“Meatball Marinara on rye.” The kid gets to work as I nudge my shoulder, bringing the phone back up to my face. “If the offer’s too low I’m sure we can come to some agreement.” I step to the left in line, nodding to all the veggies. “With all due respect ma’am it’s his legacy, people are gonna love it.” I point the kid to the toaster. “Every little boy in the 80s wanted to be your dad, don’t you think today’s youth could use that?” I flail my card around on the tablet. No beep. “You’re aware this is a courtesy call, right miz Landry?” No beep, I flail harder. “We own the rights to the Amaz-O-Man movies and all performances therein” The sea of acne on the kid’s face parts for a moment to reveal bright-blue braces. Probably asking for a donation or something. His adolescent squeal bleeds into the crowd as I continue slapping my card around on the tablet. Maybe it’s the other side. “I’m gonna make this simple. The studio’s willing to throw you some scratch for your blessing but we don’t gotta do jack. So right now you’re choosing between a paycheck with a thank you in the credits and absolutely zip. Now I know what I’d—”
“Sir, you need to insert the card.” I stick my card into the tablet and grab my sub. No tip, no receipt.
“Uh-huh. Yuh-huh. Yeah. Pleasure.” The call screen fades away and I see that my Uber’s already here. You have 0:48 before the rider may cancel your ride. Okay, okay jeez. I sit in the back of the black 4Runner and enjoy my sandwich. It squirts all over and it’s too hot but I’m hungry.
Ding. Blessing granted.
President Marco Mogliati has the only wooden office-door in the building. The deep brown mahogany sheet confounds new visitors as they compare the Gothic iron “MOGLIATI” encrusted in the wall above his door to my “rm 803, henry moore” nameplate just down the hall. I sit in my office frantically tearing off the corners of a sticky note. But each rip creates two new corners, so I continue and continue. I have to take a piss, but I just went, but maybe I should go again. It’s supposed to be any minute now though, so what if I miss the ping? I mean, I’ll just say that I was in the bathroom. I don’t know if he’ll like that though, shouldn’t I have peed before asking to see him? I’ll blame Jacob. The sticky note is barely bigger than my thumbprint at this point, on to the next one. This next sticky note sounds too much like a fly being unzipped. I’ll be quick, in and out.
Just as I bring my hand to the doorknob I hear Jacob’s voice on my desk-phone. “President Mogliati will see you now.” I can feel my throat become dry like I swallowed fucking sand. I open my door to see Mogliati’s office opposite mine in the hallway and the sterile waft and idle chatter of the office calms my nerves as I walk over to the door. The dark blot in the center of my vision on the white canvas walls affirms what I know; I am walking into the abyss.
After a lifetime in the hallway I am at his door. At the top of my vision is a cast-iron bear’s head holding a large ring in its mouth. I reach up, grab the bear’s plaything, and knock on the door.
…
A muffled “Come in” bellows from within the office. I grab and turn the door’s handle. I’ve seen this before so I know that it opens inward unlike the rest of ours. What I didn’t realize was how heavy it would be. I stand firmly and use all of my arm’s strength to pull the door open. A smoky must fills my nostrils before I can even get a look in.
I jump in my own skin as I realize he is standing just inside the doorway, ready to receive me. He is a tall and wide man; looking at his center of mass fills all of my vision. On others his bald head and husky build may be pitiable but on him it exudes experience. The pit-stains on his button-up are those of a hard-working man.
His mighty mustache is deformed on account of the genuine smile he radiates. “Hank, my boy,” his arm bent at the elbow into a handshake-at-draw. My thumb wraps only over his index finger and my middle finger just barely onto his palm, like a high-shelved pot that you can touch but not grab. He’s strong but not hurtful; he treats me with care.
He gestures me over to the chair in front of his desk and as I walk over to it I can feel him behind me. He’s not a predator, he’s a harness that guides me forward yet I knew that if I fell backward his great frame would support me. I sit down and my eyes peruse as he makes his way round the desk.
The wall behind his desk features a taxidermied bear-head that hangs over him. On his desk is a framed photo of himself in a Hawaiian shirt with his hand around his wife, he has more hair here. I see children playing on the beach behind them. I hear his footsteps wander as he walks over to the large window on the right-most wall and draws a lavish tasseled curtain.
“Privacy, my boy,” with a smile. I watch his shoulders as he shimmies over to his seat. The swiveling chair that drifted before is now still as he sits back and faces me.
“You’ve been doing stellar, you know that?”
“I appreciate that, President Mogliati. It’s been stunning to be able to work on such high profile pictures— high grossing to be sure.”
His hands clasp to conceal the bottom of his face but I notice his eyes scanning my every pore.
