by Tim Dorsey
I know the rules, snapped Serge. And the overhead bins are full. Its like a Rubiks Cube. Serge dumped the bags contents in his lap. Coleman, start stuffing this shit in your seat pocket. He turned to the businessman. You using that pocket?
Huh?
Thanks.
When it was all stowed, Serge flattened his carry-on and crammed it next to the gym bag at Colemans feet. There. He successfully stretched out his legs and smiled. He folded his hands in his lap again. A moment passed. Serge glanced at the man next to him, then Coleman.
Could have sworn I requested a window seat.
Whats the matter with that one? asked Coleman.
I cant see America. Its a five-hour flight, and two centuries of eminent-domain history will be just out of view. The Louisiana Purchase, Davey Crockett, the Sooners, the Gadsden Purchase everybody forgets that one the gold rush, and finally the Pacific Ocean, sea to shining sea! Ill tell you what: If I was doing business work and not looking outside, Id give up my seat. Thats what Id do. Yes, sir, I sure wish someone would trade me their window seat. But you cant expect people to be psychic they dont know how much Id love to look out the window! Because if they did, they sure would offer to trade
Excuse me, said the businessman. Id be happy to trade seats with you.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not! said Serge. Wouldnt hear of it! Dont want to inconvenience
Okay. Serge jumped up, and they awkwardly squeezed by each other.
The man opened his organizer and began writing again.
The jet taxied across the airfield and pivoted at the end of a long runway. The engines started revving. Serge tapped the businessman on the shoulder. Know what I like to do on takeoff? Pretend to be a couple of guys from way back in history. You know, people whove never even seen an airplane. And when the wheels leave the ground, you talk like they would
The jetliner began rolling down the tarmac, slowly at first, then rapidly picking up speed, eighty, ninety, a hundred miles an hour. You be Thomas Jefferson. Im Aaron Burr. The nose of the airplane angled up as they left the ground. Tom! Tom! What the fucks going on? Why is this happening? Were in the stomach of a big bird!
Okay, they just retracted the landing gear. You dont have to be Jefferson anymore.
The man tried to appear occupied with his work.
So, youre a businessman, said Serge. But youre sitting back here in coach. Good for you. To hell with people thinking youre not successful. I hate the snobs in first class. They think theyre better, but theyre just hurting themselves, lounging in those big seats while attendants tong out hot towels in a manner that makes the rest of us want to vote for Democrats. What do you do for a living? Okay, Ill go first. Im in the movies. Well, not yet, but thats just a formality. Im going to bring the film industry to Florida. Why, you ask? Ill tell you. Guess what the biggest-grossing film in Florida history is. Are you trying to guess? Tick-tock, tick-tock, times up! Deep Throat. Four hundred million dollars and climbing. Right! I agree with you completely! Are blow jobs the first thing we want people to picture when we mention Florida? Serge punched the seat in front of him, knocking the passenger forward. Absolutely not! I mean, youre from this fine state. I know that because I peeked at your stuff there. No, we definitely dont want blow jobs! No cornholing, no around-the-worlds, no tittie-fucks, pearl necklaces, muff diving or golden showers. No brown ones either yuck. I say, All of that off the table! Coleman disagrees with me, of course, but thats why its a free country. Disney had it right before he died and they turned his dream into hell with long lines. Yes, good, clean entertainment for the whole family. Thats my vision for America. But since porn has surfaced in the conversation, I want to talk about the movie Wonderland. Youve heard of John Holmes, right? The adult film legend? Had a shlong the size of a Wiffle bat. Something like two thousand X-rated films on his résumé. But theres more to the story. Much more
Sir
Serge looked up. A flight attendant was standing in the aisle. Yes?
Weve had some complaints. There are small children
Children! Serge jumped to his feet. Whats happened to them? How can I help?
Off-color language. Some passengers found it offensive
I find it offensive, said Serge, jerking his head around. Whos doing this?
Uh
you are.
What?
Oh that. Its okay. The words were used self-referentially. I needed to establish the paradigm in order to smash it.
Please try to be more careful.
I just told you Im already on the team.
The flight attendant walked away. Serge sat down and leaned to the businessman. Shes having trouble getting her arms around the paradigm. Where were we? Right, John Holmes. Ever hear of the Wonderland Massacre? Most people havent. But that case is to the eighties what Manson was to the sixties. More than grisly crime scenes, they were metaphors for their times. Half of L.A. was coked out of its skull. Crazy parties at the Starwood Club and all over the Hollywood Hills, including this little home on Wonderland Avenue. Then they found four dead bodies, savagely attacked like theyd scratched Ryan ONeals car. A chain reaction of drug rip-offs, and Holmes was involved. So he fled. Where to? You guessed it! Florida! Holed up in the Fountainhead Motel at 16001 Collins Avenue. Ive stayed in the room, for spiritual reasons. Cant tell you how excited I was when I heard they were making a big movie starring Val Kilmer. Then I watched the thing and know where it ends? Holmes fleeing east on a California highway. No Florida at all, just chopped off that part of the story like they couldnt bear to share the spotlight. Jealousy is an ugly thing.
