The Future Is Closer Than You Think

by Zaslow Crane

  “Look at these figures. This is only from twenty minutes ago and I’m sure it’s…well, maybe double this by now. It’s rising so fast I can’t believe the monitors are not somehow lying to me.”

  I can’t believe it. It’s as though I’ve got a license to print money!

  lll In the ersatz control room, Ted noticed Paul motioning to John as John was going to go out for a “smoke.”

  John was a bit hesitant but, after all, this was Paul.…

  With a furtive gesture Ted had the CCTV zoom in and activated the onboard microphone to catch the conversation.

  Paul to John: “C’mon…Let’s pretend that we’re 22 again. Let’s write something new that we might have written during our early period. I want to work with you again.”

  “Too much water has passed over the bridge, yeh.”

  “No it hasn’t. We can return to that time when we wrote as a team.Everything we wrote was ours, not mine or yours. That might be a thing we can find again.”

  “We’re too old to write that crap, now, y’know?” John pulled slightly away.

  “Not if we have imagination. You have Imagination, don’t you? I know I have. Imagine…it.”

  John wrinkled up his nose and smirked at the small joke Paul had just made. He moved a tiny bit closer.

  “Can you try not to be such a tosser?”

  Paul grinned, his eyes lighting up.

  “If you can cut back on the whinge-ing…”

  John smiled. His eyes crinkled and danced.

  “Let’s see if you can remember this one!”

  John picked up his guitar, and he launched into a slightly slowed down version of “She Loves You.” Paul’s bass followed John’s rapid chord changes. From there they segued into “Eleanor Rigby” and a slightly dissonant version of “You Say Hello, I say Goodbye.” Ringo and George had joined in by the time that they were halfway through “She Loves You” and still they kept on segueing into song after song.

  Ted, who was courting despair only moments before, slowly began smiling and nodding and yes, eventually tapping his toe.

  lll

  Nine days before the tour opened, at the press conference for the group interview: Question: “Are you really ready to play with your mates again, John?”

  “Well, I’ve had a long rest now, haven’t I?”

  At that, he reached over and appeared to kiss Ringo on the head. Ringo’s hair seemed to muss just a bit as if actual contact had occurred.

  Paul watched and marveled still.

  Yoko stood in the background beaming happily.

  Question: “Will there be any new tunes that you’ll be playin’ on your tour?”

  George fielded that one.

  “Yes we have already written 6 or 7 new songs as a group. Hopefully in the week or so before we actually begin the tour, we’ll have finished a few more. Enuff for a new album. Then we’ll see all the tax wankers try to deal with all the copyright issues we’ve just invented. Have at it, boys!”

  Laughs all around even though fully a 50% of the attendees didn’t truly “get” George’s joke.

  Question: “Paul! Which was more fun: The Beatles or Wings?”

  “Ooooh…You’re such a wanker! Next!”

  Question: Ringo, what’s it like to have the band back together again?

  Ringo smiled before answering. He knew that he was probably the luckiest man alive.

  “It’s great. I have missed these blokes more than I knew… To see them now…all together…” He seemed to force down a tear or two.

  Yeh…and it’s fun to be with me mates again…creatin’ something new and excitin’! New music…after all this time…yeah… it’s great, just great.”

  Question…

  lll Soon after the wrap-up, Martin arrived, flushed a bit, holding an envelope. “We’ve just received a packet of papers…that arrived via U.S. Marshall.”

  Ted was distracted, watching The Band practice, getting tighter all the time.

  He blinked. “A Federal Marshall?”

  He turned to face martin with a questioning look. “Yes, as in: We’ve been served.”

  “Served?”

  “Yep. Apparently John has engaged the biggest, baddest law firm in New York.”

  “And? What? We’re being sued?”

  “Yep. John is suing us for his freedom!”

  Ted laughed darkly.

