Redshirts

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“He’s slept long enough,” Dahl said, nodding to Marc Corey’s unconscious form on the bed. “Wake him up.”

“That would mean touching him,” Duvall said.

“Not necessarily,” Hester said. He reached over and took one of the pillows Corey wasn’t using, and then hit him on the head with it. Corey woke up with a start.

“Nicely done,” Hanson said, to Hester. He nodded in acknowledgment.

Corey sat up and looked around, disoriented. “Where am I?” he asked, to no one in particular.

“In a hotel,” Dahl said. “The Best Western in Burbank.”

“Why am I here?” Corey said.

“You passed out at the Vine Club after you attacked a friend of mine,” Dahl said. “We got you in your car and drove you here.”

Corey looked down and furrowed his brow. “Where are my pants?” he said.

“We took them from you,” Dahl said.

“Why?” Corey said.

“Because we need to talk to you,” Dahl said.

“You could do that without taking my pants,” Corey said.

“In a perfect world, yes,” Dahl said.

Corey peered at Dahl, groggily. “I know you,” he said after a minute. “You’re an extra on my show.” He looked at Duvall and Hanson. “So are you two.” His gaze turned to Hester. “You I’ve never seen before.”

Hester looked slightly exasperated at this. “We had a scene together,” he said to Corey. “You were attacked by swarm bots.”

“Dude, I have a lot of scenes with extras,” Corey said. “That’s why they’re called ‘extras.’” He turned his attention back to Dahl. “And if any of you ever want to work on the show again, you will give me my pants and my car keys, right now.”

“Your pants are in the restroom,” Hanson said. “Drying.”

“You were so drunk you pissed yourself,” Hester said.

“Besides taking your pants for discussion purposes, we figured you might not want to go into work with clothes that smelled like urine,” Dahl said.

Corey looked puzzled at this, glanced down at the underwear on his body, and then bent over at the waist, sniffing. Both Duvall and Hester gave up looks of mild disgust; Dahl watched impassively.

“I smell fine,” Corey said.

“New underwear,” Dahl said.

“Whose?” Corey said. “Yours?”

“No, mine,” Kerensky said. All this time he had been sitting silently in a suite chair with its back to the bed. Now he stood and turned to face Corey. “After all, you and I are the same size.”

Corey gazed up at Kerensky, dumbly. “You,” he said, finally.

“Me,” Kerensky agreed. “Who is also ‘you.’”

“It’s you I saw on Gawker yesterday,” Corey said.

“I don’t know what that means,” Kerensky said.

“There was a video of someone who looked like me standing in the street without pants,” Corey said. “Someone took the video on their phone and sent it to the Gawker Web site. Our show had to confirm I was on the set before anyone would believe it wasn’t me. It was you.”

“Yes, it was probably me,” Kerensky said.

“Who are you?” Corey asked.

“I’m you,” Kerensky said. “Or who you pretend to be, anyway.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Corey said.

“Well, you talking about this Gawker thing doesn’t make any sense to me, either, so we’re even,” Kerensky said.

“Why were you running around in the street without pants?” Corey asked.

Kerensky motioned to the others in the room. “They took my pants,” he said.

“Why?” Corey asked.

“Because we needed to talk to him,” Dahl said.

Corey tore his eyes away from Kerensky. “What is wrong with you people?” he asked.

“You’re still here,” Dahl pointed out.

But Corey was ignoring him again. He got out of the bed and walked over to Kerensky, who stood there, watching him. Corey looked him all over. “It’s amazing,” Corey said. “You look exactly like me.”

“I am exactly like you,” Kerensky said. “Down to the last detail.”

“That’s not possible,” Corey said, staring into Kerensky’s face.

“It’s possible,” Kerensky said, and stepped closer to Corey. “Take a closer look.” The two of them stood an inch apart while Corey examined Kerensky’s body.

“Okay, this is getting creepy,” Hester said, quietly, to Dahl.

“Marc, we need your help,” Dahl said to Corey. “We need you to get us in to talk to Charles Paulson.”

“Why?” Corey said, not taking his eyes off Kerensky.

“There’s something about the show we need to discuss with him,” Dahl said.

“He’s not seeing people right now,” Corey said, turning. “A month ago his son was in a motorcycle accident. Son’s in a coma right now and they don’t think he’s going to pull through. Paulson gave his son the bike for a birthday gift. The rumor is Paulson goes to his office in the morning, sits down and stares at the walls until six o’clock and then goes home again. He’s not going to see you.” He turned back to Kerensky.

“We need to try,” Dahl said. “And that’s why we need you. He can avoid dealing with nearly everyone else, but you’re a star on his show. He has to see you.”

“He doesn’t have to see anybody,” Corey said.

“You could make him see you,” Duvall said.

Corey glanced over, and then broke away from Kerensky to step over to her. “And why would I do that?” he asked. “You’re right, if I threw a fit and demanded to see Paulson, he’d make time to see me. But if I saw him and wasted his time, he might kick me off the show. He might have my character killed off in some horrible way just to get a quick ratings boost out of it. And then I’d be out of a job. Do you know how hard it is to get a regular series gig in this town? I was a waiter before I got this. I’m not going to do anything for you people.”

“It’s important,” Dahl said.

“I’m important,” Corey said. “My career is important. It’s more important than whatever you want.”

“If you help us, we can give you money,” Hanson said. “We’ve got ninety thousand dollars.”

“That’s less than what I make an episode,” Corey said, and looked back toward Kerensky. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Dahl opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ll handle this,” Kerensky said, and looked at the others. “Let me talk to Marc.”

“So talk,” Hester said.

