Dead Stars (48 page)

He watched some old
Britain's Got Talents
on YouTube. Everyone amazed. Everyone astonished. Everyone was unforgettable. Everyone was making their mark, everyone was being launched from the filth and petty madness of anonymity into eternal stardom, everyone had rounded letters and rutabagas. Everyone was a pauper and ventriloquist-assisted frog prince, plucked from the sewers of minimum-wage schlepdom and installed in castle keep of the Immortal Kingdom of (at least) 10,000,000+ Hits, a finger would hit the playback machine, their mouths would open and just a few soulfully sung notes later they'd each be born aloft on a magic carpet of judges' tears and thunderous standing ovations, relocated from the Götterdämmerung of murderously American small towns and deadend English villages, whose very names elicited a doom of mental retardation, perma-poverty & quicksand obscurity, from those sickening black holes to the supernovae pastures of galactic e-Lysiums & beyond. Bud was old enough to remember that astonishing bit of television history when Jennifer Holliday sang “And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going”—now every week there were chubby adenoidal 11 year-olds vomiting it up on
Good Morning America
, and vomiting it pretty well. God wasn't dead, epiphany was. The Internet had bestowed the thumbnail-transcendent Epiphany Channel; giddy passion plays of two-minute portable pop-cult fairytales ruled, with their hyperlinks of fall and rise/rise and FAIL/rise & rise mythos,
appiphanies
the new opiate of the people.

Bud wondered if Franco, Franzen or Fran L could sing,
really
sing. Franzen probably had a voice like an angel. Franzen and DeLillo could probably do a kickass
Sesame St.
“Alphabet Soup.”

He slipped into bed under fresh, Marta-laundered sheets. He noticed a crease.
Jesus, she ironed them. A fucking saint.

Rihanna was on an old rerun of
Ellen
. Before Bud shut it off, Ellen said, “I hope you know how amazing you look.”

He closed his eyes and pictured the cover of his book. He didn't know yet what he was going to call it, so he focused on the part that would go just below the title:
A Novel by Bud Wiggins
. He pictured a cover quote by Jonathan Franzen and blurbs on the back from David Simon and Michael Tolkin. A half-hour later his thoughts were still racing (too much Coke Zero), so Bud decided to listen to the guided meditation CD a couples therapist gave him back in the day, when he was coupled.

He turned on the light to retrieve it. That's when he saw a piece of mail Marta must have left for him some weeks back. It was from the Library Foundation, inviting him, for a small donation, to become a “Library Associate.” The clever solicitation came in the form of book cover:

 

 

They happen every day . . .

Indeed they do. The gods of his understanding were at work
and
at play. Only moments ago, he lay dreaming his book, and now the book was dreaming him.

He would take his miracles where he found them—small, medium or large.

EXPLICIT

[Tom-Tom&Reeyonna&Rikki]

The Social Network

So

far, Tom-Tom hadn't had much luck drafting
loosers
for the cause. In the end, she had no choice but to cast a wider internet but was hampered in that she had to
intrigue
without giving her idea
away
. She spoke to idle
Idol
primadunces; crampy
Top Model
supermidols; erased
Amazing Racers
; uncaught
Deadliest Catch
es; bored
Hoarders
and belligerent
Bridezillas
; undercooked
Hell's Kitchen
ettes and stinky
Think You Can Dancers
. She even had the brainstorm of conscripting one of the “tribute” actors gonged out of
The Hunger Games
—didn't happen.

To date, she had but a single conscript for her troubles—Phil Dean, an affable 63-yr-old interventionist from
Intervention'
s 2nd season. Phil had suffered a heart attack after shooting just three episodes & took a “sabbatical” to have a quadruple bypass. A&E elected not to rehire. Back in the day, Tom-Tom's very own Dr Phil specialized in expediting the recovery of washed-out child stars (Johnny Whitaker of
Family Affair
, Todd Bridges of
Diff'rent Strokes
) and mentoring their new careers as drug counselors.

The first thing the
loosers
did after Tom-Tom called to pitch them was google her ass. (A lot of times they did it right during the call.) Not everyone had a sense of humor about her colorful past. So Tom-Tom started using an alias, introducing herself as the backer and producer of an as-yet-untitled reality show. A requisite for any decent candidate was a large, dysfunctional dose of narcissism so Tom-Tom made sure to climb up everyone's ass first thing, the whole rigmarole about how
amazing
they were, what a
following
they still had, how
aggrieved
everyone had been when he/she didn't make the cut, bla. Usually, the earlier in the season the
loosers
were sent packing, the easier they were to handle. (Tom-Tom
did
realize she might be forced to resort to the bottomless pool of contestants who never even made it to televised rounds.) When she managed to get hold of a late-rounder—someone who made it to the last month or so in the life of whatever show—the delusional looser invariably acted like they
couldn't
be frickin
bothered
, & Tom-Tom better cough up what she wanted &
fast
, because they were like in the middle of a frickin
world tour
& already late to catch the private jet that was taking them to the Giants of Reality Programming Crystal Frickin Award Ball in frickin Monte Carlo—you know, the oldschool Lear with Snooki, Bethenny, Ryan Seacrest & half the Kardash Klan onboard. Some of the
loosers
actually wanted to know—
demanded—
how Tom-Tom got their emails! Because you
netpuked
it to the
e-niverse
, you shitty
anus
. But she had to chill, reminding herself that however pathetic, they had something she potentially wanted. She had to remind herself that
she
was using
them
.

