by Jay Martel
Elvis shrugged. ‘Two days,’ he said and swivelled his chair so that it once more faced the distant reaches of space.
CHANNEL 12
THE BIGGEST STAR ON EARTH
‘What just happened?’ Perry asked, when he and Amanda were once more walking down a large lit hallway beneath the moon’s surface. Amanda didn’t answer; she pushed a screen into Perry’s face. On it were a variety of Renaissance portraits depicting Jesus Christ.
‘Which do you like?’ she asked. When Perry hesitated, she said, ‘Come on, Mr Bunt, you heard him, we only have two days to make this work. We have to start casting immediately.’
‘Are you serious?’ Perry asked. ‘That wasn’t a real idea. I was just stalling, trying to buy us a little time.’
‘Well, it worked,’ Amanda said. ‘Now we have to produce.’ They came to a bank of elevators. Amanda pressed the down button and with a soft chime, one of the elevator doors opened. They stepped into the car and she pressed 1. The doors slid closed and the elevator lurched up out of the moon and into space.
‘If we’re going to have a chance, we need to present Steve with his heavenly vision when he wakes up, which is one hour from now.’ Amanda pointed at a sombre Jesus on her screen. ‘What do you think? Vengeful enough? Or should we go for something a little more, you know, apocalyptic?’
Perry was so overwhelmed by questions he couldn’t focus. ‘Elvis was a producer for Channel Blue?’
Amanda, restraining her impatience, explained that when Channel Blue’s ratings sank in the fifties (‘Even the wars were boring,’ Amanda noted), Elvis Presley, then a mere segment producer for Galaxy Entertainment, came up with the idea of encoding the message ‘Have Sex and Go Crazy’ into sounds that could be broadcast to Earthles. This message became so popular that Elvis was sent to the planet to broadcast it personally and eventually became the star of his own show.
‘A lot of our field producers end up celebrities in your culture,’ Amanda said. ‘It’s one of the hazards of stirring things up, I guess.’
‘Like who?’
‘Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Fatty Arbuckle. When their contract with the channel’s up, they get “killed off” and go onto their next gig. Not Elvis, though. He stayed on and worked his way up to President of the channel. He’s like me – a true Earth fan. This whole finale’s tearing him up.’
Perry was unimpressed. ‘Not enough for him to stop it.’
‘He’s giving your show a shot, isn’t he? Here we go.’ Amanda held up a portrait of an angry Jesus wielding a large sword. ‘This is our saviour.’
Perry couldn’t help having terrible misgivings about his half-baked idea. ‘Look, even if by some miracle Steve Santiago became a saint, and everyone else on Earth became caring and considerate, wouldn’t your viewers get sick of that, too? Isn’t Channel Blue built on how selfish we are?’
Amanda considered this. ‘The sheer novelty of Earthles behaving decently would definitely attract viewers. Then, yes, you’re right – eventually people would get bored and stop watching. But at least they’d take no pleasure in seeing you destroyed. There’d be no ratings bump to that at all.’
As the elevator entered the upper reaches of Earth’s atmosphere, Amanda relayed instructions on the appearance of their Jesus to the special effects department. Perry heard a familiar ringing from his pocket. He dug out his cell phone and noticed that he had three messages, all from GALL. The phone rang again and Perry answered it. ‘I have Dana Fulcher calling for you,’ spoke an imperious voice, and before Perry could make his excuses and hang up, his agent was purring in his ear.
‘Perrrrryyyyy, where have you been?’ Dana Fulcher of Global Artistic Leadership Limited was using her overly friendly voice, the voice she used when she was heated in pursuit of someone or something that she wanted. Perry had never heard it directed at him before. ‘We’ve been literally tying ourselves in knots trying to get a hold of you.’
In the interests of brevity, Perry chose to let Dana have her egregiously figurative ‘literally’.
‘I’ve been busy,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
Dana laughed as if Perry had tickled her while telling her the funniest joke in history. ‘Oh Perry, you are too much. “The Last Day of School” is what’s up. I’ve set up pitches for this afternoon.’ Perry guessed that Dana had run his movie idea by someone in a greater position of power, and that someone had liked it. His failure to return her calls had then created a false sense of urgency, which, in Hollywood, was really the only kind.
‘Sorry,’ Perry said. ‘I’m busy.’
