Channel Blue (11 page)

‘Then we have nothing to lose,’ Amanda said. ‘We’re about to blow the whole thing up and write it off anyway, right? Any programming we get out of it at this point is pure profit.’

The man nodded slowly. ‘I’m no expert on Earthle writers, but if we’re going down this road, why not Lucas or Spielberg?’

Even in his stunned state, Perry felt annoyed. ‘You haven’t heard of him, but Mr Bunt is the best,’ Amanda said. ‘I have total confidence in him. I wouldn’t be wasting your time if I didn’t.’

The President of Channel Blue fidgeted his hands on the top of his desk, then turned to Perry. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll hear your idea.’

Perry stared at the older man. ‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted, ‘but I have to ask. Are you Elvis Presley?’

The man nodded. ‘I started as a field producer on Earth,’ he said with a note of finality that indicated he wasn’t interested in elaborating. Perry heard the note but still couldn’t help himself.

‘What are you doing here?’

Amanda glared at him. ‘Mr Presley would like to hear your idea. He’s a very busy man.’

‘Right,’ Perry said. ‘Of course.’ The butterflies that Perry had felt in his stomach for the last day suddenly became eagles.
Why had this happened to me?
he wondered. Why did he, of all people, have a chance of saving the Earth? It was bad enough to be killed by aliens, but to be responsible for the Earth’s destruction as well? He shook his head, trying in vain to clear it.

‘He does have an idea, doesn’t he?’ Elvis said.

‘He sure does,’ Amanda replied. She turned and gazed directly at Perry, her eyes shining. ‘And it’s a winner.’

Perry returned her gaze and, despite his nervousness, found himself smiling broadly. She believed in him! How crazy was that? And if she believed he could pull this off, why shouldn’t he? After all, wasn’t he the seven-year-old who believed so intently that he was destined for greatness that he risked his life on a clothesline? And wasn’t it only a few years ago that, riding a powerful gust of cash, he had glided to the upper stratosphere of Hollywood screenwriters? Hell, he’d faked his way through a hundred meetings just like this one and come out of them with million-dollar deals. OK, not
exactly
like this one – he’d never pitched an idea to a deceased rock star on the moon in order to save humanity – but wasn’t it really just the same thing? Convincing someone you had the answer they were searching for, even if you didn’t?

Perry continued smiling, trying with every ounce of his being to summon the confidence he’d left in the Hollywood Hills. ‘My idea,’ he said aloud, almost as if trying out the phrase. ‘My idea is very simple, very straightforward.’ So far, so good – Elvis leaned forward as if to give him his full attention. Now what? Perry thought. Then he remembered a valuable artefact from his glory days of taking meetings:
When in doubt, restate the obvious
.

‘Channel Blue was successful for years. Now, it isn’t.’ Keep going, Perry thought. Just keep going. ‘In the beginning, your viewers watched because they found the people of Earth to be ridiculous, ludicrous and generally horrific.’ Elvis nodded slightly. Yes, Perry, thought. It’s working! He had him! ‘What about that changed? Did the people of Earth become less ridiculous, ludicrous and generally horrific? I don’t think so. What changed,’ continued Perry, gaining steam, ‘is that your viewers got sick of them. So what do we do about it? How do we give people a new look at Channel Blue and bring them back?’

Elvis regarded him intently. Amanda listened raptly. Perry opened his mouth... and nothing came out. Just like that, he’d hit a wall. He was a dry, barren husk, bereft of ideas. Once again, he was a fraud, an out-of-work screenwriter living in a crappy apartment who was in way over his head. He could feel the flop sweat surge out of his brow as he desperately surveyed the office, searching for anything to smash the lock on his brain.

‘Are you going to tell me?’ Elvis said. ‘Because I don’t feel like guessing.’

Then, Perry saw it. On one of the small screens showing Earth people humiliating themselves, Perry recognized Steve Santiago, the galaxy’s most reprehensible creature, lying in bed asleep, his hair tucked in a hairnet. Above the bed was a graphic portrait of Jesus Christ, the kind of painting that had always made Perry feel slightly woozy – Jesus gazed heavenward while a bloody, thorn-encircled heart emerged from his chest.

And suddenly, Perry had the answer.

‘Steve Santiago has a vision,’ Perry said. ‘Jesus appears before him. And Jesus tells him that he’s going to destroy the Earth and all of humanity unless Steve becomes a good man. To save his life and the life of everyone on the planet, Steve tries to go from being the galaxy’s most-selfish to least-selfish individual.’

Without missing a beat, Amanda smiled. ‘I told you it was great,’ she said. Perry felt the euphoric rush of a condemned man suddenly set free.

