He laughed. His laugh laughed. Those apple cheeks. He was made of pie, that’s how happy Reagan looked. So happy Wendy thought they might both start to cry.
I guess you know why I invited you, he repeated.
My mom never got over you, she said.
Reagan asked her if she was Christian.
Well, Wendy said, my mother was Jewish so …
What happened to her?
She passed away. Angina. Second act of Inherit the Wind community production.
Oh, how sad.
I was sixteen. Been on my own ever since.
And your father?
You’re my father.
Reagan blinked. Of course, he said. Of course. I blanked for a moment. The president sat back in his sofa and brushed flat his suit pants. Well, I know it’s hard. Some say life is a pickle we endeavour to turn back into a cucumber.
Mom never talked about anything other than showbiz. Always showbiz. To her, the stage was God.
An aide knocked, delicately opened the door. He pointed to his wristwatch and mouthed a few words.
Reagan nodded, and when father and daughter were alone again, father sighed and said this would probably be their one and only chance to meet.
So Wendy asked the president if he had any questions for her, and he laughed and said, Will that cat detective Tom Clues ever catch his culprit?
Yes, said Wendy. If you’ll give me a kiss.
They flew home that night on Hexen’s private 747—this long cylinder seemed very hollow, and they kept to separate areas. Frank didn’t speak to her except politely to suggest she take a sleeping pill. He was poring through contracts with his interns looking for a solution in upcoming mergers and acquisitions. There was no way he could quit. The idea was appalling, that was the word he used. He looked appalled. Shaken to the core, eyes bloodshot, toupée aslant.
She didn’t tell him about her meeting with Reagan; he didn’t ask. Frank seemed to forget she’d even had a meeting. He was so absorbed in his strategies.
The attendant offered to thread a movie for her when she didn’t go right to sleep, so Wendy spent the night slumped in a leather chair watching Hollywood action films alone with a sketchpad in her lap and a bowl of buttery popcorn.
To us it was astounding. She had done it, she’d met the president. And he claimed her as his daughter, denied nothing, and even felt something.
I feel for Frank, she told us when she got home. He’s a mess. He went straight from the hangar to his office. I don’t think he knows how to deal with bad news. I feel very peaceful, though. I met my father. It wasn’t what I expected at all. It happened so quickly and yet it left such a lasting impression. I feel like I walked through a door in myself. It could have been a disaster like Frank and I wouldn’t know until I was out the door. But when I came out of the Oval Office I felt light on my feet and calm. The calm didn’t last but I feel more connected to myself having kissed him.
STRAYS
37
Frank never came out of panic mode after his one-on-one with the president. He was at his desk in the Transamerica Pyramid twenty hours a day in an attempt to do what the president could not, and use his weight in the bonds market, his financial acumen and salesman’s smooth tongue, his lobbyists, his Hexen team and his half-formed financial quango, all to influence the politicians who wanted to see a curb to the credit market.
That whole month, ABC aired commercials every hour for the upcoming cartoon special, five times an hour primetime. The trailer flashed a montage of our animation with the theme music and a voiceover that promised viewers Look out, Santa! What better way to find out the true meaning of Christmas than to try celebrating in the summer? That’s what your favourite animals from Strays seek to find out.
TV Guide put Wendy on the cover in between her characters and the headline Are You Ready for Christmas this July?
Then, two days before the National Cartoonists Society Awards, a letter from Solus First National arrived at No Manors to notify Wendy that the interest rate on her mortgage just spiked thirty percent. The same day a courier arrived and asked her to sign for an official letter from the United States Senate asking that she appear before a subcommittee in Washington, D.C., tomorrow.
Out came the Motorola. Her palms were soaked. Her jaw was gnashing. She never used the phone attached to the wall in the kitchen anymore. She walked in and out of No Manors using the cellular, distracted, in a blind panic. As soon as he picked up she said, Frank, I just got some things in the mail today I need you to explain.
I got one, too. A letter to appear before the subcommittee on blah blah blah.
What is this? D.C. is across the country.
A fishing expedition, Frank said. We have to go, though. I alerted the pilots to warm up the 747.
