by Ira Nayman
Michealovitsky looked Noomi and Investigator Chumley, who were sitting on the other side of the table, over. The resemblance between the two women was uncanny, except, of course, for Noomi’s hair, a disaster of a rat’s nest. No, seriously, Michealovitsky expected a rat to poke its head out of there at any moment. Mimzie, her hair and makeup artist, would probably have a coronary if she had to work with that! Michealovitsky’s hair, by way of contrast, was long, straight and whiter than her last three boyfriends.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Michealovitsky summed up what she had just been told. “You travel through dimensions tracking down criminals, and you’re here because you think somebody is doing something to me?”
> i wish i had thought of that storyline – it would make a great episodic series!
“Monkey Girl with the enhanced bosoms catches on quick,” TOM commented.
“What?” Noomi blurted.
Michealovitsky shrugged. “The operation was my gift to myself for the Christmas show of our second season,” she explained. “Don’t knock it – it was the third highest rated show that season!”
Noomi looked around the office for a garbage can to heave into.
“Is she the locus of transdimensional energy?” Investigator Chumley asked.
“Oh, yeah,” TOM told him. “If she were any hotter, we’d need hazmat suits just to be able to sit here!”
“Thank you,” Michealovitsky responded, her eyelids fluttering worse than a hummingbird on speed.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” Noomi told her. “That was a scientific judgment.”
> traffic on the Hollywood Freeway is slow due to an infestation of locusts – drivers are advised to find an alternate route from now until the end times
“So, what do we do about it?” Michealovitsky asked, her eyelids dropping back to subsonic speeds.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Investigator Chumley, answered, “I would like to stay with you until the signal ends. That way, TOM –”
“TOM?” Michealovitsky echoed.
“That’s Transdimensional Oddity Monitor to you,” TOM told her.
Investigator Chumley ignored the device’s outburst. “That way, TOM can trace the signal back to its source, and we can apprehend the bad guy.”
Michealovitsky thought about this for a moment. Then, she asked Noomi: “Do you mind if I borrow your boyfriend for a few hours?”
> what?
Noomi looked at Investigator Chumley. “Oh, he’s not – I mean, we’re just – you know, it’s not like that…” she said, flustered. And, that, really, is all you need to know about the difference between Noomi and Michealovitsky: it is the difference between an ‘s’ and a ‘t.’
“Good,” Michealovitsky said. “Here is what I propose, then: you will take my place on the show while I go and have some fun.”
“What do you mean, I’ll take your place on the show?” Noomi asked.
“You will be me for a few hours,” Michealovitsky explained. “We’ll get you outfitted with camera contacts – they pick up both what you see and what you hear – they’re amazing, really – and you’ll be the star of my show.”
> whoa! whoa! whoa! this is NOT a good idea!
“Why do you want that?” Investigator Chumley asked.
“I’ve been on this show for five years,” Michealovitsky told him. “Five years, 24-7. I haven’t been able to take a break from it for five years. This will give me the chance to cut loose. You know, take a little me time.”
“Why would I want to do it?” Noomi defiantly asked.
“Because if you don’t,” Michealovitsky sweetly answered, “I will have my security people remove your asses from the premises, and you will not get the information you need.”
> no! no! no! BAD IDEA! she’s a complete amateur – THINK OF THE RATINGS!
“Umm, okay,” Noomi unenthusiastically said. “If that’s the way it has to be…”
“Great!” Michealovitsky, enthusiastic enough for both of them, enthused. “I’ll get Tommaso in here to outfit you with camera contacts. He’s my cosmetic technician – he’s got an amazing grasp of eye shadow! Tommaso’ll have you ready to record in no time!”
“Umm, Ms. Michealovitsky,” Investigator Chumley wondered, “are you transmitting now?”
“Of course,” she answered.
“Then, your viewers know that this switch is taking place,” Investigator Chumley ruminated. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the switch?”
