by Jeff Strand
I'm not sure how I would handle that. I suppose that as long as he wore his costume and stayed in character, so that Amy was having sex with Darwan instead of Jerry Previn, I'd have to be okay with it. I mean, if I had the chance to score with She-Hulk, I'm sure Amy would...
I force myself to return my attention to the panel discussion.
Halfway through the hour-long panel, I start to get impatient for the Q&A to begin. There are at least twenty people on each side, so a lot of Q&A dreams will be crushed, but even Amy is going to get shut out if they don't start A'ing some Q's soon.
As if he read my mind, though he probably didn't, Jack says that it's time to get to the question-and-answer portion of the program. Jerry Previn visibly deflates a bit.
The first person in the left-side line, a petite woman dressed as an anime character that I don't recognize (though at least I recognize that she's supposed to be an anime character) gives a shy wave to the panelists. "I just wanted to ask if Heleno will be returning before the show ends."
The audience makes various noises of approval. It was a good question.
It would seem, though, that the answer should be a) Yes, b) No, or c) I'm not telling, followed perhaps by a compliment about the actress who plays the role. It does not, when you initially hear it, sound like a question that is going to require twenty minutes to answer, especially when Blake Remark is the only one answering.
But it does. It takes him twenty minutes to answer this question. And the answer is, distilled to its essence, "I'm not telling."
They're going to kick us out of this room in ten minutes, and there are four people ahead of Amy.
Maybe they'll just do a lightning round and try to get through as many questions as possible.
The first guy in Amy's line explains that his question is for all of the panelists. What's their next project now that Exit Red is ending?
With two minutes left to go, only three cast members have answered. There is absolutely no chance of Amy getting to ask her question. When the hell are we ever going to see Blake Remark again? This is it. This is our only opportunity to do this.
To make this happen, I'll have to become what I despise most: the asshole audience member.
I'm not comfortable with the mindset that what I have to say is so much more important than what anybody else here wants to say...but it kind of is, isn't it? Doesn't a girlfriend who may not live to see the final episode of Exit Red trump most of the other likely questions?
I stand up and wave my arms over my head. "Mr. Remark! Mr. Remark!"
Thousands of nerd-heads swivel in my direction. Not one of those heads contains a face with an expression that says, "My, how wonderful it is that this gentleman stood up and interrupted the panel!"
Blake looks at me, clearly annoyed, and doesn't say anything.
"I need to ask you something!" I shout.
I can actually feel the waves of anger radiating from the audience members. Four thousand people who hate my guts. Four thousand people who can't believe that, even by the standards of PhaserCon, somebody could be this socially inept.
"My girlfriend Amy has a--"
I say all five of those words, but the last three are completely drowned out by the sound of booing. Four thousand mouths booing me at once, excluding those that are shouting for me to sit the fuck down. My face burns. My stomach hurts. I'm so embarrassed that I want to cry, although I remain self-aware enough to realize that crying won't help me feel less embarrassed.
I'm sure Amy is mortified. I can't bring myself to look over at her.
Instead, I plop back down into my seat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"Aw, crap."
--Exit Red (every episode except Season 2, Episode 7)
The audience stops booing me. Now that the crowd has made their disapproval of my interruption quite clear, Blake seems amused by the whole thing.
"I'm afraid we're out of time," says Jack. "Thanks everybody for coming!"
Jerry Previn leans over and whispers something to Blake. Blake looks at him, then in my direction, then gestures to Jack. "Hold on...can we have one more minute?"
Jack glances at his watch and shrugs. "Sure."
Blake points to me. "Stand up."
I stand up. I really wish I had a pocket mirror so I could watch for red laser-sighting dots to appear on my forehead.
It can't be healthy to sweat this much. The human body needs to retain some moisture on the inside, right? If this keeps up I'm going to start shriveling up like a dried apple.
"Jerry says you're on TV?" He asks this like a question, presumably meaning Are you on TV? and not Did Jerry say that you're on TV?
"Uhhhh..." I say. Obviously, Yes, I'm on television is the answer I should give, but if they ask any follow-up questions, they'll know I'm lying, and then we're more screwed than if Amy and I had never come to PhaserCon in the first place.
"The Breath Mint Man," says Jerry.
"Uhhhh..."
"Were you in Georgia this past weekend?"
"Yeah, actually, I was."
Jerry laughs. "I knew it. You look just like the picture. Reporters are trying to find you, buddy."
Should I play along or admit my complete ignorance? "I'm sorry, I don't have any idea what you're talking about."
"On Monday in Georgia this guy walks into his former workplace with a gun. He's going to shoot up the place, take out as many co-workers as he could, and then off himself. Everybody else has heard about this, right?"
Only a few people indicate that they've heard of it.
"He goes in, sits down at his old desk, and psyches himself up for a mass slaughter. And then he can't do it. His former boss finds him sitting there with a gun in his lap, crying. So of course the cops arrest him. They ask him why he changed his mind, and he says that after he got laid off he went to get some barbecue ribs to make himself feel better, and instead he wound up making a derogatory comment about your girlfriend and punching you in the face. He felt like an absolute piece of human crap for doing that, but you came over and gave him a Tic-Tac. A Tic-Tac, just to say, hey, no hard feelings, I know you're having a difficult time."