There was a confused pause. ‘Busy?’ Dana said, barely able to conceal the incredulity in her voice. ‘With your teaching?’ The word ‘teaching’ was said with such a perfect combination of condescension and disgust that Perry had to take a moment to marvel at it.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Something else.’
‘What is it?’ Dana said. ‘What’s more important than selling a script?’
‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘Is it another project?’ Dana’s voice sounded both annoyed and hurt.
‘Yes,’ Perry said as he watched Los Angeles spread out beneath him. The elevator was plummeting towards Ventura Boulevard.
‘Oh Perry,’ Dana said. ‘Tell me you aren’t doing TV again. Please tell me that.’
The elevator slowed as it slid back into the roof of the Galaxy Entertainment building. ‘I’ve got to go,’ Perry said and hung up. The doors slid open and Amanda charged out. Perry followed her and came face to face with... Jesus. The famous Nazarene glowered and held a magnificent sword over his head. Perry gasped, taking a step backward. An attractive red-headed woman stepped out from behind Jesus.
‘What do you think?’ the woman asked.
‘Let me hear a line,’ Amanda said.
‘Steve Santiago!’ Jesus bellowed with a deep, metallic voice that sounded like it had been recorded at the wrong speed. ‘Thou art a terrible sinner!’
Amanda seemed unimpressed. ‘Isn’t Jeff available?’
‘He is and he isn’t,’ the redhead said. ‘You know Jeff.’
‘I can work on the line,’ Jesus said. ‘I just got the script thirty seconds ago.’
‘I’ll let you know,’ Amanda said and took off down the hall at a trot.
‘You’d better hurry,’ the redhead called after her. ‘We go to air in twenty.’
Perry scurried to keep up with Amanda. ‘Where did Jesus come from?’
‘He’s a facsimilon,’ she said. ‘They’re a species of shape-shifter – kind of like your jellyfish but a lot more sophisticated. We often use them for visions, dreams and hallucinations. Most of them are expert visual mimics, but their imitations of the human voice are always a little dodgy. And they need scripts – they can’t improvise at all. Jeff is the best we have, but he’s temperamental. Fortunately, he owes me a favour.’
Amanda stopped at a door with a star on it and rapped sharply. There was no response. She opened the door and stepped in. Perry followed her into a small room, illuminated solely by the small round lights surrounding a make-up mirror against one wall. In front of the mirror, draped across a small platform, was what appeared to be a white terrycloth towel. It quivered when they entered the room.
‘Jeff, I need your help on this,’ Amanda said, addressing the towel. The towel, in turn, emitted a cacophony of low noises that sounded like the rumble of a train through mud. Amanda shook her head. ‘You know I can’t understand you like that.’
The towel groaned with impatience. It rose into the air, expanding and contouring, colours racing across its surface in patterns until, to Perry’s complete shock, Amanda’s twin stood in front of him, identical down to the smallest freckle on her nose.
‘I’ve told you several times,’ the twin said in a tinny voice deeper than Amanda’s, ‘no more Jesuses, no more Yahwehs, no more Angels of Death, no more ghosts. You know how limiting they are. You know how easy it is to get pigeonholed.’
‘I do,’ Amanda said. ‘And you have so much more to offer, Jeff.’
‘Thank you,’ said the second Amanda. ‘Would you tell the idiot executives that? All they want are icons and archetypes. There’s no depth there, there’s nothing to play.’
‘I tell them all the time,’ Amanda said. She took both of her twin’s hands and gazed directly into her eyes. ‘You know how much admiration I have for your integrity and the quality of your work.’ Perry watched in disbelief as Amanda reached out and smoothed the blonde hair of her twin. She seemed to be flirting with herself. ‘And I’m not asking you to do this lightly. But we need you on this pilot and it’s a rush job.’
Amanda’s twin sighed. ‘Why must I always save these thrown-together productions? Why?’
‘Because you’re the best,’ Amanda said. ‘And it’s not all gloom-and-doom. Remember who I cast to play Freddie Mercury in the Prime Minister’s sex dream?’
The twin chuckled. ‘Oh Amanda, I just can’t say no to you.’
