Love and Sleep

By Venla Mäkelä

It’s 1953. Finnish novelist Kauko is married to stunning movie star Helena. They are the cream of Helsinki society, and life should be one big party - but Kauko, unable to sleep or write, has become an anxious man. There’s something seriously wrong with his life, what though, he’s not able to put his finger on. He doesn’t know yet what we soon find out: Helena is having an affair with Kauko’s best friend.
Kauko’s recent historical novel about the Roman Empire, "Cauldron of Snakes," has been on the bestseller lists all over the world. Now Hollywood calls: they want the movie rights. Kauko sells the book and gets invited over to discuss future projects. He’s not enthusiastic about it at all - what he really wants is to be left in peace to write his next novel. But after the separation from Helena there’s nothing left for Kauko in freezing Helsinki, and he leaves for California, hoping time and distance will clear his head.
In Los Angeles Kauko meets an aspiring actress, Marion, and they hit it off. For a while it seems like Kauko’s romantic problems might be over – but then Helena calls, wants to make up, wants to come over.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Venla Mäkelä
• Release date: Sep 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301265435

Venla Mäkelä

Venla Mäkelä writes screenplays and fiction.She lives in Los Angeles with her family.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Kauko stepped out into the black night and stood on the edge of the terrace and lit a cigarette. The smoke hung low in the damp air. Kalastajatorppa nightclub, Fisherman’s Cottage was anything but - it was a grand building by the sea, with large pine trees and rocks jutting out of the garden’s manicured lawns. Dance music echoed from the ballroom, along with drunken shrieks and laughter and all that goes with a party that has lasted a bit too long already. Further away in the parking lot one of the cars had its engine and headlights on. The lights hit the moist sea air making it look milky. Inside the car two shadows embraced, moved slowly.

Kauko finished his drink, placed the glass on a nearby table and walked further into the garden. He lay down on the lawn, looked at the sky, smoked. The stars were veiled by a light fog. It was early September and the air had the scent of an ice cube. Summers in Finland are short.

You're such a bore these days!

Kauko glanced up. His wife Helena sat down on the grass, her wide skirt flaring. Her blond hair seemed to have a halo. The papers will start talking, she said, I'm in there, dancing with other guys all night...

Kauko smiled, killed his cigarette and reached out. She took his hand, her delicate fingers slightly cold. Come, let's go dance, she said.

No.

But I want to!

No, I want to go home, Kauko said. He imagined pulling a heavy blanket over his ears, knotting warm sheets with his toes. He hated these opening night parties.

Like I said, what a bore, Helena said.

You coming?

No, I want to dance! she said and pulled her hand away.

Kauko closed his eyes, dog-tired. After a moment Helena ran her fingers across his forehead and said, Remember that night we raced from Adlon to our place? With everybody... And the heel of my shoe snapped and you carried me - running and dragging me along! It was fun, that was a fun night.

Kauko nodded lightly, suddenly gripped her arm and tugged her close - she gave a startled cry, laughed. They kissed.

Back inside the nightclub they separated, and Helena walked into the ballroom. Kauko stopped by the lobby bar and ordered a drink he didn’t really want. Producer Mauno Halli, a large man with the complexion of canned ham, appeared, very drunk, out of breath, patting his forehead with a handkerchief. Kauko! He loosened his tie until it hung like a noose and signaled the bartender, Make it two! He turned back to Kauko. A helluva night! A helluva night!

Kauko nodded. Halli placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. Listen. Listen. Helena mentioned you're not happy with the novel you're working on.

Well-

They got the drinks. Kauko started walking, suddenly extremely irritated. Halli followed him. Just leave it for a while. Write a screenplay! I have this-

No, we've already talked about this, Kauko said.

I know - it's just that I have this damn great idea and it would only take two or three weeks-

No, I told you, that's not the way I want to work, Kauko said.

He stopped at the ballroom entrance. Halli moved in front of him. Well we'll do it your way, then! We'll do... whatever!

I just want to get the new book going. That's all I want.

But-

No, I won't do it, Kauko said.

A boisterous crowd in evening gowns and tuxedos swirled on the dance floor. A huge banner above the bandstand advertized a new movie that had just premiered, Devoted. Helena and her screen lover in the picture, painted with dramatic colors, love and hatred in their eyes. Earlier that night Kauko had watched the movie. It was a decent one, and Helena was good as always.

