Pleased to Meet Me

by S. G. Wilson

  Meanwhile, Hollywood plodded from table to table, delivering food and taking orders for second helpings. He looked miserable. I’d almost forgotten how Meticulous had punished him into being a waiter, but I didn’t have much sympathy. It was a slap on the wrist compared to what Meticulous had in store for me. I wasn’t keen on being sent through the Exit and becoming a Missing Me. I just wanted to get home, preferably before Mom and Dad noticed I’d been gone. Now, with my shortcut to the elevator ruined, I’d have to backtrack.

  Hollywood passed close by the door, pushing a cart stacked with platters of pizza. Most of them looked like standard cheese-and-pepperoni affairs, but I saw a few toppings that only somebody from another dimension could love: Frosted Flakes pizza, rainbow Jell-O pizza, potato salad pizza, and other horrors.

  Seized by my dumbest idea yet, I leaned into the room just enough to wave Hollywood over while nobody else was looking. He nearly dropped a mayonnaise-and-banana pizza at the sight of me. After staring way too long, he finally wheeled his cart over to the door and slipped through.

  Up close, Hollywood didn’t look so hot. His face had ballooned like instant biscuit dough in an oven. He might have been glaring at me, but it was hard to read any expression on his inside-out-watermelon face.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  Hollywood made what I assumed was an embarrassed look under all the lumps. “It’s your bag of Diarrhea Delights. I’m allergic.”

  Served him right, but I felt kind of bad for him just the same. It’s hard to stay mad at a moronic Xerox of yourself. “So, how’s the job treating you?”

  Hollywood stuck out his lower lip, which had grown to the size and shape of a peeled tomato. “It’s fine, thanks.” He couldn’t sell this lie for anything—some actor.

  “But it has to stink to be a waiter in the club you started.”

  “Fudge! This is only temporary! Meticulous and I just had a misunderstanding. Once he comes back to Me Con, which should be any minute, I’ll explain myself and get back my job as his assistant. Then I’ll be at the VIP table again in no time.”

  “Yeah, to serve them dessert. Face it: you’re not a Viral Me anymore. You’re at the bottom of the ladder now. There’s no future for you at Me Con.” I probably should have eased into this, but there wasn’t any time to soft-pedal.

  Awareness seemed to penetrate the bloated shell of Hollywood’s head. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his overgrown lips trembled. Bingo. Time to go all in. “Thing is, I know a way we can stick it to Meticulous.”

  Hollywood’s swollen ears perked up as he listened to what I had to say next.

  I swore to myself that if I ate half as disgustingly as the Mes stuffing their faces in the Viral Me Lounge, I’d watch a tutorial on table manners as soon as I got home. All the lip smacking and flying food bits skeeved me out so much I could hardly look at any Me long enough to get their orders. Not that I was taking their orders for real. I was only a fake waiter, after all.

  Hollywood and I had found a nearby linen closet with a spare waiter uniform that I slipped on over my clothes. That let me move through the lounge alongside him without raising suspicion. No one recognized me, but I had to stack the dirty dishes and pizza trays on the cart and listen to complaints about bad service. Still, I’d have preferred that to hearing Hollywood crack his knuckles.

  “This gosh-darned plan will never work,” he muttered, popping both thumbs at once.

  “Can you not do that?” I asked.

  “What, swearing? Look, I know I have a potty mouth, but I’m under a lot of stress!”

  “No, I mean cracking your knuckles. I kicked the habit last year, and I don’t want to start again.”

  Glaring straight at me, Hollywood cracked every finger on both hands, one at a time.

  The two of us bickered our way through the ballroom until we reached the VIP table. Just behind it was the exit door. All we had to do now was sneak past Click, Dare, and Troll, plus whoever might be guarding the elevator.

  As soon as Troll saw us approach, he slapped his peanut-butter-and-squid pizza back on his plate. “Great, thanks so much, Hollywood! Your messed-up face just ruined my appetite!”

  “Not mine!” said Click. “Bring me another pork soda, Mush Face!”

