Part 10 (1/2)
”I can't cast a show in the middle of the ocean. We have to actually see these people first-hand before I choose. I do have standards.”
f.u.c.king h.e.l.l. But I have to hand it to Fi: n.o.body works harder once she sets her mind to it.
”Neal,” said Fiona. ”I want you to go through our choice of top fifty females. Select twenty using your internal f.u.c.kometer.”
”Are there any character categories we need?”
Fiona beamed as though she'd discovered w.i.l.l.y Wonka's gold ticket. ”Yes! Finally someone in this absurd carnival we call life who properly understands the show's dynamic!” Fiona shook a finger at me. ”Ray, you'd better look out or I'll make Neal my personal a.s.sistant.” This was an actual warning, not an attempt at humour or flattery.
Neal swelled under her attention. ”So we'd best get the highly fertile blondes and brunettes picked first.”
I watched Diamond Head vanish behind us out the window.
Fiona dumped a stack of headshots onto the seat beside her. ”Yes, and you can also separate the brunettes into either aggressive or under-the-radar. The under-the-radars win more often than not. Blondes have targets on them. It's nature's way.”
”We also need a Spanish-speaking brunette with an absurdly English first name,” added Tabs. ”It means the parents were ambitious for their children, and it will broaden the show's viewers.h.i.+p into the Latino market.”
Fiona said, ”G.o.d bless Jennifer Lopez's mother for opening that door back in the 1960s.”
”Here,” said Tabs, waving a fan of photos. ”I've narrowed it down to the most brazenly ambitious: 1) Persimmon de la Cal Empanada Delgado; 2) Gwendolyn Rodriguez-con-Pollo; and 3) Daisy Fernandez.”
Fiona scrutinized a photo of Daisy Fernandez's knockers. ”Wouldn't want to get stuck eating those puppies. You'd die of vinyl poisoning before you reached for the dental floss. I say we choose Persimmon de la Cal Empanada Delgado and be done with the rest.” She held Persimmon's photo up for Neal to see. ”You like?”
”I like.”
”Then we're agreed.”
”Absolutely.”
So Neal was suddenly a confident industry insider, while I, Raymond Gunt, accomplished videographer and connoisseur of womanly charm, was frozen out? ”Fiona, I resent not being included in the casting process. You'd think that-”
She cut me off. ”Take a Penthouse into the loo and finger-bang yourself. We're working.” She returned to her stacks. ”Now we have to find a hot mom. That's tricky because she has to look like anyone's mother but your own. It's a real casting challenge.”
”Is that the same as a MILF?” asked Neal.
”Good question, but no. A MILF can be any female anywhere on planet Earth who is past her prime yet still exhibits some dimension of f.u.c.kability.”
”Good to be clear on that.”
Out the window lay five hours of featureless ocean. I opened a bottle of Chardonnay and glugged away while the unholy trio performed a task that was rightfully mine. Threatening, slightly crazy black woman. Female hillbilly. Possible lesbian. Afghan war hero. Brainy Asian.
I closed my eyes and before I knew it the wheels were touching down. I'd slept through most of the flight.
On the ground, a car was waiting just off the tarmac. The four of us hobbled to the vehicle while underlings lugged our bags to the boot. At the car door, Fiona said, ”Raymond, I'm sorry if I've been a t.w.a.t. You can't imagine the pressure on me.”
”That's sweet of you, Fi.”
”Could you do me a favour and run and get my Hermes scarf? I left it on my seat. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
For Fiona to apologize for anything was newsworthy, and I found that my usual defences had dropped. ”Sure,” I said. I went back into the plane to search. Nada. I glanced out the window only to see the limo drive off. That malignant c.l.i.t. I picked up a pile of unchosen headshots and kicked them out of the plane into an uncaring world. ”f.u.c.king losers!” I shouted as they fluttered onto the tarmac.
”Mr. Gunt?”
I looked down the stairway and saw a pimpled Todd-like geek. ”Yes.”
”I'm Walter, your hospitality amba.s.sador.”
”My what?”
”I have instructions to offer you as much enjoyment as is possible at LAX. I'm here to take you to our ultra-exclusive VIP lounge.”
16.
I hopped onto Walter's little electric cart and we headed to one of the terminal buildings. We parked and he escorted me up a red carpetway to a pair of ornate golden Shangri-La doors. Please, dear G.o.d, let there be needy s.l.u.ts in bunny costumes on the other side.
Walter opened the door to expose a bar that looked somehow familiar. And then I saw her, the dreaded LACEY. She looked up at me. ”Can I get you a drink, sir? Wait a moment-it's you.”
I turned right around, but saw, through a now-closed-and-alarmed security door, young Walter driving off in his G.o.dd.a.m.n cart. I touched my left front pocket: my phone was in my carry-on in the limo, and my pa.s.sport, too. f.u.c.king h.e.l.l. I turned around to hear LACEY say, ”May I see your boarding pa.s.s, sir?”
”Boarding pa.s.s? What the h.e.l.l are you on about?”
”You came in through the VIP exit. I'm required to ask all VIPs to show me a boarding pa.s.s.”
”I'm on a private jet, thank you.”
”Your pa.s.sport?”
”It's in the limo.”
”Then I'm afraid I can't serve you alcoholic or non-alcoholic beverages.” She pushed a b.u.t.ton that buzzed. ”Garcia will be here shortly.”
”Your gardener?”
Sour face. ”Your racial stereotyping is dehumanizing. Garcia happens to be the head of security in this terminal.”
”Why call security?”
”Between you and me, it's because you didn't tip me last time. This is my revenge.” I was speechless.
”And as there are no microphones recording this conversation, and we're the only two people in the lounge, Garcia bangs me twice a week in the men's room. So he's in my palm. He won't listen to a word you say.”
I remained mute.
”Would you like some corn nuts? The airline catering company grows half the corn in Nebraska, so I'm allowed to offer them even to people who enter this lounge without authorization. There are some napkins here, and if you feel like cutlery, please enjoy a complimentary spork from the cutlery bin. Oh, look-here's Garcia now.”
A swarthy hobbit entered the lounge. ”LACEY, do we have an incident here?”