Pat Boone Fan Club

by Sue William Silverman

  In short, there was no Crow to point out that Sue’s father was a child molester. Had there been, Crow would have noted, as he does about City Limits, “There’s no place like home for the Holocaust.”

  FLASHBACK,INTERIOR. Actors costumed in circa mid-1960s clothes and hairstyles.

  Sue’s father, the new bank president, is officiating at the opening of the Saddle Brook Bank and Trust Company. Cameras flash. Champagne flows. Flower arrangements are situated on tellers’ windows. [“A long line at the petty larceny window,” Crow observes. “I’d like to deposit some guilt, mistrust, and denial.”] A family photograph is taken where Sue’s father stands between her and his wife, Sue’s mother. With his left arm he encircles Sue’s waist.

  [Voice-over (VO), Sue: “Look how happy we are!”]

  [VO, Crow T. Robot: “Define happy.”]

  Everyone at the party fails to see his tight grip, insisting that Sue smile, insisting this family portrait appear perfect. [“Well, you’re rich and white,” Crow interjects. “I don’t see a problem with it.”] If Crow were a silhouette in the corner of the photograph he would ask Sue’s father, “Are we evil yet?”

  Meanwhile, at the party, sounds of laughter. Champagne corks pop. Vaguely heard snatches of conversation: “What a wonderful mother,” says an unnamed pod extra.

  [Crow: “I don’t have a mother. I have an alligator.”]

  “And a wonderful father and husband, too,” says another pod.

  [Crow: “Yes, Satan speaks to me through this song.”]

  Drunken laughter.

  [Crow: “Vodka sandwiches for dinner!”]

  Quick glimpses of men pressing too close to women.

  [Crow: “Oh, no, there’re Kennedys on the planet.”]

  “What a lovely family.”

  [Crow: “These are not simple utilitarian lies that satisfy you and me on a daily basis.”]

  Of course I need Joel, too. He’s a nurturing figure, the good dad, who reads sections of the big book from Alcoholics Anonymous to the ’bots to ensure his little family stays spiritual and sober. Or, during breaks from the movies, he’ll tuck the ’bots into bed at night and read The Velveteen Rabbit. [“When slumber parties go bad,” Crow whispers.] Other times, he’ll teach them human character traits or tell them about life on Earth. “Back in the sixties,” Joel tells the ’bots, “it wasn’t uncommon for your mom to serve you a great big charbroiled steak while she smoked, drank a Tab, and made your dad another Manhattan for the road. And that was just breakfast.”

  FLASHBACK, THE RECENT PAST: M. and I sit at the dinner table in our home in Georgia. M. has the television turned to TBS, watching an Atlanta Braves baseball game while we eat. I flip through the mail, finding a bill from Randy, my therapist.

  “I don’t have enough money in my checking account,” I say.

  [VO, Crow T. Robot: “Yeah, boo-hoo, we all have problems.”]

  M., still watching television, says, “That’s because you only teach as an adjunct.”

  He knows that’s the only opening available.

  “Maybe you need to get a second job to help pay your bills. Work at Target. Anything,” M. says. “Or else stay home and have a baby, so we can be a real family.”

  [Crow: “Leering in from the back is chief editor of White Male Perspective, Wilhelm Studman, visibly upset with the intrusion of a mere girl into a man’s world.”]

  STAGE DIRECTIONS: The camera focus blurs before jump-cutting to present action where Rich, without winking, without irony, tells M. and Sue that the green-and-pink decor is sophisticated and classy. [“Either these drapes go, or we do,” Crow threatens.]

  I continue to channel surf until, finally, on channel 22, I find an episode of Politically Incorrect. This must be Comedy Central, since Politically Incorrect frequently airs after the morning episode of MST3K. This means the cable station in this neighborhood carries Comedy Central! This means maybe this house isn’t so bad after all! [“Sanctuary!” Crow cackles.]

  Rich ushers us out of the house. Consulting his list, he says, “The next place is in Ferrysburg, farther from the lake, but it’s a beaut in the popular subdivision of River View.”

  “But wouldn’t that be climbing down the ladder?” I ask, innocently.