  “Of course he is…”

  —With many thanks to the kind and generous folks in my Writers’ Critique group: Steve and Sarah Boshear, James McMann, Reggie Johnson and Jurri Schenk—without whom, this story might never have gotten “here.”

  Pinocchio ’s problem

  BY ZASLOW CRANE

  The music seemed to wash over the audience in some inevitable and stupendous sensory tidal wave designed to cause an orgasm of delight and musical satisfaction. There were dancers, lasers, specially commissioned sensory explosions and of course, incredible, imposing sound.

  The show built to an inescapable and fantastic finale! The prerequisite smoke bombs and effects went off in synch with the action. The lights danced and thrilled all, to show off and display the star! The fans, delirious with excitement, danced in the aisles, sang along, and waved to him—in hopes that he might acknowledge each of them! And smile or even…wave!

  “Pick me! Wave at me!” They all seemed to say with their eyes as they drank in all that the star presented! “Sing for me! Dance for me! BE with me! Be with me forever!”

  Janus!

  Janus! The God of Pop Music!

  To begin the show, he’d dropped from an opening in the ceiling, falling, falling, until just before he hit, he stopped. He sang and danced inches off the floor.

  The crowed went wild. Janus was known for the spectacle, because he was acknowledged as likely the most involving and adept showman performing today!

  Soon there were musicians and dancers and other singers all a few inches, to many feet off the stage, flying; floating; dancing.

  The stage went white totally completely white, and suddenly, as the viewers’ eyes cleared, the entire ensemble was onstage, no longer floating.

  He sang and danced, sync’ing with ten other dancers.Behind them, on the mammoth stage there were other backup singers time-stepping in unison and singing backup. It was, as planned, far too much to watch and absorb in one sitting! It was common for his fans to buy tickets to multiple shows, to see him again and again!

  Janus is the phenomenon of the age!

  “Janus is adored and is the biggest thing in pop music for decades, the heir apparent to Presley, The Beatles, Jackson, $#%^76&&, and BBBluuuto; the next in a very short line of truly monumental and influential stars,” StarFire magazine gushed.

  The finale grew larger, and built upon itself, enlarging even more! He climbed, somehow still dancing; still singing, to the top of a 30-foot tall transparent pyramid in the center of the stage. The music built and built! There was an explosion!

  And he was simply gone as the last crescendo peaked! The build was all a device to satisfy and still tantalize his fans.

  Everyone on stage froze, the music stopped and the lights slowly faded to black, leaving only tiny pinpricks of light, traversing the stage errantly here and there, as if searching; questing for The Star.

  But he was gone.

  The silence was deafening, and after a moments’ hesitation, the crowd went wild!

  Even though he had a reputation for never coming back for encores; giving it all he had in the course of the show, the crowd chanted and clapped, hoping to change his mind; to make him come back to do more! Just this once! They loved him! They were never satisfied.

  There could never be too much Janus!

  Meanwhile Janus, exhausted and quite finished for the night, was escorted to his very private dressing suite.

  His right-hand person, his aide de guerre, his confidante—Lily Sanchez, was ever by his side as he hurried to the safety of his rooms to relax before he fell over in sheer e
xhaustion. His face was a study of pain and frustration. The delirious crowds’ chanting and cheering in the receding background notwithstanding.

  “It looked great from where I was sitting, Janus! The crowd loves you!”

  “Yeah, thanks. It was an okay show, but there are still so many glitches.”

  “Glitches?”

  “Yes,” Janus looked over at her to drive home the import to Lily as they quick-walked. He grimaced with each step. An aide supported him and assisted him in walking, discretely staying out of the interchange.

  “Glitches. Shall I run through the bigger, most annoying ones?”

  Lily’s stylus and flimsey tablet was always at the ready.

  Her huge dark sunglasses hid the inevitable eye roll.

  “Go.”

  “The bass player, what’s his name, Mick?” He toweled off his sweaty brow and draped the monogrammed cloth around his neck.

  “Rik.” She corrected.

