His eyes searched my face, as if baffled. “I’ll try.”
“I’m counting on you,” I said. “Please remember.”
“Yes.” He smiled for a moment but still looked confused.
When the elevator doors opened, we were beneath the balconies, opposite the stage. From here, I could see over the crowd. The curtains were straight ahead. The air was dense with a hundred perfumes, the sticky sweet of fermented vegetables, vomit, and that ever-present sweaty, PartyHaus desperation. Different parts of the crowd were chanting, as though they wanted things to begin.
“You’ll walk out,” said the director, pointing. “Straight down this aisle. Just go down and take a bow. Wave and smile. That’s your father and the vips’ table down front. You sit and watch the show. Just clap and cheer. We’ve got cameras on you, so no nose picking. Before it’s time for the wedding, I’ll come and get you, so don’t worry.” Into a screen, he said, “Cue the girls… music… lights… announcer… and go!”
“And now,” said a tremendous, deep-throated house voice, as a distorted drum began pounding, “it is my super-amazing and spectacular honor to welcome you to the thirty-third annual RiverGroup product show and Ültra extravaganza. As you all know, recent events have tried to cloud our future, but tonight’s show will obliterate those clouds, all doubts, and all eardrums within a seventy-five-mile radius!”
The audience howled. Nearby, I heard someone shout, “Execute my ears!”
Meanwhile, along either side of the aisle, hospitality girls all covered with sticky and shiny liquids and semisolids lined up on either side and saluted. A thousand colored spotlights fluttered over them, like glowing confetti. From high above, tendrils of violet smoke poured down like a million octopus legs. Four feet above the crowd, the phalanxes of smoke were chopped up by the frenzy of the crowd.
“Go!” said the director. “Go on!” He nudged me.
“Don’t touch!” I said, afraid he would set off the suit. I stepped forward and a blinding light hit me in the face.
“There he is, Ültra children of pain, the famous, sexy, funny, exciting, clever, pliable, willing Michael Rivers. The greatest dancer in the history of the universe has on a fabulous suit that is just like the famous suits in HammørHêds’Adjoining Tissue. Let’s scream our throats raw!”
The crowd rose and cheered, and with the light in my eyes, it was just like when I had danced. The energy spurred me on as I continued down the aisle.
“There’s a rumor,” continued the voice, “that he’s going to get married tonight, but will he really end the drenched and debauched dreams of a billion insanely horny girls? You’ll definitely want to sit through the exciting product upgrades and important business announcements to see if it all happens right here before your eyes!”
At the end of the aisle, stood Father, cheering. He wore a dark blue short-sleeve jacket, made of something that looked as stiff and luxurious as recycled cardboard. The orange shirt beneath it had huge, bloated sleeves that hung like semi-deflated pumpkins. At his wrists were enormous cuffs and a dozen black snaps. Around his neck was a wad of rhubarb-colored paisley fabric that wanted to be a collar, turtleneck, and tie. It spilled down his front in a floppy, unappetizing mess. As for pants, he wore iridescent blue bell-bottoms with too-tight dark orange shorts over top. The front zipper was open and what amounted to a large, white, codpiece hung out. So swollen and fat was it, he appeared to be giving birth to two honeydews and a plumber’s wrench. His wig, a stringy, purple thing, was long and dangled around his ears and down his back. Scattered in his hair were white blobs—mushrooms or marshmallows, maybe. Whipping his arms at the crowd to spur them on, he looked like a flightless, technicolor pirate.
For a moment, I considered rushing him now and blowing us up. The problem was, too many innocent people were near, including Walter Kez—or whatever his name was. I wished I’d asked the director about the wedding! I hoped it was still supposed to be like the choreography I had seen before, where Father and I were alone on the stage. That would be the moment.
I stopped behind an empty chair. The crowd hadn’t let up at all.
“Bombastic fantastic!” enthused Father, over the roar. “I got you a Poünd outfit like mine, but that’s the greatest suit I’ve ever seen in the history of my life!” Turning to the others he said, “Look at him! It’s like Adjoining Tissue! Remember that epic?”
“An all-time classic,” screamed Jun.
“We’re going all out!” said Father. “You have to hang with us now! You can’t leave when he’s getting Ültra again!”
Around the circular, shiny ultramarine table, where rest bowls of puffy snacks, bottles of wine, programs, and what looked like motorcycle helmets, sat twelve others. Starting on my left and going counterclockwise was an empty chair, presumably for Elle after the wedding, then Walter and his uncle in his beetle-green suit and necklaces.
The rest I recognized like I might have great aunts and uncles. Back when the rages were happening, I saw them every night, but now, it was just once a year at the product shows. Jun, the CEO from BrainBrain, who had become a soft, rounded little man, wore a black suit covered with little mirrors, green makeup, and vampire hair. He smiled at me and the flesh around his eyes turned wrinkled and dry. To his right were the LETTT brothers. Both had muskrat faces—all pointy noses, toothy mouths, and bushy blond eyebrows. Their matching articulated aluminum shirts made them look like robot clichés. Looped around their necks was a half a mile of orange string. Beside the aluminum twins was the president of iip-2. Instead of Ültra, she seemed to think she had become a teenager again and was dressed like an Om Om girl in a brown suit with her lips cut open. The next two wore striped jackets, plaid shirts, and awful nonwoven ties. They had on so much crusty purple makeup they looked more like two freshly dug-up beets. I didn’t know who they were or what company they represented. Finally, the man in the paisley robe, neon shirt, and a frilly tie that looked like soap suds, was CEO of SLT. Ten years ago he had had an aneurysm at the PartyHaus and since then never missed an opportunity to tell me we were alike.
Beside the SLT man sat Father’s woman. She had bright green hair and red-colored teeth. Through her transparent orange dress, I could see the phrase gender fatality scrawled across her breasts in what looked like dried blood.
By this time, the crowd had settled down. The people at the table said hello or sang lyrics at me, like the LETTT brothers did.
With their arms over their shoulders, they screamed, “One crusty bruise to remember her by!” Then they laughed triumphantly and got compliments from the others.
The CEO of SLT man winked, and said, “You and I… we’re heart attack twins!”
The Om Om woman got up, came around, and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ve christened him with my blood!” she exclaimed in her rasping voice. “Now, we’re blood lovers.” As if giving advice, she said, “You should cut Elle and suck her wound, like they do in Crüsh Töne.”
“No!” said Jun of BrainBrain, “Perfect Infinity Dëath by DïkCräkør! It’s romantic how they poke each other with those splinters.”
As they all began arguing which Ültra disaster my honeymoon should be like, I told myself this would all be over soon, and I wouldn’t have to see these creatures again.
Walter glanced at me fearfully as though afraid I was going to tell the world about his identity crimes. Frowning, he said, “I think something bad is going to happen.”