went through all the channels twice before she seemed to finally find what she was looking for. She looked back over her shoulder towards the kitchen and paused, listening. Seemingly satisfied, she turned back to the TV and slowly raised the volume. Chloe watched as Buffy the Vampire Slayer stepped onto the screen to battle evil once more.

“I never watched much Buffy growing up,” Chloe said. “It was just before my time.”

Young Samantha was spread out on the floor, her eyes bright, watching her heroine confront the forces of darkness, but current Samantha was nervously eyeing the doorway back to the kitchen.

“We know the soundstage works now. We should go,” she said softly.

Before Chloe could ask what had rattled her so, Samantha had already started towards the way out. Just then, Buffy drove a stake through a particularly loud vampire on the television. The undead shrieked in pain and Chloe watched as young Samantha frantically began to smash the “Volume Down” button, but the footsteps were already approaching.

Abuela burst into the room just as adult Samantha reached the door. Despite her grandmother’s lack of physical form, the sudden appearance still nearly sent the screenwriter sprawling. Chloe didn’t understand the harsh stream of Spanish flowing from the older women’s lips, but it was clear from her tone that it wasn’t good. With one hand on her hip, Abuela held out her other authoritatively. Young Samantha dutifully surrendered the remote. As she began to change channels, Abuela switched to English.

“You know that’s a bad program nieta. Demons and monsters and magic! Not to mention the lesb-” she stopped suddenly as her gaze flicked to the the young girl, staring at the carpet with downcast eyes.

“It’s just not a good show.” Abuela concluded with finality. “Here, this is better.”

Chloe couldn’t help but cringe on the young girl’s behalf. The “better” show was a cartoon obviously intended for an audience younger then middle-school girls. It was cheesy, it was saccharine, it was safe. Samantha’s grandmother nodded approvingly at the television then swept from the room, carrying the remote with her back to the kitchen. Chloe could see the tears beginning to gather in the corners of the young girl’s eyes as she plopped back on the floor, her legs criss-crossed and her back leaning against the couch. Ignoring her homework, she let her head fall back against the couch cushions and stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. She stayed like that as the cutesy cartoon came to an end.

“Can we go now? Please?”

Chloe turned back to Samantha but the screenwriter refused to meet her eyes. She was staring unseeingly at a curio cabinet full of family photos.

“Yeah...Let’s go.”

As Samantha fled the room Chloe couldn’t help but look back at the young Samantha sitting on the floor. As she watched the child, she heard the TV station slip into a promo.

“Don’t go anywhere! Stay tuned for the season premiere of Lilly Livin’ Loud coming up next!”

Young Samantha lifted her head just enough to stare at the TV from under her glasses. Chloe slowly shook her head, and followed her present day counterpart out of the house.