Wackos to Obliterate: Book Three (Chapter 4)
George wasn’t the only person with insomnia. Three time zones away, Trink was lying in bed trying to be as still as possible since he didn’t want to disturb Madelyn’s sleep. He knew she had to get up earlier than him, but by the way she had kept moving and by the rhythm of her breathing it sounded like she hadn’t fallen to sleep as well; he turned and nuzzled her a little.
“Oh com’on, I have that meeting at Summit. Let me sleep,” she said as she retreated farther to her side of the bed to avoid physical contact.
He halted his advance, turned to lie on his back, and looked up at the dark ceiling. “I know the young guys aren’t happy, but I’m kind of glad we can’t go on tour,” he whispered.
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’ve got to get up by seven. You creative types don’t need to come until later if at all. We’re just going to meet with the people in charge of production. I really don’t even know why I have to be there. It’s something that Summit is handling anyway. I guess somebody has to represent the group. Let me sleep, okay?”
“With all of your tossing and turning, it doesn’t sound like you’re sleeping to me. Would you like to smoke a little? That might help you sleep,” he said getting out of bed.
Sitting at the teacher’s desk they took with them when they moved to Marden’s, they passed around a thinly rolled joint.
“Doing the film is a relief,” Trink said as he accepted the pinner from Madelyn. “But all of the talk about being targeted online is freaking me out,” he added and then sucked on it.
“I keep thinking back to John Lennon being nailed outside of his apartment building. Hell, that was before the internet became accessible to the average jerk,” she said after exhaling the smoke and taking a breath. “With all the SNS shit and the huge number of people who daily pontificate online, I’m surprised there aren’t more people getting picked off by deadbeats influenced by what’s written online.”
After passing back the joint, Trink said through clenched teeth: “Yeah, it’s crazy what Diamond said.” He exhaled and continued, “What was it, something like over 500 comments to just one lousy article about the group? Multiply that with all the other articles, blogs, video postings, or interviews. Didn’t he say 450 or so of the 500 comments were written by just six people? Who the hell cares about the TRinkets to waste so much time writing crap few will read anyway.”
“I agree. I mean, how many people scan the posted comments? Not very many, I bet.”
Trink shook his head in agreement. “Probably just the six people who wrote them.”
“And, no doubt, a couple of those were the same person using different accounts.”
“Maybe they’re all written by the same dude,” Trink smirked and took another hit.
After several meetings it was worked out that the schedule for filming the video did not have to be changed since both Sophie and Ryuji were in much better shape. The format of the streamed performance proposed by the production staff was simple: the first half would contain their new material; a short intermission would follow, which would be a montage of old clips from concerts or TV appearances of the band before their breakup and a couple of very short segments from a live performance of the Diamond Dogs (filmed in an L.A. club); the second half would consist of the current configuration performing some of the earlier material juxtaposed with clips of the same songs being played by the original group; the stream would end with the group jamming on a new song yet to be released. For the most part, the film would follow an archetypal pattern used by groups who reformed after a lengthy hiatus.
Simply, the film would not break any new ground in the genre of music videos, but it would be a more than adequate substitute for a concert tour; one that should bring in a strong cash flow and would even help spread the TRinkets internationally since the stream would not be geographically restricted. Even so, both Diamond and Bowen were frustrated the band could not tour.
“You know it’s impossible to book a venue,” Madelyn explained once more as they met with her in a small office at Summit Records reserved for the TRinkets to use while in L.A. “You can perform live as the Dogs if you want. It appears there’s no problem finding a venue for the Diamond Dogs. As the Dogs you’re unable to perform TRinket material; except, of course, the songs in which either of you is credited as co-author.”
Diamond leaned back in a folding chair, ran his hands through his long, brown hair and shook his head negatively. Bowen sat next to him in a matching chair facing Madelyn’s desk. “That’s only two songs, Maddie.”
“What if we could get Ryuji or Sophie to join us?” Diamond asked as he continued playing with his hair.
“You could perform any song either one of them authored or co-authored; according to our contract with Summit if any more than three members of the group performs, they have to be billed as the TRinkets.”
“So one extra member is okay, right?” Bowen asked.
She watched the two men with a superficial Laurel-and-Hardy similarity: Diamond was tall and thin, while Bowen was short and stocky. Both, though, were covered in tattoos. “I bet your bass player would get pissed if you brought in Ryuji. Sophie would be a good addition since she wouldn’t be competition.”
Bowen frowned and said, “But it would be like having one of our mothers join the group. Ryuji would blend in a little better since ...”
“These walls have ears,” Madelyn said, grinning for some reason. No doubt, it pleased her that Bowen thought Sophie looked aged. The smile left her face when she realized he probably thought the same about her as well. “So, playing with the TRinkets is like being in a band with your parents?” Madelyn couldn’t wait to tell Trink they never considered asking him to join; no doubt, he looked the oldest of the geezers.