TT didn't want her idea plashed all over the web either, so she wouldn't do email, other than the initial contact—she insisted on talking on the phone or in person. Which again was trippy because the social distortion vibe of the loose coozers was still always like
I don't
DO
phone like
EVER
so you have
SIXTY SECONDS
& it better be worth my time.
She made sure to drop the BETTY WHITE bomb right away because that got their attention,
Betty White has graciously given us the use of her Mt. Olympus home yes Betty is a producer but a silent partner in the venture.
Everything after that required a little more tact.
What the show's really about
(she read from the text on her computer)
is the individual and collective journeys of an eclectic group of reality show veterans who find themselves under one roof on the Hollywood rollercoaster bonding over shared triumphs and broken dreams but never straying too far from embracing the house motto: ‘Tomorrow is another day.'
The louche douches would then get that
thing
in their voice, that seen it all done it all
thing
like they were the ex-exec producer of the original
Survivor
or the retired co-co-co-creator of
The Bachelor/The Voice
or Simon fucking
Fuller
or the CEO in charge of grooming Christina Aguilera's
twat—
already
brands
, ubiquitous cultural
touchstones
, perfect hundred-year showbiz storms/entrepreneurial
f5 tornadoes
—you know, like they wanted you to think they had all this hot shit in the hopper, just around the corner, their shit was going to hit
large
, they didn't need
your
shit, because while they were waiting for their own
major shit
to hit, like while they were waiting, the Hard Rock was paying them the same or maybe just a little bit less than what they paid
The Situation
to show up at some Joe Francis/Demi Lovato/Brenda Song hooker-wannabe bday gangbang in Vegas so like hurry up with your dumbass pitch
because I'm gonna be all late for the premiere launch of my first fragrance for K-Mart . . . well is that it?
they'd say, all tightass disgruntled.
Just people living in a house? People who were once on reality shows? I don't understand what they're supposed to be doing like why would anyone want to watch.
(Just what TT expected to hear but from the Jewsers not the loosers.)
I mean is it supposed to be like
Real World
or
Big Brother
?
Can you please say again what everyone's supposed to be doing? Because it's really not making sense to me.
Sometimes Tom-Tom would give them a tentative title, maybe say it was
Daydream Believers
in hopes that would give it a simple soft cool dreamy spin but she really wanted to tell them the networks wanted to call it
House of Losers
.

. . .

The reality/unscripted Expo couldn't have come along at a better time. The
loosers
would be out in desperate droves & wouldn't be able to hide the stenk of their wretchedness from her like they (thought they) could over the phone. It'd be easy to chase down the weak & wounded. But
some
of the reality dropouts/throwouts were actually very cool people, & the Double T was starting to look forward to the hookups. She knew she'd be energized by her peers, there were a bunch of
Idol
s performing on the stages and when she (re)introduced herself & told them what she was up to, who knew? They might have some good ideas, even jump on the bandwagon. Another thing was she had that taste of notoriety & tho her shit went down 10 years ago she'd probably get recognized, people still came up to her on the street at least once a week . . .
another
thing was she might actually be cool again, it might be her time, the world had changed, shit was more cynical, all kinds of shit, everything had gotten crazier/more
tolerant
, people embraced various squalid shit they wouldn't have 10 years ago, they fuckin cheered it
on,
sordid psychopathic bad girl shit, squalor/sleaze, a
whole
different world
now
,
one that worshipped abject moments of infamy . . . if she got thrown off
Idol
TODAY for her old chicanery
,
the reward wouldn't be t-shirts & Letterman, it'd be her own fuckin
show.
The
Tom-Tom: Notorious!
show. Cause you want notorious? Ima give it you.
Tori Spelling
ain't noTORIous. Tori Spelling's about as noTORIous as one of Petra Ecclestone's cuntfarts.

Tom-Tom dug being in the adult swim of it all again.