> yes! YES! outer space detective guy has a point!
“Sweet of you to be concerned,” Michealovitsky evenly told him, “but, think about it: would you be interested in The Prince and the Pauper if it was only told from the point of view of the prince? Of course you wouldn’t. That’s why we’ll…have one of our feeds inset in the feed of the other. Yeah, we’ll give the audience a choice of which me they would rather follow! Ooh, I’m gooooood.”
Michealovitsky beamed. Noomi and Investigator Chumley looked at each other in dismay, neither being able to find a workable objection to the plan.
“Any questions?” Michealovitsky added.
“Yeah,” Noomi mumbled. “How did you get the name Michealovitsky?”
“It was a gift I gave myself when I moved to Hollywood,” Michealovitsky responded. “Oh, sweetie, don’t you know? Ethnicity is the new white bread!”
* * *
> Welcome to Noomi’s Realife Adventures, guest starring Noomi Rapeir!
“It’s Rapier,” Noomi muttered under her breath. “I-e-r.”
> we’ll fix that in a moment. your eyesight may be affected by the lenses – you may find things a little darker than usual. if you find things a little darker than usual, nod.
Noomi nodded.
> that’s perfectly normal. the camera contacts require a lot of light to capture the images they transmit. you’ll get used to it
“This is crazy!” Noomi said to the words swimming at the bottom of her vision.
> please don’t talk to the camera. in a couple of seconds, your assistant, Greg Orodovitz, and your Best Friend Forever (this season), Misty Koriakina, will enter. follow their lead, and, especially, do what I tell you, and you will be fine.
“Does the audience see these words?” Noomi wondered.
> no. only the actors can see these instructions. and, yes, they are different for each actor depending upon their part in the scene. please stop talking to the camera.
Noomi watched as an undistinguishedly preppy young man and a cute, in an unthreateningly brunette way, woman burst through the door. She was, of course, sitting behind the desk in Michealovitsky’s office. She had been told that, if anybody asked about her hair, she should say that she was trying it out in order to audition for a part.
“Hey, Noom,” Koriakina burbled, “how’s it – oh. What…what have you done with your hair?”
“I’m trying a new look,” Noomi mumbled. “You know, for a part I may, uhh, audition for…”
“You must want that part real bad,” Koriakina sympathetically responded.
“We can talk fashion later,” Orodovitz commanded. “Right now, we have to get you to a signing at CosmiCon.”
“CosmiCon?” Noomi gulped.
Orodovitz nodded, consulting a clipboard he had with him at all times. “Yeah. You’re signing posters of you as Princess Ariadne Guttman from Invasion of the B Movie Monsters. You know how much you like to get out and meet your fans.”
Orodovitz’ last sentence was said with a slight emphasis, but it was enough for Noomi to pick up a cue. “Oh, yeah,” she unenthusiastically enthused. “Fans. Love ‘em.”
> SCARLETT12BRUSHFIRE The Being of Light said, “So this is unbearableness!”
“What the hell was that?” Noomi blurted.
> in addition to my stellar direction, you get news, sports and weather feeds, email, Facebook updates, Twitter tweets and the like. feel free to incorporate them into your dialog or ignore them, as you will. whatev
er you decide, though, STOP TALKING TO THE CAMERA!
With a sweep of his hand, Orodovitz, ignoring Noomi’s outburst, told her: “Your tank awaits.”
“My…tank?” Noomi gulped.
“Sure, Nooms,” Koriakina explained. “You bought it for yourself for your last birthday. Thirty can be really hard on a girl. Don’t worry – it’s been decommissioned. Nobody wants celebrities to have the ability to take out their producers’ office buildings!”
“It’s like everybody says,” Orodovitz added, “Tanks are the new purse poodle.”
“No, dear,” Koriakina corrected him, “tanks are the new slip and slide water park ride.”
“No,” Orodovitz insisted, “sand crabs are the new slip and slide water park ride.”