  Rich forces a smile. “Just wait ’til you see it. It was built in the fifties, back when we were all worried about nuclear fallout and what have you, and you can’t get a sturdier house.”

  [“I’m the Angel of Death,” Crow hisses.]

  Rich pulls up to a brick house with a bay window. “It’s a spacious three bedroom, two bath. Open floor plan. Sliders off the dining area,” he demonstrates how they work, “that open to a beautifully landscaped backyard. Finished lower level.” Rich opens the door to the basement, which is pitch black. He tries the switch, but the bulb is burned out. [“Hey, it’s Boo Radley’s house!” Crow says, darkly.]

  M. and I walk around the house, devoid of furniture. Nevertheless, determined, I search for a television set. None is visible.

  “Do you think I could call the owners and see if they get Comedy Central?” I ask.

  “We don’t like clients contacting the owners directly,” Rich says.

  [“Allow me to knee you right in the groin,” Crow offers.]

  STAGE DIRECTIONS: Quick cuts to show Rich, Sue, and M. driving from one house to the next. The houses are clean, pristine, antiseptic. [“The parade of shame and wasted lives,” Crow pontificates.] During the tour, Rich also shows them various sites. Churches adorn a disproportionate number of streets, though there are no synagogues or mosques. All the shop windows sparkle in Grand Haven’s five-block downtown. Early spring flowers in window boxes are perfectly petaled. [“Let’s take you back to the days when DDT was safe,” Crow says, nostalgically.] Sidewalks are virtually deserted, almost as if citizens are afraid to dirty them by actually walking.

  Rich T. Realtor: “No gridlocks here. No traffic jams.”

  [“One thing about the apocalypse,” Crow opines. “Plenty of parking.”]

  Rich T. Realtor: “No teenagers getting in trouble with drugs. No violence.”

  [“How many times have you gone rooting through your junk drawer muttering to yourself, ‘Where have I put my gun?’” Crow wonders.]

  Rich T. Realtor: “We’ve got the Musical Fountain. Largest in the world. Coast Guard Festival every August. This is a beautiful resort-type area, yachting all summer, swimming, sand dunes, wildlife. People come here from all over the world to vacation.”

  [“Here at Phillips Petroleum we’ve found ways to replace the environment. Take, for example, these plastic self-cleaning ducks,” Crow instructs.]

  Rich T. Realtor: “And here’s the pièce de résistance.” He pronounces the French with a flat, midwestern accent. “Thought I’d save the best for last.” He parks in the driveway of a custom-built home.

  [“And now it’s our cross to bear,” Crow says, crossly.]

  Rich T. Realtor: “This classic, in the village of Spring Lake, has an open staircase with natural oak treads and painted risers winding around the great room with a fireplace and cathedral ceilings.” He points out features to M. and me. “Private office and computer center on the main floor. Spacious master bedroom with a large private bath . . .” [“And it can all be yours if ‘The Price is Right’!” Crow announces.]

  “How much would this set me back?” M. asks. He glares at me to remind me yet again that I don’t earn enough money.

  I look around but can’t find a television.

  STAGE DIRECTIONS: The sun lowers in the west over Lake Michigan to denote a break in action, time passing.

  INTERIOR SHOT: Rich, M., and Sue sit in Rich’s office. Rich is behind his desk, Sue and M. on wingback chairs across from him. General conversation ensues, reviewing options, deciding whether to make an offer or look at additional houses tomorrow.

  “I’m still leaning toward the ugly Victorian,” I say, “that we know gets Comedy Central.”

  Rich, in
an upbeat tone, tries to please everyone. [“Dying is easy,” Crow points out. “Comedy is hard.”] He acknowledges that, while it might need a paint job, and while it’s not on Lake Michigan, it is close to downtown, which, according to Rich, is still a step up the ladder—albeit not the top rung. He confesses (scraping of background violins) that he and his wife began their marriage in a two-bedroom ranch in a subdivision, before moving to a four-bedroom ranch, before restoring a Victorian, where they installed a Jacuzzi in the bathroom. [“Hey, you’re getting into a real weird area here,” Crow grimaces.]

