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“Awesome!” Gonzo says. “Look, this guy just gave me his card. He said I’d be perfect for a show they’ve got in development where a bunch of rich, spoiled kids live with kids who have abnormalities. It’s called Freaks Versus Fantastics.”
I snort. “Who’s the sadistic shithead who thought that up?”
“Dude—I could be on TV! They’ve already got this kid with flippers for hands. He hates Little People. He’d be my roommate. They said the potential for drama is off the charts.”
“Gonzo. Reality check. We’re not staying. We still have to find Dr. X.” I hold up my E-ticket meter. Fantasyland is losing color fast. “We’re only here long enough to score some cash and find Balder.”
Gonzo looks let down, and I feel like the ass**le who just told him Santa’s a front.
“Look, after that, if you wanna come back, that’s cool. In the meantime,” I say, showing him my contestant’s backstage pass, “we have access to the green room and free food. Let’s eat.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Of What Happens When I Take My Chances on TV
At three o’clock, the What’s Your Category? assistants come to the green room and escort me to makeup. Parker Day’s sitting in the chair getting a touch-up, a phone pressed to his ear. I can hear him making deals with this soda company, that shoe corporation, arguing with his agent, telling an assistant that he shouldn’t have to ask her to pick up his dry cleaning, she should just know. Our chairs are less than five feet from each other, and while the makeup lady does her thing, I keep stealing glances at Parker, trying to dissect what makes him a star. There’s the short brown hair with subtle blond tips. A worked-out body under a form-fitting vintage rocker tee. The year-round tan. The roughed-up jeans that probably cost more than I could make from twelve Buddha Burger shifts. No doubt about it, he’s a good-looking guy, but in a generic way, like some kind of human wallpaper you’ll want to change out for something else in a few years.
Once I’m camera-ready, the assistants lead me to my spot on the re-created beach stage complete with grass huts and tiki torches on the sides. The director downloads info about the camera, which I can’t take in because in front of me is a sea of people and my stomach is in free fall. Down in front, I see Gonzo giving me a thumbs-up and a nervous smile. Off to the side of the stage, Parker examines his notecards while a wardrobe lady steams the creases out of his jeans. The director calls for places. The cameraman gives us a three, two, one. The little light goes on and Parker Day walks out to a thunderous roar from the crowd. He works it, shaking hands and giving a big “Ho-oh!” into the mike, which everybody repeats to him.
“Hel-lo! I’m Parker Day, coming to ya live from the Party House in Daytona Beach, Flo-ri-da!”
The crowd goes wild, and Parker gives them a moment while he mugs for the camera. “Brought to you in living madness by Rad Soda—the Soda of Our Generation.” Parker takes a slug from his Rad XL can and hands it to an assistant. “Today on What’s Your Category? we’ve got a new challenger, Cameron, an audio boss from Te-jas. Cameron, come on down, my man.”
I move to my appointed spot beside Parker, who has a cheat sheet with all my info filled in, courtesy of Ann “Iphigenia” Jones. “Cam—it says here that you have mad cow disease. Is that right?”
“Yeah.” Man, I hope we’re long gone before this airs.
“So how’s that going for you?”
“Uh … it sucks?” I say.
Everybody laughs and Parker slaps me on the back. “You’re funny, Cameron. I like that. Okay, Cam, as you know, on What’s Your Category? we ask you questions about your area of expertise, which is …” He puts his mug right up in the camera and drops his voice low. “Audio boss!” I’ve seen Parker Day enough to know that they’re doing some cheesy reverb action on his voice when he says “audio boss.” It gets the whoops and hollers from the audience, though. They’re expecting it. “So. I will ask you the questions printed out on these white cards in my hands. If you answer successfully, you will advance to the next round of questions, where the cash values are even higher. But if you miss a question, we’ll be forced to take a toe. Just kidding.”
The crowd laughs at his lame joke. I glance down at Gonzo, who mouths the word pendejo, which makes me feel a little better.
“No, if you miss a question, you’ll be forced to sit in the …”
“Dunking chamber!” the audience screams.
A couple of stagehands in black T-shirts and jeans hustle a portable potty with a big red HIT ME button on its side onto the stage. Parker opens the door so that everyone can see inside. The smell knocks me back. A rickety platform is poised above the open latrine. Somebody’s placed a shoe on the platform.
Parker pinches his nose with his free hand. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen and Cameron. Once you’re placed in the Dunking Chamber you will be asked an all-or-nothing question. If you answer correctly, we will double your winnings and you will not need to shower with a household pine cleaner for a week. But if you answer it incorrectly …”
Parker hits the HIT ME button. The chair above the potty releases the shoe into the latrine with a loud flushing sound. The shoe is sucked down into a hose large enough to hold a person and flushed out into God only knows where. The camera zooms in on the clear plastic tube so that the fans back home don’t miss a single disgusting minute of human waste. In the front row, Gonzo looks like he might be sick, and I’m wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
“You’ve had all your shots, right?” The audience laughs and Parker gives one of those dazzling smiles he’s so famous for.
A stagehand helps me up the ladder and gets me in position on the platform. It smells like the kind of farts your grandfather lays down. The lights are hot, and all I can see in front of me is a mass of tanned, half-dressed bodies in various stages of drunkenness.
Parker shields his eyes with the card-holding hand to look up at me. “Cam, you okay up there? That mad cow disease kicking in?” He leans in to the camera and uses that low voice everyone loves. “Moo.”
There’s a lot of foot stomping, clapping, and cheering. I just want to win some cash and find my yard gnome. It’s not a lot to ask.
“Okay, let’s do it. Cameron, who sings the Rad soda anthem, ‘Make Mine an XL’?”
The Rad soda anthem is only on TV or the radio every fifteen minutes. He’s starting with the easy ones.
“Uh, that would be Big Philly Cheese Steak.”
