by Andrew Biss
This monster, however, was big enough to feed an army. It was cream-coloured and looked as though it had been manufactured sometime during the 1950s. It probably seemed quite futuristic at the time, with its long, tapered chrome handle that looked like something from the Jetson’s spaceship.
I’d decided to wait just a little longer in case Mrs. Anna, in spite of her stern insistence on punctuality, was simply running late. After a while, though, I determined that enough was enough, and if breakfast wasn’t going to be served to me, I’d serve breakfast to myself. After all, it’s the most important meal of the day. I grabbed hold of the huge chrome door handle and after some considerable effort managed to tug it open. I was immediately hit by a blinding flood of brilliant white light, so much so that I was forced to stagger back and shield my eyes. As I peered back at the refrigerator through my fingers, still squinting as my eyes tried to adjust to the brightness, I noticed the figure of a man stepping out from inside it. He was tall, stout, with an enormous pot belly, and wore a large Stetson hat on top of his large bulbous head. He seemed very happy to see me, his hand outstretched to shake mine, with a huge smile on his face that revealed two rows of dazzlingly bright teeth that were almost as blinding as the light behind him.
“Hi there! Raith’s the name – Hank Raith. Pleased to make your acquaintance, young man. And let me just say that you opened that door at the exact right time, ‘cause boy oh boy do I have an important message for you,” he announced, with a vigorous shake of my hand.
His affable enthusiasm aside, I felt decidedly off-put by the manner in which he’d come to light, as it were. Had he been hiding in there? And why in a refrigerator of all places?
“You…you do? I cagily replied.
“Do I ever,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders in a fatherly or perhaps brotherly-like way. “I know, I know – I know just what you’re thinkin’. What in the name of the Lord is goin’ on? What the heck is he doin’ in there? Right? Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”
“Well, yes, but–”
“I knew it. I knew I knew it. You’re confused, aren’t ya? Ya see, the thing is we’re all confused. Don’t always want to admit it, but it’s the truth just the same. It’s a confusin’ world and none of us quite know what to make of it. Am I right? Do ya see what I’m sayin’?”
“Um…yes, I think so, but–”
“We’re all lookin’ for somethin’. We don’t quite know what – but we’re lookin’ for it just the same. And we look and we look and we keep on lookin’, ‘til eventually we start to gettin’ disheartened ‘cause it just ain’t showin’ up. Am I right? Now if I’m not right you gotta step right up and tell me, but I’ve a feelin’ I am right. Are ya with me? Are we on the same page here, you and me?
“Well…yes, I suppose so.”
“And then one fine day – one glorious fine day – you do somethin’ as simple as openin’ up your refrigerator door and lo and behold! You find the very thing you’d been lookin’ for – right when you least expected. Now tell me – am I right or am I right?”
“Yes, quite possibly, but actually I was…well, I was simply looking for something to eat, that’s all.”
He suddenly became even more ebullient than before. “Food? You was lookin’ for food? In there? There ain’t no food here, boy. I gotta tell ya, if you came here lookin’ for food you came to the wrong place. There ain’t no food here and if you’re expectin’ some to come by here anytime soon then you’d do good to sit yourself down and make yourself mighty comfortable. Yes sir, indeed, mighty comfortable.”
“But it’s a refrigerator,” I said, bluntly.
“It’s a machine, is all. It ain’t gonna solve no problems – yours nor the world’s.”
“Perhaps not, but I really feel I should eat.”
“You don’t need no machine to eat, little buddy. You only need one thing to eat – and you know what that is, don’t ya?”
“Yes, food.”
“Money,” he replied, with a wink.
“Well, yes…money to buy food. But I’ve paid my room and board.”
“No, no, no, it’s not that simple.”
“It isn’t?”
“Not even close – not for a thinkin’ man. Not unless you wanna end up like some bum eatin’ outta garbage cans. No, you need money! It’s the only flavour I know that feeds the heart, mind and soul all at the same time.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but it’s actually my stomach that needs food more than anything else.”
