by Ben Larracey
Chip addressed the camera. “Welcome back after that quick commercial break. Now, the big news everyone has been waiting for, the romance between Sadie and Wes. Let’s look at the footage.”
The studio went dark. The monitors hanging from the ceiling showed a quick montage of DeLeo and Sadie entering the vault and meeting the survivors. The footage cut forward to them talking, and then finally to them heading to their corners for bed.
Sadie crouched down in front of DeLeo. “You know,” Sadie whispered. “If you want you can come to my corner.”
DeLeo played along and smiled watching the interaction between him and Sadie on the TV screen. He remembered what happened, but it was still strange watching such an intimate moment on large screens with a crowd. The video cut forward in time.
DeLeo watched Sadie curl up next to him under the blanket. There was movement, and the sound of kissing, but not the words said between the two, namely DeLeo rejecting Sadie’s advances. DeLeo couldn’t believe it. That wasn’t what had happened. It looked as though they were having sex on the screen.
“This isn’t right. That didn’t happen.” DeLeo said aloud. His words went unnoticed, overpowered by the “ooo’s” and “awe’s of the studio audience.
DeLeo ran to Chip, “What are you doing to me? This isn’t real. This never happened. Not like this.”
The footage stopped. The spotlight returned to Chip and DeLeo standing on stage. DeLeo’s face pale. Beads of sweat glistened in the hot studio light.
Chip smiled at the audience, “Looks like we hit a nerve huh?”
The crowd laughed. Chip slowly walked toward Sadie, ignoring DeLeo. “What do you think of that?” he asked her.
Sadie’s gum popped, amplified by the speakers. She spoke out of the corner of her mouth taking big juicy chomps between every word. “I think he’s, like, cute,” Sadie said with a big smile, “but, um, how do I say it. He’s not my type. Tell you the truth it was a bit awkward. However, I’m a professional, so I, um, went along with it.” Sadie flashed the audience a bright smile and they cheered.
“Wow honey, you are a natural! Able to improvise at the drop of a hat. Let me ask you this, maybe you weren’t into him, but was he into you? If you know what I mean?” Chip winked. The audience chuckled.
Sadie giggled, “I think he was.”
“This is bullshit!” DeLeo screamed. He wanted to push her and punch Chip’s grin into the back of his face.
Chip laughed, “Oh to be young and in love. The passion, the anger, it’s all coming out now.” Chip turned to DeLeo and grinned. “But what about DeLeo’s wife — where does she fit into all of this?”
DeLeo froze.
A shocked gasp radiated throughout the studio. Chip waved his arms to silence the crowd. Suddenly the studio returned to the same quiet DeLeo remembered when he first woke up. The low hum of the ventilation system. The audience waited in suspense.
The lights dimmed. Chip pointed to a dark window at the base of the stage. “Let us look inside door number one.” Inside the window, a light turned on and there she was, the love of Wes DeLeo’s life, his wife, Amber. She looked sad, embarrassed, alone. Next to her was DeLeo’s young daughter, Delilah, holding a small Elmo doll, a look of confusion plastered across her innocent face.
“How are you holding up?” Chip asked, looking across the stage to Amber.
“I’m doing okay. I guess,” Amber responded slowly from behind the glass without raising her head.
Chip approached the small window where Amber stood with Delilah. “What do you have to say about seeing your husband behaving like that with Sadie?”
Amber raised her head. Sadness and pain beamed from her eyes. “I’m hurt and disappointed,” Amber said. “I always knew Wes was someplace else. Like he wasn’t really present when he was with me, but I thought it was his music. It was always his music, chasing his big dream of becoming a famous musician. I never thought there would be another woman. Seeing the video with him and Sadie proves that things were worse than I thought they were.”
“It’s not true,” DeLeo cried. Tears flowed from his eyes. “They’re lying. I didn’t touch her. I’ve always been faithful to you.”
