“Are we sure about the ‘no more kissing’ rule?” I ask.
She lands a sweet, gentle kiss on my lips that lingers longer than I expect.
“That was a goodbye kiss. Goodbye kisses don’t count.”
***
After an hour in Henry’s private tube car I’m in Los Angeles for the tour kickoff. Just a few days ago I lived in my secluded but happy little world studying religious history. In my own way I suppose I’ve become like an ancient Christian monk, reading and contemplating the meaning of ancient texts and trying to relate them to my world. Now here I am waiting to be catapulted to major celebrity status so I can tell the world that those same ancient texts are meaningless.
The tour begins with the largest morning show on the west coast. Many authors have started tours on this particular stage which makes me wonder if all tours are as contrived as this one is.
The host of the show, Brock Penner is one of the most enhanced men I’ve ever seen. He was doing this show when I was a kid but has since undergone countless procedures to maintain a semblance of youth. There are clear facial implants in his cheeks, chin and forehead to eliminate wrinkles. I think there are even synthetic muscles in there so he can make creepy artificial versions of facial expressions that the implants no longer allow him to produce naturally.
A colleague of mine in the United States History department calls such men “Kens” and overly enhanced women “Barbies”. I’ve asked him to explain the historical reference to me several times but he just laughs. I guess they must have been the President and First Lady sometime in the early twenty-first century.
Brock starts off with bold exaggerations and a familiarity that’s unwarranted between two men who’ve never met. It’s clear that Janet told him to make me appear “fun” as part of the image change.
“Our next guest is the author of six international best-selling books and is beloved by all as ‘The Cult Hunter’ for his heroic work in preventing another holy war. I realize some in the audience still think of him as cold but I’ve gotten to know him and I must say he is one of the funniest and down to earth people I’ve ever met. Please welcome Dr. Cephas Paulson.” Wild applause erupt on the set.
Plaster smile on face and wave while walking. Maybe even do a little jog to your chair to show enthusiasm.
I enter the stage area to find there’s no live audience, the applause are either computer generated or are from a remote audience. Behind the cameras are large screens so I can see what’s being broadcast. I almost burst out laughing when I see they have me in a long shot but Brock is on constant close-up. It must be in his contract.
Adjust your smile, you don’t look sincere.
Brock exaggerates the prerelease sales of my new book, exaggerates the work done with the corps and exaggerates his delight and fascination with the topic. Even through the plastic his doll eyes tell me he could clearly care less. Every time I answer a question he laughs and repeats “I told you he was funny!” I could talk about dead puppies and he’d laugh on cue. I study his expressions to see how I can improve my own act.
We’re about five minutes into the interview when someone behind the camera says “What the hell is that?” so I look up to the screen and see a gray number four is being superimposed over the broadcast.
“It looks like we’re having some technical difficulties here in the studio so we’re going to take a quick break,” Brock says.
When the “on air” light goes dark Brock screams “Get that thing off my close up!” and general pandemonium breaks out among the electronics guys. I hear comments like “It’s not being generated here” and “We’ve been hacked”.
It can’t be a coincidence that this is happening during my interview. Why is a pagan group so interested in me that they’d hack this broadcast?
“We need to switch gears,” I say to Brock. “We might as well change this to a discussion of the number four being painted all over the country last night.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought you were a reporter. Don’t you watch the news? There was a nationwide spree of painting the number four on buildings last night. It may be a new cult, just give me an intro and I’ll take it.”
Right on cue Brock starts talking like he knew what was going on all along.
“As everyone knows, the nation woke up this morning to mysterious attacks of the number four being plastered on buildings.”
Brock tries to move so the upright sections of the number four on the screen will frame his face. Each time he does though the four drifts to cover his face again.
“We’re fortunate enough to have cult expert Professor Cephas Paulson here in the studio and we’re hoping he can shed some light on this mystery. Professor, do you think this is work of some new cult?”
When the broadcast goes back to the camera that’s covering me, the four moves to frame my face.
Raise eyebrows one millimeter but adjust voice to denote serious nature of the topic.
“That’s an excellent question Brock. Appearances of the number four started several weeks ago but have been increasing in frequency leading up to last night.”
The cameras try to switch back and forth from me to Brock but each time the four moves to cover his face while always framing mine. I want to laugh out loud at Brock’s frustration.
“The cult hunter corps has asked me to look into it but there’s so little information to go on I imagine it’ll take a while to sort it out. As you know, I’m an expert on Christian cult activities and there’s little reason to believe this is Christian related.”
“If it isn’t Christian, then who do you think it could be?”
Brock ducks his head first one way and then the other.
“The corps has speculated this is the work of some sort of pagan group, but I have an idea that might just give us some exclusive answers right here on your show. Someone is controlling that four in real time, so let’s see if they want to talk to us. To the person controlling the Four on the screen, if you want to be interviewed, wiggle the four up and down.”
