The Road to Mars: A Post-Modem Novel (1999) (7 page)

“Nice to see you too, Mr. Muscroft.”

“Please call me Alex,” he said. “Though my real friends call me Bubbles.”

“Why Bubbles?”

“Because he’s forever blowing bubbles,” said Lewis, coming to the door.

“Flatulence will get you nowhere,” said Alex.

“Bubbles it is then.”

Lewis was all friendly. “Hi, we didn’t meet in the coffee shop. I’m Lewis. Thanks for all you have done for us, getting us here and all.”

“Believe me, it was nothing. I’m a big fan, though I’m afraid the crowd may not be quite what you’re used to.”

“Oh, we’ve played to LOLs before.”

She didn’t understand but let it pass.

“Look, I have to go. I just wanted to welcome you and give you these.”

She held two small metallic pins. “Security,” she said. “Keep them with you until you leave the ship.” She handed Lewis a clown and Alex an elephant head.

“What is this?”

“It’s a Ganesha,” she said. “A Hindu god. The Remover of Obstacles, I believe. Here, let me help you with it.” She took it back from him and stooped her head to pin it on him. He felt the warmth of her breath as she pinned the tiny elephant God on his lapel. I could quite easily kiss her, he thought. She must have had the same thought, for she looked at him suddenly and then stepped back.

“You mustn’t lose it,” she said.

“It will never leave my body,” said Alex.

She looked at him for a moment and then smiled, and left.

“Wow,” said Alex, “I think I’m in love.”

“Too bad you have a date with Brenda Woolley afterwards,” said Lewis. “But I’m free.”

Alex opened the door and ran after her. He caught up with her by a water cooler.

“Hi.”

“Oh, hello.” She was a little surprised to see him again so soon.

“What are you doing after the show?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you busy?”

“Well yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Ah. Too bad.” He was crestfallen.

“But thanks for asking.”

“This thing”—he indicated the security pin. “What’s it called again?”

“A Ganesha.”

“It’s Indian?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe we could have a curry sometime.”

“That would be nice.”

When he got back to the dressing room, Lewis was just leaving with the page.

“What’s up?”

“We have a problem in Security.”

“It’s your mechanical assistant,” said Jeffrey.

“Carlton?”

“They found something.”

In the security area, Carlton was emerging from a large scanner. Three security men were examining his printout. One of them approached Alex.

“Did you know he has some secure files from the Disney Library? It seems to be largely comedy material.”

“He’s been stealing?” said Lewis.

“Please,” said Alex. “They found some files is all.”

“He claims he’s doing research,” said the security man. “Into comedy.”

“Is this true, Carlton?” said Lewis.

“Well, I have a theory,” began Carlton. “It’s really only a rough outline at this stage, but I think comedy is a survival tool used by Homo sapiens to escape the consequences of their own brains. A way, if you like, of handling unpalatable truths.”

“Stop right there,” said Lewis. “I don’t want to hear this bullshit. We’re doing a show here, folks. We don’t need this, Alex.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault.”

“You told me he was clean.”

“It’s a comedy file from the twentieth century, for God’s sake.”

“He’s stealing old jokes!”

“I’m not stealing anything. It’s purely research material,” protested Carlton.

“Which you stole from the Disney Library?”

“I just copied a few files. I didn’t have a research card, that’s all.”

“We employ you as a droid.”

“I would never jeopardize my work for you. If you have any problems with me, I would be mortified.”

“I am very disappointed in you. Can you believe this, Alex. Our machine is researching comedy, for God’s sake.” He shook his head and stormed off.

“I am so sorry, Alex, I am so embarrassed.”

“Oh, he’ll get over it,” said Alex. “He’s superstitious. Thinks if he ever understands what he’s doing he won’t be able to do it anymore.”

One of the guards approached.

“Alex Muscroft.”

“Look, we know about the file and it’s not a problem for us.”

“Oh, it’s not about that, sir. Miss Woolley would like to see you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now, sir.”

“What about?”

“I’m only Security, sir.”

“Well, call Insecurity. I think I’m going to need it.”

He was about to knock on the door of Brenda Woolley’s dressing room when a short terrierlike woman with artificial red hair, eyes too close together, and designer clothes which were surely designed for someone more attractive, stepped forward and tackled him.

“Hey, hold it right there,” she said. “Who are you? Where the hell do you think you’re going? The answer’s no. Good-bye.”

Alex shrugged and turned to walk away.

“Don’t you know she has a show to get through,” she yelled after him.

Like he gave a damn.