“Of course it is – of course it does, but…”
Hank stopped and looked suspiciously around the room as if we might be being spied upon. “Okay, I’m gonna let you into a little secret here. Come here…come sit here – by me.”
He led me over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for me. As he did so I noticed the grotesquely ugly ring on the little finger of his left hand. It was made of yellow gold and was shaped in the form of a serpent that coiled around his finger, with a large red jewel placed in the center of the serpent’s hissing, outstretched mouth, the teeth of which held the stone in place. He leaned in closer and spoke in hushed tones.
“Now, I’m gonna let you in on a little insider information. Just ‘cause I like ya. Just between you and me though, okay? You gotta promise me, ya hear?”
“Yes, I…I hear.”
“Now then, there…well, there may have been a little food in that there refrigerator when I first come across it, but I ate it all up, see? I mean I had to. Now come on, if ya had a belly like mine…” He slapped his enormous belly as if it were a good friend. “You got no choice, right? Ha, ha! It’s a beast, my friend, a hungry beast. And I found it so I ate it. Finders keepers. It’s the law of the jungle. But…and this is important…”
He placed a finger to his lips in a cautionary manner and stared at me. I then realised a response of some type was expected, presumably of agreement.
“All right,” I whispered, conspiratorially.
“See, I think there could be some more food in there somewhere. Still speculation at this point, but I’m willing to put money on it.”
“Oh, that’s good – that’s very good. I’d…I would very much like some if you’re willing to share,” I said eagerly, my hunger pangs becoming ever sharper.
“I sure would, but here’s the catch…well, not a catch, as such, more of a…an issue at hand. The finding of it’s gonna take money and I am currently – due to circumstances beyond my control that I’m legally bound not to discuss on the advice of my lawyers – flat broke.”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am. But all is not lost. How much money do you have?”
“Me? Not much, I’m afraid.”
“How much?”
“Well…next to nothing really. I need to find a job.”
“I’ll take it.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said, unsure if he’d fully understood the nature of my circumstances.
“Whatever you have – I’ll spin it into gold. Ya see, I have a scheme…well, not a scheme as such, more of a…a business plan.”
“What sort of plan?” I asked, wondering why the simple act of eating food had become such a complicated business…or scheme.
Hank scanned the room again in search of those who might be his undoing, then leaned in closer to me, arching his right eyebrow as if to emphasize the secret and serious nature of what he was about to impart.
“Okay, I’m gonna tell you this, but it’s completely confidential, totally off the record, and subject to legal recrimination against not only you, but your family, your friends, and just about anyone you’ve ever known in your entire life, okay?”
“Okay,” I shrugged.
“Okay, here it is: You’re kind of boring, right?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Not bein’ rude or nothin’, just frank, ya understand – or Hank I guess, ha, ha! – but ya come across to other people – or me, at l
east – as bein’ a kind of a boring guy to talk to. I mean, all kinda proper and thinkin’ it all through before ya speak – I mean, who has time for that, right?”
“Well, I-I-I…I’m not sure…I mean, I don’t know that that’s entirely…I mean, what does that mean? I mean…in real terms?” I sputtered, completely taken off-guard by his barefaced and very unfair assessment of me.
He raised his head triumphantly. “See, exactly my point – you’re as boring as all get out. Do you see what I’m getting’ at? That stuff what’s comin’ outta your mouth ain’t exactly gonna set the world on fire, is it? That ain’t napalm comin’ outta your lips. It’s dull – it’s indecisive. It’s grey, not black and white. People nowadays, they ain’t got time for thinkin’ and waitin’ and tryin’ to figure out just what the hell it is you’re tryin’ to get at. You gotta get that sound bite in fast or else you’re dead in the water – yesterday’s news. This is a world of snap decisions, snap polls, and snap judgments. Three pauses and, hey buddy, you’re outta here! You see where it is I’m headin’ in all of this?”
