Fire: Chapter Fourteen

CONFESSIONS OF A PYTHON, PART I

*48 hours later*

Shannon and Michael walked hand in hand up the slope towards Doune Castle. Michael had been given a clean bill of health and released from hospital, and was anxious to resume filming. Terry Gilliam had never stopped, of course, except to come and visit him for a couple of hours, because "time is money" and god knows, they had precious little of either for this project. It was a bright, sunny day and Michael was scheduled for a full day's filming, and Terry Jones had very graciously invited Shannon to the set to watch the day's shoot. In the meantime, they had a short break and while the others were laying around waiting for the two Terries to stop fighting over camera angles, Michael had taken the opportunity to grab Shannon and take her for a walk.

Michael had been toying with some of the things he wanted to talk to Shannon about, but wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject. He didn't want to drive her away or piss her off, but there were some things about him and his life that she had a right to know before.... well. Before she got any further involved. As they reached the castle boundary and sat down on a low stone wall beyond which was a meadow filled with buttercups and daisies, he took a deep breath and began his speech. "Shannon..." he started, a little unsure of his voice. He didn't want to come off sounding like an utter prat. "Um...I need to talk to you. I mean...there are some things you ought to know about me...it's only fair."

Shannon stared at Michael, her dark brown eyes wide and trusting. "Michael, I would hope that by now you would know you can tell me anything," she said, evenly. What on earth could he possibly tell her that would be that serious, she wondered to herself. She looked directly into his honest hazel eyes. "Anything, Michael...I mean it. I'm the most unshockable person on the planet. And we've both lived through the sixties, after all..." she trailed off, suddenly and rather unnervingly aware that there were things he should know about her as well. She gazed at him with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

"Well..." Michael began, reaching down and plucking a piece of tall grass and chewing it absently. "First, I'm not rich. I mean, I know I've been on the telly, and everything, and now we're making this film, and sometimes girls, well fans, you know, they think we're all dreadfully wealthy, and then some of them turn into...." Michael was about to say "gold-diggers" but then realized Shannon might think he thought she was one, and decided to just stop talking.

Shannon smiled. "Michael, oh my God, is that all?" She sighed with relief. "Listen," she put her hand over his. "I know you're not rich. I'm not a gold-digger." There, she'd said it. "Don't worry about offending me, Michael - I have a much thicker skin than that! And besides," she continued, "I have my own money..." She grinned at him.

"You do?" said Michael, somewhat taken aback.

"Yes," she said. "My parents left me a couple of houses, and some money....investments, you know...nothing astonishing, but enough. So you see, I could have accused you of being the gold-digger..." She arched an eyebrow.

"Oh." said Michael, chastened. "Oh, err....oh." He didn't really know what to say and found himself wishing the Cave of Caerbannog would open up and swallow him whole.

"Michael!" Shannon nudged him playfully. "Sheesh, come on! Was that really all that was bothering you?"

Michael shivered internally. "Um....no." he muttered. Shannon looked at him quizzically, trying desperately not to burst
into a fit of giggles. Michael sighed and took a deep breath. Here we go. "Shannon I....well, you said it yourself, we grew up in the sixties. When the blokes and I were first getting together, you know, back before Python, I'm talking '67, '68...we used to go on writing holidays, you know,
like...working vacations?" Shannon nodded mutely. "I mean not that often - a couple of times a year, I guess - Graham's parents had this place in the Med, and we'd all fly out there and take over this villa, and just lay around, sunning ourselves, and um...drinking, and you know...stuff..."
Michael fidgeted on the hard stone wall. How the hell was he going to tell her this? She was going to walk out and never come back, just like all his other girlfriends. He started to sweat. He was burning hot and just knew his cheeks were flame-red. How could he have even done it in the first place? He'd always wondered that, but it was done - he was young and stupid and the spirit of 1967 was reckless, fearless, free... but now it came with a price. And yet, somehow all these years later, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.... no, he didn't regret it at all. But now, oh dear God, he couldn't hide it from her. He couldn't lie.

Shannon stared at him, open-mouthed. "Michael, what?!" she pleaded. "I know all about the sixties, I was there! Gee, some of the things I did back then..." she trailed off. The look on Michael's face was a little frightening. He was blushing beet red, and his hands were shaking. "Michael! Please...look at me. I love you, no matter what...."

"No matter what?" he whispered, hoarsely, staring at his hands and avoiding her eyes.

"Yes, no matter what. Just tell me. Please."

Michael took another deep breath. This is where it all goes wrong, he thought to himself.