Sunday, July 22, 2007

Yo! (The Catalyst, chapter 8:WANNA PLAY STALKER?) Sorry about length
Robert:Pants!
Me: Yes. Pants... Skirts suck. Despite the fact that I'm wearing a dress.'-__- Anyway...

This couldn’t be happening. Jason Wenterz, notorious Rock ’n’ Roll cool guy, had just accidentally blurted out one of the most intimate phrases in his vocabulary to a total stranger. And who the schizophrenic chicken was the girl on the other end of the line anyway? ‘Wrong number, maybe?’ thought Jay. Maybe. It was possible. Then again, it was also possible Shant might have accidentally left his cell-phone with the young lady Jay was currently talking to. ‘Well, I might as well ask if he’s there just to make sure.’

“Hello…?” The young girl asked when Jay didn’t respond right away. “Dude, you still there?”

“Um, yeah. Hi. This is Jason. Is Shanty there? Who’s this?” Pause… From the sound of things (or lack, thereof) the girl obviously had no idea who Jason was. Or, at least, no idea that Jason was Shanty’s uncle. This, however, considering Shanty’s frequent embarrassment of being related to a “sellout Punk Princess” like Jason Wenterz, was not at all sufficient proof that this young lady didn’t know Shanty.

“This is Megan.” She still sounded somewhat suspicious. “Also known as Aaya. Also known as Jomomma. Also known as- hey! Wait a minute, you’re Jason Wenterz, aren’t you?!” As she identified him as the superstar he was, the incredulous suspicion in her voice decreased by a few (thousand) notches. Jason knew what came next: the squeal. The “OHMYGAWD, I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M TALKING TO A CELEBRITY!!” squeal.
Nevertheless, he still answered: “Yup. That’s me.”
And sure enough, the second after his stardom was confirmed, there it was. The squeal. Only, in Aaya’s/Jomomma’s/Megan’s case, it was more like a scream. One word: OUCH. One sentiment: “Oh, my poor ear-drums!”
“OH.MY.GAWWWWWD. Dude, I LOVE your band! I have, like, every one of your C.D.’s! I swear, ‘Let’s All Slit Our Wrists and Burn Down Something Beautiful’ was the C.D. that got me through middle school.”
“Um, that’s awesome. But, uhhh, is Shanty there or…?” Pause. (Dear Gawd, this Megan person paused a lot!)
“Uh, yeah, dude. He’s here. Hold on, lemme see if I can find him…But before I do, quick question: you wouldn’t happen to have the phone-numbers of, say, Ritzka Alichino, Mikey Ralphson, Jack Marin, and Gabe Saporta, would you?”
Jason sighed. Oh, so it was the phone numbers of her 4 top celebrity crushes she wanted, was it? Well, too bad for her. All 4 of those “kids” were Jasons close friends and he knew perfectly well that all of them were far too busy with their demanding music careers to take time out to listen to the ramblings of a hyper-active teenage fan-girl. However, he was short on time and even shorter on long-distance minutes for his phone, so he decided to choose a shorter answer.
“Yes, I do. But, I REALLY need to talk to Shanty, so can you please just-”
“LOOK, WENTERZ.” Megan interrupted, in a tone that was the very definition of commanding. “ Here’s the dealio- You give me the numbers, I give you Shanty. No numbers, no message. Capice?” Surprise, surprise. No intimidation whatsoever with this one.
“WHAT?!” Said Jay, unable to believe he was being threatened by a mere teenage girl he had never even met.
“You heard me.” Megan sounded so determined and confident it made Jason went to throttle her. “Oh, and before I forget, what’s up with you wanting my home-girl, Belinda, to be co-lyricist? I mean, that’s just wack, man.” Pause. (“AHHH, NOW SHE’S MAKING ME DO IT!!”-Jason Wenterz.)
“Wait. YOU know Yuki, er, Belinda…?”Blink, blink. Bewilderment, disbelief.
“Hell yeah, boy! She’s my homeh. In fact, if this whole high-school thing doesn’t work out for us, we’re planning on dropping out of school and becoming dreaming, loveless hobos together. She’s gonna be PattyCakez and I’m gonna be Jomomma. ‘Cuz that’s how we rolllllllllz, Wenterz.” One could tell by the slight suburban twang in Megans voice that she was obviously from some part of Pennsylvania.