Once the TRinkets had finished the live segments for the online show, everyone felt ready to leave L.A. for a while. Sophie seemed the most pleased they weren’t going to tour. She still felt too vulnerable after the accident and wanted to get back to Karl and to make sure she could continue freelancing as a court reporter. Neither she nor the Dogs ever mentioned if they had asked her to participate in the tour. Since Madelyn pointed out it may be awkward to have Ryuji play bass, they asked if he’d like to join them as a keyboard player.
“I could do a couple of gigs, but I’m not going to tour since I’ve got to help my buddy Malcolm in the photography studio. Let me know when you get some dates and locations firmed up.”
Surprisingly, no doubt as a last resort, they did approach Trink about touring with them. He was a little flattered, even though Madelyn had told him they hadn’t considered him initially. The explosion in Honolulu and the increasingly ugly campaign of negativity waged in cyberspace against them, however, made him hesitant to appear on stage. Therefore, he turned down the offer and decided to return with Madelyn to Neverland; they needed to figure out their next moves in both their careers and private life.
Of course, Julian and George streamed the TRinkets film. With IP masking software they could break through the pay wall and view it for free. George even recorded it in case he ever needed to mine it for parts to obliterate. Not only George, but Julian as well, realized that having met Ryuji did influence the content of their comments. Both had felt they could allow the argument take its course in whatever realm it developed. Now, however, both were conscientiously aware of the possible physical danger they may place him in if some reader decided to act based on something they wrote.
With his longer experience as a troll, Julian was aware such results occurred more frequently than many would surmise. Of course, though, weren’t they supposed to counter a narrative that was perceived by their handlers as misinformation and propaganda? Didn’t “counter” entail stopping the spread of disinformation at its source? Didn’t songs like “Sensibowl” spread disinformation and propaganda in support of marijuana legalization? Both George and Julian (including the legion of trolls at work on “countering”) knew that it did; still their own actions bothered them.
“The stats for the online stream are amazing,” Madelyn said, staring at the screen of her laptop while sitting in the living room at Neverland. Brad looked up from reading a new feature article about the TRinkets in a major music publication.
“Here it claims the stream ‘is predicted to be one of the most watched streamed-on-demand videos ever,’” he read from the magazine.
A ‘you-better-watch-us-now’ smile appeared on Madelyn’s thin, middle-aged but still pretty Asiatic face. “Over one million views in just a week; that’s ‘paid’ views.”
“At ten bucks a pop, let’s see now, who gets the lion’s share, I wonder?” Trink asked, looking over Maddie’s shoulder: first at the screen and then at Brad in his wheelchair, parked on the opposite side of the table.
Chelsea walked into the room, holding a tray with some goodies from the kitchen. Every time Trink saw her, he recalled a rather recent video interview of the famous researcher of chimpanzees, Jane Goodall; Chelsea had the same thin, graying hair (tied back), slim build and vibrant eyes. “Considering your back rent, you’re looking at the ‘whom’ to which you refer,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “Herbal tea anyone?”
Trink smirked as he looked at Chelsea. “How much does that cost?”
“A million a cup, don’t you think my pretty?” Brad asked his wife as he rubbed his age-old hands together in an intimidating way. “Blah, ha, ha, ha, ha,” he said, sounding like a cheap imitation of a movie villain from the early days of the Talkies.
Trink rolled his eyes and turned to Madelyn. “It sounds as though we’ve worn out our welcome; don’t you think my pretty?” Limey ran into the room, located Trink and quickly went to him with her bushy, white tail wagging and the nails on her furry paws ‘tap-tap-tapping’ across the hardwood floor. He leaned over, picked her up, and stood her on his Levis as she licked his closely-cropped, salt-n-pepper beard.
Madelyn watched as Limey licked Trink. “Who do you think ‘my pretty’ is?”
“Before you live underneath a freeway overpass, or wherever most of the homeless in this town are reduced to go, please clean up the dog shit that’s all over the backyard. I hit another pile yesterday,” Brad said, rubbing the right wheel of his chair. “It took forever to get that off; still stinks a little.”
Madelyn smiled at Chelsea after she took a sip of rosehip tea. “You know, we really do appreciate it that you’ve taken such good care of her.”
Chelsea sat down in a chair near her husband. “You should thank Tinkerbell. He loves having her around …”
“I think he spent more time with the dog than he did taking care of the greenhouse,” Brad said, interrupting his wife.
“She is a charmer, that’s for sure,” Trink said standing up while holding Limey in his arms. “I’ll pick up some of those piles and then take her for a walk.”
“You know, she’ll like that. No one’s taken her out much since Emily left to join Diamond in L.A. We just let her loose in the backyard,” Chelsea said, after taking a sip of tea.