Excellent voice inflection to note curiosity and playfulness. I’m getting the hang of being Mr. Fun.
The four moves up and down to murmurs among the tech guys.
“Are you a cult?” Brock asks and the four heads for his face. I put up my hand to indicate to Brock that I should pose the questions.
“Do you prefer to speak me?”
The four wiggles.
“Are you a religious group?”
The four wiggles again.
“Would you describe yourself as a pagan group?” Before it can move it disappears completely.
“Why’d you block the Four? It was just getting interesting.” I say to the tech guys.
That was good, just enough inflection to show disappointment without being mean.
“It wasn’t us, they cut the transmission.”
“Well that was exciting,” says Brock who is again acting like a strutting peacock. He doesn’t care one bit about what just happened, he’s just happy his close up is back.
Chapter Twelve
“These ‘Four’ people are doing my job for me,” Janet says as I’m ushered back into the private tube car. “That interview is being picked up all over the globe. Your face is everywhere!”
“I just wish they would have stuck around. Maybe I could have found out more about them.”
“That was our fault,” Janet says. “We were trying to trace their transmission and they knew it. They cut out before we could even get close.”
“The next time they hack one of my interviews, back off. If you want to find them you need to understand who they are and what they want.”
“Stick to one cult at a time. Besides, you need to be nice to me because I have a surprise lined up for you. Tonight you’re in San Francisco for a party and I’ve arranged for you to have a date.”
“Martha?”
“Of course not. You can’t go to
a party of the social elite with your little friend. You, my lucky boy are hitting the red carpet with none other than Jocie!”
“Josie? I don’t know anyone named Josie.”
“Her name isn’t “Joe-see”, it’s “Jaw-see”,” Janet replies with emphasis.
“No last name?”
“Jocie doesn’t need a last name. Don’t you have a video screen in your dusty old house? I’m talking about Jocie.”
“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Display images of Jocie,” Janet snaps to her com and a screen on the wall lights up with images of a petite brunette. Well, her frame is petite but other parts of her are enhanced to the point of exploding. I can see that it’s all top of the line enhancements but she still looks like another plastic doll to me.
“I landed you the hottest date on the planet.”
“I’ll count the seconds. How much time do I have?”
“You get the next six hours to yourself so I suggest you take a nap. You’re in for a late night, assuming Jocie lets you sleep at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s just say you won’t need a heat pack to fool scanners after a night out with Jocie.”
Rather than respond I disappear into my room.
I throw my com into my ear and find there are over one-hundred messages. That’s more than I typically get in a year. I tell the com to display them on a screen so I can sort them. Most are from old friends and new “fans” that saw the show this morning. There are two from Henry giving me pointers for future interviews and five from my publisher telling me my new book is already a best-seller and giving me updates on the number of times it’s been downloaded. After a search I find what I was hoping to see, two messages from Martha. The first one is short, she just writes “Here’s a first draft of my essay.” The second one came after the show, she says “You were brilliant on the show this morning figuring out you could communicate through wiggling the Four. Janet sent me a ticket to the show you’re doing in Minneapolis tomorrow afternoon. I can’t wait to see you.”
She only left voice messages instead of a video. Why?
I instruct the com to call Martha and am disappointed to find out her com isn’t active. Somehow I thought she’d leave it on just in case I called. I leave her a video message to say I’ll be at a party tonight with someone called Jocie, but I wished it had been her instead.
***
Janet wasn’t kidding when she said this party was a red carpet event. You can see the security is very tight as the hover bus makes one pass then enters a private parking area.
“I thought I was going to the party,” I say to Janet.
“You can’t arrive at this sort of event in an ordinary bus like this and you certainly can’t arrive without Jocie on your arm.”
The bureau bus pulls up next to a bus that’s so large and luxurious it should be called a hover yacht. We should just throw a party inside it rather than use it to arrive at one. The door opens as Janet and I approach.
“Is my eye candy here?” we hear from an inner room. When we enter the room Jocie is standing stark naked on a little pedestal with two attendants fussing over every part of her body.
“I guess that’s me.”
I try to look around the room rather than at her. As part of my new personality I’d planned to portray more confidence around women, but confidence with naked women is too far of a stretch.
“Your press secretary said you were a bit primitive but I did expect a little more. Tell the media people tomorrow’s headline will be ‘Jocie deserves a genius’.”
A girl sitting at a computer at the side of the room begins working on a press release.
“Flavor of the day, eyes over here,” she says to me. “Every man on the planet wants to see what you have standing in front of you right now. In a week you’ll be crushed when I move on to someone more interesting, so drink it in while you can.”
Confidence with a naked woman is a stretch, but confidence with an arrogant woman I can handle.
