Chapter Five The subway ride was a slow one. Horribly drawn out like Spamalot. But with less comedy. If that’s possible. She sat on the dirty orange seat wondering what was happening in her life. It was all happening so quickly. In four chapters she had sold her soul to the devil, whose name is Lola. She was visited by Ethel Merman and saved her hero, Scal. Something, she was sure, no Scalion had ever done before. She was wondering, with all her mind power, why she sat in a piece of gum, when there was a clean seat next to her.
A homeless man sat across from her. He had a long beard that wound its way around his shoes. His beard covered most of his face. He wore a baseball cap and raggedy clothes: a long jacket and oversized pants. He sat crouched like a tiger staring suspiciously at Scri. She was worried, as they were the only two there.
Finally, the man stood up. As he rose, his shoe caught his beard. And the artificial crest of hair was pulled down, around his neck. Behind the plethora of fake hair, he was pointing a gun at Scri. She yelled, a high pitched, b*tch of a scream that would have sent any dog running with its tail between its legs, protecting its canine genitalia.
The man was short, and Scri recognized him.
“You’re…Chow Yun-Fat,” she stuttered.
“No, I’m B.D. Wong, star of Law and Order….SVU.” The man raised the palm of his other hand to silence her. “I have an order from the Unnamed Producer to dispose of you.”
“Is that why you were wearing the homeless outfit?”
“No. That’s what happens when you do a short-lived show on Broadway.”
“Oh. But before you kill me, tell me who the Unnamed Producer is.” She pleaded. Begged, like Maury the Mouth did before the deadly Mob bosses, who knew Maury had given away Tony’s grandmother’s secret pasta sauce recipe. A delicious sauce full of colorful, vibrant flavor. It could make any taste bud come with saliva.
“I can’t do that,” B.D. said seriously.
“Why not?”
“Because I am not going to kill you. How can I? I know what happens to murderers. I understand some of the Law and Order scripts! So, if anyone asks, you never got on this train.”
“But, tell me who the Unnamed Producer is!” She was getting angry. Two minutes ago, her life was being threatened. Now she was back to a confused state. “Tell me!” B.D. just shook his head.
“I don’t know who he is. I never met him.”
The train came to a halt and Scri hopped off, giving B.D. one more quick glance.
On the way to her apartment, she thought to herself. She saw two men, a tall skinny one and a shorter fat one. What do they have in common with B.D. Wong? Why would they want to be involved in killing Scal? What is their involvement with
Wicked? Is B.D. going to be the next Boq?
Her head was spinning when she realized she had been walking around the same light pole all this time. She continued into her apartment building.
She went over to the elevator and pushed the down button.
“Sh*t! Every time!” She pushed the up button.
The elevator dang and she jumped back. The bell always scared her. Ever since she was a child. She was in her school’s local Spelling Bee. The bell, to the little spellers, was like skim milk to a lactose intolerant person. It was scary. It wouldn’t kill you, but made your stomach feel terrible. Her last word for the championship was staphylococcus. She asked for a definition and was given, “the pathogenic bacteria, parasitic to humans, that typically occurs in bunches.” She asked, as most spellers do, for the word used in a sentence: “The doctors were worried that they couldn’t cure her of the staphylococci.” She stood in front of the microphone before attempting to spell. Finally, she started. “S…T…A…P…H…I…L….O….C…..U….C….O….U….S, staphylococcus.”
And that is when the disheartening sound rang out, echoing over and over in her ears. It was followed by the dismal words of the judge, “I am sorry, that is incorrect.” The next student, a Mr. Barfee, no accent aigu, spelled the word correctly with his magic glove (that he wore for some odd reason during the match).
She lost the Bee. Outside the gym, she could hear a female judge humming to herself, “that’s my favorite moment of the bee.” “Sadistic b*tch,” little Scri thought.
Whenever she hears a bell today, she fears it like the plague. And not just any plague. The Bubonic Plague that infested rats on ships and wiped out almost all of Europe. The same plague that inspired, “Bring Out Your Dead.” And that made her loathe it even more.
Finally, the elevator came, the doors opened, and she stepped on, just as her cell phone rang. “Hello?” she answered, not recognizing the name on the LCD screen, wallpapered with a pictured of Scal. “Hello? Who is this?” No one answered.
“Excuse me, Miss Oblivious,” started another man, standing in the corner of the elevator, “if you are going to talk on the phone, get off the elevator.”
“Hold on,” Scri said into the receiver. “Listen, if you have a problem with me, you get off the elevator.”
“I was here first!” The elevator door slammed behind her.
“So what?” Anger began to bubble and brew, set to simmer, inside her. Her face turned red, and flames erupted in her eyes. The man stepped back, wedging himself even more into the corner. All of a sudden, she bent backwards at the hip. All the way back to the point where her head was almost touching the ground. Her hands began moving in circles, furiously. She couldn’t control herself. Her legs began shaking. Suddenly, her whole upper body whipped forward, like a whip used to tame a lion, and her head crashed into the man’s skull. Meanwhile, her hands furiously whipped at the man’s shoulders and neck. Her nails scratched though his shirt, deep down into his skin. Finally, she stopped. The man slouched into the corner, bloody and dead.
Suddenly, her phone rang again. “Yes!”
“Can you hear me now?” asked a voice.
“Yes, who is this!”
“The Merm. I was calling to tell you, you are about to use the power of the Flail.” The phone went dead.
“The Flail,” Scri said out loud.
Finally, the elevator stopped on her floor. She stepped off and walked to her apartment (or flat, as she heard it called on the BBC). She fumbled with her keys, opened the door, and screamed.
There was someone sitting on her easy chair. “Who are you?” she asked, bewildered and nervous. She clutched her breast as if to say, “I’m defenseless.” Or maybe to say, “Look at these.”
The man stood up and turned on her lamp. He was a tall man of a very short stature. He had dark black, blonde hair. He was slimly fat and heavily thin. He was an oxymoron, a jumbo shrimp, a…well, she wasn’t quite sure.
“Who are you?” she asked again, this time clutching both breasts, as if to say, “Yeah, they’re real.”
“Sit down, please.” She sat. She had always been very submissive. In her whole life, she was dominated by others. But for now, that’s all she could think about. The Flail took a lot out of energy out of her. Like a character in a Mortal Kombat game, she would have to recover her strength. Her eyes closed and she passed out.
Updated On: 7/14/05 at 12:45 AM
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