Tiara
by
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Now I live in the kingdom of the air. It wasn t always this way. I was born landlocked and practically wrapped in the flag. Embraced by a family where nothing ever changed but the subtly alternating rhythms of madness, high purpose and alcohol, always carefully obscured behind a towering wall of old money, trusted servants, or the kind of prominent occupation where a minimum of public damage would be done. So when I was still too young to know fear that wasn t merely physical, I blew that life all to pieces and started from absolute scratch. Nada. Zip. Ground zero. And now? Now when I find myself existing in another of those lacerating little foreign countries, I ll usually go through at least one long night of just wanting a life of routine, of small neat houses back home with quiet triumphs and despairs. One without all this onrush of glory that never quite arrives the way it should, and when it does, it comes in all these weird languages that sound like you re stuck on the dial between two radio stations, both of which are beating the shit out of your ears and yelling at you to get the hell out of whatever bed you ve taken some comfort in, screaming at you in the middle of night to make it to the border because our guys have just been thrown out of power by their guys. I m telling you, I m getting tired of their guys. They re everywhere. But that s the price you pay for living in the kingdom of the air. And it is a kingdom. With its own laws. And, believe me, its own penalties. Which is why I suffer so righteously from black cord fever. Late at night when the moon is talking sense at you and you re standing in some little town whose name you can t quite pronounce properly that s when I make all those phone calls, just chewing up satellite time, plucking friendly words off those gorgeously nurturing geosynchronous balls of hard-wired compassion up there in the ozone that allow those of us who live in the kingdom of the air to be. Rousting laughs and memories out of old friends in L.A. or New York or Toronto or wherever the dreaded black cord fever takes me (many a time I do confess, without due and proper consideration for the proprieties of Greenwich Mean Time never mind Eastern Daylight but hell getting an overseas phone call at 4 a.m at least shows a certain measure of true friendship on the part of the caller doesn t it?). And by the way there s no need to worry. Black cord fever isn t contagious. You re born with it. It incubates diabolically, slowly. And I ve got the lab results right in front of me phone bills about the size of the defense budget of the average small dictatorship. But right now it s not even a luxury. I m trying to find Zoot. Before he falls in love again. Before he gets his own version of black cord fevet; phoning in from some place that no sane person would ever want to go to voluntarily with the news that This is it! This is true love, what I ve been looking for all my life in a woman and I just want to put her on the line, go ahead say a few words to... And that s the point where I always just hold the receiver out in front of me and stare at it.
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About the Book
Frank and Zoot are two battle-scarred romantics. Friends and adventurers who have distinguished themselves by flying unpopular missions in various undeclared wars, they repeatedly smack into turbulence in their own lives. Frank's need to be in "the kingdom of the air" invariably triumphs over any desire for a quiet and routine life. And Zoot has never quite recovered from the breakup of his marriage to the beautiful Lela, who vanished mysteriously from his life over twenty years ago. He's tried to forget her replace her with other women but has failed miserably. Now Zoot's entire life's mission is to find Lela, and Willard the enigmatic man from Washington whom Frank and Zoot refer to as the Prince of Darkness has promised to reveal her whereabouts if he and Frank will retrieve a priceless object code-named "Tiara" from Baghdad before the Gulf War hits. So what's Tiara? Nuclear weaponry, gold bars, secret documents? Wrong. Tiara's a fiery young woman with absolutely no intention of leaving her clothing video tapes and parties behind because of an inconvenient war. In their many and varied adventures, Zoot and Frank have never encountered anything or anyone quite like Tiara. The struggle to bring her to safety is at turns hilarious and poignant, a battle of strong wills and deep emotions, not to mention a little fracas with some materialistic Iraqi soldiers. Funny, sexy and studded with wry zingers on love, lust and the aches and pains of the soul, Tiara is a wild romp of a novel, a nonstop adventure tale, zapped with real danger and deadpan humor.
About the Author
Martyn Burke is a novelist, screenwriter and filmmaker. His books are often drawn from places and situations in which he has been involved. They include Laughing War, The Commissar's Report, Ivory Joe, and his latest novel, the sequel to Ivory Joe, The Shelling of Beverly Hills. His credits as a documentary filmmaker include Connections, powerful expose of the North American and Italian mafia; and Witnesses the award winning behind-the-lines film on the last day of the soviet war in Afghanistan. Other documentaries have ranged in subject matter from street gangs in Los Angeles to the feuds among the Mohawk Indians. He has written screenplays for such comedies as Paramount's Top Secret and The Second Civil War for HBO. He wrote and directed the hit TNT movie Pirates of Silicon Valley which was nominated for five Emmies including Best Screenplay, the Producers Guild award for best film, and the Directors Guild award for best directing. Martyn Burke divides his time between Toronto, Canada and Santa Monica, California.