Chapter 23.
Chuck’s first live feed from Mexico, streamed through to a monitor on our kitchen table. His head and arms were almost as red as the glowing light on my camera backpack.
“Hola mi familia,” he said. “Can you see me?”
He looked deep into the camera lens like it was a peephole.
“Hey lobster-man, you know we’re not in the laptop,” Lenny said. “Back away from the screen.”
“Yeah, very funny. But not at all funny. I got burnt to a crisp, waiting all day under the sun to do a stunt. How’s the show going on that end?”
“We went viral on the first week Unk,” Dallas shouted enthusiastically from the back of the kitchen.
“That’s awesome Dallas, just awesome,” Chuck said. “What exactly does that mean?”
“The show got forty-six thousand hits yesterday,” Dallas said checking his smartphone. “Make that another two hundred and change since... nnnnnowww.”
Chuck still looked like he had no idea what Dallas was talking about.
“Well ballyhoo, but hits don’t pay the bills, unless you’re working for the mob,” Muffy said.
“I’ve lived through a dose of polio, rickets and a world war – trust me going viral is nothing to write home about,” Minnie said from behind her magazine.
“You guys just don’t get it do you?” Bunny argued. “Because you’re like, from a time when the electric kettle was front page news. Hits mean traffic to the site and traffic to the site means advertising and advertising means more for us.”
“Now that Warren Buffet is finished with the soapbox, enough about you. This is me time. This is Chuck’s time to shine. Am I on air?”
“He’s always on something, and I think air is probably the least toxic,” Max muttered.
Everyone laughed.
“Hey Maxi, keep the comedy for your routine,” Chuck said. “Stick to your wheelbarrow.”
Teddy wandered into the kitchen wearing his oversized headphones. He was in the middle of making a carpet sale to a woman in Boise, Idaho. “How’s the movie going Chuck?”
“All going well Pop, apart from the Martian tan. I’ve done a couple of car flips, building crashes and I drove a motorbike off a bridge into the sea the other day. That was fun”
“We don’t want to know about your daily commute to work,” Rufus said. “Tell us how is the movie going?”
Everyone laughed – I joined in with a few barks.
“Yeah, yeah you guys are a riot.”
“You’re everywhere at the moment, Chuck,” Dallas said.
Chuck looked a little more confused than usual. “Meaning?”
“Your stunt with Chumley up on San Fernando is all over the place,” Dallas said.
“I’m not sure it paints you in the best light ol’ boy,” Rufus said.
Harvey Spinks had licensed the footage of Chuck’s crash on San Fernando Freeway to a car insurance company, for a TV commercial. The cost to Chuck was his freedom and his dignity. The commercial showed the goriest part of our demise followed by big red words on screen and supported by a man’s voice-over, that said, ‘don’t Chuck up’ or another version said, ‘don’t be a dumb Chuck’. The commercial was everywhere – people loved it. Maybe Harvey Spinks was right, people like to watch other people doing dumber things than them – it makes them feel better about themselves – num num num gobble gobble gobble lap lap lap. We waited while Chuck searched for the TV commercials. He smiled throughout the commercial and almost looked proud, until the last part and he seemed a little embarrassed. “You see Chumley, I told you it was going to be a thing of greatness,” he said, struggling to brave the humiliation.
Lenny’s phone rang. “Who? Oh you. Sure whatever. Yeah, yeah. But don’t call me on this number. This is my work number. Ok! Ok! Hello HELLO.... What an asshole.”
“Big brother Flowers asked me to ask you, what the three women on the show are like and when can we see some footage?” Lenny demanded.
“They’re awesome, complete minxes. And no, you can’t have any footage at the moment but I think for the right price, Rodrigo will release a few clips for Flowers. As your show is doing so well, he knows that Harvey Spinks will be paying through the nose.”
Chucks phone rang. He answered. “Who? Who? Flowers? Oh, Flowers how are you? What are you doing calling me......?” Chuck asked. He pointed to the phone and spoke to us. “It’s Flowers. Isn’t technology great. I’m on Skype video calling you, live on air on TV and talking to the producer on the phone, all at the same time.”
“Careful Chuck, we don’t want you to have a stroke with all that brain activity,” Lenny said.
Chuck began peeling some burnt skin off his arm while he listened to Flowers. We all sat in the kitchen watching Chuck, as he sat on an apple box, next to his battered stunt car, while he picked away at his dead skin live on TV.
“Aha, ok, riiight, ok, yes, ok, aha, yeah,” he muttered into the phone.
“This really is gripping stuff,” Minnie said. “What does he do for an encore, pluck his sun-bleached eyebrows or maybe a good old fashioned, toenail clipping?”
Max yawned loudly. He always sounds like one of those opera singers doing their warming up exercises – throaty, discordant vocal scales fill any sleepy venue that Max inhabits. I’ve noticed that humans tend to do that when they get older – the older they get, the louder and more harmonic their yawns are. I do love yawning though.
“You’ve got to wonder what Murray would think about all this,” Max asked.
“Judging by his current practices, he’d probably wade into the surf in Coney Island,” Rufus said.
“If we have to watch Chuck de-scaling himself much longer, I think it’s going to be a long line, on a crowded beach,” Muffy said.
Chuck hung up. “Sorry, I’m back.”