“Hey, wait,” she said suddenly. “Are you Alex Muscroft.”

He turned and didn’t deny it.

“I thought you’d be taller,” she said accusingly.

“I was,” said Alex.

“Well, she’s waiting for you. Come on.” She led him forward, then immediately stopped him. Pointing a sharp little finger at his chest. “One or two things,” she said. “Don’t speak unless she addresses you directly, don’t strain her voice, and don’t touch her, she’s very superstitious. She wants to apologize to you. You can tell her there’s no need.”

“Isn’t that up to me?”

“And above all don’t tire her before her performance.”

“What we gonna do, play basketball?”

The dressing room door opened and a young woman in tears emerged holding a dress on a hanger.

“Get the fuck outta here and don’t come back, you stupid bat.”

The terrier swung into action. Nodding to Alex to wait, she plunged into the room.

“Brenda, please, your voice.”

“Fuck my voice.”

“Then think of your public.”

“Oh Pauley, dear Pauley, you are such a friend to me. Whatever would I do without you?” Sounds of an embarrassing embrace.

“Mind your hair, dear,” said the terrier named Pauley. Then some low mutterings. Finally he heard Brenda say, “Oh, just one, Pauley, pretty please, Pauley, I’ve been ever so good.”

“You have a show to get through, my love. Think of your audience.”

“Help calm my nervsies,” said Brenda pleadingly.

Then some sounds he couldn’t make out. Eventually the terrier woman came back and stared at him defiantly. “She’ll see you now,” she said.

When he entered, Brenda had recovered her composure. The room was rococo. He felt a strong sense of gilt.

“Ah, the country singer,” said Brenda, staring at him in her golden makeup mirror.

“Comedian.”

“I know, I’m teasing you, dahling. Though I must confess I did think at first you were the Barrel Brothers. Silly little me.”

Little?
thought Alex. There was way too much of her.

“Everyone knows country singers wear hats, don’t they. Even when they’re in bed.”

She let him digest the thought of her and two country singers called the Barrel Brothers in bed with their hats on. He winced. She didn’t notice. She was simply not available for other people’s feelings.

“Forgive me, dear Alex, but I’m always so distracted before a show. You have
no
idea the pressure. You
must
forgive me. I
know
you will dear. Of course I
love
your work. I
adore
it. I
love
comedy.” She seemed to speak in italics. “Pauley dear, tell him how much I
love
comedy.”

“That’s enough now, Brenda.”

“I thought you were a friend of Dorothy’s, but a little friend has told me that you’re not.”

They ran research on his sexuality?

“So perhaps you’d like a little drinkey after the show?”

“Thanks,” said Alex, “but I don’t drink.”

“I’m not supposed to either, but we can make an exception, can’t we?”

“Twelve-step program,” said Alex.

“I always stumble at the doorstep,” said Brenda. “Don’t I, Pauley? So how about it? Come out with me afterwards, we can have some fun.” She clasped his hand. “I
know
you’re going to be so great on my show. Please don’t run over. Some of our comedians have a tendency to go on a bit, but remember the poor audience, darling, they’re here for Brenda. I’ll send someone for you after the show.”

He was about to make an excuse when the terrier inserted herself physically and backed him through the door.

“Don’t say no,” said Pauley fiercely. “She does hate no.”

“But I can’t make it later.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll probably forget.”

Feeling vaguely insulted, Alex went off searching for Lewis.

He found Carlton surrounded by chorus girls. The girls were wearing feathers and little else. They were all over him. Alex felt envious. Their droid was far too good-looking. He was a fresh-faced blond-haired doll. Alex was always pushing women off him.

“Leave him alone, will ya?”

“Ooh, can we borrow him tonight?”

“No.”

“Oh, please don’t be mean, he’s so cute.”

“Get something real,” said Alex. “Or sit on someone else’s droid.”

“Oh, it’s Mr. Grumpy.”

“Feeling a little inadequate, are we?” said a chorus girl, sliding her hand towards Carlton’s thigh.

“Stop it,” said Alex. “He’s only got batteries in there.”

“What about you,” she said, “batteries not included?”

“He’s just a humanoid vibrator to you, isn’t he?” said Alex.

“He’s the ideal date,” said the girl. “You can switch him off when you’re finished.”

The girls all giggled.

“Get real,” said Alex.

“No thanks. Tried real. It farts and snores and complains.”

“What’s that useless piece of skin at the end of a penis called?”

“A man!” they shrieked in chorus.

The test of a real comedian is whether you laugh at him before he opens his mouth.