Okay so hold on, listen, before my aneurism. Second thing. Suddenly my mortgage on No Manors is up, and by up I mean thirty percent up— from last month. Any idea what’s going on?
There was a pause on the line and she heard a truck’s horn bleat. Then Frank told her, Wendy, listen, go cash out as many stocks and bonds at Solus as you can and cash out your chequing account. Whatever else. They’re going belly up. The credit market is in a fast-freeze. Go talk to Chimney right now. Put the screws to him if he resists. Can you do that? Bring luggage to pack up the money. Put the money and copies of your cartoon special and whatever else you value in the bedroom safe. Right away.
Jesus. Who pulled the emergency bell?
Wendy, the economy is walking drunk along the ledge of a tall building right now.
Gee, make me grind my teeth again or what, Frank.
Once this dip is done dipping, all will be fine. Jonjay’s formula predicted this, as always, and saved me. Can’t move all the money out of the way of this but some. It sort of is hell. Meanwhile, caught up in the middle of a political witch-hunt. For becoming a powerful and formidable opponent to the old bluebloods running things in Manhattan, you and I must now go do penance, and act docile and incapable in front of this subcommittee of kangaroos. To wound me, they drag you into the fray. However, it’s all for show.
We better be home in time to see my premiere, she said. I don’t want to be stuck in a hotel room for it. I want to be at No Manors, drunk.
One day. In and out. We’ll be home in twenty-four hours.
Frank, for once I need you to tell me the truth.
This is the truth.
No, I know something’s going on. You ask for my trust, then I need to know the whole unvarnished truth. Otherwise I’m liable to be persuaded what this subcommittee claims to know about you.
Okay, said Frank. I’ll tell you everything and you can decide for yourself.
What follows are the questions members wanted Wendy to answer at the hearing before the House Energy and Commerce Committee’s Oversight and Investigations Subcommittee:
Rep. John Dingell, Michigan, Chairman: The Chair wants to emphasize that the subcommittee’s proceedings today are neither civil nor are they criminal. The function of the subcommittee today is to make a series of inquiries. The Chair will observe that these are not criminal proceedings. The constitutional rights of the persons appearing before the committee will be very, very carefully protected with equal care and equal vigour. Our intentions today are legislative in nature and concern the adequacy and effectiveness of our laws. The Chair recognizes the honourable representative from Virginia, Thomas Bliley.
Rep. Thomas Bliley Jr., Virginia: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. The hearing today and the hearing scheduled for tomorrow are for the purpose of examining possible irregularities in the trading of high-yield bonds. Specifically with respect to transactions between an underwriter and affiliates of the underwriter. We are making this examination through a study of three particular cases involving the firm of Hexen Diamond Mistral. The high-yield bond market has exploded in the last few years as these securities are increasingly used for a variety of corporate purposes. Our objective is not to debate the val
ue of high-yield bonds generally. Their economic importance, in my view, is indisputable.
John Dingell, Michigan, Chairman: Miss Ashbubble, are you aware of why you have been asked to appear today before the House Energy and Commerce Committee’s Subcommittee for Oversight and Investigations?
Ron Wyden, Oregon: I’d like to start the questions by asking how long you have known the junk bond banker Frank Fleecen?
Dennis Eckart, Ohio: Where did you first meet Frank Fleecen?
Jim Slattery, Kansas: Are you, or have you ever been, a Satanist? Let me rephrase that. Are you, or have you ever been, in league with the devil? Just one more follow-up question. Have you ever signed any pacts with the devil or been part of any secret witches’ covens?
Gerry Sikorski, Minnesota: Have you ever practised any of the following: sodomy, rape, incest, cannibalism, or murder? Think carefully before you answer.
Rich Boucher, Virginia: Have you ever buried a child alive, or been buried alive in a ritual sacrifice to Satan? Have you eaten human flesh? And how can you be so certain about that?
Jim Cooper, Tennessee: Have you ever met with Anton LaVey or any members of, or visited, the Church of Satan? What is the nature of your relationship to LaVey and the Church of Satan?
Thomas Luken, Ohio: What is the meaning of No Manors?
Doug Walgren, Pennsylvania: Did you or did you not partake in a ritualistic ceremony at Dystonia Manors in the spring of 1981?
