Sellevision (8 page)

“Hoshi, what a sweet thing to say, thank you so much. But I’ll tell you something, I’d trade my big fat mouth for your beauty any day.”

Hoshi smiled.

And then before leaving the set, Bebe turned to her. “Oh, Hoshi, by the way, do you know if the Woodlands Mall is still open twenty-four hours a day on Sundays?”

five

“M
y father’s dead and my mother wishes she were.”

Bob Shriber, head of broadcast production for the E-Z Shop Channel, laughed at Max’s answer to the question he’d just asked: “How did your parents take the whole penis thing?”

Max noticed that Bob’s suit had a sheen to it. And one stray hair extended out of his left nostril. He also noticed that the office was not nearly as posh as Howard’s. Clearly, this was a rung down on the ladder of success.

“I know you must be sick and tired of defending yourself—but you gotta admit, it’s a pretty unusual way to lose your job.”

“Yeah, actually, I do admit it. But it was a pretty unusual job to begin with, so in a sense it’s like this perfect cosmic thing.” Immediately regretting the Southern California overtones of what he just said, Max changed the subject. “So it seems like a lot of people play golf down here. I mean, I saw a lot of golf courses on the drive from the hotel.”

Bob gave Max a puzzled look.

“Well, the only reason I mention it is because my old boss, Howard Toast, he had this executive golf-putting toy in his office, and I’d always whack a few balls around whenever I went to see him. I mean, except for the last time.”

“I see,” said Bob. “So, how does your wife feel about the prospect of moving to Florida? I mean, if it came to that.”

Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Actually, I’m not married. Still single.”

“No girlfriend, even?”

Max smiled. “Nope.”

Bob studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “So, you catch the game last night?”

“Are you kidding?!” Max laughed with relief. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’m totally addicted.”

Bob chuckled. “Oh man, last night was a close one, huh?”

Max rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t believe he blew it! I mean, everyone knows “The Wind Beneath My Wings” is from
Beaches
. What a dork.”

Bob’s smile fell. “What?”

“I just about knocked my wine over with that one!
Evita
? What was he thinking?” Max said, shaking his head.

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean? Last night’s game.
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire
?”

“I wasn’t talking about
that
,” Bob said sourly. “I was talking about the
game
game. The Mets versus the Cardinals. Not some
game show
.”

Max’s face turned red. He ran his fingers through his hair again.

Bob looked annoyed. “You do that a lot.”

“What?” Max asked, swallowing.

Bob mimicked the gesture. “Run your fingers through your hair. My ex-wife was always doing that and it drove me crazy.”

“Oh, sorry. I guess I wasn’t really aware that I do it.”

“You don’t do it
on air
, do you?”

Max bit his lower lip. “I don’t think so. I mean, not that I’m aware of. No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

“Because, you know, little
tics
can be very distracting to the viewers. We once had this host, Tabby something, Clearwater, I think. Yeah, that was her name, Tabby Clearwater. Anyway, she did this
thing
with her eyes.” Bob twitched his left eye repeatedly, causing the corner of his mouth to spasm.

“Wow, yeah, I can see how that would be distracting.”

“I mean, this is the South. We’re very laid back down here, very easy-going. All these twitches and fingers-through-the-hair stuff might be fine in the North; the pace is a lot quicker up there.”

Max discreetly tucked his hands under his thighs.

“Say, what’s that on your chin, is that dirt?” he asked, pointing to the center of his own chin.

Max placed his index finger on his chin, felt his cleft. “You mean this?”

“Yeah, that. What is it?” He was frowning now.

“It’s just, you know, a cleft.”

Bob leaned in closer and narrowed his eyes. “That could be a lighting problem.”