“What a relief, I was enjoying that,” Lenny said. “We should have a double bill, your skin peeling with footage of my last colonoscopy.”
“Flowers tells me that I can’t discuss the legal mumbo jumbo about media rights to the film I’m working on, while live on the reality TV show. Something about....”
Chuck was interrupted by Flowers again. “Hello, yeah I’m was telling them that I can’t discuss the terms.... yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it, I got it dude, chill.”
“The puppet master has poked his ugly face from behind the curtain,” Minnie said in a foreboding tone, from behind her Polish fashion magazine.
“Hey Chuck, I’m reading some of the comments from your San Fernando stunt and people are asking some questions,” Dallas said.
“Hit me,” Chuck said.
“Who’s your hero?”
“That’s a no brainer – Rusty McKaygan. Next.”
“Why did you want to become a stuntman?”
“Because he got lost, when he tried to run away to the circus,” Lenny said.
“I felt it was more of a calling than anything,” Chuck said sincerely. “Rusty McKaygan once said, there’s a fine line between courage and fear and I chose to walk that line.”
“Oh puhlease,” Muffy sighed. “There’s also very thick line between bullshit and being a moron and you’ve been rolling around on that patch, for, like, ever. How much longer do we have to sit her and listen to this nonsense?”
Chuck stretched a filthy cat grin. “According to my calculations eight minutes. This is Chuck time. It’s in the contract, so why don’t you just sit back and absorb my wisdom. You might want to get yourself a pencil and some paper.”
“And lastly, if there was one thing you could bring back to life what would it be?” Dallas asked. “And let’s leave Rusty McKaygan rest in peace on this one.”
Chuck thought for a minute. We all waited impatiently. No one wanted to be sitting listening to Chuck’s theories on life.
“I would say that is also a no-brainer,” he said. “It’s got to be the humble comb-over.”
Everyone laughed. Minnie flipped down her magazine and looked at the little screen hosting Chuck’s head.
“What! Not Albert Einstein, dinosaurs, an unpolluted earth, Marie Curie?” Lenny asked.
“Nope, I’d have to say the comb-over. Those others are far too existential for me and I don’t even know what the word existential means. And to be honest, the comb-over is never humble, it’s a statement – a very bold statement of never giving up. You see ladies, if you want to end up with someone who proudly proves that they’re not a quitter, then date someone with a comb-over. You see it’s like a long, hairy flag whipping in the wind or very carefully greased to the skull that says, never give up. Take your Vin Diesels, Telly Savalas’ and Yul Brynners, they might look cool but they’re quitters. They’ve made their peace with their baldness but let me tell you if I was to go into battle – into the darkest of wars, then every man in my platoon, would have at the very least, an eight inch lank of hair, thrashing on his dome like a ringmasters whip of pure, undiluted follicular courage.”
Max laughed hysterically. “You’re a pisser Chuckie. I once knew a juggler who had a comb-over that looked like the top of Mister Whippy soft serve ice cream cone. He used to juggle hatchets and chainsaws.”
Chuck nodded in agreement. “And you know who had a stunning exhibit of this courage safely stowed under his Stetson – Rusty McKaygan, the most fearless man to ever walk the earth. Correction – strut the earth.”
“Chuck dear boy, you’ve really got to start wearing a helmet when you’re doing those stunts of yours,” Rufus said.
“Maybe the helmet might save growing a comb-over – two birds with one stone,” Lenny said.
“What are your feelings about toupees?” Dallas asked.
“Well that’s just obvious, that’s someone living in denial,” Chuck said matter-of-factly. “A complete cop out.”
“Wow, so this is what descent into irreversible madness sounds like,” Muffy said. “I can’t imagine this show lasting much longer, if the viewers are subjected to jibber jabber like this on a nightly basis.”
“Muffy, they said the same about that guy in the wheelchair when he told people about how the universe began. They said he was a nut and threw things at him. But who’s laughing now? Him, that’s who.”
“I think I’d have a better chance discussing astrophysics with a turnip, than trying to have an argument, with someone like you Chuck,” Muffy said.
“At least the turnip would be in good company,” Chuck said.
Minnie laughed, her little laugh from behind the cover of her weary looking magazine. Muffy’s botox came to her rescue and concealed her extreme irritation.
“I’m just curious, do you have a training regimen to become this stupid?” Muffy raged.
“On that note I’ll leave you to your turnips, I’ve got to sign off, my time is up for tonight and they’re setting me on fire tomorrow,” Chuck said. “We’re doing a scene where I have to drive into hell in my Trans Am.”
“Break a leg uncle Chuck,” Dallas said.
“He’s probably the only person in the history of show business that you shouldn’t say that to,” Lenny said. “In Chuck’s case, that’s like tempting fate.”
Chuck pointed into the camera lens. “I see you there Chumley, I see you Chums.”
I barked. “You’re the man, Chumley, my little co-pilot. You know we should get back together down here for a follow up to our last outing. I wish you were her to enjoy some of this. Yum yum yum.”
He slid a large slice of pizza from a box on an oil drum, dangled it in front of the camera and devoured it in one greedy gulp. I barked at him. I missed Chuck not being around the house. I missed his fun and I missed his madness.
“Oh God, that’s an image that’s going to stick for a while,” Bunny said.
“Sayonara peeps,” Chuck said. And with that his head disappeared from the screen.