  “Okay, Rik. He’s supposed to be one of the very best in the world, right?”

  Lily nodded. She knew Janus. She knew what was coming. She braced for it.

  “Well he came in a full half beat late from the refrain in “Breakdown Town,” missed on at least three notes on “Shadowman,” and muddied my vocals with him coming in too early on “BettyJean.” I can’t work like this! I want him replaced before we get to Copenhagen.”

  “Janus, Baby. We hired the best in the world. I’m going to have a hell of a time finding someone nearly as good! Especially on such short notice! What if we schedule more rehearsals with your stand-in?”

  God that’ll cost another fortune! she fretted.

  “I want him gone, Lil! Get someone else. Someone I can depend on.”

  “Right. Gone. Got it. Anything else?” Lily asked hopefully. Hoping for there to be nothing else that displeased His Majesty, but there was always something else. His shows were nearly perfect pieces of Rock Theatre, but Janus was such a perfectionist that he made everyone around him crazy.

  It isn’t human to attempt this much perfection! She thought. Though he gets closer than most!

  It wasn’t the first time she’d thought that. It wouldn’t be the last.

  “The servos in my right hip are locking halfway again. Did you see when I was trying to do the split at the end of “World of Wonders?” It locked up and I was only able to get one leg extended enough; the other almost toppled me, because I wasn’t ready for this screwup.”

  Lily nodded enthusiastically.“You recovered magnificently, though. If one wasn’t fully familiar with the choreography, one might believe that you planned that!”

  “Yeah, I know. I thought quickly and made something out of nothing. Just the same, better have Robotics and Actuation check in with me after I get out of the chamber, in say, four hours. Alright?”

  “Of course.” She made notes with her stylus on the flimsy. “Anything else?”

  “Of course!” His dark eyes flared, but he said nothing else about his legs.

  It’s clear that he was frustrated and angry , Lily thought. What else is new? The litany went on until they’d reached the hyperbaric chamber that had been modified to nourish and replenish the God of Pop.

  “It’s great for my muscles,” Janus would tell friends. Lily had heard him say it often enough in the past.

  Yet, with his increased isolation, there were fewer and fewer of those friends, Lily thought. Plus, with all the body mods he’s doing, there was less and less of him there to need replenishment.

  Friends would be a good influence; they might keep him grounded. At least they used to. But now…?

  She shook her head. Fewer and fewer are willing to put up with security; fewer and fewer still are able to pass security!

  He’d confide the same thoughts about the hyperbaric chamber and other health regimens, to those very few in the press whom he deigned to speak. His contact with the press dwindling to a trickle of information doled out to only those few whom he felt would not bad mouth him or his…foibles; those who would play up the creative portion of the Janus Legend, and downplay the eccentric portions.

  Lily feared that if the walk had been longer he’d have never run out of quibbles with his show. He was well known for being a perfectionist, and Lily had been at his side for four other world tours and, with the company since nearly the beginning of his career. The very early years, of building. It seemed that what was once a desire for as close to human perfection as possible was turning into an inhuman obsession.

  For instance, during the “Mummy” world tour some years back, he’d brilliantly taken the original storyline of the Mummy to new heights. Janus had taken the legend and built an entire song cycle around it, finishing an album in record time for him, working nine months of twelve-hour days. He’d incorporated knee drops and knee slides, and magnificent never-before-seen dance moves during the extensive practice sessions. It was spectacular and when he hit the stage with all these new moves, the fans went wild! Everyone agreed that his singing had never been more urgent, more plaintive; never more important.

  However, about that time, he’d begun to have problems with his knees; knee drops; dramatic and exciting but very hard on a body, any body. By the time the incredible five-month world tour had ended, he’d already ordered that the hospital wing on his private island in the Caribbean, be expanded; the Robotics and Actuation staff doubled.

  An Entertainment talking head had once gushed: His island hospital was in the forefront of Robotic body mods. World-renowned surgeons regularly did rotations through his clinic to bring in new tech or absorb the latest techniques and developments in robotic body mods.