“Not really,” I said, rather sulkily. “But nonetheless I still think that no matter what others say of you, you should always–”
He raised the palm of his hand to my face, giving me a close-up view of the serpent’s tail that curled itself insidiously around the base of his little finger. “Stop, stop, stop! Don’t dig yourself in any deeper,” he protested. “Listen to yourself. No, don’t listen to yourself – I need you awake. Look, son, it’s just plain hard to take, so let me just cut right to the chase and tell you what I can do to help. You see, I just happen to have some very powerful connections in the healthcare industry.”
“Healthcare?”
“You heard right – primo connections.”
“But what does that have to do with–”
“Very powerful. Surgeons – expert surgeons. The best there is.”
“That’s nice but I still don’t–”
“Not only that, I have untold influence with some of the biggest players in the information technology field. And I’m talkin’ major names.”
“I’m sure that’s very wonderful, yet I still–”
“It is. So you see where all this is goin’, right?”
“Not in the slightest,” I sighed.
“Well, okay, I’m just gonna spell it out for ya. I think it’s pretty clear that in this day and age most everyone wants to talk and no one wants to listen – specially if you’re the type to bore the pants off a herd o’ chickens.”
“A what?”
“It’s a basic, fundamental human need to be heard that we all share but no one gives a shit about. Am I right?”
“Evidently so,” I concurred.
“And that’s a demographic – a discontented demographic – and a market share ripe for the pluckin’. Right?”
“Well…yes, I suppose it could be.”
“Right. So here’s the answer. We take people like you – nice enough in themselves, but kinda bland on the whole…and they know it – these are smart, self-aware people, mind you – and we offer them, at an affordable price, the opportunity of having one of our medically certified surgeons – fully indemnified, o’ course – implant a small plasma TV screen into their foreheads that can receive real-time feeds from some of the most popular cable television networks available, right there into that useless empty space above their eyebrows.” He paused for a moment, staring at my forehead. “What do ya think?” he said, distractedly.
“It’s…it’s certainly odd. And yet…oddly interesting. Go on,” I told him, feeling more bewildered than anything else.
“Imagine it. You’re just itchin’ to impart all the tedious details of everything that’s hangin’ heavy on your mind to one of your co-workers at happy hour in the local bar. They’re bracin’ themselves for an hour or two of clenched teeth and thinkin’ to themselves ‘Won’t he ever shut the hell up’ when suddenly, to their great surprise and delight, you produce a convenient palm-sized remote control that gives them the freedom to choose between all the latest news from CNN, up-to-the-minute sports action from ESPN, or a thought-provoking costume drama from your very own BBC, all at the touch of a button.”
“Interesting,” I said, that being the only response I could come up with as I tried very hard to imagine this actually happening in real life.
“Meanwhile,” he continued, “you – all too aware of just how disinterested in your petty life concerns your captive audience actually is – can feel free to yak yourself into a frenzy as you bask in the fully-committed, rapt attention of your recipients gaze. It’s a win-win situation,” he said, with a blindingly white smile.
Hank, it appeared to me, was either a brilliant, wildly imaginative entrepreneurial dynamo, or just stark raving mad. This concept of his, though certainly outlandish and bizarre-sounding on first hearing, still seemed to possess its own peculiar logic. After all, just yesterday I’d observed several people wandering the streets with oddly-shaped devices attached to their ears, muttering away to no one in particular. At first I’d assumed them to be psychiatric patients, released back into society on a trial-run basis, who chattered away to themselves incessantly, all the while their movements being carefully monitored by the asylum via their ear tags. After a while, though, I realised that these people were in fact talking to other people, and that the devices attached to their heads were a form of telecommunication. So perhaps Hank’s so-called business plan wasn’t so strange after all. The only major flaw I could see in it – and a potentially fatal one – was that this wasn’t actually a real form of communication at all, just a way of creating the appearance of one. I decided to challenge him on it.
“That’s all very well, but…well, it’s an illusion, isn’t it?” I said.