“Watch out for the paparazzi,” Brad said, picking up the tea cup Chelsea had placed on the eating tray of his wheelchair.
“Yeah, right; I worked for several months in that convenience store until anyone recognized me. The people in this town aren’t TRinket fans, I assure you.”
Oh Limey, oh Limey you’re no longer my muse
Now when I’m with you nothing comes through
That’s pretty bad for someone whose band has several hits on the charts. It felt good walking the sidewalk on this warm, autumn day with Limey pulling him along like a sled dog on a leash. No doubt, a Japanese Spitz has more in common with Samoyed and American Eskimo Dogs than appearance alone: they love to pull. He started to walk more slowly, leaned back a little and felt the tension on the leash as Limey kept moving forward. It never ceased to amaze him how strong her pull was for being no higher than his knees and for no longer being a young dog. According to a website devoted to Japanese Spitz, their life expectancy was between 10 to 16 years. Limey was around 12, he thought.
When Trink spotted the sign for the Daily Stop convenience store down the street, he realized he was walking the same route Brad and Chelsea took most mornings as she pushed his wheelchair to the store to buy snacks for Peter, Tinkerbell and any other pixie that was working in the Pixie Palace at that time. He was amazed at how things have changed in the months since he worked at the store.
“It’s Sensibowl!” someone yelled out the window of a passing car. This brought Trink out of his daydream. Fuck, someone recognized me. Once he got close to the parking lot of the Daily Stop, he realized it was more than just ‘someone’ who connected this aging hippie, with a thinning ponytail, walking his white dog to the band with an insanely popular video streaming online.
“Hey, that’s Trink Mars!” a young girl dressed in a purple jogging suit shouted to the couple of high school-aged boys getting out of a car parked in front of the store.
“Where?” one of the boys asked.
She stood next to the car and pointed directly at Trink and Limey.
“Shit,” Trink muttered as fear leaped into his consciousness while a running-from-the-crazy-fans scene in the first Beatle movie played in his mind. This was quickly followed by recollections of some freaky times he personally experienced during the early days of the TRinkets. He looked down at Limey and started to walk faster so that she no longer had to pull him; rather, a reversal took place for a short time until he noticed these kids were not going to rip off his clothes. Instead, the three of them had pulled out their phones and were recording him with the dog.
One of the boys yelled out, “Hey Trink, how’s your tranny wife in bed?”
“It don’t bother me she like it up the ass,” the other boy shouted. Trink didn’t respond, just kept walking quickly past them. He didn’t even bother to look inside the store to see if he recognized who was working.
When Trink and Limey made it back alive, they found everyone in the Pixie Palace. Madelyn and Chelsea were examining the leaves of some plants as Tinkerbell whispered something to Peter. Brad sat in his solar-powered wheelchair looking upset.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Brad said gruffly.
“Well, what the fuck happened to you?” Trink fired back.
“As I stated a dozen times already, it’s the not the return of the fucking potato blight,” Tinkerbell said.
Chelsea looked up from the dying marijuana stalk in her hands. “Enough with the ‘fucking’ already, okay? Let’s run it through some tests to see what it is.”
Brad snorted a pig-like sound through his nose and cleared some phlegm from his throat. He said, “We aren’t a chemistry lab for fuck’s sake. What can you do to test what the hell’s wrong?”
“Enough with the ‘fuck’ this and ‘fuck’ that; we’ll just scrape some of this off and take it to the county extension service and have them run the tests. That’s why we pay all of those bloody taxes,” Chelsea said, trying to sound calm and reassuring.
Peter took the marijuana from Chelsea. “I’ll head down to the extension service right now. They close in an hour.”
“Wear your regular clothes when you go. We don’t want them to know you work at the Pixie Palace,” Brad said, either worried they may investigate the place for growing marijuana or worried, if it is a blight, word may get out that could damage their business.
As Peter and Tinkerbell headed to another part of the greenhouse to scrape off the fungus, Madelyn turned to Trink. “So, what did happen to you?”
“No paparazzi yet, but we were filmed by kids with smart phones while they heckled me.”
Madelyn looked into his ashen face. “You can be sure those videos will be uploaded on somebody’s social feed.”
Trink shook his head in agreement. “And I can just imagine the comments that will accompany the videos.”
Brad looked up at him from the chair. “Being?”
Trink glanced into Madelyn’s now anxiety-filled face and then he turned to Brad. “I think we heard the word ‘fuck’ too much already today.”
Links to the previous chapters of Book Three
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-1)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-2)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-3)
Copyright (©) by Kenneth Wayne
@keniza You have received a 100% random upvote from @transparencybot for not using bidbots on this post and using the #nobidbot tag!
Thanks for the upvote. I appreciate it.