“Of course, of course. Only the best here. Now, about the Amaz-O-Man reboot.”
“Right, so I chatted to the Landry estate earlier, uh, Maeve Landry, his daughter. And I got her blessing for the cameo.”
“Attaboy, attaboy. You know, I was an intern on the original production of Amaz-O-Man.”
“Oh, really sir?”
“That’s right, I have a picture somewhere around here.”
Mogliati takes-off with great inertia from his chair and pinballs around his walls of photos. I look back at the beach picture. His wife has no blemishes, no wrinkles. Picturesque. Her river stone face smooths out his bagged eyes and crinkle cut forehead.
“Here it is, Hank, come take a look”
As I rise to go over to him, Mogliati gazes at me with the same wide smile. I see his eyes comb over my body and in a twitch his nose flares for a moment. The grainy polaroid shows a younger scrappy Mogliati resting his arm on the shoulder of Dean Landry. This guy’s some hot shit and he’s got the look to go for it. 6’5, wide frame, and that cleft chin that Old Hollywood seemed to love. He’s a superhero just for not looking like a manlet next to Mogliati.
I feel Mogliati’s paw plop onto my own shoulder.
“It’s a dogfight, but this industry can take you to wonderful places.”
His thumb works down to my shoulderblades.
“There will be duds that people forget the next day.”
His grip tightened.
“But the truly stellar pictures will live on forever. Thank you for letting me think back to a simpler time.”
“Of course, sir. I hope one day-”
“Back when I had hair.”
His laughter shook the room as he brought his hands to his stomach and threw his head back. I I feel lightheaded like his guffaw is sucking up all the air in the room. But as they say, if the Bossman laughs, you laugh. So I do. I laugh with him until I’m out of breath. I feel my legs lose their reliability and I reach out to hold myself up with my hands on Mogliati. He simplifies into one big blur as my consciousness slips.
My slumber is interrupted when I smell sharp chemicals in the air, like the kind you’d clean a toilet with. Wait. Where the fuck am I? I’m naked. Is this a car trunk? No, it’s too big. I look up to see a very low metal ceiling. I try to stand up but I can raise only a little bit more than a squat. Am I in a goddamn box?
“Hello?” echoes around the circular walls of my tiny chamber.
I take a hunched step to get to the center of this place. Looking up, there’s a hole in the ceiling; a long pipe that extends far, far up into…somewhere else. I see a white ceiling at the end of this tunnel. Hence the light.
I shout for help into the pipe. I can’t stick my head into the hole but I bring my mouth up to it and shout louder. My eyes are starting to tear up from the bleachy aroma. I hear movement somewhere outside of the tunnel. A smoky scent grazes my nose for a moment and I know that fucking behemoth did this.
“Mogliati you psycho where the fuck am I?”
Silence from above as I see a plastic tube with a flared-end start creeping down the hole into my den. Every few moments I hear it hit the pipe’s wall as he lowers it further and further. I back up into one of the walls. I don’t want that shit touching me.
Hands in knees I wait at one end of this circle. I have nowhere to run. Like fucking Shaggy I’m gnawing at my fingertips. I bite down on the small bit of nail still protruding and jerk my head back. That shocking pain of going too far doesn’t faze me here. I’m a sitting duck in the fucking Bermuda Triangle.
And just like that, the plastic invader hangs flaccid in my cage. It’s ridged like a bendy-straw and a welded sleep-apnea mask rests at the end. It’s connected to the rest of the straw and would let me breathe in whatever foul shit he plans to pump in here.
My blood is ice-cold, but I’m not breathing like a maniac anymore. It’s time to start strategizing. Of the classic options in a kidnapping scenario I think I’ve only got one: scream like hell. It’s hard for him to shut me up down here and so I holler. The echo of this deathtrap might be my savior; if he wants to shut the hatch he’s gotta pull the mask back up.
No dice.
A speck appears in my vision at the top of the pipe. I hear the grind of metal on metal as a water hose begins its descent into my base. This snakey crusader is trying to fuck me. Just like Harold did on Bullet Time, just like Heather did on the MayTV acquisition, just like every dipshit in a suit it’s trying to fuck me.
I mad-dog this thing right in its eye and wait for my moment. I hear the Bossman let down a few feet at a time. Twice, maybe three more times.
Screeeek.
Come on.
Screeeeek.
Not yet.
Screee-
I do my best little hop, grab the hose in both hands, and throw myself back down pulling like hell.
SMACK
“Nruhhh” in baritone.