  Hollywood threw an empty pizza tray to the floor with a clatter. “You guys were nothing before I took you under my wing!”

  Having a hissy fit wasn’t the coolest move. The Viral Mes laughed and the nearby tables joined in. Hollywood looked set to tell them all off, until I pointed to the door, our ticket to the elevator. “It’s now or never,” I whispered.

  Hollywood took a deep breath to calm himself, then nodded. We were just about to make a break for it, when the main doors burst open with a bang and Ren Faire strode into the room. Head held high, he looked every inch the fancy-pants actor making his grand entrance.

  “Duck!” I whispered.

  I crouched behind the empty side of the Money Mes table without any of them noticing. But Hollywood just stood where he was, Gorilla Glued in place. He glared at Ren Faire as everybody else applauded and shouted out his name. Ren Faire raised his gloved hands for silence. “Thank thee, everyone. Sorry to be late, but duty doth call. Just a pit stop for me before I get back to mine pursuit of a dastardly villain.”

  Ren Faire strode up to Hollywood’s cart and double-fisted two hefty slices of jelly-doughnut-and-chicken-feet pizza. Everyone laughed and applauded as he ripped a big bite from each slice and gulped them down, Henry VIII–style. At least he knew how to chew with his mouth closed.

  “How now, Hollywood?” he said, dropping the half-eaten slices back onto the tray. “What happened to thine skin? Allergic to work?”

  Everybody laughed again. Hollywood forced a smile, but he couldn’t mask the hate on his inflated face.

  There was no way Hollywood could leave here unnoticed now, but I still had a chance. I could slip away while all the Mes watched Ren Faire make a fool of him. Sure, I’d promised Hollywood a way out, but what could I do for him if he wasn’t willing to follow the plan?

  I was getting ready to make a run for the door when Ren Faire wrapped an arm around Hollywood and squeezed hard. The sight stopped me cold. It looked just like something Nash would do.

  That settled it. I couldn’t leave any version of myself in the hands of a bully.

  As Ren Faire dragged Hollywood to the center of the room, I crawled under the nearby Toga Me table for a closer position.

  “Prithee, Hollywood,” said Ren Faire. “I understand thine little TV show hath been canceled. We are all so sad about that, are we not, everyone?”

  The crowd made a collective “Aw!” sound before breaking into more laughter. Hollywood looked equal parts embarrassed and livid.

  “Thou shouldst look on this as a new opportunity,” said Ren Faire. “For instance, thou couldst try live theater. ’Tis much more challenging and fulfilling than TV.”

  Speechless either from nerves or the swelling in his hot-dog-size lips, Hollywood just nodded.

  “Live theater happens to be mine specialty,” Ren Faire continued. “Mayhaps we could do some for the crowd now. Prithee, doth thou know thine Shakespeare?”

  “I guess,” muttered Hollywood.

  Ren Faire puffed out his cheeks like Hollywood’s. “I guess!” More laughs.

  I ducked under the Play Me table next, slithering around their toothpick legs until Ren Faire’s boots were just within reach.

  “All right, then!” said Ren Faire. “Let us do a scene from Twelfth Night, shall we? Every real actor doth know that one backward and forward. Am I right, Hollywood?”

  I couldn’t see Hollywood’s reaction, but judging by the new round of laughter from the crowd, it must have been pretty unconvincing.

  “Excellent!” said Ren Faire. “We’ll pick things up
at act two, scene three.”

  Ren Faire cleared his throat.

  Which was my cue to reach out from under the table and yank down his pants.

  The entire lounge laughed at Ren Faire’s dragon-print boxer briefs. The laughs turned to screams when I popped out from under the table. “Wild Me!” people shouted.

  I grabbed Hollywood by the arm and pulled him toward the door. On the way, he kicked Ren Faire from behind so that he toppled over face-first in the middle of pulling up his tight leather pants.

  We giggled as we darted past the Viral Mes, who were too stunned to stop us.

  “After them!” cried Ren Faire, struggling to get up.

