by Chris Colfer
“Boy do I,” Cash recalled. “That was the first episode I took my shirt off. I lived on yams and sit-ups for three weeks leading up to filming it. To this day, I can’t smell sweet potato fries without it triggering extreme phantom abdominal pains. Quick, that guy’s leaving! Take his spot!”
Topher parked the car a few blocks from the warehouse. The 1994 station wagon was the nicest car on the street and the passengers were afraid to get out. Cash ate a couple gummy bears from his backpack before leading the way, but didn’t offer any to the others.
“Come on,” he teased them. “Don’t chicken out now. We’re almost there.”
They courageously left the car and joined the line outside the warehouse. They were obviously out of their element, but not as much as an old man walking past the line. He seemed very confused by the event and held a sign behind his back.
“Thank goodness,” Topher said, and pointed him out to his friends. “Someone who looks more misplaced than we do.”
Joey’s face fell flat when he saw him, like he recognized someone he didn’t like.
“He’s not here for the concert,” he said. “Excuse me, sir? There aren’t actual abortions going on here. It’s just an ironic band name.”
“Is this Fourteenth Street?” the man asked.
“No, I believe it’s Fourth.”
“Oh, thanks!” he said. “Enjoy the show. God bless.”
The old man turned to leave and they saw that his sign read ABORTION KILLS! JESUS SAVES!
“How’d you know he was a protestor?” Cash asked.
“I recognized the lost but judgmental look in his eyes,” Joey said. “My family used to protest outside Planned Parenthoods every Sunday after church. There’s nothing more awkward than asking for directions with a picket sign in your hand.”
“Interesting,” Cash said. “My family just went to the movies.”
They edged closer and closer to the door, which was monitored by a bald mountain of a man. The bouncer’s disgruntled attitude made two things very clear: he wasn’t easily fooled and he did not want to be working on a Sunday night.
“IDs?” he growled.
The bouncer checked Cash’s first without a problem, but paused as he inspected the others’, especially Mo’s.
“I was going through a really tough time,” she said.
The bouncer glared at their group suspiciously. “I’ve got a feeling these aren’t real,” he said.
Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo all began to panic internally. Was he going to call the cops? Were they going to get arrested? Should they make a run for it? Was he as fast as he was big?
“Seriously, dude?” Cash said. “If we had fake IDs, do you think we’d be using them to see Rosemary’s Abortion in Bumblefuck, Missouri? There are casinos down the street.”
The bouncer shrugged—he had a point. “Go ahead.”
The gang followed Cash through the door, shocked they had actually pulled it off. Their anxiety was replaced with a strong burst of adrenaline.
“What a rush!” Mo said. “I get why people break the rules so much. I feel so naughty and alive!”
“Easy, Lizzie Borden,” Cash said. “Don’t get addicted to the dark side now.”
The warehouse was packed with more tough-looking people. The Downers Grove natives stuck out like a hand of sore thumbs and worried that at any moment someone would ask them to leave. There were no seats but a large standing area in front of a small stage flooded with purple light. Cash led his group to a crowded bar at the side of the warehouse.
“I’m gonna get a drink. You guys want anything?”
“We don’t drink,” Topher said.
“Like never?”
“I had a sip of communion wine once,” Joey said.
“Jesus, I’m traveling with the Brady Bunch,” Cash said. “I’m starting to think I was sent to you by a higher power. You guys need someone to teach you how to have fun, how to let loose, and—”
“How to destroy a national landmark?” Sam said. “Because you can check that one off the list.”
Cash smiled. “Exactly,” he said, and faced the bar. “Bartender? I’ll take a shot of Johnnie Walker Black!”
“All we have is Jim Beam,” the bartender said.
“Sold,” Cash said.
“Oh sure, he knows who those guys are but not Lewis and Clark,” Mo whispered to the others.
The actor slammed a ten-dollar bill on the countertop and threw his head back to take the shot. “I said goddamn,” Cash hollered as he recovered from the burn in his throat.
