Killing Reality

by Bob Henderson

  I stood in line at the bank, thinking, I’m a millionaire! Just hours before, I’d had no idea how I was going to pay my electricity bill, let alone my school loans. My fear of being in public eased with the thought of being a millionaire. I mean, who’d judge me now? I could look like money, talk like money, and most importantly, actually have the money.

  I began looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. I noticed people from all walks of life coming in to deposit their hard-earned paychecks, only to have next to nothing left once their bills were paid. I saw defeated-looking mothers and fathers who were probably just scraping by. Then there were the wannabe’s who were paying high mortgage loans and credit card debt they’d foolishly acquired.

  I snapped to attention as I heard the bank teller bark in my direction, “Next in line!” I walked cautiously up to the counter. I casually slid the check under the glass pane. The teller looked down at the check, “I’m sorry, sir, but you need to sign the back of the check and fill out a deposit slip,” the older, dark-haired teller informed me.

  My insides sank. I felt like an idiot. For God’s sake, what was I—an amateur? I snatched the check back, mumbled an apology, and hurried to get a deposit slip. It wasn’t easy cramming six whole zeros into those tiny blue boxes on the slip, minus the $150.00 I decided to cash for gas and groceries—and maybe to take Aud out for a celebratory dinner later on.

  I returned to the teller and slid the check and slip to her. After watching her examine the check more closely, I began to get nervous. She showed the check to the teller next to her. There was a brief, whispered discussion. The teller next to her nodded and scurried off to the back, probably to find the manager.

  “Uh, I’m sorry sir,” the teller said, looking down at the check. “But this size of a transaction requires an upper management authorization. Would you mind taking a seat while we notify the branch manager?” she asked, once again sliding the check back to me.

  In less than a minute, a man wearing a charcoal grey suit approached me. He looked quite dapper. I think he was in his mid-fifties, but it was hard to tell because his face had that tight, plastic look to it that was the result of at least a few cosmetic surgeries. He had very black (read: dyed) hair without a streak of grey, and a very small nose that was turned up, making it practically impossible to look at him without seeing the insides of his nostrils. Ew.

  “Can I help you, sir? I’m Jeff Edwards, the branch manager.” As courteous as his words were, his face was telling me that he thought I was a forger or some kind of fraud. I froze, staring back at him, unsure of what to do. Should I just take the check back and leave? After all, I didn’t have an account here but Spitz had said it would be alright.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to make that decision. After examining me a few seconds longer, the branch manager’s face lit up in recognition. “Well, I’ll be darned—I know you! You’re Marc Henderson. You’re the young man all over the news! Please accept my apology, there’s absolutely no problem with the check, Mr. Henderson!” He continued, “We thank you for deciding to be a California Trust valued client. Mr. Spitz is also a valued customer here, so you’re both good as gold.”

  He patted me on the shoulder. “I will personally take care of this.” Before he walked away, he turned to look back at me. “And let me just say that it’s about time we had some positive role models for our children.”

  He returned in no time with my deposit receipt and cash. He then looked at me sheepishly as he searched for something in his pocket. “Could I bother you for your autograph? My daughters will be ecstatic I had you as a client today.”

  He was positively giddy. The teller who was originally helping me stared blankly at the manager, who was now making quite the scene by asking me for my autograph. I couldn’t lie. I was getting a little embarrassed by all the attention I was getting. But what the hell? My million-dollar check was getting deposited with my newly formed account and I had some extra cash in hand for the first time in a long time.

  Once everyone caught on to who I was, I had to stay a little while longer, making small talk and signing autographs for the bank staff and customers. Then, I said my goodbyes and started to leave. I stopped in my tracks when I realized this doesn’t happen every day and asked the teller for one last request: a picture of me with the check, so I could frame it. Things were looking up indeed.

  15 That ‘New Car’ Smell

  Three days later, I was pulling off the lot as a proud owner of a brand new cherry red BMW 630i convertible, decked out with a white leather interior. I finally felt like the man. I raised my new aviators to my face and turned up the Pretenders on my Boss sound system. It was freaking insane.

