"Two men. Orson Welles and Marlon Brando. They veered off road somewhere in the Sonoran desert. South of the border. They crashed into a saguaro cactus. The top swayed and dropped like an alien green chandelier. The rooftop buckled. The windshield cracked. Orson's silver hair was askew as he stumbled out of the baby blue Coupe DeVille. He shouted out into the desert plain. 'Kiki!'"   It begins at lunch. An epic struggle of giants, or a pathetic spat between has-beens? Only the desert stars will tell, or the tiny poodle. And what was in that cactus sauce, anyway?

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