More blink, blink. More bewilderment, disbelief. Jason got the feeling that if he stayed on the line with Megan much longer he would subsequently re-grow his puberty. (Apparently her immaturity and spontaneous hyperness was contagious.) “And you’re changing your names, why…?” He asked, not knowing what else to ask besides “Can I PLEAASSE talk to Shanty?” again.
“Because Megan and Belinda don’t sound nearly loveless or hobo-ish enough. Now, are you gonna give me those phone-numbers or what?”
Sigh, sigh. Frown, frown. ‘I give up, I give up.’ “Fine.” Sighed Jay, obviously frustrated. “But right after I give you the numbers, you WILL let me talk to Shant. Got it?”
“Yup, yup.” Chirped Megan blithely, happy now that she had gotten her way. At the sound of said chirp, the vein in Jasons temple which pulsated when he was angered or agitated nearly burst out of his skull. Oh, how he wished Shanty had picked up the phone instead of this Megan girl, whoever the Hell she was….
4 PHONE NUMBERS OF DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS ROCKSTARS LATER….
“There!” Said Jay, exasperated. “I gave you ALL the numbers you asked for- can I PLEASE talk to Shanty NOW??”
“Um…. No.” Megans voice was as a timid as that of a ditzy, pistol-wielding A.F.I. fan-girl who had just accidentally shot Davie Havoc and was now being confronted by her fellow A.F.I. fans.
Jason was furious. “WHAT?!! WHY THE --- NOT?!!?!” He screamed, wanting not only to throttle her now but to violently massacre her entire family too.
“Because, uhhh, I have no idea who Shanty is. You must’ ve accidentally dialed the wrong number. Sorry, Wen-Wen.” Well, she sure didn’t sound sorry. “Oh, but, really, why should I be?” She was probably thinking. “I mean, Wenterz here has deceived and manipulated people far worse, for far longer, and with far more cruelty than I am even capable of. It’s barely even karma for him to be tricked into giving up a few phone numbers now.” Oh, how Jason wanted to hurt her, slap her, strangle her, shake her; it didn’t matter, as long as he caused some damage.
“WHAT?!” He started to scream again than took a deep breath and remembered something. And that something? That it would be so much more effective to slip into the role of the ultimate victim and take her on the guilt-trip to Hell than to just scream obscenities at her all day. Besides, the guilt-trip would only take about 2 minutes. Much shorter than screaming at her would. ‘Okay, acting time.’ He thought. And sure enough, a half instant later, there was his imaginary acting coach/director, at the back of his head, right on cue. Right on cue, feeding him the lines that would make Megans’ unsuspecting heart sink or shatter. Whichever came first. And Jason was hoping it would be the latter.
When Mr.Over-cunning did speak again, his voice was soft and the very definition of injured. No more anger. No more cussing. No more screaming. Instant transformation. “I… I don’t understand,” he stammered. “If I had the wrong number and you knew it, then why…?” Oh, here we go again, another dramatic pause. Dot, dot, dot… “Then why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you lie and stall for time like that? I mean… Are you sure you’re a Mobile Fallout Shelter fan? Because not many fans I know would just use the bassist of their favorite band like that.” Jay paused for a minute to let the beginning of his so-far brilliant performance sink in…. and to see if it was working.
No answer. She hadn’t hung up on him, but she remained silent. Oh, yeah, it was definitely working. And why shouldn’t it? After all, Jason was such a gifted actor to a point where he could almost be considered a hypnotist. In fact, if you were watching from behind the scenes, you could almost hear the director at the back of his head whispering in his ear: “The audience, give them innocence.”
Camera man, keep rolling. Actors and actresses, keep role-ing.
“Give them sincerity.”
Keep role-ing.
“Give them guileless vulnerability.”
Keep role-ing.
“Give them complete, utter pitiable injury without the slightest hint of it being your fault.”
Keep role-ing.
“Give them… a one-liner.”
Cut and print.

