The Weekend Starts Here: Part Two
The world was moving she was floating above it
And she was
But She has vanished so Ed spends the next four hours at The Experience searching for Her, wandering here, looking there, becoming slow, becoming stale, becoming tired, until it occurs to him to ask The Clone at the entrance.
“Have you seen A Girl?” “I’ve seen A Girl.” “I’m talking about A Girl In Green PVC, you can’t miss Her.” “I’ve seen A Girl In Green, she was…” “Yes, what was she?” “…different to the others, She was dressed in green, and She was…” “Where can I find Her?” “…going to the ‘Blow-Up’ shoot in the morning but it’s morning already, at ten o’clock sharp…” “Where is this shoot?” “It’s a film and it’s at…” and The Clone finally gives Ed an address, and because Ed feels tired now, he seeks and finds a back room full of sleeping corpses and squeezes into a corner and sleeps in the morning a hand shaking his shoulder a voice calling his name: “Ed! Wake up, Ed!” Ed comes round for a moment and it’s Her! The Girl! She has eyes and a nose and a smile and her lips are moving and Ed falls asleep again
and wakes again in the morning it’s nine o’clock and he only has an hour to get to the film location. The Room that was full last night is empty now, but when Ed leaves The Room through the only door he is back on the front steps of a house. Ed looks behind him and sees one room with no other exit, yet he has no memory of walking outside and this house looks familiar and this street looks familiar and this taxi driver looks familiar when Ed hails a cab and mumbles the location address.
Ed leans back and watches the early morning river, sunlight reflecting and refracting the gentle motion of the water, as the taxi passes along The Bridge. Gulls wheel overhead and a pleasure-boat glides beneath, the still water barely stirring in its wake. On the other side of the river girls in the latest Mary Quant mini skirts mix with businessmen in bowler hats; men with hair down to their shoulders stroll alongside unhappy old age pensioners, pointing out the signs of the permissive society. The taxi arrives at the location and Ed leaves The Taxi Driver grumbling at the size of Ed’s “keep the change”.
While Ed watches out for The Girl, the action of the scene being shot becomes apparent. A car driven by David Hemmings as The Photographer draws up outside a flat, David presses the horn, and Jane Birkin as The Model leaves the front door of the building, gets in the car, and David drives off. At the time Ed arrived, they were onto the nineteenth take of this scene. Ed approaches a man lingering near the camera and asks, “Who’s the director?” “Some Italian.” “Are you with this film?” “Only as photographic adviser.” “Adviser, eh? What’s the film about?” “I dunno, I haven’t read the script, but it’s all to do with photography.” “How do you know that?” “It’s called ‘Blow-Up’. And I presume it’s why I’m here.” “Have you seen A Girl In Green PVC?” “Oh, I know Her.” “Really,” says Ed, trying not to give anything away. “I’m shooting Her this afternoon.” “I beg your pardon.” The Photographer raises his hands in front of his face and mimes the operation of a camera. “Click,” he says. “Click-click-click,” as he moves ‘the camera’ around an imaginary model. “You’re a photographer then,” (The Photographer nods rather obviously), “could I meet Her? It’s really important.” “How important?” “Very.” “Come here at two. I’m needed now.” The Photographer leaves, handing Ed a business card: ‘Bailey – Photographer’ and an address and a phone number. “In fact,” calls David Bailey, “there She is now.” Ed follows the direction of David’s outstretched left arm and his eyes alight on a MG pulling away from the kerb. The Girl is driving, David Hemmings sits beside Her, and as the car disappears down the road, Ed thinks he sees them exchange something, but he can’t be sure. However, Ed is certain of one thing: he will have to wait for afternoon to arrive before he can meet The Girl.
Ed passes the intervening time by heading for Carnaby Street and strolling round the boutiques. The clothes use less and less material and become more and more expensive. Then, in one shop, whose main trade is in currently out of fashion leather goods, Ed overhears a couple of girls chatting. “And at Apple they’re giving stuff away today – for free.” “What? Free? For nothing?” “Yes. Today only.” “Only today?” “Well, and tomorrow, and the day after.”
Ed walks to the Apple boutique – everyone seems to know where it is – but he is unable to enter because of the crowd thronging the only entrance. People are shouting and shoving, forcing their way inside, where, apparently, you can just take clothes off the rack and leave, if you can get out again. Ed glances at his watch. Damn! Half two! And there are no taxis to be seen. Ed asks a passer-by which underground station the studio is near but he only finds out after spending ten minutes deciphering the man’s truly incoherent accent. Ed rushes to the underground station speeds down the stairs, buys his ticket after a queue at the ticket office stamping his feet in impatience, glaring back at the faces of Julie Christie and Twiggy staring from magazine covers at a newsagent’s, flies down an escalator and onto the platform just slipping into the train before the doors shunt shut. And it’s the wrong train. Ed leaves at the next station and runs round a maze of stairs and escalators to the other side of the platform, stares at the opposite wall in silence with its posters advertising Jane Fonda in Barbarella, catches another train time now approaching three o’clock, Ed’s left foot taps out an irregular rhythm on the black rubber floor as the train draws ever nearer to the station and he only has the incomprehensible word of a stranger that it is the correct station for the studio. The train arrives Ed leaves the train sprints up stairs and asks again at the top for the address is directed there by an Australian and arrives knocks and enters silent into silence, broken only by the faint click of a closing shutter and the quiet words of The Photographer.
Ed rounds a corner and sees a girl being photographed by Someone hidden behind the bright dazzle of artificial light. A voice directs poses from the dark beyond and other figures lurk in the background, nodding their heads in approval. The Model is wearing a sharply-cut wig, so Ed cannot see if it is Her. As The Model changes position at the request of The Voice, Ed circles (“Sultry”) round slowly behind (“More”) the camera, the girl’s (“Provocative”) face remains hidden (“More”) from view as Ed moves (“More”) to the front and sees (“Perfect”) that it isn’t Her. (“Languid”) Ed approaches one of David’s aides (“Back”) and asks where The Girl In Green PVC is (“Relax”) and The Black Man says, “Oh, She finished (“Sexy”) half an hour ago, said She was going to some exhibition in the East End (“Vulnerable”) at…” and the aide gives Ed an address (“Innocent”) and Ed leaves through the door
and walks in through The Door of an East End art gallery, which is holding a Warhol exhibition. Ed wanders the galleries, looking for The Girl, admiring the soup cans and the Marilyn screenprints, until he sees Her at the information desk by the entrance being handed a leaflet and leaving and he’s unable to get to Her because he discovers he’s watching Her through a glass window and he tries to attract Her attention but She’s already left.
Ed approaches the desk and asks who The Girl was. “What Girl?” is the reply. “The Girl you just gave a leaflet to.” “What leaflet?” says the woman behind the desk, holding a number of leaflets in her left hand. Another Head, thinks Ed, that’s all I need, so he removes a leaflet from the woman’s left hand and leaves the gallery. Of course, The Girl is nowhere in sight. Back in the gallery a tall coloured man in a beret approaches The Receptionist and asks a question. “What man?” is the reply.
END OF PART TWO
Copyright 1986 Robert Sharp