Thomas Bliley Jr., Virginia: Were you, or were you not, at one point, invited to and accepted to eat the flesh of a man dead of AIDS?
Norman Lent, New York: When did you first sign a contract with Frank Fleecen? Dan Coats, Indiana: What is your relationship to Frank Fleecen? I mean, bedroom-wise. Are you sleeping together? Have you ever?
Michael Oxley, Ohio: Did you ever take stock or bond tips from Frank Fleecen? Can you name your investments and holdings?
Michael Bilrakis, Florida: Did you reinvest in Lupercal Inc.? What reason did you have for buying stocks and bonds in Lupercal Inc.?
John Dingell, Michigan, Chairman: I have here before me a copy of a twenty-two-page comic book called The Mizadventurez of Mizz Biz Aziz, issue number nine …
Jim Slattery, Kansas: I have here a sworn affidavit from a witness who testifies to an occasion in 1982 in which you forcibly compelled a small Christian child to paint a satanic symbolism on your garage door. Can you confirm the truth to this? Using black magic mind-control, did you force a god-fearing child to scrawl satanic imagery on your garage door? A simple yes or no answer will suffice, Miss Ashbubble.
Gerry Sikorski, Minnesota: How many times a month would you say you sleep as in sex with Frank Fleecen?
Rich Boucher, Virginia: Would you characterize Frank Fleecen as your business manager? Are you laundering profits for him through secret numbered accounts? As a follow-up I’m going to throw a few of Frank’s clients’ names at you and you tell me if you recognize any. Would you recall for the subcommittee the times you might have seen Frank Fleecen conversant with a bond salesman named Ralph Glassman, an arbitrageur named Quinn Kravis, or the fragrance entrepreneur Jon Jay?
Thomas Luken, Ohio: Do you make your investments at the advice of Frank Fleecen? When did you first start to buy and first start to sell bonds? If you’re not making them, are you aware of trades going through your accounts at Locus Solus First National?
Doug Walgren, Pennsylvania: I have here before me a small glass phial, if you will, labelled Ruthvah ~ scent of Crowley ~ for Men—what do you know about this cologne, Miss Ashbubble?
Thomas Bliley Jr., Virginia: Frank Fleecen is more than your business manager, isn’t he? What’s that like?
Norman Lent, New York: I fear some of my other subcommittee members would like to paint you with the same brush as is being used on the child molesters in the McMartin preschool trial, the employees in the ongoing trial of their purportedly satanically abusive preschool in an affluent neighbourhood of Los Angeles. As a grandparent, I agree we must all be on guard to protect children from the influence of this modern age’s cults, superstitions, feminisms, cynicism, and subjective liberalism, but I can’t tolerate a witch-hunt. Once and for all, let me be the one to set the record straight—do you or do you not use your daily comic strip Strays as a satanic mind-control tool to turn our small children into devil’s slaves?
Michael Bilirakis, Florida: This leads me to ask, are you, or were you not also secretly born and raised in Canada? And in the very same satanic Canadian city as Dr. Pazder’s original patient, Michelle Smith?
Dan Schaefer, Colorado: Did you or did you not bury your mother in the same cemetery as where Michelle Smith remembers being buried alive by Satanists?
John Dingell, Michigan, Chairman: All right, we’ve each had the chance to ask questions. Let me just say on a personal note, Miss Ashbubble, that my entire family loves your comic strip, and knowing what I do about you now, I feel personally abused. You have exploited our trust in you for subversive motives and I can no longer read the funny pages confident they’ll be a safe, wholesome place to laugh at a slice of life. Before we conclude, are there any other last questions from subcommittee members for the witness?
Rich Boucher, Virginia: Yes, I have one quick question I don’t think any of us asked. Are you lying to us about anything you’ve said here today, Miss Ashbubble?
Norman Lent, New York: Okay, last chance, so let me repeat Rich’s question, Miss Ashbubble. Are you lying to us?