“Are you supposed to drink on your allergy medication?” Topher asked.
“No, but it makes drinking a lot more fun,” Cash said. “Gosh—I’m so ready to dance. Hope this band doesn’t suck.”
A trio of tattooed thirtysomethings in skinny jeans appeared onstage with their instruments. The crowd cheered and gathered around the front of the stage like a school of fish. Cash and the others were crammed among them like they were in a can of punk rock anchovies.
“Hello, St. Louis!” the lead singer greeted the crowd, which was impressive with the number of lip piercings he had. “We are Rosemary’s Abortion. We’re pro-choice and pro-rock-and-roll! Now let’s get this party started! One… two… three… four!”
The opening notes of their first song blasted through the speakers and the crowd went wild. Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo had to cover their ears while their eardrums adjusted to the volume. They couldn’t make out a single lyric since the singer mostly yelled the song, but the fast-paced beat was hypnotic.
Everyone throughout the warehouse bobbed up and down excitedly to the beat of the song, but no one was more energetic than Cash. The others figured his whiskey was kicking in because the actor shimmied and shook like Jell-O in an earthquake. The crowd worried he was having a seizure and gave him space, but Cash just boogied his heart out even harder.
“I want whatever that dude is on,” said a spectator.
Cash’s erratic dance moves started gaining an audience of their own, and his friends worried they were about to have another McCarthy’s incident on their hands.
“What do we do?” Topher asked his friends. “He might get recognized if he causes a scene! If people start asking for pictures, we’ll be here until next week!”
“I’ve got an idea,” Sam said. “We’ll take the attention away from him.”
“How?”
“Like this!”
Sam jumped next to Cash and began dancing even crazier than he was. He moved like a go-go dancer undergoing electroshock therapy. His plan was effective, because all eyes quickly moved from the actor to the psycho dancing beside him.
“It’s working!” Joey said. “I’m going to help, too!”
Joey threw himself into the mix, impressing the onlookers with the zaniest moves he had learned from the Hip-Hop Dance Team. Sam cheered him on and tried mimicking his moves. Mo’s mouth dropped open at the sight and she turned to Topher in shock.
“Oh my God, those are our friends!” She laughed. “I’m gonna dance, too. When in Rome, right?”
Mo sashayed toward her friends and bounced her backside like she was trying to shake off a spider. Sam and Joey laughed hysterically at her and tried to copy it.
As the song played on, it was less and less about creating a distraction from Cash, and more a full-blown competition of who could look like the biggest buffoon. Their eccentricity was contagious and all the people surrounding them began showcasing their own quirky moves, too. Like an airborne epidemic, the ridiculousness spread through the crowd until the entire warehouse was dancing wildly, and Cash was Patient Zero.
“Come on, Topher!” Sam said as he danced toward him. “Let your freak flag fly!”
“I’m good,” he said. “I’m not much of a mover or a shaker. I’m just gonna go hang out by the bar until there’s a slower song—”
“Topher,” Sam said, and forcefully pulled him closer. “Shut up and dance with me.”
That’s when it dawned on him. Oh no…, Topher thought, unable to deny it anymore. I’ve got a crush on Samantha Gibson.
Sam caught his breath and continued dancing, twirling in a circle around Topher like an orbiting planet. Sam was so free, so loose, and so carefree, he was practically another person altogether, certainly not the girl Topher had grown up with.
Oh fuuuuuck…, Topher thought. This is more than a crush. I might be in love with Samantha Gibson!
Mo and Joey popped up on either side of them and started freak dancing like small dogs marking their territory. Apparently Sam wasn’t the only one in rare form—it was almost impossible not to let go.
There were no parents holding them back, no younger siblings needing to be cared for, no one telling them they were going to burn in hell, and no one telling them they had an illness. There were no limits, no responsibilities, no religion, and no misunderstandings. In that moment, there was just the music vibrating through their bodies. The worst part was knowing the music and the moment would eventually end.