After the interview, Max climbed into his rented beige Kia and drove two miles to the Shangri-La. He opened the minibar and took some booze from the inside-door shelf, grabbing a bag of Kettle Crisps Vinegar and Salt potato chips at the last second. Then he took the square ice bucket and walked down the hall, filled it with ice and returned to his room. He lifted the sanitary paper hat off one of the plastic glasses in the bathroom and mixed himself a stiff drink.

Max then realized that alcohol alone was not the answer. He would also need television. He took the remote and aimed it at the screen. Of all the possible channels, on popped Sellevision.

Forty children with Down’s syndrome were standing on the set, dressed in purple choir uniforms and ringing colorful bells. Some of the children rang red bells and some rang yellow bells. When the conductor held up a blue flashcard, only those children with blue bells rang them. The other children pressed their bells firmly against their chests to keep them silent. When the conductor held up a green flashcard, the green children rang their bells. In this method, a barely recognizable version of “People” was being played, very slowly.

A screen graphic read
Bell Ringers
, and listed the item number as S-6884. Peggy Jean had tears in her eyes as she said, “They are just too precious and I don’t personally know the words to tell you what it’s like to be in this room with these very special children. So let’s go straight to the phones and say hello to Roxy in Tulsa. Hi, Roxy!”

“Hi, Peggy Jean! I can’t believe what I’m seeing, it’s like a miracle!”

“I know, Roxy, isn’t it beautiful? Let me ask, what moved you to call in this evening?”

“Well, for years my husband and I have tried to have children of our own, but that’s turned out not to be an option for us.”

Peggy Jean gave a nod of understanding.

“And you wouldn’t believe all the paperwork involved with adoption. So when I saw these little Bell Ringers, I screamed out for my husband, I said ‘Put that aluminum siding down and come inside, you’ve got to see what Sellevision has on, you just won’t believe it—it’s the Baby Jesus at work.’ ”

One of the yellow bell ringers accidentally rang her bell while the reds were ringing. Peggy Jean smiled at the charming blunder, which only made the Bell Ringers’ rendition of “People” even more adorable.

Roxy continued. “But I don’t see a price on the screen. How much are they?”

Peggy Jean gave a quizzical smile to the camera. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Roxy.”

“Well, that little boy in the first row, the third one from the left—the one with the bangs—he’s just as cute as a bug. How much would
he
cost?”

Suddenly understanding what the caller was asking, Peggy Jean tried to hide her shock behind a pleasant expression. “Oh, Roxy, you misunderstand. These children are not for sale, you can’t
buy
these children. You can sponsor them.”

“What do you mean? They’ve got an item number.”

“Well, yes, but that’s so you can make a contribution to the organization they’re a part of, So Very Special Children. So how much would you like to contribute, Roxy?”

Max slammed his fist down on the hotel room desk. “They stole my idea! Those bastards stole my concept!”

A few months before he was “let go” Max had made a suggestion to producers. “Let’s do a show called Hospice Hounds, where people call in and they can sponsor a dog from a shelter to be adopted, trained, and placed with someone who is in the terminal stages of disease.” But the producers had dismissed the idea, saying the Humane Society would never allow them to auction off dogs on live television, no matter how good the cause.

When Max looked back at the television, the Bell Ringers were gone and Peggy Jean was smiling into the camera, introducing the next show. “If you love deep-fried foods—like me—but you don’t love the calories, stay tuned for our very first Fried-But-Fat-Free Olestra Showcase with Adele Oswald Crawley. It’s coming up next.”

“H

i, Nikki. How are you?”

“Hi, Mr. Smythe. I’m okay, just trying to get some sun.”

John had spotted Nikki from his living room window. The girl was lying on a Pokémon towel in her front yard, her firm, young body glistening with suntan lotion. He immediately went into the bathroom to brush his hair and then casually walked outside, pretending to be interested in his driveway. “Better not stay out too long, you don’t want to get sunburned,” he said, sweating slightly, not from the heat.

“Ah, it’s okay, I’m wearing number thirty,” Nikki said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. John walked over to the edge of Nikki’s towel. She smiled up at him.

