Life in a Fishbowl

by Len Vlahos

  “Honey,” Andersona said when the cameras stopped rolling, “you’re going to win an Emmy for this.”

  Jo hugged Andersona and then winked at Jackie, who, at Andersona’s invitation, had been sitting in the corner, recording the entire scene with her iPhone.

  ***

  At first, Hazel Huck figured the letter from Jackie was some sort of prank. But there it was on YouTube, the premiere episode of The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon. It was more of a home movie than it was a television show, but it was still captivating to actually see Jared Stone and his family behind the scenes.

  She sat down and wrote a quick note back to Jackie, thanking her for the letter and telling her how much she admired what she was doing. She included her e-mail address.

  Ten minutes later, Hazel was logging in to Azeroth, sharing the The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon link with all two hundred of her guild members.

  ***

  The day after Jo Garvin came to dinner, Jared slipped into an uneasy sleep on his office futon. Glio, who was becoming less brain tumor and more Jared every day, continued the unstoppable assault on his host.

  Having dined on the vast catalog of memories from Jared’s early life, and bored with the more recent offerings, Glio turned his attention away from memories and focused instead on other parts of the brain. Glio swam from the hippocampus to the cerebellum, which controlled some of Jared’s more basic motor skills and bodily functions.

  First he feasted on the neurons that regulated control over Jared’s bowels and bladder; then it was the grouping of cells that moved Jared’s blood in that narrow band of acceptable pressure; and finally he sampled a small piece of the complex pattern of neurons that controlled Jared’s balance.

  It was interesting to Glio, but not satisfying. He swam back to the hippocampus and munched on memories of Jared’s favorite movies like they were popcorn slathered in butter and salt.

  ***

  When Jared woke from his nap, he found that he had soiled himself. It was the first time it had happened, and it was, he knew, a sign of how far his disease had progressed. He stood up to go to the bathroom and clean himself off and immediately fell back to the ground with a thud.

  “What the fuck,” he was able to mutter.

  He gathered his wits as best he could and pushed himself up on his hands and knees; he crawled to the bathroom, where he more or less collapsed. Jared knew he should probably call for Deirdre, but he was too embarrassed.

  “Cancer,” he said aloud, “is a bitch.”

  The cool tile of the bathroom floor on his cheek gave Jared confidence; he propped himself upright and steadied himself with the sink. After a miserable fifteen minutes spent struggling out of his clothes, rinsing them off, and then getting into the shower, he was clean and felt a little refreshed. He was still dizzy, and he could feel his heart race every time he stood up, but the worst of it was behind him.

  With a Herculean effort, he made it to the bedroom, where, after shoving his wet clothes under the bed, he collapsed face-first onto the pillow and fell asleep.

  Jared’s secret stayed intact for exactly five hours, until Life and Death aired that night. The cameras had caught everything, including the “Cancer is a bitch” line, right up until he closed the bathroom door. It all ran before the opening credits.

  After the first commercial break, Deirdre’s face filled the screen. You could hear Andersona off-camera. “So what did you think when you saw Jared crawl to the bathroom?”

  Deirdre’s eyes welled up. “I’m not going to do this.” She stood up, took off her lapel mic, and left.

  As they watched the episode that night on the couch together, Deirdre wouldn’t make eye contact with her husband. She did reach out for his hand, keeping her stoic eyes on the television screen. When he felt her touch, Jared realized Deirdre was passing him a note.

  They watched the rest of the episode in silence. When it was over, Deirdre kissed his cheek and went to bed. Jared took the note to the only safe room in the house—the bathroom—and read it.

  “Jare, don’t ever keep something like that from me again. We should go see your doctor. And don’t ever forget that they’re always watching. The more boring we seem, the sooner they’ll go away.”

  But Jared knew that wasn’t true. He knew there was only one way the American Television Network was leaving the Stone house, and that was over his dead body.