Amanda smiled. ‘You’d better get going. You have your lines and the address?’ Amanda Two nodded. ‘Then break a leg.’ Amanda and her twin cheek-kissed, which Perry found titillating, despite its unfathomable strangeness. A panel in the ceiling opened and sunlight pierced the dark room. Amanda’s twin melted, falling away until all that was left was a small dark mound on the floor. This mound trembled briefly until the shape of a large crow emerged from it. The crow squawked loudly, hopped once, took flight and soared up through the opening in the ceiling.
Perry was still staring up at the open ceiling when he realised that Amanda was already out in the hallway, the sounds of her shoes clicking away from him. He tore after her and caught up. ‘That was incredible. Does he always turn into you like that?’
‘They have an easier time communicating if they assume the appearance of whomever they’re talking to,’ Amanda said.
‘Where do they come from?’
‘There’s no time for questions, Mr Bunt. We’re about to go live to air.’ Amanda arrived at a door marked Control Room D and pushed it open. Perry followed her into a dark room dominated by screens that lined the walls. Technicians silently worked at a console in front of the largest screen, which showed Steve Santiago sleeping peacefully in his hairnet and sleep mask. Amanda guided Perry by the elbow through the darkness to the second console, where a large green slug creature covered with eyeballs sat in a swivel chair.
‘Guy,’ Amanda said, ‘this is Mr Bunt. He’s the writer.’
The slug creature nodded the top portion on its slithery head and around half of its eyes focused on Perry. ‘I never forget a face,’ said the creature. The wide slit at its base flattened itself out into what appeared to be a smile. ‘Welcome to the team.’
‘We’re lucky to have Guy directing our pilot,’ Amanda told Perry.
‘Oh stop,’ said Guy, oozing a viscous yellow liquid that poured down one side of its gelatinous green body. While Perry fought the urge to gag, Amanda steered him to the console at the very rear of the room, where Nick Pythagorus was already seated. In front of him was a bottle wrapped in a festive ribbon.
‘Amanda,’ he said. Amanda nodded curtly. ‘We’ve got our A team on this one. We’ll make it work.’ Nick smiled at Perry, who noticed that the boy executive still had some of his baby teeth. ‘Congratulations on the pick-up,’ he said, sliding the bottle down the console towards Perry. ‘I obviously underestimated you.’
Perry examined the bottle.
‘Cassiopeian Burgundy,’ Nick said. ‘The best wine in the galaxy. You might as well know that a lot of people around the station have been very sceptical. “A show by an Earthle? Are you crazy? That’ll never work! What a stupid idea!” But I believe in you, Mr Bunt. I think we may have a hit on our hands.’
Perry smiled, unsure. ‘Thank you.’
‘Quiet, please,’ one of the technicians said. ‘Three, two, one... cue heavenly vision—’
On the screen, a shimmering pool of light appeared at the base of Steve Santiago’s bed, accompanied by ethereal sounds. Steve stirred and opened his eyes. The pool of light congealed into the form of Jesus Christ, complete with white robe, sword and a deeply furrowed brow. Perry noted that this Jesus seemed even angrier than the one he and Amanda had met in front of the elevators.
Amanda leaned forward to Guy. ‘Nice effect,’ she told him.
The director chuckled. ‘Just wait till he starts waving that sword.’
‘Is that Jeff?’ Perry asked.
Amanda nodded. ‘He’s the best.’
‘Steve Santiago!’ On the screen, Jesus bellowed in a basso profundo that shook the control-room speakers. The Jacuzzi salesman sat up in bed, pure terror on his face. ‘I have come for thee!’
Steve fell onto the floor and, quivering all over, pulled himself up on his knees. ‘Lord?’
‘Thou art a terrible sinner!’ Jesus shouted.
Tears sprang from Steve’s eyes while an unmistakeable wet patch spread in the crotch of his boxer shorts. ‘Yes, Lord,’ he whimpered. ‘Yes. I am.’
Amanda turned to Perry, her eyes filled with excitement. ‘This is good stuff,’ she whispered. ‘Steve never soils himself. The mere thought of it horrifies him.’
Jesus glared down at the trembling sinner. ‘While I gave my life to redeem you, thou hast shown me nothing but wickedness,’ he intoned. Steve nodded his head, sobbing plaintively.
Amanda leaned forward to Guy. ‘I care nothing for your womanly tears,’ she said.