The businessman forced a grin and opened his laptop. He plugged it in to the telephone receptacle on the back of the seat in front of him.
Serge leaned for a closer look. Wow, they have AeroLink on this flight! Costs like a million bucks a minute, doesnt it?
Oh, youre trying to do work, arent you? Ill leave you alone.
Serge reached in his seat pocket and pulled out a sleek white gadget. He stuck it between the mans face and his laptop screen. Its an iPod. Serge pulled it back and began pressing buttons. Holds ten thousand songs. Im only up to nine hundred. I cant stop thinking about it
Sorry, forgot. Youre working
Serge sat back and pressed buttons, rearranging his L.A. playlist. He leaned to his left: Listen. I know youre busy but could you do me a favor
A minute later, the businessmans head hung in surrender. His laptop sat on Serges knees, plugged into the iPod.
Thanks! Ill just be a second. Need to download some music. Dont worry you wont be charged. Unless they find out your account was used to steal music; then it could get steep. But how else do they expect me to ever get to ten thousand?
Oh, no. Hold everything. Theyre asking for a user name and PIN number. Whats happening to the world? Our whole lives are now user names and PIN numbers! How do you remember all yours? I sure cant! I started using the same ones every time, but I decided that was just an invitation for identity fraud and then
Serge patted the wallet in his side pocket
youre forced to use other peoples credit cards. So I began coming up with a bunch of arcane stuff that I can never recall, and then I have to hit the Forget your password? button, which retrieves the hint question I set up my account with. For extra security, I use trick questions that even I cant guess, in case Im interrogated. Okay, what should my user name be? Ill try this
Shit. Has to be at least eight characters. How about this
Damn. Must be letters and numbers
Colem
an leaned across the businessman. Try Bootycall69.
Serge typed it in. Already taken
The businessman stuck a tiny pillow behind his head. Im going to take a nap.
Good thinking, said Serge, continuing to type. Three-hour time difference. Jet lag will screw up your circadian rhythms every time. Except mine are naturally three hours ahead. Lucky genes. So dont worry about a thing. Ill stand watch. If anything important happens, youll be the first to know.
The man snuggled his head into the pillow and closed his eyes.
A minute passed. The man felt someone shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes.
I have to go to the bathroom.
HOLLYWOOD
A yellow Malibu sped east on Santa Monica.
Where are we going? asked Ford, changing lanes to pass traffic backing up outside the Formosa Café.
Redondo Beach, said Pedro. Incredible party. Second best in L.A. tonight.
Whats the first?
Wills place.
Will who?
Dont know, said Pedro, keeping his for-the-road cocktail below window level. We were there last week. Asked the bouncer, but he would only smile and say, Will. Incredible spread, like the Hearst mansion in San Simeon. Courtyard full of bizarre zoo animals wandering around Greek statues.
It was off the hook, said Mark. All these hot chicks passed out by the guitar-shaped pool and in the giant maze of shrubs. The basement had a panic room where everyone was smoking dope.
Ford stopped at a red light. If thats the top party tonight, why arent we going there?
Because of what happened last week, said Mark.
We ended up in the library, said Pedro. Everyone was completely wrecked. I tried to score with some babes by standing on a Louis the Fourteenth chair to do an Astaire dance move. You know, where Fred puts his foot up on the back and gently tips the chair over and steps down into a pirouette. Except the back snapped off and I crashed into an antique chess set. Some of the pieces broke, too. I was afraid they were going to try to make me pay, so I gathered the evidence in my shirt and found a balcony and began throwing chair parts and bishops over the side. Then someone started screaming down below: My chair! Guess that was Will. Time to leave. Thats when I tumbled down the big curved marble staircase. We couldnt find Ray, because hed lost consciousness out back in a pile of emu shit. So we split in a limo, and Mark said something that pissed off the chauffeur, and he gets put out of the car on the side of the Ventura freeway and falls asleep in weeds below an overpass and wakes up with that rash on his face. Tino was the only one who made it home with me but doesnt remember about the welts or how one of his ears got packed with food. It was starting to get light out when Dallas showed up with some speed, and then were driving to Mexico and found a pharmacy with chickens running around and an old lady behind the counter who looked like Lee Trevino and would sell us anything, and we took so much Darvon we went deaf.
Deaf? said Ford.
Little fibers in the hearing canal get paralyzed, like Rush Limbaugh, said Pedro. Theres already a language barrier at the border, and on top of that Im shouting at the Mexican customs cop: What? I cant hear you! What? So now we cant get back in the country. Had to stay until the effects wore off and lost two days pay. Then it turns out my spill down the stairs was worse than I thought, and I have to wear this wrist brace for six weeks, but they gave me more Darvon. Which reminds me, Ford, how come you dont party?
THIRTY-SIX THOUSAND FEET
The businessman in seat 42B opened his eyes. Someone was shaking his shoulder again.
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
The mans head turned in alarm. What is it?