“I hate to disagree,” Koriakina said in a tone that suggested that, actually, she would take great pleasure in disagreeing, “but sand crabs are the new Warhol lithographs.”
> oh, for god’s sake, stop them! if you don’t, they’ll be at it all day – ferking Second City improv training!
“No…dear,” Orodovitz countered. “Snow crabs are the new Warhol lithographs.”
“Aren’t you getting that confused,” Koriakina argued, “with the idea that snow crabs are the new sand crabs…dear?”
“Ah, I think I see where you went wrong,” Orodovitz responded. “Actually, dehumped camels are the new –”
“ENOUGH!” Noomi shouted. Koriakina and Orodovitz turned their attention to her. “We, uhh, have someplace to go, don’t we?”
* * *
“You have no idea how liberating this is,” Michealovitsky said through a mouthful of filet mignon. Her appetizer was a burger with onion rings. She was planning on following the steak with another steak. And, some fries. Maybe chilli fries.
“I imagine you have to be very careful what you eat,” Investigator Chumley diplomatically responded. “You have a public image you have to maintain, after all.”
> are you insane? you know you’re going to pay for this tomorrow!
“Oh, I know I’m going to pay for this tomorrow,” Michealovitsky airily stated. “But, I haven’t been able to binge like this for five years…and I like it!” She took a big gulp of her Burpsi cola float.
“What about your fans?” Investigator Chumley, who was barely picking at the salad in front of him, asked.
> As fanthropologist and steampunk goddess J. M. Frey wrote in her Masters thesis, “Water Logged Mona Lisa: Who Is Mary Sue, and Why Do We Need Her?”:
“What?” Michealovitsky asked.
> sorry. that was meant for the other you. I’m not used to directing two leads at the same time
“I asked about your fans,” Investigator Chumley repeated. “You said they’re still watching – how do you think they will react to the new you?”
“Do you remember season three?” Michealovitsky asked.
“Oh, well, I…” Investigator Chumley mumbled. He had put his fork down, so he could not use the excuse that he had salad in his mouth.
“What? There’s no Internet where you come from?”
“Of course there is.”
Michealovitsky sized him up. “You’re the kind of guy who would rather do a crossword puzzle, aren’t you?” she accused. “And, I mean really do it, not just fill in random letters to make other people think you’ve done it.”
“Oh, well, I…” Crash mumbled further.
“Yeah, well, in season three,” Michealovitsky answered, ignoring Investigator Chumley’s self-justification, “I underwent Advanced Nanobot Pigment Reduction Therapy.”
“Is that…umm…”
“Yeah. I was white. Man, do you guys have it great! I learned the secret handshake within five minutes of hitting the street. Then, I got into all the restaurants and clubs I wanted – without having to wait in a single line! And, when I paid, nobody ever asked if the credit card was really mine – no more having to worry if paying for the meal will take longer than eating it! When I went into salons, nobody assumed that I wanted my hair straightened – they accepted that curly hair was my choice. And, do you know, the whole time I was white, I didn’t get stopped while driving once? It’s true! The shows are all archived if you don’t believe me!”
“And, the audience enjoyed the new direction?”
“Hated it. Black audience members hated the fact that the hero of the show was no longer a spunky black girl, and white audience members hated the fact that the hero of the show was no longer a spunky black girl who was often humiliated by other cast members. Worst overnights I’ve ever had – we lost a quarter of our audience within 24 hours. Honestly – do you think I would have given up not having to wait an hour in line to be served lobster if I didn’t have to?” Michealovitsky sighed. “It was a good gig, though. When I announced that I would be undergoing Advanced Nanobot Pigment Return Therapy, not only did we get most of our audience back, but we had a lot of new viewers. My audience is loyal that way.”
“Still, why risk losing so much of them?” Investigator Chumley insisted.
