The Iron Knee

Oak covered the tavern. Soft lights accentuated the faces of staff and guests. The patrons, all cheerful and buoyant, raised glasses of sudsy beer and knocked them together like so many liquid filled skulls.

Two men, one onyx the other the color of a peanut, looked around the place as they played Go. They did not imbibe. They ordered ginger beer with bitters. That sastfied their hungrr and thirst.

“We have everything in place. The project has all the makings of a hit,” the peanut-colored one, forty-six-year-old Hayson Pike announced. He was about six feet three inches, lanky and his eyes looked like black pearls.

“Yes, the numbers in China should fare better than past efforts with black actors,” the onyx-colored one, forty-eight-year-old Torry Current replied. His eyes looked like black diamonds. He was considerably shorter than Pike at five foot eight inches in height.

“Of course. We just have to keep this one under budget. Our company almost went under with that flop two years ago. It’s good we had that television deal to air reruns of Plastic Makes Perfect.”

“That saved our noses,” Pike admitted.

“It’s just Covey.”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t want to shoot here in Wilmington,” Current related.

“What does he want? Vancouver?” Pike asked, moving another marker on the board.

Current nodded his head.

“I tried to work with him. Reason. I said we’re getting a tax break and everything. That we’re going to have the movie set right here in Delaware. He balked.”

“Next,” Pike announced.

“So we go onto Mr. Jacly See. His work is world-renown and he’s from the suburbs of Wilmington, so he’s on board with that.”

“And the script?” Pike queried.

It’s a new writer for the screen. She’s got at least fourteen plays under her belt. She’s thirty-eight.”

“And she doesn’t have a problem rolling with the boy’s club?”

“She shouldn’t. Fourteen plays under forty?!

She’s quite the hydrogen engine. Plus she won a Daly Award. A powerhouse amidst a wasteland. Remember this is an adaptation of her original play. It showed at the Mercier Theatre in Downtown.”

“And our leads, they’re all excited, right?” Pike wanted to know as he placed another marker on the board.

“Racker Jihan is set. He’s going to be a breakout star. And Aranetha Cayman is going to dazzle with her wit and vivacity.”

Every few minutes, there would be a shout coming from the tables as the potent potables took effect. Still, Pike and Current discussed the business of the movie.

“We project at least one hundred and fifty domestic and two hundred global. Once we break through at home, we allow the world to see the immense talent of the cast and crew,” Pike mentioned.

“I just have a bit of discussion on posters. They want their faces distorted for China. How prejudiced and bigoted is that?” Current wondered.

Pike sighed. “We’ve been through this before. We’ll just use a mask on each of the characters.”

“No, goddamnit.” Current grew indignant. His words seemed like ice picks slicing into the conversation. “I think it’s about time where we don’t have to obscure or hide the images of the people just to turn a significant coin. If the Chinese can’t handle seeing a dominant black man and a pioneering black woman who worships him on a cover, then we can just move to other territories.”

“See that’s where you’re wrong,” Pike said.

“Am I? Am I?” Current asked incredulously.

“You are. It’s about the money.”

“It’s about common goddamn decency.”

Pike looked around the room. “You see, we’re some of the few men of color in this tavern. It’s just the Chinese who have the problem with the idea of blacks being actual human beings. We know what black people have contributed to this world. If they don’t want to acknowledge that, the burden is on them and so is the loss.”

Current moved a marker. “I still say they go with their faces uncovered. It’s the twenty-first century.”

“Yes, an American twenty-first century, not a Chinese one. And of course we have our own problems but at least Americans and most of the world can deal with the fact that darker nations are part of the human race, too,” Pike explained.

“That’s not just it. We have arguments at home about how blacks are getting on the covers but not reaping the financial benefits of co-stars and crew with lighter features. And of course black women get less….” Current pointed out.

Pike saw a liberty on the board and seized upon it. He took a marker from Current. “It’s all a funny game then, not a money game. Okay. If it were about the money, you’d see the importance of having those faces with shrouds around them. Maybe we could have those prints made with their heads in the clouds and gloves on your hands.”

“Did you sneak a drink and move a marker while I wasn’t looking? That’s foolishness, and I won’t sign my name on this,” Current shot back.

“This is our company. You sign or we part ways. I have controlling interest in this company. You could be fired and rehired as co-CEO.”

“Forget it.”

“It’s forgotten.”

The board looked like googly eyes. The two men allowed the ambiance of the watering hole to wash over them. More peals of laughter signaled joy and merriment. While at this momentary impasse, they both moved markers. Pike shifted gears.

“If you don’t want the faces covered, we can ensure that the leads have their faces broadcast from Hong Kong to Beijing.”

“It’s not even that. It’s the principle. And it shows just how powerless the black man and woman are in this country. We don’t airbrush or delete the faces of Chinese actors but they insist on doing it to us. That’s where we went wrong. Instead of building up financial equity and individual rights, we wanted equality in terms of sitting in taverns like this one. I would have much better opted for the legal and monetary benefits,” Current observed.

Pike moved his marker and declared himself the winner of the game.

“Yes, you’ve got me on this round,” Current conceded.

Pike looked around. He got up and buttoned his jacket and walked outside. The spring air felt pleasing and comforting. His eyes roamed over the outside of the establishment. He was like a surveyor viewing pristine wilderness. Only the place featured a neon sign and appeared like a log cabin. He walked back inside the tavern. He walked through the space and observed some more. He just saw faces with glee sparkling in their cheeks. He rejoined Current.

“What’s got you up?” Current questioned.

“This place is called the Iron Knee,” Pike ventured.

“Yes, and?”

“Well, there’s no sign of an iron knee. No sculptures. No beer steins in the shape of a knee.”

Current laughed. It was a great hearty laugh from his belly. “That’s the whole point. The irony is that there’s no iron knee.”

“‘I see,’ said the blind man to his deaf wife.”

“Are you ready to make this picture?” Current asked.

“Without a shadow of a doubt,” Pike replied. The two men played another round of Go before departing from the tavern.

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