  I revved the engine as I anxiously waited at each red light to turn green. After fooling around on the streets, I decided to swing by the Primed set to catch up on the crew. Yeah, right. I wanted to show off. Nothing more, nothing less.

  I pulled around to the back lot where most of the crew was having lunch. I circled slowly to get a good glimpse of everyone’s faces as they oohed and aahed; it was like music to my ears. Some of them looked jealous, but I knew most would be happy for me. Why wouldn’t they be?

  The next couple of days were crazy as hell. I was busy moving out of my apartment and into a new place at the snooty Windsor Lofts in Downtown Hollywood. The time had finally come for me to say bye to Aud. Daisy could tell something was up. She kept yapping, and I knew she wanted me to take her for a walk. Instead, I bent down, and gave her a good scratching behind the ears. She thanked me profusely by licking me all over my face and new sunglasses. I had to laugh. As I said my goodbyes, I promised Aud I’d visit soon and told her to set a date for us to have dinner next week at the restaurant of her choice.

  Her eyes lit up, delighted at my suggestion. Then she pointed her finger at me. “I may be easy, Marc Henderson, but I’m not cheap!” We both burst out laughing, easing the sadness.

  Aud waved as I pulled away, and I saw her wiping away tears. I felt a pain in my chest that I tried hard to ignore. Here I was, driving my dream car to my new luxury apartment, but I couldn’t help but feel like I had just lost my best friend.

  “Buck up,” I said out loud, shaking the feelings of sadness off of me. I needed to remember that I was on my way to a new life. A life I hoped to be better and more fulfilling.

  It was imperative for this new life to start out right, so I gave all of my old apartment furniture to the local Goodwill. Aud had hooked me up with a friend of hers, Charis, from Restoration Hardware, the upscale home store at Hollywood Mall. I’d seen the store a thousand times before, but I’d never dared to go in, let alone buy anything from it.

  I had promised Charis that I wouldn’t interfere with her apartment design, so I had stayed at my old place while she’d prepared my new home. After much contemplation and anxiety, I was excited to see the finished product. Then I could finally begin my new life.

  An hour of driving through traffic later, I finally made it to my new home. I was kindly welcomed by a bellman in a burgundy uniform. He had an extraordinary handlebar mustache straight out of the 1920s and a flawless smile. He directed me to an etched glass elevator that took me to the 8th floor. The doors dinged open, and I stepped out and walked five doors down to apartment 826. I held the card to the electric keypad, not sure if I liked the technology or not. Once the keypad’s light turned green, I opened the door and stepped in.

  I immediately caught a whiff of some type of pine fragrance. Ahh, so far so good. I walked down the narrow hall into an open living room and kitchen. The place was beautiful. There were floor-to-ceiling windows, marble countertops, and a leather couch that looked so soft and inviting that I nearly cried. My last couch had been a hand-me-down from my mom, which had more stains and smells on it than I cared to remember. I wanted to take it all in, but I had more pressing matters at hand that needed to be taken care of immediately. I threw my shoes off and plopped down on my new black and tan Fidarsi chair and pivo
ted to take in the view of Downtown Hollywood.

  After the craziness of the past few weeks, and with the first day of shooting coming up, all I wanted to do was lounge around on my new leather couch and zone out to whatever crap television show was on. And that’s exactly what I did.

  16 Déjà Vu All Over Again

  Because of my pre-first-day jitters, I had barely slept all night. I waited as long as I could, then jumped out of bed and opened the curtains to see the sun’s rays piercing through the window. I had to squint my eyes to look out. It almost felt like I had a mild hangover. There was no amount of coffee or espresso that would help how I felt. I continued on with my morning routine, trying over and over to get myself together by smacking my face with cold water in the shower—to no avail. I just hoped I would come alive on the drive to work.