Before DeLeo could speak, Amber spoke again, “One time he came home smelling of perfume. I asked him about it, but he said it was nothing and changed the subject.”
“That was from a show,” DeLeo pleaded. “I can’t help people coming up to me. It’s not true!”
Chip chided DeLeo like a father to a son, “As a thirty-five-year-old man should you really be out all night chasing the dreams of a twenty-five-year-old? At your age, still having delusions of becoming a rock star, is well, a little pathetic am I right?”
The audience erupted in support of Chip Johnson.
Chip gently touched DeLeo’s shoulder. “Wes, here’s your chance to get the record straight. The whole country is watching.”
DeLeo wiped the tears from his face. “We were having trouble. That’s true. I moved out, but I didn’t cheat on her. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“What do you think Sadie?” Chip asked her as she quietly gossiped with the cast. “Are Wes’s emotions real?”
Sadie faced the crowd like she was about to give a performance, “Let me tell you Chip, I’m, like, an actor, so I know when other people are lying and let me tell you, Wes DeLeo is a terrific actor.”
“No, I’m telling the truth,” DeLeo said to Amber. Fresh tears ran down his face. “I love you. I know we’ve had problems but you’re everything to me.” Amber stood in silence, not uttering a word as DeLeo pleaded for forgiveness.
“Wes, sometimes saying less is actually saying more,” Sadie announced to the audience cutting off his cries for redemption.
“Shut up!” DeLeo screamed at her.
The audience gasped. DeLeo quickly realized his outburst was inappropriate, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just confused. It’s this show. Please, Amber, believe me. I don’t know what is going on.”
“Blaming the victim,” Sadie sighed, “have you ever taken responsibility for anything Wes DeLeo?”
“Amber, any final comments?” Chip asked into the microphone. His voice was soft and gentle.
“I tried. I really did.” Amber hugged Delilah who stood at her side. “I hope Wes can get the help he needs. For our daughter’s sake.”
“Thank you Amber” Chip said. “I know that was difficult, but you’re a stronger woman for it.”
“Give it up for Amber!” Sadie cheered. The audience applauded, and the light in the window faded down.
Amber and Delilah were gone.
“What are you doing to me?” DeLeo asked.
Chip brought the microphone to his face, “Wes, you’re in good hands now. We’re not going to let you down. Just think about your daughter, your wife. We’re going to get you the help you need. Aren’t we?” Chip said addressing the audience.
“Yes!” the crowded yelled in unison.
“I can’t hear you!” Chip said putting his hand behind his ear.
“Yes!” the enthusiastic group chanted again, this time joined by the cast and crew.
“Good. We all want the same thing for Wes here. That’s why we got the best in the business. Give it up for Dr. Helen Stone.”
Helen Stone clumsily walked on to the stage, her ankles bending above her chunky, scuff marked heels. She wore glasses and a tweed coat, resembling something of a 1950’s librarian. She waved to the audience, then rubbed DeLeo on the back for support as a mother does her child.
“Thank you for a wonderful show,” Chip announced. “We’ll see you next time on…” Chip put his hand behind his ear signaling to the crowd.
The audience yelled enunciating every syllable, “It’s Your Life!”
Two large men wearing white coats, who looked like hospital orderlies, approa
ched DeLeo and gently clasped him by the arms. “What are you doing?” DeLeo asked confused.
“Just a precaution sir,” one of the white coats said.
“Precaution for what?”
“You’re in good hands Wes,” Dr. Helen Stone said, adding her support. “This is a full-fledged medical facility. We’re going to take good care of you. Think of your daughter.”
“When do I get to go home?” DeLeo asked Dr. Stone. The cheering crowd was still so loud he was almost unable to hear himself speak.
“These things take time, but we’ll have you fixed up and back to your family soon. These men will take good care of you until our first session later.”
8
The monotonous drone of smooth jazz greeted DeLeo when he entered the elevator just off the studio floor. The two white coats still had a firm grip on his arms.
