by Nev Fountain
And then Vanity was there in front of him, throwing everything she could find on the desks, assaulting him with swearwords, pens and autograph books. Figurines and books rained down on him. A limited edition keyring caught him behind the ear and he went down, landing heavily on his knees. He knelt, ready for more punishment.
And then she wasn’t there.
He looked blearily up, and saw that Andrew Jamieson had pinned Vanity to the floor in an extremely rare act of heroism.
‘Get off me you…you hack bastard!’
‘Go!’ Andrew yelled. ‘Run! Save yourself!’
Mervyn ran.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
He ran blindly to the lift, pressing the button, jabbing it repeatedly with his finger. The doors opened. He got in and waited for the doors to close, which they did with agonising slowness. And then the stiletto spike of a familiar Vixens 80s style knee-length boot wedged itself into the shrinking gap, causing the doors to judder and widen. Vanity had caught up with him. He was trapped. Why hadn’t he just taken the stairs?
She got into the lift and slapped his face again and again, alternating hands like some bizarre alpine dance.
‘You bastard Mervyn!’
‘I’m sorry!’ He sank slowly to the floor. ‘I didn’t know she was your daughter!’
‘No excuse! How dare you prey on the young and innocent!’
‘Vanity that’s what I do! That’s what we both do!’
‘How dare you! You soiled my little Min! I’m going to kill you!’
‘You dried-up old bitch!’
That was another voice. Just outside the lift.
It was Katherine Warner—angry and tear-stained, eye shadow creeping down her cheeks and collecting above her nostrils.
‘Your bitch daughter killed my Smurf! You fucking bitches! You lied about him in your filthy book and you told her she was his daughter and she killed him for it! You couldn’t leave us alone, could you! You couldn’t let anyone be happy, miserable cow, you fucking bitch!’
Vanity had no intention of being talked to that way, even by a grieving girlfriend. ‘She was his daughter, darling! If he’d dealt with it instead of denying it and trying to cover his undersized arse with you, she wouldn’t have got so cross with him!’
‘Cross? She murdered him, you fucking insane, deluded, dried-up old bitch!’
In Mervyn’s experience, actresses didn’t have face-to-face cat-fights.
Until now.
He had never seen the screeching, face-slapping, cheek-scratching, hair-tugging or blouse-ripping found in 1970s British sex comedies.
Until now.
Katherine went for Vanity, red nails drilling into Vanity’s cheek. Vanity lunged and punched Katherine in the throat, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back. Katherine kicked out, winding Vanity and forcing her to join Mervyn on the floor of the lift.
Mervyn, meanwhile, had been planning his escape. He crawled on the floor between them, edging forward like a sniper. Fortunately, Katherine was half-in, half-out of the lift, and the doors were juddering apart as they detected an obstruction.
He got to his knees and scrambled out of the lift, striking the button for the top floor as he did so. Vanity and Katherine were too intent on screaming, snarling and tearing expensive bits of clothing from each other to notice his escape.
Thankfully, the lift doors finally closed, shutting them off from Mervyn and sending them hurtling up and away. The lift made further stops, showing its semi-naked contents to fans as it journeyed to the highest point of the hotel. Some were shocked; some took photos; some stuck their hands deep in their pockets and walked awkwardly to their rooms to think about what they’d just seen.
He took the stairs up to his room, huffing with the exertion and panic. He rammed his pass key in the slot and clawed open the door with shaking fingers. He hurled his clothes into his suitcase, slammed it shut—still with shirt sleeves and ties poking cheerfully out of the edges—and pulled it off the bed, dragging it to the floor.
And then his bedside phone rang.