  ***

  The second episode of The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon was far more sophisticated than the first. In editing Jackie’s new footage—of the crew, of the Stone family, of the house—Max did a masterful job mimicking the format of Life and Death. He cut disparate snippets of dialogue together to make them appear as if they were from one conversation; he used a narration Jackie had recorded, superimposing it over a variety of scenes that led the viewer to believe she was trapped in a strange kind of nightmare. The crowning achievement was the interview with Jo Garvin. Max did a split screen comparing the footage that aired (Jo crying) with Jackie’s footage (Jo wink- ing in delight at the thought of her Emmy). The truth of the situation was unmistakable: viewers of Life and Death, at least in that one interview, had been hoodwinked. This was documentary filmmaking at its very best.

  The episode aired two days after America watched Jared crawl on all fours to the bathroom. Thanks to Jackie’s letter-writing campaign, thanks to social media, and thanks to Hazel spreading the word through Azeroth, The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon had one thousand viewers in the first hour, twelve thousand by the following morning, and one hundred fifty thousand by nightfall that same day.

  It had gone viral.

  ***

  By sheer coincidence, Ethan Overbee was already in Portland when the second episode of The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon made its debut. While America was lamenting the steepening decline of Jared’s health, Ethan was thinking two steps ahead. He knew that the star and centerpiece of his show, the most viewed show in the history of television, was on a collision course with a hospital, and once Jared was out of the house, all bets would be off.

  Ethan also knew that denying Jared medical care would be tantamount to murder, and while that would make for good television, it wouldn’t resonate with the sponsors. If he couldn’t let Jared go to the hospital, he would have to bring the hospital to Jared. It was during his research into Portland area medical facilities that Ethan had his moment of inspiration.

  The only religion to which Ethan subscribed was the adoration and worship of power. The common misconception was that people like Ethan were in it—whatever their particular “it” might be—for the money. They weren’t. They wanted control. If you had control, money came naturally. The vast sea of the American middle class was certain it worked the other way. Get money, get power. It’s why they had “get rich quick” schemes and “dreams of avarice” for their most aspirational thoughts. They should have been called “get powerful quick” schemes, and “dreams of control.” Rubes, Ethan thought about Middle America, when he bothered to think about them at all.

  Ethan presumed that Cardinal Trippe, who was playing host to Ethan in the parish’s modest office, would understand this perfectly. It didn’t matter what kind of organization a person was in, Ethan believed, you didn’t get to the top without some amount of clawing and scratching. Power was power no matter where you were. What Ethan didn’t understand was why this combative and entirely unlikable nun was in the room, too.

  “Mr. Overbee,” Sister Benedict was saying, “your show is an affront to the very dignity of human life. It—”

  “Please, Sister,” the Cardinal interjected. “I’m sure Mr. Overbee saw our press conference.”

  “In fact, Your Eminence”—Monique had briefed Ethan on the proper thing to call a Catholic Cardinal—“it’s why I’m here today. I think we can help one another.”

  “Your Grace,” the Sister began, continuing to push her agenda. But the Cardinal, with a gentle, paterna
l touch, patted the nun’s wrist, and she backed down. Yes, Ethan thought, power.

  “Mr. Stone is, as you know,” Ethan said, “gravely ill. He’s coming to the point soon where he will need to be hospitalized.”

  “And that would be bad for your television show,” the Cardinal added.

  “Exactly. With Mr. Stone out of the house, we won’t have much of a show at all. So I was thinking, what if we brought the hospital into the house? I’ve done some research, and by all accounts, Saint Ignatius is the best medical facility in the city, and if I understand correctly, it is governed by the Church.”

  “Interesting. But tell me, Mr. Overbee, given our public stance on your show, why would we want to help you?”

  “Yes, why?” Sister Benedict couldn’t help but add her voice to the conversation.

  “First, it will put the fate of this man’s soul in your care.” Ethan had written that line down and memorized it. “Second, you will be able to preserve his life for as long as your doctors are able. And third”—here Ethan put his hands on the desk and leaned in—“the publicity for your parish will be unprecedented.”