DeLeo wasn’t going to run, at least not now. He was too exhausted. The end of the episode had been a fast blur, and the hysterical laughing and cheering of the audience still lingered in his ears. The Red Scare tactics and witch trial accusations had worked. He was beaten. Tired.
Gone was the anger and fury. It had been replaced by subtle elevator jazz, just audible enough to make him want a warm shower and bed.
One of the orderlies pushed floor thirty on the elevator panel. A soft soothing click followed, then the smooth elevator hum of the iron box going up. To where, DeLeo had no clue and at the moment, he didn’t care.
Moments later the elevator door opened with a ding. The two men escorted DeLeo into an empty room that appeared to be a reception area in a doctor’s office. It smelled vaguely of disinfectant and baby wipes.
“Please sit,” the receptionist said from behind her glass window.
“Where am I?” DeLeo responded. The woman ignored DeLeo and slid the glass shut.
DeLeo glanced at one of the white coats for an answer, but they both had returned to the elevator, which abruptly closed behind them.
The pleather reception area couch squeaked when DeLeo sat down. Gossip magazines were spread out across the coffee table. Internet celebrities and new popstars decorated the pages. People DeLeo didn’t recognize and didn’t care to. His days of keeping up with the hot new trends were gone. He inspected the plastic shoulder-height plant next to the couch then shut his eyes.
After dozing for a minute or two, DeLeo walked across the room to a small window that looked outside. It was night. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and suddenly he realized he was looking out on the set of the post-apocalyptic cityscape from the TV show. The fog was gone, but he knew for sure it was the same city. Below he saw people who appeared to be janitors or set designers hosing off what looked like fake blood and slime.
He chuckled. He still couldn’t believe everything he went through was just a TV show.
“Mr. DeLeo,” the receptionist said from behind him, “Dr. Stone will see you now.”
DeLeo pointed out the window, “are they getting it ready for the next victim?”
“Contestant,” the receptionist said defensively, then pointed to a door next to the reception window.
As DeLeo walked toward the door, he noticed a camera in the top corner of the room. It was painted the same eggshell color white as the rest of the wall, he assumed to try and disguise it from wandering eyes or suckers like himself. Someone was watching him right now. Probably the Dealer, or Chip — whatever his name was.
DeLeo entered the door and walked down a quiet, narrow hallway until he came to another door. He had no idea what to expect or what this doctor was going to try to tell him. The anger started to return, bubbling to the surface like a volcano. DeLeo paused. Get a hold of yourself he thought. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, which slowly swung open.
Dr. Stone stood behind a massive mahogany desk and greeted DeLeo with a firm handshake. She was tall and lanky. DeLeo noticed right away that her clothes were too big for her, like giant bags on her small frame.
“Please sit,” Dr. Stone pointed to a brown leather armchair opposite her desk. Books and old papers cluttered the small office. A computer sat untouched in the corner.
As DeLeo sat in the chair, he eyed the corners of the room, trying to find the cameras, which were obviously there.
“I take it this is being recorded?” DeLeo snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
Dr. Stone ignored his question and reached for a clipboard amongst all the clutter on her desk. She leaned back in her chair and used a chewed pen to navigate her notes. “Wes DeLeo: addict, adulterer, absentee father,” she paused and made eye contact with DeLeo for the first time.
“All lies,” he said.
DeLeo knew she was fishing for a reaction, and so were the cameras. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of losing his temper. He sat there like a slab of granite.
Dr. Stone changed her posture, “But it seems you do have some redeeming qualities,” she continued, “you’re a musician. Quite a good one too it seems.” DeLeo didn’t respond. A slight scowl came over Dr. Stone’s face, “but it seems like you wasted that talent as well.”
DeLeo burst into laughter, “is this what they teach you at therapy school? To insult the patient?”
“I’m only trying to understand.”
“Then try to understand how messed up all of this is. This show, intervention, whatever it is you think you’re doing.”
“I want to talk about your music.”
“Fine. What about?”