  But we were already gone, flying through the door and flipping off the lights on our way out. Mes cried in the darkness as I slammed the door shut behind us.

  I kind of figured they’d scream like that. I was afraid of the dark too.

  * * *

  —

  Very few things at Me Con could have surprised me by that point, but one of them waited for us just outside the door. Motor circled his mobility cart around the unconscious body of Mobster Me.

  “What’s up?” Motor said with a little wave.

  I prodded Mobster with my foot, much harder than I needed to. He didn’t stir. “You did this!?”

  Motor held up a bag of Diarrhea Delights. “He was heading to the elevator to guard it, so I shared some of these with him. After lacing them with melatonin.”

  I gave Motor a high five. “That’s the sleep hormone, right?”

  Motor nodded. “Restless Leg Me had plenty to share. He can’t nod off without it.”

  “I’ll be jitterbugged, if you’ll pardon my dirty mouth!” said Hollywood. “The old tranquilizer routine. I thought that only worked in movies!”

  Motor took in Hollywood’s swollen face and whistled. “Amazing! I’ve never seen such a bad allergic reaction in a Me. Pomegranates?”

  Before Hollywood could curse out Motor in that dorky way of his, the lounge exit flew open and Troll jumped through. My arms tingled again, giving me the strength to shove him back the way he’d come. I wound up pushing harder than I meant to and knocked him into Click and Dare. They fell in a tangle.

  “Jeepers!” said Hollywood, so stunned he didn’t even apologize for swearing. “You’re not average in the strength department, I’ll give you that!”

  Motor looked more excited than surprised. “You should see his aim! He pegged Troll with a Diarrhea Delight from the far side of Ballroom C!”

  “Forget about that. Let’s go!” I raced for the elevator bank as Motor and Hollywood fell in behind me. We had a good head start, but Motor started to lag. His cart made clunking sounds.

  The Viral Mes got back on their feet and rushed down the hall toward us. Behind them, a screaming-mad mob of Mes spilled out of the banquet room. Ren Faire hopped along in the middle of the crowd, still trying to pull up his pants as his sword scabbard slapped his bare legs.

  Motor’s cart slowed to a crawl. “Battery’s shot!”

  “You’re almost there!” I yelled. “Just keep it floored!”

  I reached the call button ahead of Hollywood and slapped it. The light blinked on, but the doors wouldn’t open. We heard the elevator car rumbling toward us from above. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat,” said Hollywood. “It’s in use?!”

  Motor pulled up to us, his cart shuddering one last time before going dead. “The thing’s toast!” He struggled out of the useless ride, tipping it over in the process.

  The mob streamed down the hall toward us, dozens of faces sharing a rubber-stamped look of rage.

  Hollywood listened at the elevator door. “I swear it’s getting closer! Just a few more seconds!”

  Motor slumped against the wall in defeat. “We don’t have that kind of time!”

  I don’t know what possessed me to kick a four-hundred-pound mobility cart, but the fizzing in my legs made it seem like a normal enough thing to do. I just placed my foot on the hunk of metal and gave it a shove. The cart shot along the floor, flipped back on its wheels, and torpedoed toward the mob. Screaming, they scattered out of the way. Nobody got hit, but they stopped dead in their tracks just the same, afraid to come closer. Everyone stared at me like I was some sort of monster. “Wild Me!” they muttered.

  Motor and Hollywood jinxed each other: “How did you—”

  The ding of the elevator cut them short. We turned to the opening door, ready to jump inside. But somebody already stood there.

  Meticulous.

  He leaned against the control panel, smoothing his suit with a gloved hand. He didn’t look at all surprised to see us. “What are you gits on about, then?”

  “Let’s go!” I shoved Motor and Hollywood toward the lobby.

  “Onward!” Ren Faire yelled from somewhere in the Me mob. “Once more unto the breach!” The thud of nearly a hundred size 6 shoes started up again.

  As soon as we hit the lobby, I made a beeline for the employee entrance. Orange pylons and DO NOT CROSS tape blocked the door, but I shoved them out of the way and grabbed at the handle.