Michealovitsky pouted, waving a piece of beefy bacony goodness in front of his face: “An artist must always challenge herself to do new things or she’ll stagnate. Besides, sometimes, it’s good to be bad, you know?”
Investigator Chumley shrugged. Half the perps he questioned used that line. He dug into his salad with newfound unenthused determination.
“Soooo…” Michealovitsky playfully asked, “you’re not…involved with the other me – are you?”
Investigator Chumley snorted green. “I assure you,” he stiffly assured her, “that my relationship with Noomi Rapier is purely professional.”
“Good,” Michealovitsky purred. “Wouldn’t want you to cut that handsome face on her hair!”
> no! no! no, Princess! do not do this! he’s a stiff! the audience hates him!
Investigator Chumley blushed ever so slightly.
“Oh, but perhaps you’re seeing somebody else,” Michealovitsky moueingly mused.
“My work keeps me pretty busy,” Investigator Chumley observed.
“Pity,” Michealovitsky flirted mercilessly. “I’m sure you have some fascinating stories to tell.”
> Quincy Five Second Favourables Rating:
Chumley: 4.37;
Matthew Perry on ‘Friends: The Next Generation’: 12.27;
guy who cleans the toilets on ‘The Real Life 47: How Much Reality Can You Take?’: 6.39
“You mean, related to my work?” Investigator Chumley asked.
“That, too,” Michealovitsky smiled.
> NOOMI! this guy has a less favourable rating than a guy who cleans toilets! you better not be serious about this!
Michealovitsky, smiling to herself, leaned over the table and whispered, “Let’s run out without paying!”
“Oh, I don’t think –” Investigator Chumley started.
Michealovitsky nodded in the direction of the waiter. “Worried about stiffing him?” she asked. “Don’t be. He just called me ‘Mademoiselle Piggy’ to his friend over there.”
“How do you know that?” Investigator Chumley asked.
“These camera lenses have very sensitive microphones,” Michealovitsky responded, tapping the side of her face next to her right eye. Then, she rose out of her seat.
“I really don’t think –” Investigator Chumley started again.
Michealovitsky gleefully ran out of the restaurant.
“Follow her!” TOM shouted. “If she gets too far away, I’ll lose the signal and have to reconnect!”
Investigator Chumley smoothly stood up, took out his wallet, threw some bills on the table and rushed out of the restaurant after Michealovitsky.
The bills that Investigator Chumley left on the table eventually found their way into the pocket of the maitre d’, who was skimming money from the till to pay off gambling debts. Three days later, he used them, along with some others, to pay off part of what he owed (enough to save
four out of the five fingers on his left hand). The bookie used the money he had gotten from the maitre d’ to pay off his debts to his drug dealer. The money worked its way up the chain until, six weeks later, it was part of a payment made by a local drug kingpin to his Colombian supplier. While he was counting the money, the Colombian noticed that some of the bills were…funny. The picture of Andrew Jackson did not have him sticking his tongue out. The signature of the Secretary of the Treasury did not read, “Charlie Chan.” The shade of green wasn’t quite as…bilious. Surprisingly, the drug lord did not come to the conclusion that the bills had been transported from another dimension by an agent of an organization that, in order to cut costs, did not send an advance team to other universes to collect things like their currency. No, he came to the completely erroneous conclusion that the man he was doing business with was trying to pay him in counterfeit currency. When the police arrived to investigate the bloodbath that ensued, they just shook their heads sadly at another drug deal gone horribly, horribly wrong. Transdimensional justice works in mysterious ways.
Investigator Chumley caught up with Michealovitsky in a parkette a couple of blocks away from the restaurant. It had wall-sized screens that displayed live video feeds of actual parks in other parts of the country; in a bottom corner of each screen was a digital plaque thanking Robert Redford for funding the parkette and praising his environmental activism. She sat on an authentic recreation turn of the century benchette. She was laughing uproariously, thoroughly enjoying the moment.
“Did you manage to maintain the signal?” Investigator Chumley asked.