I'm in a state of shock, but I manage to nod. "I did! I gave that guy a couple of Tic-Tacs!"
"So, yeah, he sat there with his gun, and finally decided that in a world where he could be violently antagonistic to a stranger and have that stranger treat him with kindness in return, things didn't completely suck, and there was no reason to start killing people. You saved lives. I think he only had six bullets, so it's not like you saved dozens of people, but six is a pretty solid number."
"One of those deaths would've been the shooter himself," says Blake.
Jerry nods. "Yeah, but that still counts as a human life."
"And all six of them wouldn't have been kill shots."
"We don't know that."
"Was he a professional assassin?"
"I don't think so. It was a corporate office job."
"Then he was never going to get six kills out of six bullets. Even if they were just standing there in a row it wouldn't go bang, dead, bang, dead, bang, dead, bang, dead, bang, dead, bang, dead. There'd be some misses and injuries mixed in with the kills."
"Why are you downplaying this?"
"I'm not. Have you ever been shot in the arm? It's horrific. Absolutely horrific. If that guy--" Blake points to me "--prevented even one person from getting shot in the arm, then that's worthy of admiration right there. And what about office equipment? What if a stray bullet hit a printer? In this economy, businesses can't afford to go out and buy a new printer every time one gets shot up. I'm not downplaying his role in averting this tragedy at all. Well done, dude."
"Thank you," I say. I glance over at Amy, who seems to be in a state of shock even greater than mine.
"Anyway," says Jack, "we're over our time limit and there's another panel in this room, so we've got to wrap this up. Thanks to everybody for--"
"Hold on, le
t the poor guy ask his question," says Jerry.
The audience, which just one minute ago was filled with passionate hatred for me, is now cheering and applauding as if I were Joss Whedon. I still can't quite process what is happening, but I have to admit that the adulation is pretty nice.
The cheers and applause don't stop.
Time continues to pass.
Now I need the cheers and applause to stop.
I appreciate their support, but Jack is ready to shut this whole thing down. Even at my noisiest, I don't have the lungpower to shout loud enough to be heard over four thousand people. What am I going to do?
Strip naked?
No.
Why did "strip naked" even occur to me as a possibility? I should have come up with fifty or sixty other ideas before that one. Do I have a subconscious desire to strip naked in front of thousands of people? Am I secretly an exhibitionist? What other fun facts have I been keeping from myself?
I realize that the crowd has gone silent. Not because I have removed my clothes, but rather because Blake has done an I am the mighty Blake Remark, and when I gesture for you to go silent, you damn well better go silent gesture.
"Ask it quick," says Blake.
"My name is Todd Bryan. My girlfriend is Amy Husk. That's her in the Q&A line," I say, pointing to Amy.
Amy looks as if she's going to keel over at any second.
"She's your--" I start to say number one fan but I don't want to create any mental images of Annie Wilkes in Misery. "She's a huge fan. She's been watching from the very first episode, and she absolutely has to know how it all turns out."
"Is this leading to a question?" Jack asks.
"Yes, I promise. Amy has a brain aneurysm. The doctors don't know for sure when it's going to rupture, but they know she doesn't have much time left, and she may not live to see the last episodes. I've only known Amy for a few days, but I've already fallen in love with her..."
I trail off, because that's not at all what I planned to say. I knew I'd say it eventually, but I'd assumed that there would be about three thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-eight fewer spectators.
I've got to focus. "Anyway, what I'm asking is for you to do a favor for somebody who is an incredible fan but may not get to see how brilliantly you resolved everything." That was definitely brownnosing too much, but I can't take it back now. "I'm asking if it's possible for you to let her watch the final episodes before they air, just to make sure she gets to find out how it all turns out."
The audience is completely silent.
All of the Exit Red cast members are looking at Blake, waiting for his answer.
He strokes his chin.
I'm tempted to say, "Oh, by the way, I also had a heart attack," but that would be taking the plea for sympathy too far.
I think that even the inside of my nose is perspiring.
Finally, Blake chuckles and gives me a dismissive wave. "Nice try, dude."
* * *
The crowd files out of the auditorium and I stand there, not really in tune with my emotions. On one hand, I'm humiliated by the way this turned out. I looked like a complete moron. I failed Amy.
On the other hand...I stopped that guy Howard at Sandy's BBQ from shooting up his workplace! Holy shit!
When the crowd thins, Amy comes over and gives me a hug. "Well, we tried," she says.
"Yeah."
"I'm going to be weirded out by the whole Tic-Tic thing for a long time," Amy says. "So if I seem like I'm weirded out, that's the reason."
"I'll be weirded out right there with you."
"I told you not to give him one. If you'd listened to me, six people might have died."
"You didn't tell me not to give him one. You just sort of made fun of me for doing it."
"Okay, so if you'd been more susceptible to my teasing, there could have been a bloodbath." Amy seems genuinely upset by this revelation. "If I ever tell you not to do something nice for somebody who looks mentally unstable, just ignore me, all right?"