CONVIX 15 / EARTH ORBIT THREE / 3.00pm
EVENT: COSPLAY DISCO
LOCATION: Vixos Central Nerve Centre (main stage, ballroom)
EVENT: ‘ESCAPE TO FIRE’ EPISODE SCREENING
LOCATION: The Catacombs of Herath (video lounge—room 1024)
EVENT: HOW VIXENS FROM THE VOID IS BETTER THAN DOCTOR WHO—FAN PANEL with Graham Goldingay, Fay Lawless, Craig Jones, Darren Cardew
LOCATION: The Seventh Moon of Groolia (room 1002)
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Mervyn screamed, jumped a full three feet in the air, and dived for the phone, more to stop it making a noise than to find out who was calling.
Breathing heavily, heart jumping like an excited dog, he fell on the bed and put the receiver to his ear. ‘Yes?’
‘I know, Mervyn.’ It was Minnie’s voice. Flat. Cold. Threatening.
‘What?’ he gasped, barely able to form words.
‘I know. About you and me…and my mother.’
Mervyn’s heart stopped. He was dead. He knew he was, because he was definitely floating on the ceiling, looking down at his corpse.
All he could think to say was a ‘No,’ and a ‘Listen, Minnie…’
‘I’m coming to get you, Mervyn. Get ready to run.’ Then a click, and the line went dead.
He threw the buzzing receiver on the table and grabbed his suitcase.
Mervyn ran.
CONVIX 15 / EARTH ORBIT THREE / 4.00pm
EVENT: COSPLAY DISCO
LOCATION: Vixos Central Nerve Centre (main stage, ballroom)
EVENT: ‘THE BRIDE OF KRELL’—EPISODE SCREENING
LOCATION: The Catacombs of Herath (video lounge—room 1024)
EVENT: VIXENS FROM THE VOID: A DIFFERENT POINT OF VIEW—EXPERT PANEL with Graham Goldingay, Fay Lawless, Craig Jones, Darren Cardew
LOCATION: The Seventh Moon of Groolia (room 1002)
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
He ran down the stairs and stopped, panting and sweating as he looked down at the foyer. It was full of people in costumes; half of them were dressed as Arkadia. He could walk straight into Vanity or Minnie and not even know it.
He wouldn’t know it was them, but they’d know it was him. With his plain black jacket and trousers, he stood out like a goth at a glam rock concert.
Unless…
He had to get a disguise. If he wore a disguise, he could edge out of the door and they wouldn’t spot him
‘Hello Mr Stone!’
Mervyn cowered instinctively, but it was only Big-Nose Bob and Speccy Derek. They were once again in their purple make-up, overalls and bathing caps.
‘Look, we’re a Groolian delegation!’
‘Just like you said!’
Mervyn grabbed Big-Nose Bob by the lapels and held a purple ear to his mouth.
‘Do—you—have—more—of—that—purple—paint?’ he enunciated, over the sound of Simple Minds singing Don’t You Forget About Me.
‘What?’ said Bob. ‘Right here, in my pocket, in case I need a touch-up before the smoochie songs.’
‘Don’t want to look shabby for the ladies,’ said Speccy Derek.
‘Come with me,’ said Mervyn. He grabbed Derek with his other hand and dragged them to the lifts.
Inside the lift, Mervyn let go of them. They dusted themselves down and were getting ready to say something like ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Which was not easy when the person kidnapping them was a childhood hero.
Mervyn saved them the embarrassment. ‘Someone’s trying to kill me.’
‘What?’
‘Really?’
‘Well, I tell a lie. To be specific, there’s two people trying to kill me, but I think only one of them has actually murdered before and intends to kill me.’
‘Really?’
‘Wow.’
‘I need your help. I’m going to be part of your delegation. Hope you don’t mind.’
From the thrilled looks on Bob and Derek’s faces, they realised they were on the verge of a new Vixens anecdote, one so huge that they themselves could tell it at conventions for the rest of their lives.
It was too risky to go back to Mervyn’s room; Minnie was sure to have gone there first. They went up to the second floor and Derek’s room. It was strewn with clothes, and a large inflatable Styrax was in the corner performing some kind of sex act with a blow-up doll. The doll had the name ‘Medula’ written on it in marker pen.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ Derek said lamely. ‘Haven’t cleared up properly since the Friday night.’