“It’s tough getting older isn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“We all have dreams Wes. We all think we’re going to grow up and be something special: a famous movie star, a writer, a musician, the leader of a movement, a revolutionary, the president. It’s tough when those things don’t come true, isn’t it? And life just moves on. It’s tough to watch yourself age out of the role you always imagined for yourself.”
DeLeo gripped the leather armchair, “What are you getting at?”
“No matter how many clubs you play, how many songs you write, how many hours you practice, sometimes it just doesn’t happen. That disillusion can lead to anger or resentment and play itself out in other areas of your life. Like your family.”
DeLeo didn’t want to talk anymore. He returned to his original plan of absolute silence.
After a minute of quiet, Dr. Stone spoke, “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me. Where is your mind wandering off to Wes? Are you angry with my questions? Can you tell me about your daughter? You wife?” Dr. Stone put down the clipboard and stared at DeLeo. After a long, silent moment, her soft tone turned to contempt. “Mr. DeLeo, I don’t think you understand. I can play the silent game all day, all week, or all month. It’s up to you. You were signed into my custody. Yes this may be a television show, but I am a licensed psychiatrist, and you’re not leaving this facility without my approval.”
DeLeo leaned forward, “What are you talking about?”
“We’ll talk later.” Dr. Stone hit the intercom in her desk, “Hector, Mr. DeLeo is ready to be shown to his quarters.”
Four orderlies entered the room. The biggest one, the leader, was clearly Hector
“Wait, I want to see a lawyer,” DeLeo said backing against the wall.
“Mr. DeLeo, remember you are in my custody. If you don’t behave, we will have to sedate you,” Dr. Stone said calmly.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Hector, please remove Mr. DeLeo from my office.”
DeLeo tried to dodge the white coats but smashed up against Hector.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Hector said, nodding to one of the other orderlies, “Show Mr. DeLeo his options.”
The white coat raised his arms to show a syringe in one hand and a straight jacket in the other.
“I’m
fine,” DeLeo adjusted his shoulders. “I can walk. Just show me to my room.”
Hector and the others escorted Wes down the narrow hallway until they came to an open railing that looked down on to what appeared to be a hotel courtyard ten floors below. The white noise of conversations mixed with the sophisticated sound of live jazz piano and clinking glasses radiated from below.
DeLeo looked over the edge. People were dressed in their best formal wear. Tuxedos, gowns designed by the best designers. Waiters held trays of shrimp cocktail, bacon wrapped scallops, and champagne. Suddenly someone caught DeLeo’s eye. He squinted to make sure what he saw was real. Amongst the crowd, DeLeo saw Sadie, Ethel, John, and the rest of the cast and crew from before.
“What is this?” DeLeo asked Hector, confused.
“The after party,” Hector pulled DeLeo into an elevator.
This elevator was different from the one before. Made of glass and operating on the inside of the building, DeLeo could see the party below as they ascended. He watched Sadie sip wine and flirt with other beautiful people. She dazzled, like she was dressed for the Academy Awards.
DeLeo clenched his fists. He felt like everything that was happening was at his expense. Like they were praising his demise. His loss. Moreover, they were celebrating. Partying, laughing, at the destruction of Wes DeLeo.
The elevator came to a stop. Hector and the orderlies steered DeLeo down another narrow hallway, this one filled with numbered doors. Hector opened one of the entries with a key. The lights automatically turned on when they entered. It was a small room with plain walls, a bed, and television. A divider curtain separated the bedroom from the small bathroom. On the bed were a set of clean clothes and a tray with a hot meal on it.
“Rest up,” Hector stated. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
The door shut and DeLeo heard a lock from the other side. Stunned, he grabbed the doorknob. Those bastards had locked him inside. DeLeo promptly moved around the room checking every corner and bedpost for a camera or microphone. He found nothing.
DeLeo ate, showered, then lay on the bed. He was exhausted. Tomorrow was another day. He turned on the TV. They were airing his episode of, It’s Your Life.