"I will." I give her another hug.
As we walk out of the auditorium, we're approached by a man in a black suit. He's in his forties, his hair is slicked back, and he looks very much like somebody you would hire to make people meet with a quote-unquote accident.
"Mr. Bryan, could I have a moment of your and Ms. Husk's time?"
I don't see any pistol-concealing bulges in his suit. "Uh, sure."
"I'm Bernard Riffen with SWK Entertainment. I'm sure you've seen our logo at the end of every episode of Exit Red. If your story checks out, my company would like to override Mr. Remark's hasty decision. Let's talk upstairs."
He takes us up to a very nice suite and offers us each a bottle of water and some chocolate chip cookies. I have never in my life declined an offer of chocolate chip cookies and I'm sure as hell not going to start now.
"Have a seat," says Bernard. Amy and I sit down on a leather sofa. Now I'm worried about getting cookie crumbs on such a nice sofa. I'll eat them later.
"Ms. Husk, I'm going to need the name of the hospital where you were diagnosed with the aneurysm. After I verify your condition, our legal department will send over a non-disclosure agreement the size of a phone book." He smiles. "I'm not saying it's strict, but trust me, having a brain aneurysm rupture is mild compared to the consequences of violating the terms." His smile disappears. "I hope you're okay with me making light of the situation in such a manner. I meant no disrespect."
"I absolutely am."
Bernard's smile returns. "You will, of course, not be allowed to discuss any details of what you've seen, no matter how minor, nor will you be permitted to disparage the content in any way until after the official airing. That means you don't get to talk about it with anybody, including Mr. Bryan."
"I don't get to see it?" I ask.
"Do you have a brain aneurysm?"
"No, sir."
"Then, no, you do not. However, as part of the terms of the agreement, you will accompany Ms. Husk in media appearances of our choosing. All media appearances related to this private screening, including television, radio, print media, and Internet, must be approved by SWK Entertainment. Do you wish to have an attorney present to look over the details of this agreement?"
"Do you think we need one?" Amy asks.
"As long as you understand that we pretty much own you after this, you'll be fine."
Amy nods. "I'm okay with these terms."
The chocolate chip cookies are amazing.
* * *
Bernard explains that we will not be permitted to walk around PhaserCon while we wait for him to confirm Amy's condition, because SWK Entertainment doesn't want us talking to reporters before they've issued a press release. Instead, we hang out in the suite, gorging ourselves with cookies.
I watch the news story about the Breath Mint Man. A sketch artist did a representation of me, and if that's really what I look like, then there are definite personal changes to be made. I mean, I know that my hair sticks up in the back, but is that really a major element of how the world sees me? How can Amy allow herself to be seen in public with somebody so grotesque?
At one point, Amy has to get on the phone to authorize the hospital to send over the X-rays, though first the hospital has to fax over a release form, which Amy signs and faxes back. The hospital doesn't have a digital file, so Bernard arranges for a courier to pick up the X-rays, scan them, and e-mail them to him.
Around nine o'clock, Bernard has some Chinese food delivered to the room. We eat it with three of the attending cast members of Exit Red.
Just before midnight, Bernard informs us that everything is set. We've signed the contracts, the marketing department has written up the press releases, and tomorrow morning Amy will get to begin her marathon of the final episodes.
"It may seem like we're overly paranoid about security," Bernard admits, "but paranoia is a recurring theme in Exit Red, so, hey, it works. You will be sleeping in this suite tonight."
It's a giga
ntic upgrade from the room we've got in the other hotel. We don't complain.
"Don't leave the room," Bernard tells us.
"We won't," I say.
"And the things you two might do when you think you're alone are probably not things you should do tonight. Just saying."
"We won't," Amy says.
"All right. Get plenty of rest. It's going to be an exciting day tomorrow."
* * *
We lie in bed in the darkness, holding each other. I'm very frisky, and I think Amy is too, but we remain completely chaste. Though the idea that there are hidden microphones and night-vision cameras in our room seems a bit farfetched, we both agree that we'd rather not be the stars of an adult video unless its exclusively for our private use.
"How much would it suck if tonight was the night the artery popped?" Amy asks.
"A lot."
"One final joke from the universe."
"You're being really cynical."
"Oh, I'm not saying that I think I'm going to die tonight. I'm just reflecting on how much it would suck if I did. To be this close? That would be brutal."
"Technically," I say, "if you believe in God and an afterlife, you've got to assume that they've got a pretty reliable DVR."
"You do have a point."
"And if the finale doesn't tie up all of the loose ends, there's probably a Heaven's Cut with bonus footage."
"Sweet."
Amy gives me a gentle kiss on the lips, then snuggles tightly against my chest. Within a couple of minutes her breathing becomes slow and steady.
I can't fall asleep.
I'm suddenly hit with a feeling of sadness more intense than anything I've ever felt.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and I'm doing everything I can not to make any noise, but I can't stop sniffling and trembling and if I don't pull myself together I'm going to wake her up.
"What's wrong?" Amy asks, raising her head.
"Nothing."