“Damn right it is!” he countered. “The truth is, the truth ain’t pretty – illusion is. People like it. It’s the first of all pleasures.”
“Didn’t Oscar Wilde say that?”
“So sue me. Look, all I need to know is are you in or are you out?”
Still on the fence about parting with what little money I had left, I decided to try and buy a minute or two by saying something vague and noncommittal. “Well, it…it certainly is unique and would appear, at least at face value, to have some potential,” I said, as enthusiastically as I could.
“That’s it!” Hank cried out with unfettered excitement.
“What is?” I asked, taken aback by his sudden outburst.
“The slogan! The pitch! ‘We Add Face Value!’ I love it! ‘Increase Your Face Value Today!’ Holy shit, boy, your personality may be a dud but you’re a marketing director’s dream come true.”
“Oh…thank you…I think.”
“‘Take Me at Face Value – And Enjoy Every Second!’ You’re brilliant!”
I could feel my face reddening with embarrassment. “Well, I…”
“So are you in?”
I wasn’t sure if it was his flattery or his fevered sloganeering that tipped the scale, but either way it worked. “Um…yes. Yes, all right then,” I said.
“Great. Smart move. So hand it over,” he said, commandingly.
“Sorry?”
“The cash.”
I reached into my wallet and took out what was left of the stipend my parents had provided me with, trying to convince myself, not altogether successfully, of the wisdom of what I was doing.
“Yes, well as I mentioned, it’s not a lot,” I said, sheepishly.
“Every bit helps, sonny. Capitalise, capitalise.”
“I only wish I had more.”
“Don’t we all? But it’s seed money, see? It grows,” he said, stuffing the money into the front pocket of his denim jeans, the yellow gold serpent’s mouth hissing sparkling red beams at me as he did so. It was then that I noticed his belt buckle. It was the most enormous one I’d ever seen, oval-shaped and made of brass that had tarnished to a dull greenish-brown patina. A smiling woman’s face
had been etched into the center of it, Asian-looking in appearance, and while it could have been the representation of any number of women, it struck me as having an uncanny resemblance to former U.S. figure skating champion Michelle Kwan.
“You’re gonna remember this moment for a long time to come – trust me on this,” he proclaimed, slapping me on the back a little too enthusiastically for comfort.
“Oh, I do trust you,” I said, hollowly.
“Beautiful!” he bellowed, slapping me again. He then raised his huge, hulking frame from the chair, his terrifying belly now expanding menacingly towards me, restrained only by the radiant smile of Michelle Kwan. “Now I gotta run – gotta keep the ball rollin’.”
“Yes, yes of course.”
Hank swaggered back towards the refrigerator, emitting a large belch that not only sounded loud in the confines of the kitchen, but also seemed to reverberate around the entire house, growing in volume as it did so. I covered my ears until the roar had subsided.
“What happens next?” I inquired, following him over to the refrigerator.
“Next? Well, if all goes well it’ll be next stop Fat City for you and me,” he said, climbing back inside, the bright lights once again dazzling my eyes and forcing me to squint.
“Wonderful. It sounds like a very nice place. And how will I reach you?”
“You won’t need to – I’ll reach you,” he said, reassuringly, then added with a sly wink, “I guarantee it.”
As I was about to ask when the likelihood of that might be, he brusquely slammed the refrigerator door in on himself and was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
Monsignor Dave
I wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. It all seemed reasonably logical at the time – actually rather exciting in a way – but now that he’d gone I began to feel a gnawing sense of unease. On the one hand, I was now a partner in a cutting-edge business venture that had every chance of securing my financial future for the rest of my natural life. On the other hand, I was now completely penniless, having given what little I had left to a complete stranger who inhabited a refrigerator. Somehow it wasn’t adding up. One thing I did realise, though: the world revolved much faster than I had been led to believe it did. This place was strange – definitely out of the ordinary. God only knows what would come next, I thought to myself. And just as I did so, a man wearing a clerical collar suddenly emerged, waist-high, from the kitchen sink.