  The Cardinal shook his head. “Mr. Overbee, I appreciate why you’re here. You need to sell advertising dollars, and you concocted this scheme to both neutralize our criticism and help your show at the same time. Right?” Ethan, who was normally impervious to such things, was caught under the Cardinal’s spell.

  “Yes, Your Eminence, something like that.”

  “While we cherish all life, we don’t have any desire to interfere with God’s plan for Mr. Stone. If it is his time to be called home to our heavenly Father, then it is not for our Church or your television station to interfere.” Ethan noticed the nun visibly bristle at this. “Nor do we care,” the Cardinal added, “for the kind of publicity your show is generating.” Ethan was starting to think he’d miscalculated and had run into a dead end.

  “However,” the Cardinal continued, “I am willing to arrange for medical care to be provided to Mr. Stone in his house, to keep him comfortable and ease his suffering as he exits this world, but I have conditions.”

  Ethan felt the ground grow solid beneath him. He was back in familiar territory. “Not to be crass, Cardinal Trippe, but how much?”

  The Cardinal’s eyebrows arched in such surprise that they nearly left his forehead, and then he laughed. “No, no, Mr. Overbee, you misunderstand me. We don’t want your money. We want your show to pay heed to Mr. Stone’s spiritual as well as his physical well-being.”

  “You don’t want money?” Ethan was so flummoxed that he didn’t quite know how to react.

  “We want your viewers to see Mr. Stone’s soul prepared for its journey into the hereafter. We want religion injected into the narrative.”

  Ethan wanted to laugh. He wanted to hug this foolish priest and his troll-like nun and thank them for restoring his faith in all the things that he, Ethan, found holy. “Of course, Your Eminence. We can feature a short segment each night where a priest tends to Mr. Stone’s—how did you put it? Spiritual well-being?”

  “Very good,” the Cardinal answered. “Only, I wasn’t thinking of a priest.” At this, Ethan followed as the Cardinal turned his gaze to Sister Benedict. The nun, for her part, looked for a moment like she’d been slapped, then she looked like she’d won the lottery.

  Ethan sized her up. She reminded him of the alien in E.T. He knew instantly that her approval ratings would be in the sewer, but that was okay. America liked to have someone to revile. Yes, he thought, this could work. “Welcome, Sister,” he said with a smile like a jackal, “to the cast of Life and Death.”

  One problem down, Ethan thought, one to go.

  ***

  The knock on Jackie’s bedroom door woke her up. She was pretty sure she knew who was on the other side.

  Three hours earlier Jackie was in the kitchen being accosted by Andersona. The Life and Death producer exorcised no small number of personal demons through the verbal lashing she gave Jackie. The rant was loud enough and long enough that Andersona had to be restrained by another member of the crew. “How could you post that shit online?” she was shouting as she was pulled away. “I let you be my friend, you fucking bitch!”

  “Bet they won’t show that on TV,” Jackie muttered to herself as she retreated to the safety of her room and stayed there. Her parents were out visiting her father’s doctor, and Megan wasn’t home, so Jackie was, for all intents and purposes, trapped.

  When she found Max online, he was bubbling over.

  Max

  Solnyshko! Have you see how much people watch our video?

  Jackie

  Hi, Max. I did. It’s pretty good.

  Max

  Pretty good? More than 100,000 people, and she says pretty good!

  Jackie

  I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s great. You did such a good job on it.

  Max

  Nyet, Jacquelyn, WE did good job, together. Are you not excited?

  Jackie

  Well, Andersona was pretty mad. I feel kind of bad about it.

  Max

  No, Solnyshko, Andersona is enemy. She is one who make your father look bad. She spins web of lies.

  Jackie

  Are we any better?

  Max

  Yes, we show truth. Pravda!

  Max was right, Jackie knew, and it was making her feel better. Still, she was certain there would be repercussions, and not knowing what they were was hard. She said as much to Max.

  Max

  What is repercussions?

  Jackie

  It means consequences. That I will be punished.

