by Chris Colfer
“I think the words you’re looking for are Thank you for another fun night, Cash or Thanks for pulling the sticks out of our asses, Cash,” the actor teased.
“You call that fun?” Mo asked. “I was tripping balls all night waiting for those coyotes to show up! I thought I was going to have a heart attack!”
Cash chuckled and gazed at the group like a proud father.
“You’ll laugh about it one day,” he said. “Now we should get going. The Triple A guy showed up about fifteen minutes ago. There isn’t a gas station for miles, so he has to tow the car to the nearest one. Friendly warning—he smells like cheese.”
The gang helped one another to their feet and said good-bye to High Tydes. They sluggishly emerged from the gates looking and feeling like the cannibals Mo had warned them about the day before.
A very heavy and hairy Triple A serviceman hooked the station wagon up to his tow truck and hauled their vehicle southward to the nearest gas station. Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo shared the backseat of the truck while Cash braved their driver’s fumes in the front. Once High Tydes was a good distance behind them, the seriousness and guilt of their recent choices faded away, too, and the Downers Grove quartet couldn’t look at one another without laughing.
“How much did our detour derail our trip?” Joey asked. “Are we totally screwed or lightly screwed?”
“Actually, it doesn’t ruin anything,” Topher said. “We left our first day in California open just in case we ran into any problems on the road. I got insurance on all the tickets and hotel rooms, so we can just push everything back a day.”
Of them all, Cash was most relieved to hear it. “Sorry I’m what caused the push,” he said. “From now on, I’m not recommending anything else. I got my two stops out of the way, so let’s just stick to the plan you guys created.”
It was the first time the actor had shown any remorse—ever—but it was hard blaming him. Sure, they didn’t get to ride any of the attractions they had hoped, but they hadn’t left the park shy of a thrill.
“I mean, it wasn’t all terrible,” Mo confessed—fighting off a smile.
“We’re definitely going to get stories out of this trip,” Sam said.
“Yeah, just not the ones we were planning,” Topher said.
The tow truck ventured through Kansas, but there wasn’t a building in sight, let alone a gas station. The serviceman listened to a crude and conservative radio host the entire way, which was easy for the others to tune out until he started a particular segment.
“That’s enough about how Democrats are destroying our democracy,” the host said. “Let’s move on to a topic people tragically care about more in our society—Hollywood gossip! I’m not sure any of my listeners watch the show Wiz Kids, I think it’s the dumbest thing to hit television since Cop Rock, but apparently it’s been a huge hit for nine seasons now.”
Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo sat straight up in their seats and leaned closer to the radio—worried where this was going. Cash just turned his head to the radio like he was casually listening to a weather report. The serviceman noticed their interest and turned up the volume.
“Well, there’s this video circulating on the Internet of the lead actor, twenty-two-year-old Cash Carter, passing out at a concert in St. Louis on Sunday night. In case you’ve missed the video, it’s up on our website, but it’s been getting so much attention I don’t know how you’ve managed to not see it somewhere. A representative of the actor released a statement yesterday claiming he was experiencing dehydration and is feeling much better. Which, I’m sorry, is complete bull! Watch the video and you’ll see the guy is clearly wasted or on drugs!”
The four in the backseat were so uncomfortable they held their breath as if the radio speakers were spewing toxic chemicals.
“Can we change the station?” Topher asked.
“Not yet,” Cash said. “I want to hear what he says.”
“With the amount of money Cash Carter makes and the kind of fame he has, you’d think he would try really hard not to do anything to jeopardize his public image. You’d think he would try really hard to never make a fool of himself and embarrass all the young people looking up to him. Unfortunately, we all know none of these Hollywood types think that way. I mean, why take responsibility when you have a dozen publicists lying for you? Why change your lifestyle when everything is handed to you? Why take anything into consideration when it’s more fun to be a careless and spoiled little brat? Cash Carter is another example of someone with too much wealth, too much attention, and not enough intelligence to appreciate it. He should be ashamed of himself, but we should be ashamed of ourselves for sensationalizing this kind of behavior. We’ll be right back with more after this—stay tuned.”
The host’s defamatory rant was replaced with a commercial for the local county fair. The others were ready to defend Cash’s honor, but the actor never gave them any indication he wanted them to.
“Those are some strong opinions about a guy he’s never met,” Cash said.
“Gotta say I agree with him, though,” the serviceman said. “Privileged little prick. All those Hollywood actors are just alike. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’ll be part of that twenty-seven club.”
Obviously, the serviceman had no idea the privileged little prick was sitting right next to him.
“I think you’re giving him too much credit,” Cash said. “He’ll be long gone by then.”
The actor dug through his backpack and took three white pills from a prescription bottle inside. He looked out the window and was silent for the rest of the drive.
After an hour of nothing but open fields outside their windows, the tow truck finally pulled into a small gas station. Cash insisted on paying for the towing expenses and a new tank of gas since it was his fault they were in the predicament. The station’s pumps were outdated so he had to go inside to use his credit card. Joey had had to use the restroom for the past twenty miles, so he followed Cash to get the key to the station’s bathroom. Along the way, he came to a halt when something disturbing caught his eye.