  Forty-five minutes later, I pulled up to a gigantic building that someone must’ve called home at one time. It was impressive, to say the least. I rechecked my email just to make sure I was at the correct address. I saw a lot of cars parked on the nicely manicured lawn, so I pulled into an empty spot. I checked myself in the visor mirror; I didn’t like what I saw, but there was nothing I could do to remedy it now, so I took a deep breath and got out of the car.

  As soon as I walked in the front door, I was taken aback by the cavernous foyer. This was definitely a much nicer and classier place than the Primed and Stronge locations. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, 20-foot ceilings, you name it. I walked around the corner into a kitchen that would make a professional chef weep. The gold-flecked marble counters were decorated with dozens of cups of Starbucks Coffee, stacked boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts, and little pink boxes filled with pastries from a local upscale bakery that specialized in gluten-free, dairy-free, and even vegan alternatives. I decided to play it safe and headed straight for a Krispy Kreme. Heaven.

  It felt good to be surrounded by all this luxury. I needed to check the place out, so I started to wander around and take everything in. Spitz spotted me lurking around like a lost puppy and decided it was time to get the show started. He gave a quick whistle. “Okay everyone, quiet,” he said. “Let’s get situated, shall we? Take a seat, and let’s begin.”

  We took our seats at a massive oak table in the corner of the large great room. “Please grab a packet, and familiarize yourself with its contents,” Spitz said, pointing to a pile of stuffed manila folders on the table. “Today is the day we make history,” he said triumphantly to a sea of confused faces. He motioned to a tall, lanky man who looked like he’d time-warped from the 70s. He wore bell-bottom jeans, a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pukka shell necklace.

  “This is Rich Masters,” Spitz said. “Think of him as the other Spitz! Rich is the head of our development team and what he says, goes. What do you say, Rich? Why don’t we all move this meeting to the pool?”

  Rich shrugged and said, “Sure thing, Spitz.”

  Pool? Did he just say pool? Now he had my full attention.

  Rich led us down a long-tiled hallway with walls that were painted up like jungle scenes. Halfway down the hall, there was the sound of running water. When we came to the end, I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was no ordinary pool. No, this was a freakin’ lake. But it didn’t stop there—the entire area was decorated with lounge chairs, a tiki bar, and a massive jacuzzi that looked like it could fit twenty people. And to top it all off, there was a dramatic two-story waterfall at the far end of the pool. The whole setup looked like it was straight out of Insane Pools magazine.

  We all gathered in front of the bar where Rich stood. “Okay,” he yelled, looking impatient. “You can turn the fucking water off now. I can’t hear a damn thing!”

  As if on cue, the waterfall abruptly shut off. Everything was quiet, except for the tropical bird noises projecting from the surround sound speakers. Rich added, “And shut off those goddamned birds, too!”

  Those stopped immediately as well. His face morphed back into a calm state and he smiled. “Let’s begin, shall we? Now I’m only going to say this once; on behalf of myself, Mr. Spitz here, and the entire executive staff, we’re sorry.” He shook his head, looked down, and raised his hand in dramatic surrender. Silence filled the air.

  “Sorry for what, Rich?” a young twenty-something girl (who I later learned was Jenny, the site manager) asked.

  BANG! The doors of an upper balcony that looked down onto the pool area crashed open, and an all-too-familiar voice yelled, “I can’t sleep without the sound of water! I told you that, damn it! Turn it back on!”

  We all turned and looked upward. Jenny’s face froze in horror. She turned angrily back around at Rich. He closed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Yep.”

  The atmosphere instantly changed. There was an electricity in the air that hadn’t been there before. Spitz addressed the crowd. “Please don’t antagonize her. It will only get worse.” He broke out in an evil grin and said with a flourish, “She’s baaaaack!”

  I was dumbstruck. No, it couldn’t be. But before I had time to process what was going on, Rich commanded everyone to follow him back into the hallway to a door with a sign that read “NO CAMERAS.” We walked into an enormous library. Rich casually positioned himself next to the ornate fireplace. “Everyone get comfortable. Okay. So. You’ve probably been wondering what’s been going on. Some of you may have guessed it already, but the Stronge family is back—I mean Sandy and the boys are back, with a new show called, Only the Stronge Survive.”