“Say, Nikki, I was wondering if you might be able to baby-sit sometime soon?”

Sitting up, Nikki said, “Sure, Mr. Smythe, I’d be happy to. Except Wednesdays are bad for me, because I have gymnastics until eight o’clock in the evening.”

Something, John thought, he would truly enjoy witnessing.

“Ah, no, I was thinking maybe”—he pulled a date out of thin air—“next Thursday. I’m taking Peggy Jean out for dinner, a surprise.”

“Oh, how sweet and romantic,” Nikki said. “My parents never do anything romantic.”

“So Thursday’s okay with you, then?”

“Sure, Thursday is great.”

John shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, then it’s settled. Thanks a lot, Nikki. I’ll see you then, on Thursday.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Smythe. And thanks for thinking of me.”

If only you knew how much I think of you, he thought. “Don’t burn,” he warned with a smile.

“I won’t,” she said.

John waved, nodded his head, and returned to his own yard, his manhood pressed hard against the zipper on his jeans. Then he turned back. “Oh, and it was nice seeing you in church the other week.”

Of course, the trick now was how to get rid of Peggy Jean on Thursday so that when Nikki arrived, he could say that something came up with his wife, and she didn’t have to baby-sit after all. Then maybe he could engage her in a little conversation, offer her a cookie or a glass of Pepsi, and hopefully be able to just talk to her a little.

Inside, he rang his wife at work.

“This is Peggy Jean Smythe,” she answered confidently on the first ring.

“Hi, Peggy.”

“Hello, darling, what a pleasant surprise. Is everything okay?” Then with a slightly worried edge in her voice, “Nothing’s happened to the boys, I hope?”

John wiped his forehead with a quilted Bounty paper towel. “No, the boys are fine. They’re up in their rooms, doing some reading for Bible study.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad that they’re putting their little summer vacation to constructive, good use.”

“Yeah, well anyway, are you working next Thursday night?”

He heard the pages of her day planner turning. “It appears I’m off Thursday. Why, is there something you had in mind? Something special you’d like to do?” She smiled and twisted her wedding band around on her finger.

“Well, I have to work Thursday night. We’ve got a client coming in and I promised the boys I’d take them to the movies, but since I can’t, I was wondering if you would.”

Silence, then, “Oh.”

“So can you?”

“Well, John, I suppose I have no choice, do I?”

“Great, thanks, hon, see you later.” He hung up the phone and bounded up the stairs. “Boys?” he called out.

They appeared at their doorways.

“Your mom’s taking you to the movies on Thursday night,” he announced, so happy he almost laughed.

They exchanged curious glances at each other. “Why?” asked Ricky, the oldest.

“What do you mean, ‘why’? Because she’s your mother and she loves you.”

The three boys looked at him and then Ricky said, “Oh.”

“Well, you boys get back to your studies. I just wanted to let you know the good news.”

John walked into his office and turned on his computer. Sitting at his desk waiting for the computer to come to life, he thought of Nikki in her little bikini, all fragrant and moist. He opened the file drawer of his desk and under NONREIMBURSABLE BUSINESS EXPENSES removed the latest issue of
Jane
magazine. He thumbed through the pages until he found the article (with pictures) “Bikini Waxing Wisdom,” an article he had not been able to stop thinking about. After his computer was on, his thoughts drifted back to Nikki. “Christ, she’s just a kid,” he told himself as he logged on to America Online. Then he typed in an Internet address,
http://www.preteentwat.com
, and waited for the familiar images of nude young girls with moist lips to fill his computer screen.

A

fter hanging up with her husband, Peggy Jean made a note in her day planner about the movie. She also made a note reminding herself to make a personal and tax-deductible donation to the So Very Special Children Fund, as the show had moved her emotionally. She also realized that she could probably deduct the movie from her taxes, as it was part of her job to be modern and in-touch with popular culture.