Jason took care of the cut by terminating the call while the imaginary camera crew handled the print. By now, he was just brimming with malice and Megan-afflicting bliss. The directors acting instructions had worked again, just like always. By the end of the call, she had been just over-flowing with heavy-hearted guilt. Success. Even if she had gotten the phone-numbers, Jason had still managed to spoil it for her. “Shyeah, nobody [messes] with me and gets away with it.” He bragged to the empty room with an evil sneer adorning that morbidly juvenile face of his. Of course, this malicious joy he got from walking away the so-called “winner” would only last so long. After that, he would go back to the empty miserable loneliness which had been haunting him ever since he could remember. It was a very queer feeling. A mix of anger and meaninglessness. Insignificance, even. Sometimes he would even descend below that into a state of numbness where it felt as if everything was all one big vague, surreal dream. All one big vague, surreal dream of which he might awaken from any moment. During those times, it was almost as if he was android. He walked, he talked, he ate, he sang the backing vocals, he played the bass, he drank… He did everything automatically and without much feeling as if he was just a machine who had been programmed to do all these things. But, hey, that’s quite enough emo writing for one day. Fast-forward to the part where Jason tries to call Shanty again, and this time, MAKES SURE he dialed the right number. And, sure enough, he did. The bad news is, he got his nephews answering machine.
Which made sense, considering due to Shantys’ career as a night-shift-working fry-cook, he was nocturnal. In fact, he had probably gotten home from work at about 6’o clock in the morning. Therefore, he was most likely still asleep. Well, too bad for Shanty. Jason just couldn’t wait. After all, his career was at stake here! Besides, Shanty was a light-sleeper anyway, so the ringing of the phone would probably wake him up.
“…Please leave a message after the beep.” Instructed the machine. BEEP! “Hey, Shanty,” said Jay, casually. “How ish you? Been a while, hasn’t it?” Pause… No answer. “Look, dude, I know you’re there…” Jason warned. Still, no answer. Jay was getting somewhat desperate now. “Aw, man, I’ve got something REALLY important to tell you! C’mon, Shanty, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up!” Surprise, surprise: still no answer. Okay, now Jason was getting REALLY desperate. Therefore, let the stating of empty threats begin! “Shanty, if you don’t get your ass out of that bed right now and answer the damn phone, then I’m going to come over there and slice up every last [beep]ing one of your Defying Destiny records!” And, to his delighted surprise, he heard the phone being picked up… and then, to his discouragement, hung up again. Evidently the young ex-stalker was not at all in the mood for a conversation with his rock-star uncle. ‘Well, tough [luck], Shanty,’ thought Jay, as he called the “disrespectful little punk of a nephew” back.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Four times.

And then came the voice mail. “… Please leave a message after the beep,” instructed the machine again. Beep. “Dude, that was cold!” Jay informed the sleep-deprived fry-cook, probably still tangled up in the covers of his bed. “I mean, I’m your [blank] damn uncle, for God’s sake! Have some respect!” Shanty was probably blinking sleepily and rolling his eyes at this point. Jason sighed. If things continued like this, the boy would just hang up on him again. When Mr. Regular-decorated-emergency (A.K.A. Jason) did speak again, his voice was more sensitive, more apologetic. “Look, dude, I’m sorry I woke you up so soon and disturbed your beauty sleep but this is really, really, REALLY important! Seriously. I could lose my job over this, so-” His explanation was interrupted by the sound of the phone being picked up. And then, Shanty’s sleepy, groggy-sounding voice: “Whaddaya want?”
“Oh, uh, hi. Um, I need you to watch over someone for me. Kinda like you did with that 1 girl a couple years ago, only I’d be paying you for it.” Pause…
Sigh. “I thought I told you I gave up stalking. It’s unhealthy for me, Uncle Jay. And how could you lose your job over this person? What does HE have to do with your group of musical Punk Princess’s, anyway?” Musical Punk Princess’s… That meant Mobile Fallout Shelter. (Well, at least it was better than “Mobile Fag-out Shelter.”)
“Um, it’s a ‘she,’ actually, Shanty. And, if you must know, she’s supposed to be the new co-lyricist for my musical Punk Princesses.”
“CO-LYRICIST….?” He repeated, in a disbelieving murmur.
“Yes. Co-lyricist.”
Pause… Shanty was surely either very shocked or very confused at this point.