After four or five songs’ worth of intense dancing, Cash began to slow down. He looked at the dancing fools around him with pride, but then froze like he was about to be sick.
“Are you okay, bud?” Topher asked. “Need some water?”
As if it were happening in slow motion, Topher watched the light fade from his eyes, the smile fade from his lips, and the color drain from his face. The actor fell backward and collapsed on the floor.
“CAAAASH!” Topher screamed.
Chapter Eleven
STREAMSIDE STREAMING
Monday morning at eight o’clock, Topher gingerly approached cabin 8 of the Paul Bunyan Hotel and knocked on the door with his good hand. His whole right side was sore from carrying Cash out of the warehouse the night before. Luckily, the actor had regained consciousness once he had some fresh air, and had blamed the episode on low blood sugar. The others were so relieved he hadn’t dropped dead that they didn’t question him, but privately they had their doubts.
“Hey, Cash? Are you awake?” Topher said. “We’re ready to go when you are.”
When they arrived at the Paul Bunyan Hotel after the concert, Topher and his friends decided to give Cash one of the two cabins they’d reserved all to himself. After hearing the demonic noises he made in his sleep, no one wanted to bunk with the actor.
“Cash, can you hear me?” Topher said, and knocked again. “Are you even in there?”
The door opened a crack and Topher saw that Cash was still in a hotel bathrobe. The actor shielded his eyes from the sunlight like a vampire and moaned. He cradled a small trash can like it was a newborn baby.
“Good morning, Cash!” Topher said cheerfully.
Just the sound of his voice was agonizing for the actor.
“Sorry, I slept in.” He groaned. “Is it time to leave already?”
“Yeah, but there’s no rush,” Topher said. “We’re spending the whole day at the Mark Twain National Forest, so we can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“About that,” Cash said. “Look, I woke up with a terrible headache. I feel like someone’s hammering a pickax into my skull. I’m not sure hiking through the wilderness is a good idea.”
“Can we get you some aspirin or anything?”
“No, I just gotta sleep it off. You guys should go ahead without me. I don’t want to hold you back, so I’ll just meet you in Oklahoma City tonight.”
“Cash, that’s like a six-hour drive,” Topher said.
“It’s fine—I’ll call a car,” Cash said. “Don’t worry, I’m not ditching you. I’ll see you guys later at the Vacation Suites.”
Cash quickly slammed the door and Topher heard him vomiting behind it. The situation clearly wasn’t up for discussion, so Topher returned to his friends in the car.
“Well?” Joey asked from the driver’s seat. “Where is he?”
“The dude’s hungover as fuck,” Topher informed them. “He wants us to go on without him and meet us in Oklahoma City later tonight.”
“What?” Mo said. “That’s insane! Why don’t we just leave the forest early and come back for him?”
“It wasn’t exactly up for debate,” Topher said. “He’s in really bad shape.”
Joey shook his head. “Low blood sugar my ass,” he said. “That’s what he gets for mixing medication with alcohol. And it’s probably why he’s developing a bad reputation in Hollywood—he’s got to be more careful.”
“Hopefully last night will be a wake-up call for him, then,” Sam said. “How’s your shoulder, Topher? Any better?”
“It feels like I’ve been drawn and quartered, but I’ll be okay to hike today,” Topher said. “I gotta say, passing-out incident aside, I had a lot of fun last night.”
Everyone in the car smiled, completely in agreement.
“Oh my God, soooo much fun!” Mo said. “Definitely in my top ten favorite nights of all time—who am I kidding, top five. I know I had issues at first, but having Cash around might be kind of nice.”
“It was a blast!” Sam said. “I haven’t danced like that since I was a kid, and even then it wasn’t as fun.”
“Who knew Sam could move like that?” Joey said. “And who knew Topher could move at all?”
They laughed at him and playfully pushed his good shoulder.
“It was special,” Topher said, then glanced at Sam when he wasn’t looking. “Really special.”
