Produce, Me? | Episode Four | Lie Like A Dog
…lie like a dog…
Episode One | Episode Two | Episode Three | Episode Four
I nod toward the red folder: Lie like a dog
The supermodel — erm, spokesmodel — nods. Oh man, she’s good. There’s no judgment at all in her reaction. She turns to make the other folder disappear into a satchel.
She steps behind the wheelchair. Hospital staff move into place and pull open the doors. My face is flooded, smacked by light and a cacophony of voices.They’re shouting questions. In the distance I can hear people outside. There must be TVs outside, too. They’re chanting: Hero! Hero!
Vomit-burp. I remind my stomach not to let fly today.
The Mayor stands there. My wheelchair is pushed toward her. She’s not going to sit next to me, though. That would wrinkle her impeccable suit.
The spokesmodel flanks the other side. The crowd quiets.
“We’re here to say thank you to a hero among us…” the mayor starts. It’s a good start. I feel like shit about it but I kinda like the opener. It’s followed by, “selfless” “do-gooder” and something about “the best of us.”
I raise my good hand, pointing in the air – am I…thanking God? Ouch, the movement is painful. Who cares. Gotta lay it on thick. I reach to the supermodel, touching her skirt. She opens the folder, pulling out a typed statement.
“He’s a FRAUD!” someone shouts from the back. There’s a commotion.
There’s a loud buzz. Then, the sound of a sack of potatoes hitting the floor. Cameras swivel. The crowd parts.
A man stands there with a stun gun, he’s holding his hand out to the crowd.
On the floor is the Pleb! One of Al’s assistants, the one who called me a prick at the waterfront. She’s still holding a print out of the still frame of Al and I at the bank.
Sunglasses Man holds a finger to his ear, talking into a sleeve microphone, “Suspect neutralized.”
The supermodel spokesmodel elegantly clears her throat. Cameras pan back, framing her and me. Thick like butter, I put my hand on my chest as if to say, “oh my heart, I can’t take this…”
Here and outside, the crowd is silent. Almost reverent. Except for a, “We love you!”
“If our hero had the means to speak for himself today,” the lawyer starts to read, “he would say: in the face of unimaginable danger I found the strength within myself to act, not for glory, but for the purest form of humanity…”
I hear Aaron Sorkin wrote the speech. Probably his finest work.
So, the street parade was nice. Big. Pompous. Just the way you’d want a heroes parade. Sucks the Blue Angels weren’t available for a flyover. But, the baseball team promised I could throw out the first pitch when I’m healed. All-in-all not a bad couple of days.
Of course the scripts are rolling in. I don’t know if I’m a comedy guy or an action hero. Maybe a musical? Can I choose all of the above? Yes, yes I can.
Meds? Nah. They only mess with my personality…and everyone fucking loves that. But it’s exhausting being humble.
Buzz. More adoring fans? Nope. Package at the door. Security brings it to me – after scanning, natch. Gee-whiz, it’s heavy…
A gold statue. An urn – I shake it. Full.
And a bottle. Do I like scotch? 1923 Macallan, ‘eh?
And a note —
Sorry, kid. Wish we could have finished working together. Thanks for the fun. Sent along a little something to remember me.
P.S. – I put it on your tab.
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Music to read by: Walk Of Life by Dire Straits
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