Kauko downed his drink, watched Helena dancing with Lasse Sarkia, his best friend and the director of the movie.

Well who am I gonna ask then? Halli said.

Ask Mirjam, Kauko said, pointing at Lasse’s wife, further away at one of the tables with a group of women, she’s great.

Halli looked dubious, glanced at Mirjam. She'd be able to do it in a week?

Kauko sat down, pushed away empty glasses on the messy tabletop. See, that's the whole point! You just said ‘two weeks,’ and now suddenly it's a week? A week!

No no no, I meant two or three weeks-

But it always goes that way, anyway! You'll have the cinemas booked before a single line of dialogue is written!

Yeah, and it seems to work.

No, you only end up producing crap, Kauko said.

Halli sat down, almost missing his chair. The verse of Humpty Dumpty popped in Kauko’s mind. Only, had Halli fallen off the wall he would have just bounced heavily like an egg-shaped eraser, indestructible.

You hurt my feelings, Kauko, Halli now said, "you truly do. We've had some good pictures this year. Lasse's latest ones - the crowd loved them. Loved them…"

Only because of Helena, Kauko said.

You wouldn't want Lasse hear that.

No, he said it himself! Kauko said, almost laughing. Only an hour ago! He said he's sick of turning out four, five pictures a year. You were there, you heard it yourself!

Desperate, he rubbed his face. The air stank of stale beer. There was a lot of back-slapping and laughing and kissing. A drunken scream pierced the air when a woman on the dance floor was tossed high up by her dance partner. It was past two in the morning now. Further away Lilli Tuomi, a gossip columnist, met Kauko’s eyes and raised her glass. She was a skinny sixty-something woman with eagle-like features, her lips just a grim red line, now carved into a smile. Kauko nodded, raised his glass an inch, turned to watch the floor. Lasse led Helena toward the table, but a young man, encouraged by alcohol, cut in and twirled Helena back to the dance floor. The band was playing Jambalaya, and the dancers fell into its easy rhythm.

Lasse pulled out a chair and sat down, his hair wet with sweat.

Lasse! Kauko here said you're not happy with our pictures, Halli said.

Right - yeah-

It grieves me to hear you say that! Halli said, his shoulders hanging.

Kauko and Lasse exchanged a glance. Here we go again, Halli and his hurt feelings.

Don't I always let you choose the scripts? Halli said. "You get to work with the brightest stars… the best of everything I get for you… the best of everything…"

Lasse patted Halli on the back, Come on now - let's have a drink.

At five o’clock in the morning Kauko woke up. The sun was not up yet. Helena was fast asleep. Her dress lay on a chair, now lifeless, faint grass stains on the hem of it.

Kauko could not sleep these days. How long had it been like this? Six, seven months? Some nights he managed to fall into a thin, trance-like state, but then the slightest sound would startle him. His head seemed so full, like a churning mill that never shut down; odd images and ugly memories kept crawling up from the cavities of his brain.

A clean, white sheet of paper waited in the typewriter. A silent paper in a silent room. Kauko sat behind the desk, piled with history books and papers. He picked up a handful of typed pages and scanned through them. The text was thin, desperate. He didn’t understand it any more; he didn’t understand writing. It used to be so effortless: he sat down, he wrote, and there it was. Days were light and easy then. Revolted, he pushed the pages away.

Well, Helena said, standing at the door, elegant even in the early morning, holding a newspaper. At first serious, she then grinned and said, They sort of hate the picture – but they love me!

They sort of hate it? It wasn’t that bad, Kauko said.

Well you know, it’s the same old plot once again… She tossed Kauko the newspaper, perched on the desk and picked up the phone. Her elbow slid a stack of paper into the shape of a fan. Have to call Lasse, she said, frowning, dialing the number.

But she was never too worried; she'd always be loved by the movie-going public. Fan letters arrived daily, boxes and boxes of them, two hundred a week. Sometimes Helena read a letter aloud to Kauko. They were sweet and admiring and crazy and intrusive. Fans wanted locks of her hair, or just a photo, or just an autograph. She never answered any of the mail. People at the studio office did it for her, sending that precious signed photo or some other publicity memento.