“Alone,” Kerensky said.

“Are you sure?” Dahl said.

“Yes,” Kerensky said. “I’m sure.”

“All right,” Dahl said, and motioned to Duvall, Hanson and an incredulous Hester to clear the room.

“Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks something unseemly is about to happen in there,” Hester said, in the hall.

“It’s only you,” Dahl said.

“No it’s not,” Duvall said. Hanson also shook his head. “You can’t tell me you weren’t seeing how Corey was responding to Anatoly, Andy,” Duvall said.

“I must have missed it,” Dahl said.

“Right,” Hester said.

“You really are a prude, aren’t you,” Duvall said to Dahl.

“I just prefer to think there is a sober, reasoned discussion going on in there and that Kerensky is making some very good points.”

From the other side of the door there was a muffled thump.

“Yes, that’s it,” Hester said.

“I think I’m going to wait in the lobby,” Dahl said.

Two hours later, as dawn broke, a tired-looking Kerensky came down to the lobby.

“Marc needs his keys,” he said. “He’s got a six-thirty makeup call.”

Dahl dug in his pocket for the keys. “So he’ll help us?” he asked.

Kerensky nodded. “He’s going to put in a call as soon as he gets to the set,” he said. “He’ll tell Paulson that unless he schedules a meeting today, he’s going to quit.”

“And just how did you manage to get him to agree to that?” Hester said.

Kerensky fixed Hester with a direct stare. “Are you actually interested?”

“Uh,” Hester said. “Actually, no. No, I’m not.”

“Didn’t think so,” Kerensky said. He took the keys from Dahl.

“I am,” Duvall said.

Kerensky sighed, and turned to Duvall. “Tell me, Maia: Have you ever met someone who you know so completely, so exactly and so perfectly that it’s like the two of you share the same body, thoughts and desires? And had that feeling compounded by the knowledge that how you feel about them is exactly how they feel about you, right down to the very last atom of your being? Have you?”

“Not really,” Duvall said.

“I pity you,” he said, and then headed back to the hotel room.

“You had to ask,” Hester said to Duvall.

“I was curious,” Duvall said. “Sue me.”

“Now I have images,” Hester said. “They are in my mind. They will never leave me. I blame you.”

“It’s certainly a side of Kerensky we haven’t seen before,” Dahl said. “I never saw him being interested in men.”

“It’s not that,” Hanson said.

“Did you miss the last couple of hours?” Hester said. “And the thumping?”

“No, Jimmy’s right,” Duvall said. “He’s not interested in men. He’s interested in himself. Always has been. Now he’s gotten the chance to follow through on that.”

“Ack,” Hester said.

Duvall looked over at him. “Wouldn’t you, if you had the chance?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” Dahl pointed out.

“Yes, but we already established you’re a prude,” Duvall said.

Dahl grinned. “Point,” he said.

The elevator opened and Corey came out, followed by Kerensky. Corey walked up to Dahl. “I need your phone number,” he said. “So I can call you when I set up the meeting today.”

“All right,” Dahl said, and gave it to him. Corey added it to his contacts and then looked at them all.

“I want you to appreciate what I’m doing for you,” he said. “By getting you this meeting, I’m putting my ass on the line. So if you do anything that puts me or my career at risk, I swear I will find you and make you miserable for the rest of your lives. Are you all clear on this?”

“We’re clear,” Dahl said. “Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Corey said, and then nodded over to Kerensky. “I’m doing it for him.”

“Thank you anyway,” Dahl said

“Also, if anyone asks, the reason you guys were helping me into my car last night is because I had an allergic reaction to the tannins in the wine I was drinking at the Vine Club,” Corey said.

“Of course,” Dahl said.

“That’s the truth, you know,” Corey said. “People are allergic to all sorts of things.”

“Yes,” Dahl said.

“You didn’t see if anyone was taking video while you were putting me into the car, did you?” Corey asked.

“There might have been a couple,” Dahl allowed.

Corey sighed. “Tannins. Remember it.”

“Will do,” Dahl said.

Corey nodded at Dahl, and then walked over to Kerensky and enveloped him in a passionate hug. Kerensky reciprocated.

“I wish we had more time,” Corey said.

“So do I,” Kerensky said. They hugged again and separated. Corey walked out of the lobby. Kerensky watched him go.

“Wow,” Hester said. “You’ve got it bad, Kerensky.”

Kerensky wheeled around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Hester held up his hands. “Look, I’m not judging,” he said.

“Judging what?” Kerensky said, and looked at the others. “What? You all think I had sex with Marc?”

“Didn’t you?” Duvall asked.

“We talked,” Kerensky said. “The most amazing conversation I have ever had with anyone in my entire life. It was like meeting the brother I never had.”

“Come on, Anatoly,” Hester said. “We heard thumps.”

“Marc was putting on his pants,” Kerensky said. “I gave him back his pants, and he was still unsteady, and he fell over. That was it.”

“All right,” Hester said. “Sorry.”

“Jesus,” Kerensky said, looking around. “You people. I have one of the most incredible experiences I’ll ever have, talking with the one person who really gets me—who really understands me—and you’re all down here thinking I’m performing some sort of time-traveling incestuous masturbation thing. Thanks so very much for crapping on my amazing, life-altering experience. You all make me sick.” He stormed off.

“Well, that was interesting,” Duvall said.

Kerensky stormed back in and pointed at Maia. “And we’re through,” he said.

“Fair enough,” Duvall said. Kerensky stormed off a second time.

“I’d just like to point out that I was right,” Dahl said, after a minute. Duvall walked over and smacked him on the head.