"Looks like fun, bro." Quinn patted Simon on the back. "Great hook."
Buck Brooklyn, head of D.I.L.L., who had her arm around Quinn's shoulders, raised her eyebrows. "This could score us big popular opinion points."
"I smell a smash hit!" said Chip.
"We've got our work cut out for us." Simon accepted a plastic glass of champagne from Josie, trying not to spill it on the new red-pinstriped black suit he'd worn for the occasion. "Dick Life's the number-one show in the country."
"Not for long!" Josie threw back some champagne, then put the empty plastic glass upside-down on the tray. "Yours is just so much cooler. It's not about a bunch of dicks fighting...it's about something everyone can relate to. Stopping the dicks who make our lives miserable."
"We'll see how the finished product turns out," said Simon. "The network's rushing it into production, which isn't a good sign."
"Glass half full, Simon, remember?" Josie hoisted another glass of champagne in the air. "You have your own TV show! Smell the roses, honey!"
Simon chuckled and got up from the sofa. "I'll be right back." He threaded his way through the crowd, heading for the bathroom.
Before he could get where he was going, Chip stepped in front of him. "When does your book go on sale?"
"A month from today." Simon had barely finished and turned in the manuscript by the deadline three days ago.
"I can't wait," said Chip. "I'm fuckin' sick of seeing that dick Horne's book on the bestseller list. Dick Nation, my ass."
Simon nodded grimly. The bestseller list was a sore subject; once again, Horne had beaten him to the punch. As much of an illiterate rush job as Dick Nation was, it had still hit the shelves first, just as the pro-dick backlash had taken off.
Horne was cashing in on his fifteen minutes of fame in a big way. He was even outdoing Simon...and that, to say the least, was seriously cracking Simon's nuts.
"We'll knock him down to size." Even as Simon said it, the thirst for revenge welled up within him. More than ever--more even than during the court case--he wanted to see Horne suffer.
"Since when did it become cool to be a dick?" said Chip. "Since when did it become a way to get rich and famous?"
Simon shrugged. "Since always, if you think about it."
Chip narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Hey, you're right." A sly smile curled across his face. "So how do we knock him down to size?"
"Two words: Simon's Law." Simon counted the two words on his upraised fingers as he said them. "Once that's passed, and we have dick registration in place, dicks like Shaw won't be in the driver's seat anymore."
"So the vote looks good?" said Chip.
"Hey, Buck!" Simon had to shout to be heard over the party noise. "Chip wants to know how the dick registration vote's looking."
Buck grinned and pumped two thumbs in the air. "It's looking like a winner, Chip! Looking like a winner!"
*****
Chapter 29
Three Days Later
Washington, D.C.
Simon was halfway down the steps of the Capitol building in Washington, D.C. when it happened. A young guy on his way up the steps stopped, whipped open his tan overcoat to reveal a Dick Life t-shirt, and pelted Simon with rotten eggs.
"Down with pussies!" said the guy. "Up with dicks!"
Simon batted away two eggs, but three others splattered on his red-pinstriped black suit, raising a stench. A mushroom cloud of rage went off in his head as the egg-thrower ran laughing down the steps, passing witnesses who laughed and a few who even applauded. Without a word, Simon charged down the Capitol Hill steps at the egg-flinging dick.
The dick pitched the whole carton and ran off down the street. "Watch Dick Life Sundays on Testosterone TV! Soon to be the Dick Network!"
Simon dodged the egg carton, but the little freak was too fast for him. Even sprinting full-tilt, Simon quickly fell behind.
And then he heard Buck calling after him. "Let him go, Simon! We don't have time!"
Simon stopped running. Heaving for breath in his egg-splattered suit, he watched the dick dash through the crowd on the street and disappear around a corner.
Simon cursed and paced in a circle. "First, it's cat litter, and now it's rotten eggs," he said. "Can't they come up with something more original?"