  Blake, Rich’s assistant, jumped in, “Here’s the synopsis: Sandy needs to get back out into the world now that her loving husband is no longer with her. She’s moved into this new house in hopes of starting the next chapter of her life. She must also deal with being the new head of the family. Between those two major roles, she’s learning how to manage a household with three practically grown sons all on her own. Well, not all on her own. She has an assistant, Shana, who is constantly running through hoops for Sandy sun up to sun down. Well, more like 24/7, but I digress. There’s also, Betty Tauscher, or “Mrs. T,” as the boys call her. Her official title is “Home Office Manager,” however, she’s mainly in charge of keeping the boys out of trouble, and on occasion, out of jail. Thankfully, she’s got the most sense out of everyone on the show. If you haven’t seen her before, she’s tall, lifts weights, and practices judo. She’s a physically imposing woman, so the boys take her and her no bull shit attitude seriously—and I strongly suggest you all do the same.”

  “There you have it, folks!” Rich interjected. “Oh! There’s also a full-time housekeeper and landscaping staff managed by a fellow named Milo. He was a jack-of-all-trades guy at one time, but he has since ‘graduated’ into more of a financial planner role, I guess you could say. He advises Sandy on financial matters now and acts as her agent ‘when necessary,’” he said, making air quotations with his hands.

  Blake chimed in again. “Let’s just try to get some good dirt on him,” he said conspiratorially. “I don’t like the son of a bitch, and who knows how long this parasite will be around. Oh! And this monstrous house and pool with the waterfall? Yeah, that was all Milo. Need I say more?” Everyone laughed politely.

  As Rich was about to conclude the meeting, a loud crash sounded in the hallway. This triggered Spitz to jump up and make a run for the door. Looking apprehensive, Spitz cracked open the door to see what caused all the noise. After a quick look, he shut the door and turned back to us, smiling. “Okay, boys and girls! It’s time to get to work.” He scanned the crowd. “Peter, get the camera. We need to start rolling now.”

  No one moved. Everyone stood around looking confused. “Don’t just stand there!” Spitz said, flailing his arms. “Showtime, people!”

  We all sprang into action, running around like chickens without heads. We filed out of the library and back into the massive foyer. The first thing I noticed was a guy standing in a bathrobe looking down from the open second-floor hallway leading to the stairs. Boy, did he look pissed. Th
e second thing I saw was dirt, water, flowers, and the remnants of a huge broken vase scattered over the foyer floor.

  “Fuck you, Measles!” came a voice from behind the front door of the house.

  The front door opened slightly, and there appeared Army, using the front door like a shield. “It wasn’t me!” Army shouted.

  “Yes, it was!” Navy shouted from outside, gleefully throwing his brother under the bus.

  The man in the bathrobe, who I assumed to be the aforementioned “Measles,” ripped off his bathrobe and was standing naked in all his glory. “Beat it, you little fuckers! I’m busy with your mom!”

  Then he turned and went back into what must have been Sandy’s bedroom. I knew I wasn’t the only one wondering what the hell was going on. I spotted Greg, my grip buddy, across the room. He just nodded in my direction as if to say, “Here we go again.”

  Then I heard Army’s whiny, soprano-like voice. “Hey! It’s Henderson. Fuckin’ Marc Henderson.”

  His voice made me wince. I looked at the front door and saw Army stomping towards me with his dimwit brothers, Navy and Ranger, in tow. “What’s up, Killer?” Navy said hitting me on my shoulder. Whoa. If they only knew.

  “Hey, Marc,” Ranger said, advancing towards me like a lion circling its prey.

  He held out his hand like he wanted me to shake it. Ranger was always the nicest of the bunch, which wasn’t really saying much, because as soon as I shook his hand, he yelled, “Rosa! There’s a mess in here!”

  “Hey guys. Good to see you again,” I tried my best to say warmly.