  “Now, me and my family,” Rich gestures to a photograph (violins moan to a crescendo), “live right on the lake and own three boats.” [“Five more minutes with him, and I’ll open fire on a crowd,” Crow snarls.] “You’ll love this whole area.” He sighs deeply, with satisfaction. “There’s no nicer place in the whole of these United States.”

  “I want to put down a deposit on the last one,” M. says, caught up in the moment. “In Spring Lake.”

  “You can’t go wrong!” Rich says.

  “But I don’t know if it gets Comedy Central.”

  M. and Rich glare at me.

  “Okay, okay, why don’t we call the cable company and ask,” M. says.

  Rich digs out his phone book and dials the number. He hands the receiver to me, without a word, some of his enthusiasm fading. After going through a complicated automated voice system [“If you’d like to speak to the monster,” Crow instructs, “press one.”], a real person (though I’d prefer talking to a silicon chip) answers. I ask the cable company operator if they carry Comedy Central in Spring Lake.

  Cable company operator: “Not at this time.”

  Sue: “Might you at some time in the future?”

  Cable company operator: “It’s possible.”

  [VO, Crow: “When apathy ruled the world.”]

  Sue: “Do you know when that might be?”

  Cable company operator: “Not at this time.”

  Sue: “But when? What time?”

  [VO, Crow: “Something out there is beyond the limits of our knowledge.”]

  Cable company operator: “We don’t have that information in our computer.”

  I slam down the phone.

  “Christ, that stupid show,” M. says. “You won’t even remember it in a few months.”

  [“We’re getting you a lobotomy,” Crow threatens.]

  Rich, anxious for a sale, leafs through his realtor listings for additional houses. He holds up a photograph of another Victorian in Grand Haven, about three blocks from the psychedelic one. “This just went on the market yesterday,” he says. “I don’t have a price yet, but we could take a look-see. I think all of Grand Haven gets Comedy Central.”

  STAGE DIRECTIONS: Rich drives M. and Sue to Howard Avenue, to a house over one hundred years old. All the windows rattle. The refrigerator is located behind a door leading to the basement. The kitchen cabinets are scratched. Electrical wires protrude from walls in odd places. The basement is streamered with cobwebs, while a furnace shaped like the octopus in Bride of the Monster hunkers in a corner. [“All we need now is a plague of locusts,” Crow snorts.] Rich promises to find out the list price.

  Exhausted, M. and I check into our room at the Holiday Inn where we’re spending the weekend. I collapse on the bed, staring at the ceiling. M. changes into swimming trunks before heading to the hotel pool.

  Even I know that, regardless of the price, the house in Spring Lake is the safer deal—better resale, more reliable. You never know what you’re getting into with an old house, what with outdated wiring and plumbing.

  But what about Crow? [“We’re all going to die alone and afraid,” Crow says, realistically.]

  I retrieve my AT&T phone card from my wallet, deciding to call my therapist in Georgia. I’ve never called him at home before, have never had such a dire emergency. Can I really make a hundred-thousand-dollar decision based on a fictitious robot? What’s the meaning of life, anyway? I wonder, dialing the phone. [“I wanted to play hopscotch with the impenetrable mystery of existence,” says Crow, “but he stepped in a wormhole and had to go in early.”]

  Clutching the receiver, I explain the MST3K issue to Randy, telling him about the two houses under consideration. “The nicer house doesn’t get Comedy Central, and the one that needs a lot of work does get it,” I say. “I mean, I know Crow’s just a robot. But . . .”

  [“We’ll always have Encino,” Crow reminds me.]

  “But what does he mean to you?” Randy asks.

  “Family,” I say, without hesitation. “But a good one.”

  “Given how unsafe your father was, of course you’d want to live—”

  “On the Satellite of Love,” I interrupt. Pausing, I glance at the blank television screen in the hotel room, almost as if I can see Crow. “Sure, Joel and the ’bots joke around all the time, but they really love each other.”

  [“I can hear my heart breaking,” Crow sighs.]

  “I don’t see anything wrong in buying the house with Comedy Central,” Randy says.

  “But my husband’s so angry. He thinks it’s ridiculous to make a decision based on . . .”

  [Crow, butting in: “Honey, why can’t you just once let me take over the world?”]