  Hollywood stopped short. “Are you crazy?! That’s the Exit! The Void’s on the other side!”

  “It’s just a way out, and that’s all it is!” I waved a hand toward Ren Faire and the rest as they ran straight at us, screaming bloody murder. “You prefer dealing with them?”

  That was all the convincing Hollywood and Motor needed. They followed me as I plunged through the Exit.

  The outside of the Janus Hotel might as well have been the end of the world. There wasn’t a soul to be found. Not in the empty streets, the abandoned park, the deserted stores and restaurants. The place was a ghost town.

  We three Mes had only a second to take in this strange scene before the door slammed shut. We all spun around in sync, like some kind of dancing boy band. The door handle had been replaced with a thick metal plate, but that didn’t stop Hollywood from clawing at the thing to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge. The boarded-up windows didn’t look like they’d be opening anytime soon either.

  The truth didn’t just sink in—it body-slammed us: there was no getting back inside the Janus.

  Hollywood’s bumpy goldfish eyes popped in fear. “Fiddlesticks! This is the Void?!”

  “No.” Motor pointed to the boards covering the Janus windows. “Meticulous just made it look like a void.”

  “The Void was a fake all along!?” said Hollywood. “Fudge!”

  “I guess this place is just an Earth like any other,” I said. “Except…empty.”

  Hollywood kicked the door so hard that he shook the SecureMe camera mounted above it. “Jiminy Cricket! Yeah, I said it! Who cares?! We’re fudged!”

  “Guess Meticulous didn’t mean for anyone to get back in,” I said.

  Hollywood rubbed his foot, wincing in pain. “Where is everybody? What did them in? Radiation?! Poison?! Zika virus?! Zombies?! Are we next?!”

  “If there was anything bad in the air, it would have seeped into the hotel through the ventilation,” said Motor, breaking out a Bowel Blocker. “We would have known.”

  That’s when I started fizzing again. This time it wasn’t just in a few parts of my body, but all over. I even felt it in my eyes, ears, and nose. I could see the fine print on the nutrition label of the Bowel Blocker wrapper; smell the chemical mix of processed chocolate, nuts, and caramel; hear every munch inside Motor’s mouth. Along with superstrength and superspeed, now I had supersenses. But I would have traded them all in for a blindfold when I looked up and saw what hung over us.

  A crack spread across the sky, like a lightning bolt that got stuck before striking. It pulsed with dark green light that matched the rhythm of the fizzing. I couldn’t explain why, but deep down, I knew this rip in the air had something to do with all the weird stuff go
ing on inside me. If I stood directly under it too long, would I get radiation sickness? Would I turn green and sprout a third arm?

  Hollywood nearly turned catatonic with fright when he saw it. “Wha-wha—”

  “I think he’s trying to ask what that is,” said Motor. He seemed more fascinated than scared. “Any idea?”

  “None. I think it’s causing the fizz, though.”

  “Fizz?” asked Motor.

  “You don’t feel it?” I asked. “It’s like that time at Aunt Julie’s farm with the electric fence?”

  “Oh yeah!” said Motor. “How can I not touch an electric fence, you know?”

  “This isn’t story time!” Hollywood waved at the crack. “We’ve gotta get away from that gosh-darned thing, if you’ll pardon the language!”

  “So you don’t feel any effect from it?” I asked. “No fizzing?”

  “I’m not fizzing,” said Hollywood. “I’m just freaking out!”

  Motor scratched some chocolate crust off the corner of his mouth. “Is this something you’ve felt before?”

  “Since I got to Me Con. Before that, even. I guess ever since Meticulous came to deliver the notes. It comes and goes, like adrenaline. But out here I feel it all the time. Am I gonna have a heart attack or something if this keeps up?”

  “Oh gee willikers, he’s mutating!” said Hollywood. “How do we get you to a hospital out here?!”

  Funny thing about enhanced senses: you’re so busy worrying about where your enhanced senses come from that you’re too distracted to hear somebody sneaking up on you.

  “Hands up and don’t move!”