  Max

  Your parents will punish you?

  Jackie

  No, the network.

  Max was quiet while he processed that. Jackie had shot some footage that morning (though she hadn’t been able to capture Andersona’s outburst), and she tethered her phone to download it.

  She and Max spent a few more minutes chatting, talking mostly about the shots he wanted her to get for the next episode of their YouTube show, and then bid each other good-bye. It was the middle of the night in Russia, and Max needed sleep. Not knowing what else to do, Jackie lay down on her bed, where she dozed off.

  Then came the knock on the door.

  She propped herself up on her elbows. “Who is it?” she said.

  Ethan opened the door and peeked around its edge. “May I come in?”

  Jackie shrugged.

  Ethan entered the room and sat down on the lone chair. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He nodded at the Mean Girls poster.

  “Great movie,” Ethan said.

  “I know why you’re here, Mr. Overbee,” Jackie answered.

  “I don’t think you do.” He locked his eyes on Jackie’s face, making her squirm.

  “You’re not here to yell at me? About The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon?”

  “Would it do any good?”

  Jackie didn’t answer. She wasn’t really sure where this was going, and there was something in Ethan’s demeanor that made her even more uneasy than usual.

  “Maybe my parents should be here,” Jackie said.

  “Maybe, but they’re not home, are they.”

  Again, Jackie didn’t answer.

  “You know,” Ethan began, “you’ve probably ruined Jo Garvin’s career. She’s got two kids. Did you know that?”

  Jackie didn’t know that, but she thought that if Jo really loved her kids, she might have at least mentioned them during dinner.

  “There never was any school project for your videos, was there?”

  Jackie stared at her hands.

  “Want to play it quiet? Okay, we can do that, too. What I don’t understand, though, is how you managed to so successfully shield the identity of your YouTube account.”

  He didn’t know about Max. Jackie felt a jolt of adrenaline; she controlled a piece of information that this man, who seemed to know everything, didn’t
have.

  “No matter,” Ethan said, standing up. “YouTube account or not, you can’t make movies without this.”

  Ethan reached onto her desk, unplugged her iPhone, and pocketed it.

  “Hey!” Jackie yelled, alarmed.

  “Sorry, kiddo, you lost the privilege.”

  “That’s my phone.”

  “It was your phone, Jackie,” Ethan said, opening the door, “but now, everything in this house, everything on this set, belongs to me. And, Jackie?” He waited a beat to make sure he had her full attention. “One more episode of your show goes live, and I’ll do a lot worse than take away your phone.”

  With that, he turned and exited.

  ***

  Later that night, Jackie told Deirdre what had happened. Her mother went through the roof. She screamed at the director until he agreed to get Ethan on the phone.

  “Now, now, Deirdre,” Ethan said, trying to stop her from shouting, “Jackie is overreacting. It’s true, I did take her phone away, but I’m sure you understand why the network can’t have any more unauthorized behind-the-scenes escapades. It would be good for you, her mother, to remind her of that.”

  “Mr. Overbee,” Deirdre began, her bear claws fully extended and ready to protect the interests of her cub, “I assure you—”

  “And, Deirdre,” Ethan interrupted as if he hadn’t heard her at all, “one more thing.”

  Deirdre had a sick feeling in her stomach.

  “Beginning tomorrow, the American Television Network, pursuant to the terms of your husband’s contract and in coordination with the Saint Ignatius Hospital of Portland, will assume the responsibility for Jared’s medical care.”

  “What? You can’t—”

  “Good night, Deirdre. I’ll be on the set this week if you want to talk about it further.”

  The line went dead.

  ***

  Sister Benedict Joan entered the Stone house as if she had lived there all her life. She was amazed to see how much of the space had been converted to a television set. The images projected on-screen made it seem like any other house, but such was the lie of the medium. Over the years, the Sister had caught glimpses of other reality shows—usually clips from Real World, or Big Brother, or The Amazing Race, shown by guests on The Duke Hamblin Show—and now she wondered if anything on television was real.