Mervyn went into the bathroom and coloured in his face furiously, making big heavy streaks of make-up. He was finished in minutes and then came out.
‘Right, that’s done.’
‘You haven’t done behind your ears.’
‘I said…that’s done.’
He ran back and forth across the room while Derek and Bob watched him in fascination, a piece of street theatre put on for their benefit. He wrapped a towel round his head, pulled the dressing gown off the door, put in on backwards and tied the belt tight. Then he rolled up his trouser legs. Not bad. He was starting to look like a Groolian. ‘Have you got a swimming cap?’ he asked.
Both Bob and Derek touched their heads nervously. ‘Not a spare one, no’.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll improvise.’ Mervyn grabbed the hotel shower cap in the bathroom and rammed it on his head. He looked in the mirror. Not good enough. ‘I can still tell it’s me.’
Derek looked around and pounced on a pair of glasses by his bedside table. ‘Try these dark glasses.’
‘He can’t wear those.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Groolians have very poor eyesight. It said in “The Doomsday Sequence” that they have very poor eyesight and can’t see in the dark. They wouldn’t be able to see wearing dark glasses.’
‘Look, it doesn’t really matter…’ groaned Mervyn.
‘Okay, clever clogs, if they can’t see in the dark, how did they go down that really dark tunnel in “Ship of the Stateless Ones” with no trouble at all?
‘Well obviously the script editor was asleep on the job that day and he couldn’t be arsed doing his…’ They both realised they were in the presence of the script editor in question, and their argument dribbled away.
‘Sorry,’ said Derek.
Mervy popped the lenses out of the sunglasses and put them on. ‘Satisfied?’
They nodded dumbly.
‘I’ll buy you a new pair, Derek. I promise. Just so long as I get out of here alive.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
They left Speccy Derek’s room, scuttling awkwardly, walking practically shoulder to shoulder. They would have looked very suspicious, but luckily everyone else in the hotel was doing his or her best to scuttle awkwardly too.
They were soon back in the foyer, where people spilled in and out of the main hall, laughing, drinking and chasing each other with clamps, mandibles and tentacles outstretched.
Mervyn peeled away from the group and sauntered up to the front desk. He waited impatiently for the people in front to hand in their keys and settle their bills.
A young couple settled their bill.
‘Hope you enjoyed your stay,’ trilled the receptionist.
The man behind them moved up, and after some heated discussion about how many massages he’d had, checked out too.
‘Hope you enjoyed your stay,’ trilled the receptionist, in exactly the same tone and inflection.
It was Mervyn’s turn. ‘I’m checking out,’ he hissed, lowering his head to her ear.
‘Of course, Mr…’
‘Stone, Mr Mervyn Stone…’ he muttered in a hoarse whisper.
The receptionist didn’t take Mervyn’s growl as an invitation to keep her voice down. She assumed he was putting on an alien voice. ‘Of course, Mr Stone, I hope you enjoyed your stay,’ she said loudly. She printed up a bill and handed it to him.
‘I’m with the convention. My room is paid for by Mr Simon Josh.’
‘Yes, he hasn’t settled the account.’
‘No, he wouldn’t have.’
‘Well I’m afraid he needs to. And according to the computer he checked out yesterday morning.’
‘He actually checked out late the night before. He was the dead man who gassed himself in the funny space car outside.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m sure, aside from being murdered, he enjoyed his stay very much.’
She gave him a look.
‘You need to speak to Morris,’ Mervyn continued.
‘Morris who?’
‘Well… I don’t know his surname, but Morris should be handling things from now on.’
She looked sceptically at her screen. ‘Okay… I’ve got a note here that “VixEnterprises” are paying for the room. Mr Morris Campbell?’
‘That’s him.’
‘…But not the extras. You have several movies on your bill that you haven’t paid for.’
Mervyn cursed his filthy habits. He’d thrown everything in his case, including his wallet. He wrestled with the zips and pockets until his fingers grasped smooth leather. He sighed with relief, pulling it out and producing a credit card.
