The need to know

I could hear the phone ringing as the elevator rose to my floor. It was one of those typical old French elevators, all brass, glass, mirrors and no walls. It was like being a canary in a cage being hoisted up a stairwell by some mischievous children or a demented old lady. I seldom got into the thing without thinking of Leopold Gideon, the character in the old film, Charade, who descends in such a cage to his death, sneezing. His last loud sneeze is transformed into a scream, and the lift returns to the main floor bearing his body in blood-soaked pyjamas.

The phone was still ringing when I unlocked my door. The combination of the persistence and the late hour told me who my caller was.

'Hello, Andrew,' I said, trying to slip off my dinner jacket.

'Oh, good, you're in,' he said.

'I'm just back from the opera,' I said.

'What did you see?'

'Salome,' I said. 'My head was full of lust, blood and passionate rhythms before the infernal telephone intruded.'

'Did she take everything off in the "Dance of the Seven Veils"? he asked.

'You're a United States Senator,' I said. 'You can't be heard asking questions like that. You have the morality of the nation to uphold.'

'Ah, but you're in Paris, and I can use the example to condemn the decadent Europeans,' he replied. 'What ever inspired you to see such debauchery?'

'Your mother invited us,' I said. Indeed, the ambassador's wife had invited Sarah and me to join them.

Mrs Trumbull had called with two spare tickets.

'We were supposed to go with an African Prime Misister and one of his wives,' she explained, 'but there was a coup in his country last night, and the ambassador couldn't possibly be seen with him after that. Chris is very fond of Strauss, and it would be a shame to waste the tickets.'

So we sat in a grand box with a view of everything and everyone, and they had a grand view of us. The ambassador generated a flutter of applause as he and Mrs Trumbull entered the box, and eyed Sarah and me with curiosity mixed with disappointment. They did seem to enjoy looking at Sarah. She had her hair up, and being quite tall, her backless dress was rather dramatic. Probably as revealing as the fifth veil.

'Are we getting old,' Andrew asked, shaking me from my reverie.

'No faster than anyone else,' I said.

There was a disapproving silence. I pulled on the end of my bow tie, slipped it off and unbuttoned my collar.

'When was the last time you heard the phrase "military-industrial complex"?' he asked.

I decided the cummerbun had to go, too.

'About 1957,' I said. It was hard focusing on this conversation with thunderous music and powerful voices still echoing in my head. the image of a head on a salver and a half naked girl kissing it didn't help either.

'Seriously,' Adnrew said in the voice he only used for talking to idiots and Democrats.

'Sorry. I guess about 1874,' I said. 'How about you?'

'On reflection, about 1976,' he replied.

'Well, it made it to the bi-centennial, then,' I said. 'It's definitely yesterday's phrase. You didn't use it, did you?'

'Yesterday.'

It was time to treat him to some silence.

'And what happened?' I finally said, putting him out of his misery.

'No one seemed to know what I was talking about,' he said miserably.

This was bad news for a rising political star.

'You know,' he continued, 'some one who could come up with a really good new phrase could become as famous as Marshall McLuhan.'

'I wouldn't say that too often, either,' I said.

'You know what I mean though, don't you?' Andrew persisted.

'I rather like "media-marketing paradigm,"' I said, lying back and kicking off my shoes.

'What does it mean?' he asked, intrigued.

'It means that things are whatever the media and marketing people would have you believe. Ther are no facts, only opinions. No one remembers anything except what the media wants them to remember. History is mutable.'

By the time I had finished the explanation, I was nearly believing it.

'Is is a real phrase, or did you just make it up?' Andrew asked suspiciously.

'According to the media-marketing paradigm, it doesn't matter,' I quipped easily.

'Media-marketing paradigm,' he repeated to himself thoughtfully. 'I wish I'd said that.'

'You will, Andrew. You will.'