"Not a crisis, not a crisis." Buck, in a knee-length skirt and smart gray jacket with a white blouse underneath, wiped eggy goop from Simon's suit with a lacy handkerchief. Her lush red hair was pulled back in a businesslike bun on the back of her head. "We'll go inside and get you cleaned up as best we can."
Simon closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fuck."
And that was just the start of his shitty day.
*****
Within the hour, Buck had Simon looking halfway presentable. He could still feel patches of dried egg on his suit coat, but they were barely visible. At least the smell was gone.
Buck led him through the busy Capitol building then, on their way to a meeting. The two of them flashed their I.D. badges again and again to get through the umpteen security checkpoints...and then they reached their destination.
When Simon set foot in the Chamber of the House of Representatives for the first time, he forgot about the egg on his suit. Standing at the rear of the huge room, he gaped like a tourist, just taking it all in.
Row after row of seats were arranged in concentric semicircles on the sloped floor. Men in suits and ties and women in businesslike dresses and pantsuits milled throughout the vast hall, talking in clusters amid the seats and in the aisles. Down at the front of the room, he saw the famous benches where the Speaker of the House presided...where the President of the United States delivered the State of the Union Address.
Simon's heart beat faster, and a shiver rippled up his spine. He was in a place he'd only ever seen before on TV, the heart of one of the most powerful nations on Earth, a place where history was made.
And maybe, this time, he would help make it. The vote for the dick registration act was set for that day. He and Buck had come to meet with the bill's sponsor and watch as the momentous vote was taken.
At least, that was the plan.
As soon as Simon saw the look on Congresswoman Jacobs' face, he knew there was a problem. She walked up the aisle toward him and Buck with a somber expression, kneading her hands at the midriff of her conservative navy blue dress.
"Bad news, Buck." Congresswoman Jacobs was a slender woman, petite, with short black hair and dark-framed glasses. Simon thought she looked pretty attractive considering she must have been at least in her late fifties. "The dick registration act is on hold. No vote today."
Buck scowled. "You're kidding." She gestured at the crowd of Congressmen milling around the banks of seats in the chamber. "I thought we had more than enough support."
"We did." Jacobs pushed a lock of black hair behind her left ear. "Until today. The opposition postponed the vote on a technicality, then trotted out their own dick-related legislation."
"There's another dick bill?" Simon was so surprised, he momentarily forgot to worry about his egg-coated suit. "Like ours?"
"Not exactly." Jacobs smoothed her blue dress and looked around nervously. "They're calling it 'the Dicks' Bill of Rights.'"
"I wish I could say I'm surprised." Buck sighed. "It was only a matter of time, I suppose."
"A Dicks' Bill of Rights?" said Simon. "What's it cover? The right to act like an idiot? The right to make the world a lousy place?"
"Basically." Jacobs nodded. "It also guarantees freedom from having to register as a dick."
"So much for the Dick Registration Act," said Buck.
"Could it actually pass?" said Simon.
Jacobs shook her head. "Not a chance. But it hurts our bill's chances. It's a joke, but it makes our bill look like a joke, too."
"Which is why they drafted it in the first place," said Buck.
"Bingo." Jacobs looked down front, then checked her watch. "I have to get going. Sorry about all th
is."
"We appreciate anything you can do," said Buck. "Let us know what happens."
"Honestly?" said Jacobs. "Don't expect any miracles. They've got some heavy hitters on their side."
"Let me guess," said Simon. "Some real dicks."
"The world's full of them, isn't it?" said Jacobs.
*****
Five hours later, it was all over. Buck and Simon were on the way home, racing up the highway in Buck's sea foam green SUV.
"Sorry about all that." Buck looked over at Simon from behind her designer sunglasses. She had her hair down, and it was blowing in the breeze from the driver's side window, which she'd opened all the way. "It's a shame we drove all the way to D.C. for nothing."
Simon didn't feel like talking. He just grunted and kept staring out the passenger-side window at the passing scenery. They were only minutes away from home now, and he just wanted to get there, crawl under a rock, and mope.
"At least we've given it our best shot," said Buck. "And hey, there's still a chance. I have a few more things we can try. Maybe we can still pull out a win."