“What is it?” Cash asked.
Joey nodded to a large Confederate flag displayed in the gas station’s window. All his father’s advice about avoiding trouble rushed to the forefront of his mind.
“I shouldn’t go in there,” he said. “I’ll just wait until our next stop.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cash said. “The owner’s probably just a big Dukes of Hazzard fan. You’ve got nothing to worry about—I’m with you.”
“Actually, that means I should have more to worry about.”
The actor grabbed the timid teenager by the arm and forced him inside against his will. They approached an old man who was sitting behind the checkout counter reading a newspaper. He wore a cowboy hat and sported a thick mustache that was a few weeks overdue for a trim.
“Good morning, sir,” Cash said. “I’d like to pay for gas on pump number four and my friend needs the key to the bathroom.”
The old man stood to greet him but his entire demeanor changed as soon as he laid eyes on Joey. He stared at him with such disdain Joey felt like an invisible hand was pushing him backward.
“I’ll sell you gas, but your friend is out of luck,” he said. “We don’t serve his kind around here.”
“Why? Because he’s black or because he’s gay?”
“Cash!” Joey said like he was out of his mind. “What the hell?”
“Relax, I’m just joking.” Cash laughed. “And he was, too. Weren’t you, sir? Because only one of those old bigots who give the human race a bad name would say something like that. Right?”
The old man’s hateful scowl extended to both of them and he pointed to the door.
“Get your asses out of here!” he commanded.
“Cash, we need to go back to the car,” Joey said.
“WAIT!” Cash ordered.
As if he were being controlled by Cash through telekinesis, Joey stayed exactly where he w
as. He had never seen Cash look so angry before. The actor glared at the old man with as much hatred as they were being shown. Joey didn’t know which of them to be more afraid of.
“I don’t know what year you think it is, but it’s 2017 for the rest of us,” Cash said. “What you’re doing is illegal. Unless you change your attitude, I’m calling the police and telling them what’s going on.”
“And you can tell them Johnny at the gas station says hello,” the old man said. “The police and I are like-minded folk, you see. So unless you want to be thrown in jail for a week, I would shut my goddamn mouth. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, boy, but no one gets to come into our town and tell us how to live.”
Cash glanced at the man’s newspaper on the counter. As fate would have it, he saw a picture of himself next to a headline that read Loose Cannon Cash Carter: Actor Loses Consciousness at Concert.
“Actually, you do know who I am,” the actor said, and pointed to the article. “I’m that loose cannon you were just reading about. They could have printed a better picture, but at least it’s a recent one.”
The old man looked back and forth between Cash and the newspaper, like it was some kind of magic trick.
“Since we’re better acquainted now, allow me to put my dick on the table, Johnny,” the actor said. “You might be friends with the local police, but I’m friends with the police of the world—they’re called fangirls, and I’ve got about thirty million of them watching my every move right now. So you’re going to apologize to my friend and then you’re going to give him the key to the bathroom. Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell the fangirls about the treatment we’ve received today and unleash them upon your establishment like a plague of locusts! They’ll harass you, humiliate you, and chase your wrinkled, old, racist ass into hiding for the rest of your miserable existence! Do I make myself clear?”
The old man gulped. He retrieved the bathroom key from underneath the counter and tossed it to Joey.
“I’m sorry,” he said while looking at the ground.
Cash and Joey headed for the door, but Cash paused in the doorway to look back at the old man.
“By the way, the gas is on the house,” he said with conviction. “Also, I’m taking this bag of Funyuns.”
The actor slammed the door behind them and immediately got out his cigarettes once they were outside.
“Cash, what were you thinking?” Joey asked. “That was so stupid of you! Don’t you watch the news? Do you have any idea what could have happened to us? What could have happened to me?”
The actor was much more rattled than Joey predicted. He must have known the danger he had put them in because his hands were trembling as he smoked.
“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m so sorry—I don’t know what got into me back there. We walked in and as soon as he said what he did something snapped inside me. It was like I lost control of myself—I just couldn’t let him get away with saying that shit to you. I never get a chance to stand up for myself, but I needed to stand up for someone, you know?”
It made more sense the longer Joey thought about it; he just wished Cash wouldn’t risk his safety to work out his issues.
“I get needing to be a hero—just don’t be a dumb ass about it,” Joey said. “It could have gotten really nasty back there. With that said, it was pretty cool seeing the look on that guy’s face when you told him off.”
“Yeah,” Cash agreed. “It felt good saying it, too. Let’s keep this between us, though. It might give Mo an aneurysm.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE DRIVER’S SEAT
By ten o’clock on Wednesday morning, the station wagon was refueled and reunited with highway 83. The car cruised southbound with its sights set on Amarillo, Texas—but whether or not they’d make it this time was anyone’s guess. With Topher back behind the wheel, the roadies were making good time and were expected to arrive at two o’clock that afternoon. Cash kept the group entertained with stories from behind the scenes at awards shows—not that they asked.