Elvis nodded slowly. ‘Smart,’ he said. ‘But having Jesus appear... Well, we don’t like to introduce visions that much. Our audience doesn’t care for it when they sense we’re manipulating folks down there, ever since the damn Sixties. A lot of folks think that’s when Channel Blue lost its way.’

‘Look, no one’s suggesting we introduce LSD to an unsuspecting population,’ Amanda said jumping in. ‘Or mullets or Humvees or women’s shorts with writing on the buttocks, for that matter. And we’re certainly not suggesting rock and roll.’ Amanda said this provocatively to Elvis, who gave a hint of a smirk. ‘What we’re talking about here is one heavenly vision with a potentially limitless up-side.’ Amanda’s eyes sparked to life – Perry could see that she was good in meetings. ‘Steve’s quest will prove to our audience that the Earth’s inhabitants aren’t all selfish, apathetic slugs. We increase sympathy while delivering our bread-and-butter: failure and humiliation. Steve Santiago trying to be good? It’s going to drive him crazy. I personally can’t wait to see it.’

Elvis shrugged. ‘Two days,’ he said and swivelled his chair so that it once more faced the distant reaches of space.

CHANNEL 12

THE BIGGEST STAR ON EARTH

‘What just happened?’ Perry asked, when he and Amanda were once more walking down a large lit hallway beneath the moon’s surface. Amanda didn’t answer; she pushed a screen into Perry’s face. On it were a variety of Renaissance portraits depicting Jesus Christ.

‘Which do you like?’ she asked. When Perry hesitated, she said, ‘Come on, Mr Bunt, you heard him, we only have two days to make this work. We have to start casting immediately.’

‘Are you serious?’ Perry asked. ‘That wasn’t a real idea. I was just stalling, trying to buy us a little time.’

‘Well, it worked,’ Amanda said. ‘Now we have to produce.’ They came to a bank of elevators. Amanda pressed the down button and with a soft chime, one of the elevator doors opened. They stepped into the car and she pressed 1. The doors slid closed and the elevator lurched up out of the moon and into space.

‘If we’re going to have a chance, we need to present Steve with his heavenly vision when he wakes up, which is one hour from now.’ Amanda pointed at a sombre Jesus on her screen. ‘What do you think? Vengeful enough? Or should we go for something a little more, you know, apocalyptic?’

Perry was so overwhelmed by questions he couldn’t focus. ‘Elvis was a producer for Channel Blue?’

Amanda, restraining her impatience, explained that when Channel Blue’s ratings sank in the fifties (‘Even the wars were boring,’ Amanda noted), Elvis Presley, then a mere segment producer for Galaxy Entertainment, came up with the idea of encoding the message ‘
Have Sex and Go Crazy
’ into sounds that could be broadcast to Earthles. This message became so popular that Elvis was sent to the planet to broadcast it personally and eventually became the star of his own show.

‘A lot of our field producers end up celebrities in your culture,’ Amanda said. ‘It’s one of the hazards of stirring things up, I guess.’

‘Like who?’

‘Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Fatty Arbuckle. When their contract with the channel’s up, they get “killed off” and go onto their next gig. Not Elvis, though. He stayed on and worked his way up to President of the channel. He’s like me – a true Earth fan. This whole finale’s tearing him up.’

Perry was unimpressed. ‘Not enough for him to stop it.’

‘He’s giving your show a shot, isn’t he? Here we go.’ Amanda held up a portrait of an angry Jesus wielding a large sword. ‘
This
is our saviour.’

Perry couldn’t help having terrible misgivings about his half-baked idea. ‘Look, even if by some miracle Steve Santiago became a saint, and everyone else on Earth became caring and considerate, wouldn’t your viewers get sick of that, too? Isn’t Channel Blue built on how selfish we are?’

Amanda considered this. ‘The sheer novelty of Earthles behaving decently would definitely attract viewers. Then, yes, you’re right – eventually people would get bored and stop watching. But at least they’d take no pleasure in seeing you destroyed. There’d be no ratings bump to that at all.’

As the elevator entered the upper reaches of Earth’s atmosphere, Amanda relayed instructions on the appearance of their Jesus to the special effects department. Perry heard a familiar ringing from his pocket. He dug out his cell phone and noticed that he had three messages, all from GALL. The phone rang again and Perry answered it. ‘I have Dana Fulcher calling for you,’ spoke an imperious voice, and before Perry could make his excuses and hang up, his agent was purring in his ear.