"Right." Simon looked down at his suit coat, which he'd taken off and draped over his lap. He could still see the dried patches of egg left over from the dick on the steps of the Capitol.
"But I don't know." Buck saw him staring at the egg patches. "Maybe you should lower your profile a little."
"Why's that?" said Simon.
Buck snapped her eyes back to the road and swerved to miss a truck pulling out in front of her. "You've become kind of a lightning rod. Attracting a lot of attention."
"I thought that was a good thing."
Buck shrugged. "It can work against you sometimes."
Simon sighed. "There's no such thing as bad publicity, right?"
"But there is such a thing as backlash," said Buck. "Sometimes it's better to drop under the radar, tweak your flight plan, and pop back up when the feeding frenzy's moved on to some other poor son of a bitch."
"Or maybe I just need to tough it out," said Simon. "Maybe I just need to try harder."
"Look." Buck turned right, rolling into Simon's neighborhood. "My gut instinct tells me you're vulnerable right now. You need to back off for a while."
Simon stared at the familiar houses drifting past. "Then again, maybe it'll all blow over," he said. "Maybe your gut instinct's just indigestion."
Buck pulled up to a stop sign at an intersection and looked right, then left...and kept looking at something in that direction. "It's possible." She nodded distractedly and slowly made the left turn. They were on Simon's street now. "Maybe it'll just blow over."
"I can't just give up, can I?" said Simon. "Especially if you still think I could run for office."
"Running might not be a bad idea." Buck's voice sounded strange. "Well, here we are."
As the SUV slowed, Simon leaned forward, looking at the view up ahead...and gasped when he finally saw what had been distracting Buck. He couldn't believe his eyes.
"Want me to keep driving?" said Buck.
"Oh my God," said Simon.
The side of the street in front of his house was lined with cars and TV production company trucks. Banners hung from the trucks and utility poles, scrawled with sloppily painted slogans: "DICKFEST YEAH!" "DICK LIFE ROCKS!" "DICKS BEAT PUSSIES!" His yard was packed with wall-to-wall people, most of them college-aged or not much older.
His next-door neighbors' yards were full, too. One of them had a boxing ring in which six young guys were beating the crap out of each other. In the far neighbor's yard, a rock band performed onstage, screaming and playing guitars and drums furiously fast.
It was total chaos, a sea of bobbing heads, many wearing dick hats--and video cameras were everywhere. Camera people glided through the crowd with ease, swinging their lenses this way and that, wherever they found something to shoot.
While Simon gaped at the scene, Buck kept the SUV rolling slowly forward. "I should take you somewhere else."
"'Dick Life,'" said Simon. "It's that fucking Horne Shaw."
"Where else can I take you?" said Buck.
People were starting to take notice of the SUV. As they looked and pointed, Simon had the urge to tell Buck to floor the accelerator. Just get him the hell out of there.
But then, he got angry. He'd already taken enough shit for one day. He was sick to death of dicks tormenting him, and the fact that Horne was involved--Horne's show, at least--put him way out there in majorly pissed-off land.
"Right here's fine." Simon reached for the door handle. "Let me off here."
Buck kept the car rolling. "Are you sure?"
"It's my house, isn't it?" Simon opened the door. "I'm going in."
Buck stopped the SUV. "I'll go with you."
"Not necessary." Simon hopped out. "I'll be fine."
He hesitated alongside the SUV, then took a deep breath and marched around it. As soon as he appeared in full view of the people in his yard, they rushed him.
"Mee-owww! Mee-owww!" They chanted it over and over, like the dicks who'd crashed Simon's lecture at Belle Mere College. "Mee-owww! Mee-owww!"
Simon aimed for the front door and plowed forward. The rowdy, chanting crowd opened to receive him and closed behind him like a giant living creature swallowing its prey.
"Mee-owww, Pussy Pussy Pussy! Mee-owww, Pussy Pussy Pussy!" No one touched Simon, but the chanting got louder.
