What They Did to Princess Paragon (Robert Rodi Essentials) by Robert Rodi

Author:Robert Rodi [Rodi, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Gay, FICTION / Satire, FIC011000, FIC052000
Publisher: Robert Rodi
Published: 2012-06-18T00:00:00+00:00

23

BRIAN STARTED DIALING. IT caused him wrenching spasms of discomfort; he was holding the washcloth against his swollen jaw with his good arm and, as a result, had to handle the telephone with his other one, which felt now as if it had been yanked from its socket and then reattached by Scotch tape.

His mind moved at lightning-swift speed, spurred on, he supposed, by a rush of excitement and pain that electrified all his nerve endings like a cattle prod at full charge. As he pushed the first digit of the extension for hotel security, he thought: This is the last straw. After all the shit I’ve had to take the past two days, I get attacked in the fucking stairwell by a paranoid schizophrenic the size of a Volkswagen Rabbit, who first nearly kills me, then tucks me into bed and sits next to me like some kind of creepy nanny. I’m going to hang this lunatic fat-boy out to dry, I don’t care what anyone says.

And as he pushed the second digit, he thought: Wait’ll that bitch Bella hears! When this gets out, she’s going to look like the one who inspired this slob to come at be like a World Wrestling Federation wannabe. And wait’ll Nico hears. He’ll be sorry he was such a prick to me.

And as he pushed the third and final number, he thought: But then, I’m not really in such bad shape — just banged up a little, maybe mildly concussed. This guy took me by surprise; no one will ever believe he was any match for me. In fact, I can see this not even reaching Bella at all — and Nico might even make fun of me. I can just hear him: “So you got into a shoving match with a customer and took a header down a flight of stairs? Sorry, but I’m guessing it was more accident than assault. You don’t expect me to believe you were in any kind of danger from that out-of-shape pile of dough? He’s a fan, not a fanatic.”

The hotel-security line rang once, and Brian slammed down the receiver.

He’s a fan, he repeated to himself, weighing the words in his head, not a fanatic.

A Brian Parrish fan.

He turned and looked closely at his quivery, simpering attacker.

And suddenly he realized what had incited this poor schmuck to such an extremity of passion. It had been his own work — Brian’s work, his plans for Princess Paragon — that had driven this hopeless drudge to lurk in a stairwell waiting for him to appear, then launch into a hysterical tirade that had whipped into a frenzy of — well, look at him, the big, bloated jellyfish; he’d obviously never intended to get violent. Getting ambulatory was probably the summit of his ambitions. That he did get violent was just a measure of how seriously he took this thing.

Against all the odds, Brian found himself feeling rather flattered.

After all, Nico didn’t take him this seriously. Despite the

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