Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (66 page)

“Well…I never actually watched the tape all the way through.”

“Ooooh, there’s lovemaking,” the dealer said, showing a sexual predilection that hadn’t been quite clear till that point.

I glared at him, trying to explode his brain. But I still hadn’t developed that particular superpower, or any others come to think of it.

“But that’s not my area,” he said, frightened by the murder in my eyes, and backed away.

As he moved off, I realized I could solve this whole, thorny problem, easily, and began snatching tapes off the table.

“Hey,” he said. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. And I am.”

“That’s one of our most popular sellers!”

“What? It’s what?”

“It’s one of our…”

“It
was
one of your most popular sellers,” I seethed. “
Was!
”

I took all the tapes I could find and started to walk away, then noticed a copy of the never-aired pilot episode for a live-action Justice League TV series made sometime in the early nineties.

“Oooh,” I said. “Is this the one with David Ogden Stiers as Martian Manhunter?”

“Yes,” the vendor said.

“I always wanted to see that,” I informed him, then grabbed one, walking off with it, and all the other videos, in hand.

“You can’t take
that
one!”

“Oh!” I asked. “Do you have the rights to sell this one, too? Either, I mean.” I shook my head. “I think. Are you paying the network royalties for this? I somehow doubt it!”

“You’re a jerk!” he snarled.

“
I’m
a…” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This man was selling illegal merchandise, committing crimes in broad daylight, and he was calling
me
a…
“
Kiss my ass, you little wanker!”

“I’m calling security!”

“You do that! We’ll see who has legal right here to do what!” He pulled out a cell phone, and flipped it open like an arrogant Captain Kirk—which may be a redundancy—and feeling suddenly uncertain of what really was and wasn’t legal, I bravely turned and ran.

“Corky,
stop
!”
Wisper called after me.

In my sudden rush of fear, I had forgotten her, for a moment.

“I have to get these out of here!”
I told her.

“It doesn’t matter!” she said. “Will you please, stop?
You left your comics behind!”

I quit running and looked around. She was right. Millions of dollars worth of comics, and I’d forgotten them entirely. How could I…?

“This is illegal,” I told her, clearly more upset than I realized and unable to focus on the more important matters at hand. “We had distribution of this video legally blocked in the United States…”

“It doesn’t matter, Corky. You can’t really stop that stuff anyway these days. And who cares? You did something stupid in your youth! You can’t undo it. So what? Welcome to the real world.” “I am not gay!”

“I believe that,” she said sincerely.

“Morgan tricked me! I thought Wosserman was a woman!” I said meekly.

She looked at me as if I’d just smacked her in the face with a fish.

“He has a beard!” she said.

“I thought he was
Mindie
!”

“Oh,” Wisper said, as if a tiny light had dawned. Somehow that seemed almost plausible to her. “She is a bit on the mannish side.”

“And I was
really
drunk!
Look at the picture!”
I held one out.
“See?”

“I’d rather not,” she said, glancing away. “Corky, as long as you genuinely go for women, and not men, we have no problem.”

I stopped vibrating emotionally, and just stared at her in shock. How could she be so calm? Especially—I looked down at the videos— especially…

“Everyone makes mistakes, Corky,” she said. “And with technology the way it is now, more and more people are making them on YouTube.”

Slowly, I began to relax. Wisper had an amazing way about her. She could make something like this seem almost normal.

Almost.

“Which is what makes the damn thing so horrible!” I whined, holding out one of the DVD’s with commentary and extras. “It’s like this thing is alive! Mutating! Spreading like a disease!”

“Only to people who go out without protection,” she said, laughing and apparently trying to defuse my anxiety. It wasn’t working.

“I don’t care, Corky,” she said, “so why should you? These things only have power if you let them.”

Again, I settled down a bit, though I just couldn’t get to complete calm. She obviously wasn’t really able to relate. How can someone who hasn’t been through something like this possibly understand what it means when humiliation, that is bad enough in private, suddenly becomes a bestseller on a table that several hundred thousand people walk past in a weekend? When strangers you meet for the first time say: ‘Hey, I’ve seen your video’, then laugh?

Then something stepped on my head. Figuratively.

“You said welcome to the…” I, choked, but had to ask. I didn’t want to know, was
terrified
to know, but I had to ask. “…welcome to the real world.” I finished. “Did you mean
my
real world, or
our
real world?”

“What?”

I swallowed, and tried to be clearer, which was difficult. “What have
you
done to be ashamed about?”

“I wore lingerie in public for money,” she said flatly.

“What?” I gasped. “That’s
nothing!
That’s
less
than nothing. In many circles, that’s something to be proud of. Especially male circles. Males who are in no way homosexual.”