“Fuck you dickweed!” I shout in victory, “You geriatric piece of shit you think you can just keep me down here? I have dealt with badder motherfuckers than you in the past. I’ve made teams of lawyers my bitch over a poster. I got them to shut down The Bean for a shoot. I convinced Ben Affleck to show dick for a bonus. You think this means jack to me? I’m going to get out of here and stick my foo-”
It burns. I didn’t even feel anything wet but it’s all under my feet. The thick substance isn’t flowing out of the hose. It’s oozing. It’s not even warm but the bottom of my feet feel like I’m on hot coals. What on God’s green earth is this asshole doing to me?
No, no time to chicken out.
I back up out of the immediate puddle and grab the hose full force to clog it up. It immediately spurts out a gush of the jade goo, but I think I’m holding it in. For a moment, the hose is dormant. I can feel the pressure building though. It feels like someone’s sitting on my closed fist. It feels like I’m holding a popcorn kernel in my hand that just wants to pop. I can’t keep holding this.
I let go for a moment as the ick flows out and doubles the puddle’s size. It’s most of the room at this point. If I want to stop the flow I’m going to have to step in it. I take a moment to look at my feet. They feel like hell on Earth but they look just fine. As I make my hobbled hop to the center of the room, the goo splashes up on onto my legs. It feels like it’s eating away at my skin but I can’t give a shit about that right now.
I bear hug the hose with the full force of both arms. I’m stronger like this so I don’t have to exert my full strength to keep it from flowing. Still, my arms are killing me and my brain is telling me I’m standing in lava. I see the hose start to bubble up just above where I’m holding it. As this bit inflates my biceps are burning like they’re my feet. Fuck, this isn’t going to hold either. My back is starting to cramp as I have to hunch over to even fit in here. I know I have to start using my legs.
I groan as I sit in the muck to wrap my thighs around the hose. It’s like I’m sitting butt-ass naked in a scalding leather car seat. I start to ease up on my arms to let some of it through to be stopped by my legs. But after only a little squirts through some osmotic-bullshit I can’t stop the rest of the ooze from coming through my arms. This throws me onto my back and my head slams into the goo. It’s thick enough to keep me from a concussion but I’m baked alive as this cold substance corrodes my skin. Some acidic-type shit.
I’m straddling the hose like a liferaft while I lie on this floor. I like to think my arms are slowing down the amount coming to my legs but honestly I don’t even know. My thighs are strong enough to grant me a quiet moment in my hellscape. As I breathe and scan the room I get my closest look at the ooze. The thick, jade, translucent discharge has microbeads in it. Like my goddamn exfoliator.
The idea of this stuff getting in my eyes is powering my grip right now. I feel some movement on my stomach and I look down to see a bubble the size of a watermelon pressing onto my thighs. The weight of the world is resting on my leg days at Barry’s Hollywood. I notice the hair on the bottom of my legs has been dissolved by the stuff. Aches, burn, and dread are the only things I feel. As the watermelon inflates my legs are feeling like jelly. I know it’s the end for me if the bastard can soak me in this stuff. I know I don’t deserve any of this. I know I’ve got the willpower to fight back with all of my being. But I’m no Amaz-O-Man.
The ooze rips through my thigh guard and begins to flow uncontrollable into the room. I stand up for a second, but I know I’m shit-outta-luck at this point. I look at the mask dangling in the center of the room with defeated eyes.
It waves back and forth unaffected by the mayhem down here. I match it for a while. The goo is up to my knees now and I don’t want this stuff in my mouth. I look down through it all to see my feet. No toenails.
I wade in the ooze over to the mask. I wrap the strap behind my head and apply the mask to my face. The air in this straw is nicer than my pool of chemical fumes. As the goo-level rises up to my nether regions I look down in fear. I’m hairless and shiny from the waste down. Like a Ken doll.
The smoky sweet scent in the tube is my only respite. It helps me see things for what they are. I’m not being burned; I’m being cleansed. I was dirty, very very filthy before. The sensation I’m feeling is like stepping into a hot shower after a hard day at work. I deserve this.
“You’re not going to stop me, Amaz-O-Man, Chemical-D is already in the water supply. In just a matter of moments every poor folk in Sun City is going to worship their new master!”
“Is that how a demented fellow like yourself gets your kicks, Dr. Destructo? Robbing millions of people of their free will?
“In a matter of minutes you’re going to be the only person in town picking a bone with me. You know, maybe after my mindless zombies elect me mayor, I’ll ban you from the city.”
“You’re going to pay for this, Doctor!”
CREEE as the valiant score kicks in.
POW
WHAP
CRU—
Silence. I can feel my head being held up in his strong hands, but I can’t see a thing. I feel his thumbs digging into where my eye sockets used to be before he places a ball in one of them. After he twists it around in the hole he made, I can see.