‘
Perrrrryyyyy
, where have you been?’ Dana Fulcher of Global Artistic Leadership Limited was using her overly friendly voice, the voice she used when she was heated in pursuit of someone or something that she wanted. Perry had never heard it directed at him before. ‘We’ve been literally tying ourselves in knots trying to get a hold of you.’

In the interests of brevity, Perry chose to let Dana have her egregiously figurative ‘literally’.

‘I’ve been busy,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’

Dana laughed as if Perry had tickled her while telling her the funniest joke in history. ‘Oh Perry, you are too much. “The Last Day of School” is what’s up. I’ve set up pitches for this afternoon.’ Perry guessed that Dana had run his movie idea by someone in a greater position of power, and that someone had liked it. His failure to return her calls had then created a false sense of urgency, which, in Hollywood, was really the only kind.

‘Sorry,’ Perry said. ‘I’m busy.’

There was a confused pause. ‘Busy?’ Dana said, barely able to conceal the incredulity in her voice. ‘With your
teaching
?’ The word ‘teaching’ was said with such a perfect combination of condescension and disgust that Perry had to take a moment to marvel at it.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Something else.’

‘What is it?’ Dana said. ‘What’s more important than selling a script?’

‘I can’t talk about it.’

‘Is it another project?’ Dana’s voice sounded both annoyed and hurt.

‘Yes,’ Perry said as he watched Los Angeles spread out beneath him. The elevator was plummeting towards Ventura Boulevard.

‘Oh Perry,’ Dana said. ‘Tell me you aren’t doing TV again. Please tell me that.’

The elevator slowed as it slid back into the roof of the Galaxy Entertainment building. ‘I’ve got to go,’ Perry said and hung up. The doors slid open and Amanda charged out. Perry followed her and came face to face with... Jesus. The famous Nazarene glowered and held a magnificent sword over his head. Perry gasped, taking a step backward. An attractive red-headed woman stepped out from behind Jesus.

‘What do you think?’ the woman asked.

‘Let me hear a line,’ Amanda said.

‘Steve Santiago!’ Jesus bellowed with a deep, metallic voice that sounded like it had been recorded at the wrong speed. ‘Thou art a terrible sinner!’

Amanda seemed unimpressed. ‘Isn’t Jeff available?’

‘He is and he isn’t,’ the redhead said. ‘You know Jeff.’

‘I can work on the line,’ Jesus said. ‘I just got the script thirty seconds ago.’

‘I’ll let you know,’ Amanda said and took off down the hall at a trot.

‘You’d better hurry,’ the redhead called after her. ‘We go to air in twenty.’

Perry scurried to keep up with Amanda. ‘Where did Jesus come from?’

‘He’s a facsimilon,’ she said. ‘They’re a species of shape-shifter – kind of like your jellyfish but a lot more sophisticated. We often use them for visions, dreams and hallucinations. Most of them are expert visual mimics, but their imitations of the human voice are always a little dodgy. And they need scripts – they can’t improvise at all. Jeff is the best we have, but he’s temperamental. Fortunately, he owes me a favour.’

Amanda stopped at a door with a star on it and rapped sharply. There was no response. She opened the door and stepped in. Perry followed her into a small room, illuminated solely by the small round lights surrounding a make-up mirror against one wall. In front of the mirror, draped across a small platform, was what appeared to be a white terrycloth towel. It quivered when they entered the room.

‘Jeff, I need your help on this,’ Amanda said, addressing the towel. The towel, in turn, emitted a cacophony of low noises that sounded like the rumble of a train through mud. Amanda shook her head. ‘You know I can’t understand you like that.’

The towel groaned with impatience. It rose into the air, expanding and contouring, colours racing across its surface in patterns until, to Perry’s complete shock, Amanda’s twin stood in front of him, identical down to the smallest freckle on her nose.

‘I’ve told you several times,’ the twin said in a tinny voice deeper than Amanda’s, ‘no more Jesuses, no more Yahwehs, no more Angels of Death, no more ghosts. You know how limiting they are. You know how easy it is to get pigeonholed.’

‘I do,’ Amanda said. ‘And you have so much more to offer, Jeff.’

‘Thank you,’ said the second Amanda. ‘Would you tell the idiot executives that? All they want are icons and archetypes. There’s no depth there, there’s nothing to play.’

‘I tell them all the time,’ Amanda said. She took both of her twin’s hands and gazed directly into her eyes. ‘You know how much admiration I have for your integrity and the quality of your work.’ Perry watched in disbelief as Amanda reached out and smoothed the blonde hair of her twin. She seemed to be flirting with herself. ‘And I’m not asking you to do this lightly. But we need you on this pilot and it’s a rush job.’