“Yeah,
here
!”
she said. “In
your
dimension! But it’s something where I come from. Believe me!”

“I just don’t think you’re taking in the whole picture,” I said, annoyed.

“Corky. Who’s the only person you need to worry about that might be upset with your past, right now? Right this moment?”

I paused, thinking about it for a little too long. “You?” I asked, hoping that was the right answer.

“Yes,” she said.

Ah. Good. Nailed it the first time, for once.

“Just me,” she continued. “And I couldn’t care less. I already knew anyway, it was just a shock to see it on the table like that, in all video formats, including PAL.”

“For me too.”

“But I know how you feel about me,” she said, smiling. “I’ve seen your erection.”

“Everyone’s seen my erection.”

“True. And some of them even paid money for the privilege,” she reminded me, smiling and nodding toward the pile of evidence in my hand.

That had never occurred to me.

“Interesting point,” I said. “So—you’re not upset? Or hurt, or confused about my sexual orientation?”

She shook her head.

“You’re not angry?”

She began to shake her head ‘no’ again, then stopped. She thought a moment, fixing me with her eyes, and her expression slowly turned a bit sour.

“You called me a nudist,” she said finally.

I studied her for several seconds confused. “You
are
a nudist.”

“You said it with
disdain
.”

“I…” I paused and really focused on her. She was visibly pained by that earlier comment. This is exactly what she had feared most when she asked me not to bid on her. Me lapsing. And clearly, I was a lapser. Like the dog.

Lapser Oopso.

Never mind.

“I’m sorry,” I said, finally. “I was upset, and…”

“Let’s just sell your comics,” she said quietly. “So we can make good on your bid.”

There was a distance and finality in her voice that hit me hard in the gut. I thought about what I’d said, and what I’d really meant, and it made me wince. I had slid off the slippery slope of stupidity, submerged into a river of fear, and while flailing around to save myself, had struck my savior in the face.

“Wisper, I’m really…” but I never got to finish my thought, because just then two familiar faces stepped through the crowd, one smiling with malevolent glee.

The Boones. Papa mayor and little Washburne. Both were wearing velour jogging clothes, sunglasses, and gold jewelry.

“Good, God,” I said. “What are
YOU
doing here?”

Wisper turned at my question, and the shock of seeing the two men she least expected, and least wanted to see, nearly knocked her over. River in turn looked the Boones up and down, repulsed to see them in so many clothes and apparently comfortable. At least the mayor, if not Washburne. Old Wash looked as though just being around so many unnaked people was making his skin crawl. He sweated and cast his eyes about nervously, avoiding physical contact with anyone who brushed too closely near him. At one point someone bumped him, and he whimpered like a lost puppy.

“What
are
you doing here?” Wisper asked, the words barely able to escape her throat.

“We’re here to take you home, my dear,” the mayor said, and then looked at me. “And see to it that
you
never return to Nikkid Bottoms.”

“You mean you’ll
try
…” I began, then noticed Washburne held what’s called a short box—a white cardboard container designed to hold small amounts of comics, and keep them protected from people who might want to touch them.

Apparently the thing could also keep a gun quite safely tucked away as well.

“Whoa,” I said, and nodded to the thing so Wisper, and River could see it as well. But they never did. Washburne pulled the pistol back inside the box, though I knew it was still pointed directly at me.

“What?” Wisper asked.

The mayor interrupted before I could answer.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, shall we?” The elder Boone said slimily.

Washburne stepped forward and pushed me to one side, separating me from the others, as the mayor took Wisper’s confused elbow and guided her along after me.

Yes, her elbow was confused! All of her was confused, actually!

Don’t get picky with my grammar at a difficult time like this!

Overlooking the convention floor were hospitality suites with large, glass windows facing outward over the chaos, specifically designed so publishers and distributors could quickly and easily get away from the madding crowd and mingle in highly visible privacy. The rooms were comfortably furnished, surprisingly quiet, and had tables of catered food available to any who found their way in, intentionally or otherwise.

The mayor ushered us up a flight of stairs, and into one of these pseudo-plush rooms, offering us seats in the plastic, and metal chairs. None of us took one, but the elder Boone made himself comfortable nonetheless, while Washburne moved over to a table and made grunting sounds as he attempted to open a can of mixed nuts.

“It’s so annoying the way they move the dates for this convention around, every year,” Mayor Boone said, looking out the glass windows and over the crowd. “I’d much rather be home for the Festival, but…business calls.”

Plastered all along the walls were covers of Nuderman, Flashyman, Nudegirl, and a host of others, all variations on popular superheroes wearing only masks and other kinky accoutrement, but very little actual clothes. An enlarged cover of my favorite comic, along with a dawning truth, stared me in the face at roughly eye level, mocking me.