—
George Jean Nathan

It’s hard for people to realize that famous people are often shy. They are hiding on stage. Ridiculous? Think about it. Makeup. Disguise. Costumes. “Shy” does not mean “lack of ego.”

The show went about as well as could be expected. It was full—Charles Jay Brown had done a good job—but it was largely full of little old ladies who would have applauded anything. They were there to see Brenda Woolley, of course, and responded cheerfully enough when she sailed out to introduce the show. It wasn’t that she lacked talent, it was just that she behaved as though it wasn’t absolutely necessary in her case. That it was somehow beneath her, that by just being there they were somehow blessed. What was so irritating to Alex, who watched every excruciating moment on the monitor, was that she condescended to her audience, confident in their adulation. It was self-satisfaction as an art form. The Goddess as supreme being, doing bugger all. She told a few polite jokes rather poorly, sang a medley of her hit “I’d Cross the Universe for You, My Dah-ling,” threatened to sing more later, and was suddenly gone. “Jeez,” said Alex disgustedly, “she really is a waste of space.” Both Alex and Lewis were nervous before a show, and this night more than most. They both knew this was important. The talent scouts would be watching. Alex paced the room sighing heavily, occasionally stopping to stare at himself closely in the mirror. Lewis sat in the bath reading a magazine, pretending it wasn’t happening. Then he slowly and meticulously got dressed, performing strange vocal exercises.

“Ma-na-la, mor-nor-lor, mee-nee-lee, may-nay-lay,” he repeated loudly. An irritating mantra for the nervous Alex, whom he studiously ignored. Only when they were about “to walk the fifteen yards” from the wings into the spotlight center stage, did he relax and turn to Alex.

“Okay, pal,” he said, “let’s do it,” and they smiled and nodded and stepped out to face the monster.

In the event, the crowd was good. From the wings they saw Katy Wallace slip into a vacant box where she was joined by an elegant white-haired bearded man who watched the entertainment impassively. It wasn’t much of a show, but it was slickly produced and the crowd loved it. The keynote, as with all Brenda Woolley shows, was tacky. For example Alex and Lewis followed an act called Einstein in Hollywood, an unspeakable flying dance routine “inspired by” (don’t you love that as a program note?) Einstein’s celebrated visit to Hollywood in 1954. At the height of his worldwide fame Einstein was treated to lavish displays of entertainment on the Paramount lot. Helpless to understand the strange mixture of showgirls, moguls, and schlock, he turned to Charlie Chaplin and asked, “What does all this mean?”

“Nothing,” replied Chaplin.

This historical moment had been turned into a musical epic, with girls in flimsy costumes floating about yodeling “E=MC²” accompanied by thirty dancers dressed as colored balls depicting molecules. Grinning boys and girls in big round costumes representing electrons, protons, and neutrons frolicked about in various interlocked positions exemplifying hydrogen and carbon atoms.

First thing Alex said as he hit the stage was “Boy, I haven’t seen such big balls bouncing around in space since Superman left town.” He got his laugh, but it threw Lewis, who had been anxious about smut and had asked him to keep it clean. To make matters worse, sensing Lewis’s panic, he went off on a long riff about Einstein and inadvertently used the ‘F’ word. He pranced about the stage singing, “E equals MC squared, as if the fuck you cared.” It was a shocker for the LOLs. Lewis suddenly seemed to wake up and take control. He dismissed Alex from the stage. He became the outraged authority figure and pointed Alex to the wings. Alex went with it. He cowered and behaved like a guilty ten-year-old. He went further. He became a chimp. The more Lewis remonstrated with him, the more he adopted that strange bent-legged chimpanzee waddle. He ran round the stage squatting with his knees sticking out. He swung on the curtain and thumbed his nose at Lewis. He turned his backside on him and beat a tattoo on his buttocks. The audience loved it. When Lewis ran backstage to ask for assistance, Alex jumped into the orchestra pit and monkeyed around with the drums, creating chaos. He pretended to pee on the bandleader, which brought a squeal of delight from the little old ladies. Lewis jumped down into the pit to try and catch him, and Alex skipped over the rail into the audience itself. There were howls of delight and screams from the front row. He kissed a tall blond lady and slapped her husband, grabbed a banana from somewhere and improvised strange things with it. Lewis ran to one of the side exits and summoned a couple of guards. As Alex ran round the auditorium, igniting laughter wherever he went, the security guards pursued him. It was chaos, it was pandemonium, and it was, of course, all perfectly rehearsed.