The receptionist was now looking at him directly. Up and down. Mervyn wondered why she was eyeing him in such a funny way. Everyone else looked weird. Why was she looking at him like that?
Then he realised that he was wearing hotel slippers, a hotel dressing gown, a hotel towel and a hotel shower cap.
‘That’s original,’ she said with a smile. ‘Most people just put that stuff in their suitcase.’
‘Ha ha.’
‘I’ll let you have the shower cap, but we do sell hotel merchandise, should our guests wish to have a souvenir of their stay.’
Mervyn didn’t want to strip in the foyer. He thought it might make him look conspicuous.
‘Do you know what, I loved my stay so much, I want to walk out here covered in my hotel merchandise. How much is that?’
She told him. The terrifying sum would neatly dispose of half of his convention appearance fee.
Mervyn cursed. ‘Okay. Okay. Put it on my card.’ She typed in the extras, with agonising slowness.
Then she handed him his bill, and he was just about to pass her his credit card and key when he noticed a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye. He turned away from the desk to see someone dressed as Arkadia standing in the doorway of the hotel.
Facing him. Looking at him.
‘Arkadia’ wasn’t short, fat or stumpy, so it could be either one of two people: Stuart or Minnie.
The figure strode directly towards him. Mervyn didn’t feel like taking any chances. He retreated into the bowels of the hotel, the receptionist watching him disappear with wide-eyed curiosity.
‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m putting this stuff back. Take it all off my bill…’ he called to her.
He turned to go along the opposite corridor, only to see another ‘Arkadia’ marching directly towards him, looking grim and determined. One gloved hand was clenching and unclenching, twitching open and closed like a carnivorous plant.
Despite the mask Mervyn knew it was Minnie, and his soul leapt out of his body screaming, danced along his spine and crapped in his head. She was coming for him.
Mervyn ducked into the fancy-dress disco, hoping to lose her amid the alien life forms that writhed and jiggled in the semi-darkness. He weaved through, apologising when he stepped on a flipper or snagged himself on a tentacle.
‘Sorry, sorry, pardon me, coming through…’
‘Arkadia’ dived in after him and was pointing at him and shouting. The hand was still twitching. Its owner was deeply unhinged. He doubled round and waded back out into the foyer…
…Only to come face to face with Minnie. She wasn’t even in costume. She grabbed him with her powerful arms and dragged him into the tiny corridor where the cleaning la
dies put their trolleys. There was no one around to see them.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
She slammed him into the wall. ‘I said I was going to get you.’
Their noses were less than an inch apart. Mervyn’s eyes watered as he tried to focus on her face. Now that he knew the truth, Mervyn could see that the family resemblance was insanely strong. Not that he was stupid enough to mention it. She had the mane of lustrous hair, the pointy aristocratic nose. The wide, mobile face that could flip from sardonic-smiley-sexy to sardonic-angry-sexy in a split-second.
She’s so like her mother. It was so obvious. Some detective I turned out to be.
‘Minnie, I didn’t think it right to tell you…’
‘That you slept with my mother after me?’
‘Ummm. Yes.’
‘The same night?’
‘Yes…’
She stared into his face, searching his eyes, like a snake wondering where to strike first.
Then she kissed him, hard and long, on the mouth. Mervyn’s lips felt dead, but he soon had no choice but to respond.
She finally broke away, pulling at his bottom lip with her teeth. She fixed him with a filthy grin. A grin just like Vanity’s.
‘No champagne. Well, at least you don’t taste like Mother.’
‘Agh,’ said Mervyn.
Minnie let him go. His legs just about supported his body.
‘Did I scare you?’
‘Um. A bit.’
‘Good. I like freaking people out.’
‘Ah.’
‘Beats the boredom, doesn’t it?’ She looked at Mervyn’s ashen face. ‘You’re not going to die on me, are you?’
Mervyn straightened up. ‘Not just yet.’
