Fly Like an Ego by J.S. Morin

Author:J.S. Morin [Morin, J.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781643559193
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Thank you, and good night.”

Chuck took his bow to a silent audience in an empty theater. Then he loosened his tie and blew a cleansing breath as the spotlight shut off, relieving him of its punishing heat.

“That’s a wrap, people. See you tomorrow.”

One of the stagehands passed Chuck a towel. With a clunk, the house lights came back on. Chuck climbed down the stairs that led from the side of the stage to the audience, a throwback architectural feature to the days when spectators would get called up to interact with the performers.

He accepted a few handshakes and blanditudes. It was a rehearsal, nothing to get worked up over. But Chuck knew he was “the talent,” and many who fit that description had egos like a house of cards. Praise was the glue that kept those poor bastards from falling apart.

Retiring to his dressing room, Chuck declined to change out of his costume. Instead, he let his bowtie come completely unraveled, threw his feet up on his dressing table, and tipped back in his chair. Someone had left today’s newspaper for him. Normally, Chuck ignored news, reading, and all combinations of the two. Today, he welcomed the diversion.

The images were grainy. Every story sounded like it had been cooked up by Hollyworld hacks. A faint stain of black ink darkened his fingertips from handling the document. Nevertheless, Chuck opened to an interior page and held the paper at arm’s length, studying it like he cared one stale fart what had happened yesterday in New Cali.

Nothing interesting happened on all of Peractorum.

Oh, sure, you could find entertainment on the colony. He was proof of that much himself. But the whole colony was one big diorama. Weirdly, that put Chuck in the position of being one nesting doll lower on the scale of reality than the people whose lives were all an act.

A knock on his door interrupted Chuck’s wandering thoughts somewhere around two-thirds of the way through the hip flask of whiskey he kept in the drawer of his dressing table.

“Yo.”

The door creaked open. It was Ed. “Hey, what are you still doing here? Alone. I saw the light under the door and figured either someone had left it on or was getting it on.”

Chuck glared accusingly at the flask. “Well, that would have been an idea, now wouldn’t it?”

“What gives? It’s Tuesday. No show tonight, or did the bottle forget to mention that, too?”

The flask offered no opinion. “Nah. I know it’s Tuesday.”

“Go home. Have dinner with the family.”

“Dinner is going to be fat-free imitation steak, grilled to charcoal because that’s the way Stu’s dad always made it. And damned if he’s going to let his grandkids know what meat tastes like. Not that they’d learn it from that imported imitation shit they sell around here.”

Ed pulled up a spare chair, swung it around and straddled it, leaning his crossed arms on the back. “Chuck, I can help noticing something.”

“That I hate my in-laws?”

“Thanks. Figured that much was plain as bread.

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