38
The National Cartoonists Society Awards were held on the last Friday in June. Five days left. We remember the day of the awards because it was five days before the premiere of The Strays Summer Christmas Special and there must have been ten of us going to the ceremony in San Diego. Wendy got tickets for us and Frank, and we all flew in Hexen’s company airliner. Piper and his wife would meet us there. Gabby Scavalda wouldn’t miss this either. After months of debate, Wendy settled on a Kaisik Wong gown, Versace heels, and handmade handbag. Meanwhile, we were dressed in five dollars’ worth of thrift store formalwear. Biz wore a tiara, a vintage silk Chanel dress from the Jazz Age the colour of champagne, fishnet stockings, and heels with buckles to match.
I want to thank the world who gave me life, Biz hissed as she walked through the crowds with us towards the bar, tickling the chins of strangers and talking to no one in particular. I’d like to thank the man who showed me what stupid is and what ain’t. I absolutely got to say a thank you to Hick Elmdales wherever you are, you supported me when nobody else did. I must thank all my queens, alive or dead, wherever you are. Fuck AIDS, she said.
Biz downed two martinis in quick succession. Tipped the bartender and ordered another, turned about-face and walked between two stunned assistants for Tom Ryan’s Tumbleweeds and made her way to our table.
Smooth Patrick was doing double duty tonight as a nominee’s assistant and the creator of his own strip, Loch & Quay, nominated for best new strip. He was chuffed to say the least. Dressed in sunglasses and leather jacket to contrast the scotch white shirt and black tie. He carried a motorcycle helmet to the table. Smoothie also brought a date, she came on the back of his motorcycle. Her name was Clara, she was a talent manager for the Chula Vista rock band Murder, about to release their debut Sham Sandwich on an imprint of the record label SST. He wanted Clara to meet Rachael as soon as possible because it was only by telling her in the supermarket that he knew Aluminum Uvula that he got her to come with him on this blind date tonight.
Do you have a manager? said Clara as she wedged her chair in between Twyla and Rachael.
Patrick didn’t take off the aviator sunglasses. Was my category around in your strip’s first year in syndication, Wendy?
I don’t know. Yes it was, I guess. Wendy turned her back as Bill Watterson walked right behind her through the mingling guests. She preferred to pretend not to see him over the anxiety of pre-awards hellos— her conscience could handle the antisocial deceit. His conscience chose the polite lie,
too, apparently, or he was blind in his peripherals. She knew without having to be told, he must be nominated for cartoonist of the year as well. She imagined the same thought might have crossed Watterson’s mind.
Oh, hi, Wendy, Bill said in his gentle Midwestern songbird’s voice. Wow, it’s been years …
All of a sudden she realized Bill Watterson’s face was right there in front of hers. He looked like the exact kind of slope-shouldered librarian she invariably had a crush on when she was in her teens. His eyeglasses were the size of television screens and required almost nonstop attention to keep from slipping down the wide onion bulb of his nose.
Oh my god, Bill! I haven’t seen you since Calvin and Hobbes launched— it is so good I can’t stand it. You’re the—I’m serious—(whispering so Charles Schulz, who was nearby, couldn’t hear) the absolute best on the funny pages. I mean in my opinion of course. Sheesh, I’m excited every morning to read it. Makes me want to commit.
Aw, she-whiz, said Bill Watterson and ducked his head low, muttered a gracious thanks, and said how he’d almost given a strip after nearly twenty pitches when all of a sudden Calvin got picked up.
You should tell that to Patrick, he’d cheer up.
Hey, I can’t wait to watch that special I’ve seen so many commercials for. It sounds really funny. What a terrific spin to have your characters discover Christmas but get the time of year wrong. And you made it yourself. That I like. Normally I think these things end up being big long commercials for stuff kids don’t need. And the voices are all wrong.
Well, I hope you like it, Wendy said. You could have a cartoon so fast with your characters. Oh my.
Naw.
Naw? Yaw! Seriously. Where are all the Calvin toys? I want to buy them. Your characters are going to be stamped on everything. You’ll be a bzillionaire, Bill. A monster money monger.
Maybe, but I kinda say no to all those offers.
No? As in, Naw? Really, to all? You accept none? said Wendy and took a drink from our hand and belted it back. But, but, but, nine-tenths of my income is toys and stuff.
The Road Narrows As You Go Page 41