“Everybody is screaming ‘Bullshit’ at me today. Why are you screaming ‘Bullshit’ at me, Mike?,” Jill oozed poutily onto the sofa beside Mike, who immediately changed color from purple to red. His vein retreated. His eyebrows waved happily at me. He grinned like a fool.
“Yes, Mike, Jill is sitting beside you. I understand that you are wildly happy. Now, what is going on?”
Bethel struggled out of my arms and dashed for Mike, who automatically picked her up and deposited her on his lap. Bethel waved her tiny eyebrows happily at me. She immediately swiveled her head to glare at her competition, Jill.
“You’d think her dog would be a lesbian, too, but no,” muttered Moira.
“Girls.” We waited for Mike to say something more than, “girls.”
“Girls,” he said again, trying for some sort of moment.
Moira cleared her throat and shot venom out of her eyes at Mike. Mike took the hint.
“Girls, I am an actor.”
“Oh, no SHIT?” Moira threw herself into a tattered easy chair someone had rescued from the garbage.
Mike ignored Moira and continued his speech. “I am an actor, and I am a veritable master of Photoshop. Did my Photoshop skill not result in the end of my marriage?”
“You Photoshopped yourself having sex with those conjoined twins who look like one woman with two blond heads, Mike. Your wife left you because you are a perv, not because you are so good at Photoshop,” I said.
I chose to sit on the floor and lean against Moira’s legs. She was too drained to even kick me.
“Nonetheless, I have life experience in mendacity. In my personal life, in my private life, in my hobby life, I have vast experience with bullshit.”
“True dat,” agreed Jill.
“Oh, for Christ sake, Jill, you are not remotely a Ghetto person,” Moira spat.
Mike held up a peacemaking hand and continued.
“I’ve been watching the Mayor’s video on TV. It is most certainly bullshit. Those people in that demolition crowd were tanned. They were overweight. They were happy. Those people were not New Yorkers. Those people were regular Americans.”
Jill frowned a tiny bit. “That isn’t really evidence of bullshit, Mike.”
“And, my ex-wife, my children, and I were all in the front row of that crowd.”
“NO WAY!,” we all exploded.
“Way,” Mike said. “It was opening day of the ‘New York City Through A Child’s Eyes’ ride at Disney World. Florida. 1994. It was a really boring ride.”
We sat there and let the news sink in.
Moira glared at him, and he got to the point.
“Girls, we are talking about some first class, high tech Disney version of Photoshopping. We are talking about a Con-Spir-Acy. A. Cover. Up.” Mike looked triumphantly at us.
“I got news for you, Mr. Got It All Figured Out. We were there this morning. We saw it all. We saw that giant bird jump out of a cloud of dust and shake Anderson Cooper out of that news chopper.” Moira looked triumphantly at Mike.
Mike whistled a low whistle and whispered, “You know what this means, right?”
We all leaned in to hear what it meant.
“We need to go shopping.”
“Do we need to find a place that sells guns, Mike?,” whispered Jill.
“No. We need to go to Food Emporium.”
I broke the silence.
“Someone’s made a store that’s just for me
Food Emporium, Food Emporium
Someone’s got my kind of qualityyyyyy
Food Emporium, Food Emporium.”
“God, stop singing that,” Moira begged. She screwed up her mouth. “It’s already stuck in my head. I hate you.”
“We are going to hear it if we go there,” I defended myself.
“Why do we need to go to Food Emporium, Mike?,” Jill asked.
“Well, this place is perfect. Metal security gates. No windows back here. Weeks of bottled water, courtesy of Actor’s Equity union rules. I’m figuring rioting at best, ladies. Giant birds eating people at worst. I’m talking we go shopping for siege supplies.”
I slowly stood up. Reached into my back pocket.
“I’ve got a credit card. I’m in.”
Jill and Moira pulled out their credit cards, and we stood there like the Three Musketeers of Spending.
On the muted TV, Mike waved happily at us, wearing Mickey Mouse ears.