“You still there, Shan-Shan?” Asked Jay, when it took too long for the boy to answer.
“Yeah. But Uncle Jason, I thought YOU were The Human Shields PRIMARY lyricist. I mean, the only time you ever had help with the lyrics was in the beginning when Mikey pitched in a little.”
Jason sighed. “Yeah, boy. I know, I know. I know.” He said this as if he had just been reminded of a dear relative’s death. But the reality wasn’t that far from this analogy. For, it was the death of a dream and the death of his pride. And, except for friendship and the love of his nieces and nephews, he held almost nothing dearer.
After this, there was a somewhat awkward pause in which the matter was soundlessly dropped and the topic of conversation shifted. “So…” Shanty began, “how much would you be paying me to look after this girl?”
“Oh, about $120, 999, 000. Sound fair? I mean, I only need you to look after her for a week or 2 and she lives practically right next to you, like, right in your neighborhood, so…?”
“Um, yeah, that sounds fair. I’ll definitely consider the job. But if I do say yes, and only IF, how would I identify her?”
“Oh. Her name’s Belinda Sacko. She’s about 5 foot, 7 inches tall. She’s got shoulder-length, dark brown hair with sandy blonde streaks here and there. She’s got a very feminine bone-structure and if she were any skinnier, she’d be anorexic.”
Shanty just blinked. So far, the “new Jason Wenterz” sounded like almost every other young girl he’d ever known. “Okay…”
“And, uh, one more thing, Sha-Sha.” Okay, here was the fact Jay been DREADING having to admit.
“Yeah?”
Embarrassed pause. Dot, dot, dot, dot… “She’s only 15.”
“WHAT?!”
“Yeah, I know. She’s a little young, but…”
“UNCLE JAY, ARE YOU BLOODY MAD?!!?! SHE’S STILL A DAMN HIGH-SCHOOL STUDENT, FOR GOD’S SAKE!! SHE’S NOT EVEN OLD ENOUGH TO WORK AS A WAITRESS MUCH LESS AS A LYRICIST FOR A WORLD-RENOWED ROCK BAND!!”
“Shanty, trust me, age doesn’t matter in this case. She could be a damn fetus, for all I care; she’s still a bloody poetic genius.”
“Uncle Jay…” he sighed. “Don’t you get it? This means you’re replacing yourself with a 15-YEAR-OLD GIRL. And not only that, but a total nobody of a 15-year-old girl. I mean, you could have at least hired some other celebrity, like-“
“Shanty.” Jay interrupted, in a firm voice. “First of all, Belinda is an ADDITION to the band, not a replacement. And second, you can call me crazy for saying she’s a poetic genius all day, but first just listen to what she wrote…” He then read the lyrics he had stolen from Yuki out-loud to Shanty. It was a fairly short poem so it didn’t take any longer to read than about a minute or less. Still, every line was over-flowing with so much emotion and so much power to make the listener feel emotion, that at the end of the little semi-song, Shanty couldn’t help but say: “Wow…”
“Yeah. I know.” There was more than a note of solemn acknowledgement of the fact that poetically-speaking the girl was more skilled than him, as he said this.
“And you’re SURE she’s only 15?”
“Well, according to her mother, she’ll be 16 on her birthday, but for the time being, yeah, she’s 15.”
“Okay. So what would I have to protect her from?”
“Oh, just make sure she doesn’t get hurt too badly.”
“Hurt TOO BADLY?” Shanty repeated, obviously confused as too Jasons definition of “hurt too badly.”
“Yeah. And keep her away from Vashou Malluste if he ever shows up.”
“Um, fine. But would be your standards of ‘hurt too badly’?” Pause…

“Just keep her alive.” His voice was as grim and fore-boding as that of an executioner announcing that he would now be killing the guilty defendant. “Weather the risk of death be accidental or on-purpose, KEEP.HER.ALIVE.”
Shanty was about to ask what Jay meant by the possibility of the risk of death being on-purpose, but before he could, Jay cut to the chase: “So, how about it, Shanty? Wanna play stalker?”

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