  Those body modifications used to be pervue of only the wealthy, or the very old; their desire to utilize their money to enrich their last years with pain-free mobility. Now, following Janus, those who could afford it were sometimes modifying perfectly good organs, appendages and personal utilities. No one was even close to Janus though, in terms of the extent of body mods; the degree to which Janus researched and was prepared to go, (he had become the de facto, the leader in the field.

  Lily looked on as the technicians monitored the pressure after he’d been situated.

  No one except a very few knew just how much work he’d had done; not the press nor most friends. What he’d done rivaled anything done by the hyper-rich.

  The staff; all staff, were shown the most detailed and comprehensive non-disclosure, non-dissemination verbage she’d ever heard of. Sign it and be paid richly. Or not, and take a hike!

  After each show on that tour he had been pushed around in a low-grav chair, so he didn’t have to walk; didn’t have to add further stress his legs. By the time he returned home, the doctors and robotic people were discussing the possibility of extracting his already greatly modified knees and replacing them with knees specifically designed for a singer/dancer; the God of Pop.

  As his road manager , Lily had overheard him conferring with Dom, his closest advisor, who was also his uncle, who oversaw all his day-to-day affairs.

  “If I go forward with this idea, I could do knee drops from now until I’m too old and tired to pick myself up!” He grinned. “But with the advances in robotics and other improvements we’re making on my body, that day might never come!”

  Dom nodded, satisfied that his nephew was well on his way to the celestial heights afforded to a very, very few in Pop Music. After the last tour, he’d replaced his hips as well, but that operation, for some reason, wasn’t as successful as the knee surgery. He was constantly asking doctors for more flexibility; tweaking, fiddling, and complaining that his fluidity of motion wasn’t good enough.

  All these modifications were secret, of course. After the meteoric rise from poverty in suburban Columbus of Tyrell Washington, he’d changed his name. He’d changed nearly everything about himself, as if to widen the gap between his humble beginnings and what he’d become!

  In addition, he’d rapidly grown to be a recluse when not on tour. Hi
s mantra had become, “No one understands me; what I’m trying to do, and how damn hard it is to do it.”

  Lily nodded. She’d heard it all for years. ‘His quest for perfection.’

  And if he finally achieves that…Then what? She wondered.

  Some said that the rapid move to becoming a recluse was really because of the forty-year-old stalker from a trailer park outside of Cleveland, who somehow managed to get by security in her rusted, ancient SUV, and threatened him with a murder/ suicide if he wouldn’t marry her and consent to have a child with him.

  Soon after that incident, he began shopping for an island that could be made safe and very private with obstructions in the water, guard drones constantly patrolling the skies and all sorts of sophisticated security on land.

  Thus, ‘La Cuesta Encantada,’ or the Enchanted Hill, was born and built on that island, a ten-minute heli/hover flight over the Gulf of Mexico from the Janus Washington Airport in Brownsville, Tx.

  The press, of course, had a field day with all the seclusion, the disappearances, and the generally odd behavior. And, with the dearth of real information available, the press began actively speculating. Thus, the legend grew!

  Lily pondered her boss and the “gag” agreement that she’d signed. Fully half the things that the public thought that they knew about Janus were untrue, but Janus and his handlers were savvy enough not to correct the untruths, allowing his notoriety to rocket, towing his popularity along as well!

  lll It’s so hard to keep him happy while on tour, Lily fretted, after seeing to his care while in the Chamber. During tours, he could be unreasonable and testy; sulking if he did not get his way.

  Some things are beyond even the capabilities of Janus, and are the province only of Gods. Lily thought sarcastically.

  Sometimes he screamed at the band after the show.

  After the show!? Lily shuddered at the memory. When everyone feels great having given their best and they’re exhausted? That’s when you rip into your people? It’s crazy. None of us are machines. We all do our best, but it’s never good enough; good enough, for him.