He’s leaning over me and staring intently. A bead of sweat forms on his bald head and falls onto my face as the bastard looks at the TV. His schnoz is newly bandaged and I see some dried blood on the gauze. After checking the screen he comes back to me and works on my other eye. I see him create a shallow indent with his thumb and stick an eyeball into the hole. He screws it in and presto I have full sight.
He lets go of my head and it falls back as I come to realize I’m splayed across some ironing board in Mogliati’s living room. As my head hangs off the board I get an upside-down view of the movie. He’s paused on a close up of Amaz-O-Man from the 1978 film. I hear him sit back on his couch and resume the movie.
—NCH
Amaz-O-Man is holding Dr. Destructo by his collar. Word is Carl Rackham got like twice Dean Landry’s pay despite only having like 25 minutes of screentime.
“Now, tell me Doctor, where can I find the anti-serum? I wouldn’t like to hurt you.”
Rackham cowers, now being held many feet up off the ground. I bet an oldhead like that felt stupid playing so scared of such a newbie.
“Fine, fine! Here it is. But it’ll only work if you introduce it to the water supply in the next 10 minutes.”
“Well then I must head out now, for the fate of the city! And you—”
Amaz-O-Man hangs him by his shirt off of some of the tall lab equipment.
“Can hang out here.”
I think the humor only works cause Landry’s so squeaky-clean sanitized for most of the picture..
“Curse you, boyscooouuut!”
Amaz-O-Man flies through the window out into the Sun City skies. We get a side-view shot of him in his iconic flying position. Mogliati pauses it. With my head still hanging back he begins to sculpt my leg. My flesh is putty in his hands. I feel him massage hard-chiseled thighs into me. He works his way up my hips and his hands trace an outline of my torso. His hands make waves over my body as he builds large, defined abs and pecs. He grabs my arms and I can feel them tear as he pulls opposite sides apart to make them larger. He gives me barbaric arms, and they feel quite heavy.
In fact, I hadn’t tried to move before, but I lightly wiggle a finger as he works on the opposite arm. I try some toes and they’re active as well. He leaves the room a few times and I’m able to experiment more each time. I feel confident I can move my arms and legs, but I don’t know if I can sit up. I practice these movements even as he makes tweaks on my body, my dexterity growing.
“Honey! Are you still awake?” rings a woman’s voice from the other room.
“Yes, dear, I’m still working” the wall of a man responds.
“Okay, I’m going to bed, join me soon!”
“Sounds good, my darling.”
After using a fork to create the pores on my face, he picks me up and flips me over onto my stomach. I hear a click as the movie goes back on. My head hangs down now and I only see his gauche rug and striped boxers over the Amaz-O-Man score. I hear him gather some materials from his bag and still his breath for a moment.
Immediately the top of my head stings like I just got a shot.
“Larry! Where have you been?” from 70s bombshell Rhonda DeLaine.
He removes the needle and punctures me again just by where the first one was. He needles my scalp meticulously.
“I erm, had to step out for a moment. You see my car alarm was going off and well…”
As he rests his hand on my head for stability, I feel the softness. This asshole is giving me hair. The fucking stones on this guy to grind me down smooth like a baby just to give me back my hair. I grit my gums with each new puncture of the needle.
“You missed it! Amaz-O-Man cleaned the water supply and saved all of Sun City!”
After just one more, I throw my fist up at his face in a brief sobriety.
pam
I’m weak as dick. He was leaning over though, so he loses his balance and falls to the floor.
“Gee well I am sure glad that he did do that. If he didn’t, well. Um, well, who knows. But well erm…”
With barely any feeling in my middle section I throw my legs to the side and plop onto the carpet. Stomach down, I crawl toward a sliding glass door. As I lug myself over to the window my reflection becomes more clear.
“You’re Amaz-O-Man, aren’t you, Larry?”
I turn my head left and right like some fucking mutt, bewildered at how what I see is a reflection.
“Good Golly, Penny…”
I move my jaw up and down, and this cleft chin moves with it. But it’s all so smooth, I look like a fucking ken doll.
“Don’t try to deny it, Larry. You’re always gone when he’s saving the day.”
Mogliati’s titanic form appears in the window.
“Penny, you have to understand, I wasn’t telling you for your own good.”
I thrash about to the best of my ability. Even flinging myself at the glass I can barely seem to make a thud. I try to push myself up to reach the handle but it’s useless.
“I can only hope that you still love me even though I kept this secret.”
Mogliati reaches down and tosses me over his shoulder with ease. I swing down at his back like a kid throwing a tantrum, but it falls softly like a light tap.
“And I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, Penny. My life is filled with danger, dastardly villains, and space aliens.”
Mogliati props me up on the couch and sits next to me.
“I love you, Amaz-O-Man.”
THE END