Chapter 2

"We went to see I Confess last night," Mirjam said.

How was it? Kauko asked.

I thought it was great. Great characters. Lasse thought it was slow, Mirjam said and Lasse nodded.

They had just arrived to Cafe Fazer. Ladies in furs enjoyed early afternoon coffee and neat waitresses in starchy dresses wove in between the tables.

My God - Montgomery Clift - just dreamy. He is just wonderful, Helena said.

Mmm, Mirjam said, and Lasse threw her a mockingly tired look.

I was asked to advertise Koivu-soap, Helena said and removed her thin gloves, tugging at them finger by finger.

How nice! Mirjam said. I use it. I even wash my underwear with it!

I didn’t give my answer yet. Depends on the campaign, Helena said.

Right, of course.

One idea was I’d be in a lake, washing my arms. Like this- She arched her slender arm gracefully, then laughed, In this weather! Only if they fly me to Italy!

Mirjam nodded and laughed too.

Helena sat with her back to the room, and only the waitresses seemed to have recognized her so far. She didn’t mind the fans, but preferred to be noticed only the last moment, just before making a grand exit. Besides, a café or a restaurant was not the best place to be recognized: Once a small crowd had gathered on the other side of the window when she was eating a herring sandwich at Kappeli restaurant. That had been right after her first hit movie, and she hadn’t yet understood she was famous. When she had tried to turn away a fat woman had angrily pounded the window with a black umbrella.

Kauko skimmed a newspaper. Nikita Khrushchev had become First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Lasse, pissed off, read aloud an article in another paper. ’And most regrettable of all is the apparent current trend of contemporary Finnish cinema.’ He cursed and went on reading. ’The most recent pictures are frothy and insubstantial, a long way off international standard. And director Sarkia is hardly a newcomer any longer - how long do we have to wait for a decent film, as time after time these feeble pictures are churned out? Osmo P. Viitala.’ Lasse rumpled the page and cursed again.

Shh, Mirjam said.

Lasse ran his hand through his messy hair and tossed the paper. Damn Osmo P. Viitala! Goddamn! He grabbed Helena's hand. The next one, we're gonna surprise them, baby!

Helena laughed, squeezed his hand and said, Of course.

Lasse sighed, released her hand and heaped a spoonful of sugar in his coffee. Idiot scribblers... just idiots. He turned to Kauko, already in a better mood, which was typical of him. There's this French guy, a great cinematographer, Halli just hired him. Bought two new cameras too. Come have drinks with us tomorrow and meet him.

Kauko nodded, turned the page. Lasse looked at Helena. Kauko didn’t notice; Mirjam didn’t notice. Helena stared at a wall mirror where a reflection of a waitress on the other side of the dining room, loading delicate cups and saucers and pastry plates on a large tray, became fuzzy as her eyes unfocused. Under the table Lasse’s fingertips touched her knee. Blood rushed up her neck, fast, and she blurted out, I’d like to make a period picture at some point.

Kauko and Mirjam turned to look at her.

I mean – just anything with interesting costumes and jewelry and horses.

Horses? Mirjam asked, amused.

Helena smiled, already composed. A big castle with rolling green lawns. Dark mysterious corridors lit with burning torches. She turned to Kauko. "Write something for me, would you? Write a wonderful story where I get everything!"

Sure.

Two weeks went by and Helena started shooting another movie, Ruthless. She usually got up at six, and at six thirty the studio car came to take her to the soundstage or location. Most days Kauko was up before her and made breakfast, which she never really ate. After she left he went to his study and tried to start working.

Their apartment was on the third floor of a very nice building in the Kruununhaka area. Helena had decorated the rooms, had even designed Kauko’s desk, which was an old wooden table from the early 1910s, rescued from the Helsinki train station during its recent renovation. She had ordered a low hutch added, with drawers in the middle, and two long drawers under the tabletop. A studio carpenter had done the work, happy to help Helena, happy to build something lasting for a change.

Kauko stared at the mute typewriter. The silent room made his ears ring. He stood up, abruptly, making pens clatter in a metal cup. He felt constantly fatigued, his eyelids leaden. If only he could hibernate, sleep for weeks and weeks, even months, wake up to a different reality where his heart would be light and his mood would be bright and things would seem interesting again - ideas would simply flood out of his head and the typewriter would be rattling in a fast happy rhythm. He had always liked to work in the mornings, but nowadays if he got something done at all it happened in the evening. He glanced at a wall clock. It was not even noon yet, but already the writing day was gone, he just knew it.