His progress was slow. People didn't get out of his way fast enough. He had to stop twice and shout at them to move aside.
The third time he stopped, the person blocking his way--a cameraman--wouldn't move. Simon dodged left, trying to get around him...and ran right into a toothy blonde twentysomething girl holding a microphone.
"Look, folks! It's the guy who started it all!" The blonde's voice squeaked with excitement. When she jumped up and down, her enormous breasts bounced under her tight pink t-shirt with the "Dickfest" logo across the front. "Welcome to Dick Life, Simon Bellerophon!" Punching her arm straight up in the air, she let loose an ear-piercing shriek, and the crowd shrieked right along with her.
Simon turned to get away, but the cameraman was already there, pushing the lens of his camera at Simon's face.
"Who better to judge the Dick Life Great American Dick-Off?" said the blonde. "Wouldn't you say no one knows dicks as well as you?" With that, she thrust the mike at Simon and smiled, gleaming teeth waiting for his answer.
Simon didn't say a word; a wave of primal fear pulsed through him. He felt the crowd closing in around him in a mass of elbows, knees, hair, and body odor, jostling him, cutting off his escape. He felt closed in, trapped, and vulnerable.
"Don't be shy, Simon!" said the blonde. "We just want you to help us make history! It's the whole reason we've brought Dickfest to your front yard...so you can pick the Biggest Dick in America!"
With every passing second, Simon grew simultaneously angrier and more claustrophobic. It took all his self-control to stay calm, but he knew he had to hold back. The cameras would capture any sign of weakness or hostility for all eternity.
"The winner of the Dick Life Dickfest Dick-Off will represent the U.S. at the First International Dicklympics in Bermuda!" The blonde whooped and waved and jiggled, and the crowd applauded on cue. "Horne Shaw himself will crown the World's Biggest Dick!"
Simon had heard enough. He took a deep breath, gathering his strength...and then he bolted out from between the blonde and the cameraman, charging into the crowd.
People laughed and gasped and meowed, but they parted to let Simon pass. Head down, jaws clenched, he stormed through them, determined to make it to the house.
Meanwhile, the blonde followed and called out behind him. "Simon, wait! Our first event's about to begin! The global warming Fart-Off!"
Simon's heart hammered as he drew closer to the front of the house. He knew he'd be inside in seconds, safe from the madness.
"Simon, we need you!" said the blonde. "The dicks of the world need you!"
Simon kept marching, and the last people fell away from his path. He stomped up the three cement steps to the front stoop and reached for the doorknob.
Which was when an old man in a tattered tweed sports coat stepped up beside him on the stoop. "Simon Bellerophon?" He had a ponytail and a soft, high-pitched voice.
"What now?" said Simon.
The ponytailed old man held out a folded sheaf of papers. "You've been served."
Simon glared at the process server and refused to take the papers. "Served for what?"
"Horne Shaw's suing you." The server tried again to hand over the papers, then stuffed them down Simon's shirt. "He wants to have you legally declared a pussy."
"What?" said Simon.
Word spread fast through the crowd, and the "Mee-owww, Mee-owww" chant started up again in force. "Here, Pussy Pussy! Here, Pussy Pussy!"
By now, the blonde was standing at the bottom of the steps, talking to the camera. "You heard it here first, folks! Dick Life's own Horne Shaw is suing Simon Bellerophon! The man responsible for Horne being declared a dick could end up being declared a pussy."
The crowd roared its approval. Over in the neighbor's yard, the band played a rock version of "What's New, Pussycat?"
Simon grabbed the doorknob, turned it hard left, and threw open the door. As he lunged inside, he heard the blonde try to follow...but he cut her off by slamming the door in her face.
And that was when somebody screamed, and a baseball bat crashed into the wall beside him.
*****
Chapter 30
As the baseball bat hit the living room wall beside the closed front door, Simon ducked to one side and threw up his arms to protect himself. In the first split-second of shock, he wondered who was coming for him now, who was trying to kill him.
In the next split-second, he saw who was swinging the bat.
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