“If it’s all the same to you, can you crush me tomorrow instead? I’m going to be kind of busy next week.” The fact that she’s naked fades into the background for me as I take command of this new persona.
That was good. It’s just combining the old cool indifference with the new smile and open body language.
I’m also looking straight into her eyes as I say it. If I had to classify her doll eyes I’d say they were designed to make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Primitive, but spunky,” she laughs and breaks eye contact to inspect her nails.
Staring into someone’s eyes makes her uncomfortable.
She tries to return to looking at me but when she realizes I’m continuing to stare right into her eyes she can’t handle it.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
I keep my eyes fixed on hers.
“You know.”
She looks away again.
“You mean looking into your eyes? It’s part of my genius, it’s how I peer into people’s inner most thoughts.”
I try to sound somewhat crazy as I say it.
“Stop it. Look where other men look and have a fantasy or something. I don’t like the whole eyes thing.”
I continue to stare at Jocie’s face until Janet hits me in the arm.
“Is there anything I need to know for this party?” I ask Janet.
“Cling to me and speak as little as possible,” Jocie replies before Janet can say anything. Janet just nods her head.
When Jocie’s judged ready to be seen by the public even I have to admit she looks perfect. There’s literally not a hair out of place. After seeing her naked I expected her to wear an outfit that would leave little to the imagination so I’m surprised when she wears a mid-calf length dress and sleeves to match. The neck line on the other hand goes almost to her belly button.
When the hover bus arrives at the red carpet and the door opens the lights are blinding. Jocie is a pro at these events so she grabs my hand and pulls me outside.
Smile and wave, smile and wave.
I expect to walk straight into the party, but for the next five minutes I’m forced to stay on the red carpet as Jocie rubs herself against me in every way imaginable for the cameras. Every time her ears come close to mine I whisper something insulting about her acting skills and she pretends like I’ve just said the funniest of most clever thing she’s ever heard.
They’ll makeover my image to be the life of the party despite me.
When I’ve had enough I wait for her to come close then grab her cheeks and stare uncomfortably into her eyes. She gets the message but in revenge she leaps into my arms and makes me carry her inside as she blows kisses to the cameras. Although she’s light as a feather I tell her that she’s much heavier than she looks.
The party is like nothing I’ve ever seen. I thought there’d be loud music and lights but instead the room sounds like a buzz of conversations. The outer perimeter is lined with reporters and cameras and the guests will periodically make their way to them to pose then move back into the crowd. The guests are all like Jocie, enhanced to the extremes and under the impression they’re the most important person in the room. The advice to be quiet and stay close to Jocie is good. I may not like her but I don’t want to navigate this party alone.
As Jocie leads me around the room I realize that what I mistook for conversation isn’t conversation at all. People are just making statements about themselves without listening to what anyone else is saying. Jocie drops the word “genius” into the “conversation” often while also stopping and smiling and posing at the exact right moments for the cameras.
On the first pass around the room I stay silent. By the second pass I start saying random things such as “I’m the Cult Hunter”, “Hello, have you ever met a genius before?” or “Fun-loving killer here.” When I’m bored of that game I start listening
again and realize that people are repeating the things I heard on the first and second passes. I’m so tired of the whole thing that I start saying people’s catch phrases before they can, things like “you’ve starred in three major movies this year,” and “your song has been number one for the last six weeks.”
The response to what I had regarded as mocking them is immediate and remarkable. Everyone is so pleased that I listened to them that they stop talking and notice me. Within a half an hour the most common words being spoken in the room are “Cult Hunter”. Fortunately, the second most common thing to hear is “Jocie” or she probably would have exploded over the fact that I’m getting more attention than her. Jocie is a pro at capitalizing on popularity and clings to me as we continue to circle.
Waiters have been putting drinks into my hand the entire time but the party itself is enough to dull the senses so I’ve managed to set them all down. Eventually a waiter comes behind me and says “if you’d like a specialty drink our bartender is excellent. His signature drink is called ‘The Four Wise Men’, you should try it.”
I freeze in my shoes at the name of the drink. Is this someone from the “Four” group? Or a Christian? The desire for fight or flight is great but instead I turn to look at him.
He has neat, short hair with three thin shaved lines running from his forehead over his head to the back of his neck but there’s no doubt it’s the guy with the spiked Mohawk from Colorado. He knows I recognize him, so I smile.
It’s okay. Just relax and talk with him.
“The bartender sounds more interesting than these people. Perhaps I should meet him?”
“I think you’d find it enlightening.”
Jocie isn’t about to let me go off by myself. She’s talking at a woman even more enhanced than herself and saying “You must get your hands on a genius, they’re brilliant in so many ways,” at which point she attempts to grab my crotch. The waiter comes to my rescue by bumping into me and spilling some sort of a red drink all over my shirt.
“You clumsy idiot,” I say, seeing my chance to escape. “I demand to speak with your boss this instant.”