“So while the Golden Globe for Best Original Song was being announced, Tobey and I went to use the restroom,” Cash said. “And that’s when we saw him—Leonardo DiCaprio at a urinal! All the dudes in the men’s room couldn’t believe their eyes. It was like we had caught a demigod committing a mortal act.”
“Did you say anything to him?” Sam asked.
“No, Tobey and I were both paralyzed in his presence,” Cash said. “Then, when Leo was finished, everyone sort of lined the hall and bowed as he left—like he was royalty. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I also remember he used the only eco-friendly toilet in the restroom, but I could be making that detail up.”
“Did he recognize you?” Joey asked.
“Of course not!” Cash said. “When you’re a television star walking among movie stars, it’s like being a freshman at a senior prom; you can’t expect anyone to recognize you. This one time, after the Katzenberg Night Before the Oscars party in 2013, I was standing outside and Helen Mirren mistook me for a valet.”
“What did you do?” Mo asked.
“I took the ticket and brought her the fucking car—that’s what I did!” Cash said. “I mean, anyone should be so lucky. She tipped me twenty bucks. I’ve got it framed in my house next to my Teen Choice Award.”
As the car crossed the Texas state line, Cash became more and more animated about the stories he told. He spoke with much larger gestures, kept getting louder and louder, and rocked back and forth as he recalled the events. His behavior made the others nervous—it reminded everyone of how he’d acted the night of Rosemary’s Abortion.
“Let me give you some tips in case you ever find yourself on a red carpet,” the actor said. “Always start with a small smile, because your expression grows the longer you hold it, and you don’t want to look like Pennywise the clown in the premiere photos of Frozen. Nothing is creepier than an adult who’s super excited to be at a children’s movie. Flex the muscles under your tongue and stretch your neck to avoid a double chin, make sure to exhale so you’re photographed at your slimmest, and for God’s sake, find something natural to do with your hands.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Topher laughed. “I can’t imagine we’ll be needing it anytime soon—”
“I’m not finished,” Cash said. “Don’t try to look sexy—because it doesn’t work when you try. Instead, just think of the punch line of your favorite dirty joke—that’ll translate better. And if you ever find yourself in front of photographers you weren’t expecting, like paparazzi, go into the bathroom and blot your face with one of those paper toilet seat covers. It’s gross, but it’ll take the shine off, and if you’re shiny under bright flashes, you’ll look drunk. And if you are drunk, never look directly at the camera—you’ll look more candid and less sloppy that way.”
“You’ve really got it down to a science,” Joey said.
“Can we talk about something else?” Mo asked.
“Yeah—I think we get it,” Sam said.
Despite their requests, Cash wouldn’t change the topic. He was like an old man recalling the era he grew up in.
“Also, always be cautious around reporters on red carpets. You have to triple-think every answer you give like you’re running for president. They’ll take whatever you say and run with it as far as they possibly can. If you casually mention how hot it is outside, they’ll post a story with the headline Actor Breaks Silence About Global Warming Views. If you say you like Batman, they’ll write Shocking Revelation: What Cash Carter Has to Say About the DC Universe. If you imply you like potato chips, they’ll write Wiz Kid Speaks Out About Americans’ Addiction to Processed Foods. And the worst part is reporters never mention the questions they asked—they act like you just randomly decided to declare something to the world—STOP THE CAR!”
Topher slammed on the brakes and the station wagon came to a screeching halt.
“What the hell was that about?” Topher asked.<
br />
Cash was pressing his hands and face against the window in the back as if he had just seen a long-lost family member on the side of the road. The other passengers looked, too, but all they saw was a junkyard with a bunch of banged-up old cars.
“Are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?” the actor asked.
“A staph infection waiting to happen?” Mo asked.
“Look at that car in the corner!” Cash pointed out. “It looks just like a Porsche 550 Spyder!”
He was referring to a small convertible sports car. The vehicle was so banged up it looked like it had been recovered from the bottom of the ocean. It was missing its headlights, none of its tires matched, and it had either a coat of faded brown paint or a layer of rust.
“How can you even tell it’s a Porsche?” Joey asked.
“Any actor would spot that—it’s a Hollywood icon,” he explained, but they didn’t understand. “A 550 Spyder is the kind of car James Dean famously drove around town. He called it his Little Bastard! I’ve got to get out and see if I’m right.”
Before the others had a chance to object, the actor swiftly hopped over the backseat, crawled over Joey, and stepped out of the car.
“Didn’t he just say he wasn’t going to make us stop again?” Topher said.
“I think we all knew that wasn’t going to last long,” Sam said.
Cash crossed the highway and walked along the junkyard’s fence. A massive bullmastiff and a small pug came out of nowhere and barked ferociously at him. It got the owner’s attention and he came to the front to see what all the noise was about.
“Doc! Marty! Heel!” the owner said, and approached Cash. “Can I help you?”
“Hi! My friends and I were driving down the highway and I couldn’t help but notice your Porsche. That doesn’t happen to be a 550 Spyder, does it?”
“It was a 550 Spyder.” The owner laughed. “Just like I was a quarterback once.”