‘I care nothing for your womanly tears,’ Jesus on the screen said, eliciting another crying jag from Steve.
‘Take it on home,’ Amanda said to Guy. The director’s towering head nodded.
Jesus waved his sword and a fierce roar shook the walls of Steve Santiago’s townhouse. ‘I will blot out you and all of Man from the Earth!’
Steve moaned, beyond terrified. ‘Please no! Please just... give me another chance!’
‘There is only one way in which my hand will be stayed,’ Jesus said. ‘That is if you, Steve Santiago, undertake to change yourself from evil to good. Will you do this?’
Steve nodded his head fervently. ‘Yes, Lord. Yes!’
‘You make this vow right now before me, to lead a life of righteousness?’
‘Yes, Lord! I swear it!’
‘Then I will give you this one chance,’ Jesus spoke, and with a whirl of his sword, vanished from Steve Santiago’s bedroom.
Steve stared at the spot where Jesus stood, blinking incomprehensibly. He rose slowly to his feet on shaking legs and walked into the bathroom.
A whoop of celebration went up in the control room. ‘Did you see him?’ one of the technicians said.
‘We’ve got a hit!’ Guy said, many of his eyes widening in excitement.
‘Fantastic!’ Amanda said. She hugged Perry and he nearly passed out from sudden, ecstatic joy. ‘We couldn’t have asked for a better start.’ Perry couldn’t believe it – yesterday he’d been a poor screenwriter without a single production to his name. Today, not only had one of his scripts been produced, it was being shown throughout the galaxy, reaching an audience of which the greatest writers in Hollywood could only dream.
‘Hold on,’ Nick said. The boy executive was watching one of the smaller monitors. ‘Put the bathroom on the main screen.’ The large centre screen filled with the image of Steve Santiago bent over the bathtub, using his fingernails to pull a tile off the wall. The control room fell silent.
‘What’s he doing?’ Perry said.
‘He’s got a peephole that looks into the shower of his neighbour,’ Nick said, unable to conceal his glee. ‘The amazing thing is, she’s fifty and weighs 200 pounds.’ Nick pulled the bottle of wine from Perry’s hands. ‘You won’t be needing this. I knew it wouldn’t work.’ Perry gaped at him, confused by his sudden change in tone. ‘You don’t get it, do you? Your show’s done. Finished. Understand? You’re cancelled.’
Perry turned to Amanda,
who, for the first time in Perry’s memory, appeared shaken.
‘It didn’t work,’ she said. ‘Steve couldn’t change for five minutes, much less a series.’
The two copbots entered. The tall guard’s face was still crumpled around the chin where Perry had yanked it off the previous day.
‘Take him to the Green Room,’ Nick said.
The tall guard smiled and grabbed Perry by the collar. ‘With pleasure,’ he said. ‘Say goodbye, Earthle.’ Before Perry had a chance to, however, he was yanked from the room. The last thing he saw was Amanda’s face watching him go, suddenly pale in the light of Steve Santiago’s bathroom.
CHANNEL 13
CANCELLATION
Once more, Perry found himself in a Galaxy Entertainment elevator. But this time, the car was plummeting into darkness. Flanked by the two robots staring straight ahead, Perry contemplated the sudden cancellation of his first and seemingly last show, as well as the dire consequences thereof. He was being taken somewhere awful to die, that much was certain, and the fact that the entire planet was also doomed didn’t make it any easier. His thoughts flew far afield. He thought of his best friend from the second grade, the first person he’d ever known well who’d died. On his eighteenth birthday, the friend had drunk too much beer and fallen off the back of a tractor into a threshing machine. At the time that Perry heard the news of the tragedy, death seemed completely abstract, like Mongolia or any other foreign country you’d never visited and never planned on going to. But then, in the last couple years, he’d been provided with ample opportunities to contemplate his mortality, since professional failure in Hollywood expertly simulated death: you lost everything, including your friends, and were forced to move to a less desirable place.
He thought of his parents. He wished now that he had called them more often. He’d always put off calling until he had some good news to tell them. But for the last two years he hadn’t had any. And now this. At least they wouldn’t have long to contemplate their son’s short, unfortunate life before the world ended. And it gave him no small comfort that they would never know of his final failure, when the Earth had come falling towards his outstretched glove and he had dropped it.