Once the White House was up & running with
looser live-ins
it would be important to get someone up to Mt Olympus, a show runner with a track record, to check it out. See what they were doing up there on the Mount in Loser Lab, see it up close, the place would serve as she'd meant it to from the start, a kind of “living pitch,” if Tom-Tom could find someone at the Expo and get em up, someone who knew the reality business, even get em up without telling them
exactly
what the exact
nature
of the shit was, & they rang the doorbell and she took them on a little tour, nothing planned out, nothing elaborate, by then she'd try to have a full house, it'd be cool if most of the bedrooms were full, like a real
home
, that homey feeling, just like
Million Dollar Listing
with the house dressers, the home stylists, that's all she was really doing, she
knew
she'd be good at that all she needed was the chance the opportunity now here it
was,
here she was making it all more
presentable
more
livable
more
sellable
, everyone rehearsing and doing their thing, maybe even by then have a
camera crew
up & running, if she could just find someone who knew their shit, get em up there and give em the
tour
then walk them out to the pool—Tom-Tom could
see
it, she could
hear
it—and they'd say to her,
Okay, this is for sure kind of trip for real but what's really happening?
(During the tour she would provide whatever kind of dope, if they wanted it, or whatever sex was deemed appropriate to get them to commit) Tom-Tom would say, OK, here's the deal,
everyone you just met is someone who got
THROWN OFF A REALITY SHOW! She could
see
it, see their
smile
slowly become a
HA!—
then the nod of the head, the
many
nods, of
knowingness,
nods that said
OK. I get it.
And SO WILL THE NETWORK
. You, m'lady, are sitting on a fucking
MAJOR FRANCHISE.
So let the games and the brand-building begin!

. . .

They rode to the Convention Center in the same car—Tom-Tom, Dr Phil, ReeRee & Rikki—not just because Rikki's scooter died—it wasn't really a scooter but was so lightweight Tom-Tom called it that—but because until Reeyonna could pay her share of the rent Tom-Tom was using her as a gofer & personal asst.

Dr Phil was an avuncular, calming presence, & really understood Tom-Tom's
vision
. Due to a mix-up/wrong address delivery of his social security checks, he'd been evicted from his Hollywood garden apt & was sleeping in his car. After their interview, Tom-Tom moved him right in. She already felt the vibe of the house benefiting from his presence. She needed someone trustworthy to be her eyes & ears when the prospective cast of
schmoosers
finally fell into place. Dr Phil was one of those people born with a happy disposition—Tom-Tom didn't want unhappy people around her anymore. Unhappy people & the Year of the Moneybags do
not
frickin mix. Besides, she was thinking he might do something to help Jerzy, not an intervention exactly but something. When you were around Dr Phil his energy made you not want to use. She'd already talked to him about it, even suggesting maybe they could shoot Todd Bridges doing an “assessment” on Jerzy as part of the show, for a little drama, you know, like what would he or Johnny Whitaker recommend, would it be a hospital or a treatment center or maybe Jerzy could even do a home detox which would be
really
great for the show. Only trouble was, things would probably have to get much worse for Jerzy to agree to something like that. Because Jerzy was a loser for real but not a reality show
schmooser
so he
definitely
wouldn't agree to being
filmed
for something like that, he'd probably have to OD for them to get his crazy drugshit on camera. The way he was going, that would probably happen too. Soon.

. . .

They came on the last day, Sunday, because that's when they were having all the workshops Tom-Tom wanted to go to.

There was a Q&A called
How to Create, Produce and Pitch Your Reality TV Show
; she also didn't want to miss
How to Become A Host/Reality Star—Parlay Your 15 minutes of Reality Fame into a Career
either. But Tom-Tom told Dr Phil the one she was looking forward to the most was
Where Are They Now? Catching up with Reality TV Stars and Their Lives Today
. That sounded the most promising—lots of rotten fruit on the ground for the takin, she hoped.

. . .

Rikki & ReeRee walked thru the empty Hall of Autographs. It was huge. There were dozens of roped off lanes, each ending at tables with the headshots & names of whoever was scheduled to be signing. R&R didn't recognize any of them.

They sat down and Sharpie-circled events in the Expo Guide, deciding which ones they wanted to attend. Rikki said he probably should check out
How to Make it in Hollywood
. Reeyonna started getting excited about meeting Audrina, who seemed to be the biggest star there. Rikki circled Manouschka Guerrier from
The Private Chefs of Beverly Hills
. (Lately he'd been thinking that if movies didn't work out he could become a personal chef to the stars.) Ree circled Eric Roberts from
Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew
because one of her BFFs said he was Julia Roberts's brother, which she still didn't believe. Julia Roberts didn't mean that much to her but she was
so
good in the
Eat, Pray, Love
movie she went to with her mom. She circled Gretchen Bonaduce too, not just because she was Danny Bonaduce's ex-wife (Ree & her friends liked getting up in the trees and watching
The Partridge Family
) but because the Guide said she was on
Gimme My Reality Show!
which Reeyonna never heard of but thought was a really funny title. Both wanted to meet Mischa Barton, who actually maybe was a bigger or maybe the same size
as Audrina. It didn't say what reality show Mischa was on but ReeRee watched
The O.C.
on SoapNet. Rikki circled Tila Tequila from
Dance-off Pants-off.
“Don't even go there,” said Ree.