  “Still, you’re moving all the way to Michigan just for him,” Randy says.

  The next morning Rich phones to tell us that the house on Howard Avenue is twenty thousand dollars less than the one in Spring Lake. M. and I discuss the two houses while eating breakfast in the hotel dining room.

  “That settles it,” I say. “It makes financial sense to buy the Victorian.”

  “But we’ll spend that much fixing it up. And the Spring Lake house is a better investment.”

  I glance down at my plate, at the untouched food, shaking my head.

  “Fine, then,” M. says. “But you’re going to have to earn more money to fix it up.”

  [“It’s after the apocalypse, dickweed,” Crow notes. “No one’s hiring.”]

  SUE AS THE GODDESS OF EXPOSITION: We return home to Georgia from the weekend in Michigan. I’m resigned to the fact that we are definitely moving. In preparation, I videotape every episode of MST3K. I need to possess every movie, even though we buy the house on Howard Avenue with Comedy Central. [“Sad, really,” Crow says, sadly.] At some point, after all, the show might be canceled. It might go off the air. A freak storm might knock out the cable. Besides, you can never tell when you might need a Crow fix—night or day. I must be prepared with a stockpile of MST3K tapes for all emergencies, all contingencies. [“In case there’s no Supreme Being,” Crow confirms.]

  By moving day I have about fifty tapes of MST3K, with two or three movies per tape, for a grand total of 132 episodes. I, of course, am pleased to possess probably the largest private collection of bad movies in the history of the universe. While I allow the movers to take the artwork, my best shoes, the set of china in their van, I, myself, carefully place all the MST3K tapes in a special suitcase that will accompany me in my car. I refuse to let Crow out of my sight. I can’t bear to be separated from him for a minute.

  STAGE DIRECTIONS: The pages of a calendar flip through a year. The trees outside the windows change from green to red to bare branches to green once again.

  ADDITIONAL STAGE DIRECTIONS: A wide-angle shot of the Victorian house on Howard Avenue in Grand Haven. INTERIOR: Some rooms are empty or sparsely furnished. The camera moves in for a close-up of Sue sitting alone on the couch in the living room. It’s clear she’s totally alone, that M. is gone [“Don’t worry,” Crow reassures. “We had him put down.”], that they’ve divorced. [“We can’t have a plot twist this late in the movie!” Crow grouses.] The only light in the house comes from the television. She watches the end of It Conquered the World, tears streaming down her face.

  SKIT OF JOEL AND THE ’BOTS IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THE END OF IT CONQUERED THE WORLD, STARRING ROBERT GRAVES: Joel, Crow, and Tom Servo have left the thea
ter and are now in the living room of the Satellite of Love. Crow wears a plaid bathrobe, Tom Servo a red one. Joel, holding a dinner plate, feeds them. He slides a spoonful of food into Crow’s open mouth before turning to Tom Servo. A nurturing mood is conveyed. Background music from It Conquered the World plays, while the camera remains on Joel and the ’bots.

  They, themselves, are now watching a television set while listening, for a second time, to the voice-over of Robert Graves as the final credits roll: “He learned almost too late that Man is a feeling creature. And because of it, the greatest in the universe.” Music soars. “There can’t be any gift of perfection outside themselves. And when men seek such perfection they find only death, fire, loss, disillusionment. Men have always sought an end to toil and misery. It can’t be given. It has to be achieved. There is hope, but it has to come from inside.”

  “Talk about it,” Joel says. “You’ll feel better.”

  [“We’re all going to die,” Crow points out.]

  I want to be in my bathrobe. I want to sit beside Crow. I want Joel to offer me a spoonful of food. I see no irony that this moment between a human and two robots—with a sentimental voice-over from a B movie—is the most loving moment I’ve witnessed on television. This is the true American family. Not the Cleavers on Leave It to Beaver, not the Nelsons on Ozzie and Harriet, not the Andersons on Father Knows Best. [“Shallow stereotypes of midfifties sociopaths,” Crow dictates.] And certainly this family on the SOL is more real, more loving than families like mine, where parents hurt their children while pretending to be perfect. More real than my marriage, where we thought a new job, a new home, a new state would make us whole.