I found SkyMall magazine in my seat pocket! said Serge. I love SkyMall! Isnt it the weirdest? Like this item: The last flashlight you will ever need! How can they make such a bold claim? I must have one. Wait. Heres a personal executive submarine
Oooo! Look! Look! Look! Theres the shore of Texas! Just made it across the Gulf of Mexico, so the flotation devices cant help us now. Ever seen the Alamo? Big, big disappointment. Right in the middle of downtown, much smaller than youd think. Id given up looking for it and pulled into a Taco Bell and hit this statue that some jokers had stuck in the middle of the drive-through. Thats right it was the Alamo. Then I had to drive away fast
Cool! Theyre about to show the movie! Here they come with the five-dollar headsets. Serge reached in his seat pocket and put on the headset hed brought with him, then winked at the businessman. They think theyre dealing with children. Wonder what the movies going to be. Hope its a good one. Please, please, please!
Damn, its How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I tell you how: Take him to movies like this. Serge removed his headset. Know why I love cinema? Because it connects people total strangers who would otherwise wind up strangling each other. But we all share these common moments. Like in Five Easy Pieces when Nicholson is having that sandwich argument with the waitress and tells her to stick it between her knees.
The mans expression changed. Thats one of my favorite scenes of all time!
Mine, too! said Serge. I loved it so much I tried it the very next time I went to a diner, and you know what? I got the same reaction! Thats a sign of good writing.
The businessman was chuckling now. Whatd you think of his performance in Cuckoos Nest?
Randall Patrick McMurphy. RPM. Revolutions Per Minute.
Never realized that, said the businessman. Ill bet we like a lot of the same films.
See? Were bonding through the magic of cinema! said Serge. We just met and its like were old friends! Can I come over to your house and grill?
The mans smile drooped.
Youre right again, said Serge. Im rushing things. Here, I want you to read something extremely personal. He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a letter. Its from my dead granddad. Hey, whered page two go? Must have dropped it. Youll still get the gist. He handed it to the businessman, who began reading. Halfway down, his jaw fell. He finished and handed it back to Serge. Wow. Thats quite a story. I dont know how Id react if I was in your place.
Serge took the letter back. Its all Ive been able to think about. Well, not all. Stuff just jumps around in my head. Sometimes I cant turn it off. You fly a lot? What do you think of the new security?
Makes me feel safer.
Me, too, said Serge. But it really put the pressure on last night.
Whys that?
Figuring out how to get all my makeshift weapons through X-ray. Serge leaned and whispered. Im armed to the teeth.
The mans eyes grew large.
No, you got the wrong idea. Im not some kind of nut. Its for the terrorists. Serge leaned again and lowered his voice. We have to start thinking like they do. I mean, box cutters! Next time theyll come up with something even more unexpected, so we have to depend on our imaginations to stay ahead. Serge patted something inside his shirt. Did you know you can kill someone instantly with a standard pocket comb? Very unpleasant. You dont want to know. Just take comfort that if anyone starts lighting his shoe, row forty-two is covered.
The businessman reached up and pressed a button on the overhead console.
Serge stretched his neck and looked around the passenger compartment. I wonder who the air marshal is. It could be anyone
Serge stopped and looked at the man. Is it you?
Oh, no.
Because theyd never suspect with that stomach. Youd be perfect. And of course if it really was you, youd have to say no, so I understand perfectly. I wont make you uncomfortable by pressing the issue. He grinned at the man.
The man nervously grinned back.
>
So, said Serge. Is it you?
A flight attendant arrived. She turned off the assistance light over the middle seat. How can I help you?
Were three fairly big guys, said the businessman. I was wondering if any other seats might be available.
Im sorry, sir. The flight is completely full.
The attendant walked away. Serge shook his head. Im surprised at you.
But I was just thinking that
Serge held a hand up for him to stop. No need to explain. I guess I misjudged. He reached in his shirt pocket and slowly removed a comb.
The businessman shielded his face with the leather organizer. No! Please! Dear God!
Serge began combing his hair. You are a very, very considerate human being. You saw me having trouble adjusting my legs. How thoughtful.
The man cautiously lowered his organizer and peeked over the top.
I really lucked out with my seat assignment, getting you and all, said Serge. These coast-to-coast flights are a regular weirdo sweepstakes. Serge reached in the seat pocket and pulled out a tiny digital camcorder. He pointed it out the window and whispered from the side of his mouth: Keep a lookout.
What for? asked the businessman.
This is an unapproved electronic device
Fuck em
REDONDO BEACH
A convertible Malibu drove along the coast in a light evening breeze.
Theres the place, said Pedro.
Ford turned off South Catalina Avenue and pulled up to a ten-thousand-square-foot beach house. Cars were being valeted by men in white robes. The gang found themselves in the kitchen. Candles everywhere. More white robes. A loud whirring noise: blender on puree, people tossing in organic vegetables and LSD.
Ford walked over to Pedro. How come all these guys are wearing robes?
This is the headquarters for that cult. The one waiting for the seven-planet alignment.
Then whyd they let us in?