With Joey at the wheel, the station wagon left the enormous statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox behind and ventured farther into Missouri. At the four hundred and thirtieth mile of their journey, they arrived at the Mark Twain National Forest. The gang changed into comfortable shoes and selected a hiking trail from the options on a large map posted at the ranger’s station.
The sights and sounds of the forest were beautiful, the smells were transcendent, but all anyone could think about was the night before. They relived every moment of their night with Rosemary’s Abortion, from sneaking past the bouncer to cutting loose on the dance floor, and even picking Cash up off the dance floor. It had been a day of frustrations but a night of firsts, and they would cherish it forever.
None of them had cell service as they hiked through the forest, which was a good exercise for a group of millennials. They enjoyed spending a few hours disconnected from the rest of the world—or at least that’s what they said while checking for service every hundred feet. Only when their trail wound downhill to a small stream did the first bars of reception appear. Suddenly, everyone’s phones started going off like winning slot machines.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Sam said. “I hope something bad didn’t happen.”
They checked their phones and found that their in-boxes were filled with hundreds of Google Alerts. Mo read the subject of the first one and screamed.
“Someone posted a video of Cash passing out in the warehouse last night!” Mo said. “It’s all over the Internet! All the Wizzers are freaking out!”
“Oh my God, it’s everywhere!” Topher said. “Television Actor Blacks Out in St. Louis—headline from CNN!”
“Wiz Kid ‘Wizzes’ Out of Control—Yahoo! News,” Sam read.
“Meet Me in St. Louis, Floor Says to Cash Carter—TMZ!” Joey read.
“Liberal Goes Down in Red State—Fox News!” Mo read. “It’s also on WizzerNet and the Wiz Kids forum page!”
“Guys, I have the video loaded on my phone!” Sam said. “It’s got over ten million views and we’re all in it!”
Topher, Joey, and Mo huddled
around Sam’s phone and he pressed Play. They’d never have to relive the experience in their memories again because the whole night had been immortalized by a shaky iPhone. Everything from Cash dancing like a madman to fainting and being carried off was on YouTube for the whole world to see.
“This is horrible!” Topher said.
“A disaster!” Joey said.
“I can’t believe we didn’t see anyone recording us!” Sam said.
“I’m so glad I was wearing a cute outfit,” Mo said. “Look at the video recommendations—Kylie Trig has already uploaded a video about it!”
Sam clicked on it and the video loaded on his phone. After a thirty-second commercial for a lip gloss called PornStar, and Kylie’s obnoxious theme song, the video finally played.
“The president has to do something about Cash Carter,” Kylie said right off the bat. “Look, we all know fame and success change people. Other fandoms have survived the personality changes, the bad decisions, and the scandals of their show’s star—and I know we’ll get through this, too. But Cash Carter, what da fuck is going on with you, boy? I know you’ve been going through a phase lately, but I never expected to wake up to this!”
Kylie played the footage from the warehouse in the corner of her video. The distressed YouTube host rubbed the sides of her temples as she watched.
“There are so many questions, I don’t know where to start! First off, why is Cash in St. Louis? Why is he at a punk rock concert when we all know he listens to alternative music? Why is he dancing like an epileptic on roller skates? But one question no one has yet to ask is who the hell are these four deplorables with him?”
The footage paused and zoomed in on Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo’s faces. Their collective gasp was so loud it scared off all the woodland creatures within a mile radius.
“We’re in Kylie Trig’s video!” Joey yelled in disbelief. “And she just called us deplorables!”
“If you ask me, these fuckers are who’s to blame,” Kylie declared passionately. “I don’t know if they’re just an entourage sucking him dry of everything decent, if they’ve been paid by another network to sabotage the show, or if they were planted by the Doctor Who fandom so they could laugh at us as we watch him self-destruct. I just know these people want him to fail! And I’m hopeful Edward Snowden and/or WikiLeaks will answer my request and help us get to the bottom of this.”