Helena, smoking, stood half turned away from a man who grew more and more angry every second. On purpose, she blew the smoke straight into his face. It drove him crazy. Your attitude is ‘I want what I want and I’ll take everything apart to get it!’ he said, spitting it out.

Helena laughed. The man stepped closer - he was too close now, but Helena was careful not to step back. Let him threaten her! Pathetic. Let’s see how far he goes-

I noticed too late how you were changing me! he said, All you ever wanted was my money! The mansion and… the only thing that matters to you is-

Helena finished her cigarette, dropped the butt, ground it under her heel into the thick carpet and said, Here’s what I think of your precious-

He moved fast and tugged at her hair and shook it, then slapped her cheek hard. Helena gasped, her eyes wide, tears of pain running down her cheeks.

And cut! Lasse said. Great.

The crew immediately came alive and started swarming around. A boom man popped up from behind a sofa, and the props assistant started brushing cigarette ashes off the carpet. Lasse, standing next to the camera, studied Helena. You ok? he asked.

Helena gave a little nod, smiled. Her co-star gave her a hug. God I’m so sorry – I’m afraid it was a bit too hard? he asked.

Oh no, it was great, you were great! Helena said. Very scary!

Next scene? What's the next scene? Lasse asked, turning toward the script girl.

She made quick marks on the script and turned the page and said, The guests arrive.

The guests arrive… Lasse repeated, Okay. The camera here…

The script girl translated it into French for the cinematographer.

Helena took her coat and went outside. Leaning against the mansion wall, the coat wrapped around her shoulders, she smoked. The orchard apple trees had already dropped most of their leaves. Little gray birds hopped in the pale grass, poking at the frostbitten fruit. She put out the cigarette, scraping the ashes against the stone base of the building. She really should stop smoking, it was terrible for one’s complexion. There was a costume designer she knew who smoked constantly, her face dull as if rubbed with dirty sand. She would stop right now.

The fall sun made her squint. Funny how it didn’t give any warmth at all, it was like a movie sun, painted flat onto the sky with pale yellowish white. Helena shivered a little, closed her eyes. After a moment she felt a presence and opened her eyes. Lasse was standing next to her.

Are we still on a break? she asked.

Lasse glanced around, saw no one and kissed her. The kiss felt like the sun should have, pushing a warm glow through her veins. She knew he felt the same. And it was exciting of course, stolen kisses. Fascinating guilt. She briefly thought of Kauko and Mirjam and felt a pang of genuine regret. She gently freed herself and looked around.

See you tonight? Lasse asked.

Helena nodded. Lasse grabbed her shoulders, a little too hard. He was built like a fighter, strong and springy and short. Promise. At the office, at nine. Promise, he said, and Helena kept on nodding. Lasse kissed her again, greedy.

At the corner of the mansion they separated and walked back to the front porch. Helena suddenly stopped cold: Kauko was walking briskly along the gravel driveway. This was odd, he almost never came to see her at work. Kauko! she said.

Kauko waved a little.

Hi there! Lasse said, completely at ease.

Helena walked closer to Kauko, smiling, at the same time trying to figure out his mood. Darling. What an earth brought you here? she asked and kissed him.

Just felt like getting out of the house, Kauko said.

I smudged my lipstick on you, Helena said, wiping his cheek with her palm.

Lasse lead Kauko up the stairs. Come inside, see the new camera!

Back in the set, Helena dropped her coat onto a chair. The make-up girl started fixing her lipstick, and the hairdresser began fluffing her hair. Lasse introduced Kauko to the French cinematographer and went into the details of the new camera. Technology excited Lasse to no end, he was like a little boy with a toy train.

At some point Kauko glanced at Helena, who was still being tended by the make-up girl. A large, soft brush swept across her face, powder whirled around. Helena caught Kauko’s eyes, smiled a little and winked. Kauko smiled back. He moved closer and told her that she looked like she really belonged in this grand mansion - he could have been simply visiting her at her house. She laughed, trying not to move too much. Maybe someday, she said and took his hand briefly in between hers. She added,