Wendell 6 – Friday April 1, 2011 (Part 1/2)

“You’re smiling.”

“Is that a problem?”

“On a convention day? Could be,” Decker snickered. “It’s weird, is all, and a little creepy. Should I be worried?”

Wendell, his portfolio nestled in the crook of his arm, took that moment to fall silent and let the mystery settle in the air of the large elevator. He began tinkering with the zipper of his case full of artwork with a haughty smirk. Beside him Decker’s grin faded, but he didn’t press the issue.

Their rooms had been booked in the same hotel that was hosting the event, and as they headed downstairs to the convention hall, Wendell could not help but be grateful that he didn’t have to spend too much extra time brooding. A quick arrival meant he was that much closer to getting the whole damn thing over with.

But he had more than one reason to be pleased.

His smile widened when he thought of how this unusual upbeat attitude could not have been the only thing Decker had noticed. Wendell had emerged from his hotel room wearing an absurd pair of lime-colored jeans and a matching sweater, black and green zebra stripes lining the suspenders hitched over his bony shoulders. Decker had stared; it was this exact kind of mockery to common taste that he disliked (there was a reason he wore only blacks, browns, and whites, the boring jerk). Wendell too was uncomfortable in such eye-catching colors, but today he wanted to be eye-catching. Today he wanted to be obnoxious and wild and utterly unlike himself.

Lucky for him, a mall with a Hot Topic had been only a few streets away to suit his needs in galling fashion. He’d spent all of yesterday afternoon there, hiding his celebrity status behind a pair of cliché sunglasses and a fedora as he sifted through hangers of the latest teen trends (Kids don’t actually think this stuff is rebellious, do they? he had questioned with a grimace whilst staring at a shirt with a little green dog screaming “I LOVE CUPCAKES” into a large speech bubble). Though the search had definitely stretched his patience to the thinness of Saran wrap, by the end of the day he had successfully picked out the most ridiculous outfit he could stand to wear. And when he’d stood in front of the mirror in the changing room, clad in these animal print straps and bright jade jeans, he’d discovered he actually liked it. Plus, Paisley will hate it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

But the new look, though effective, was a very small part of the plans he had for the day. The real challenge would be changing his demeanor from that of a quiet and collected thinker to a boisterous and brawling ass.

In the midst of all the self-doubt he’d been wallowing in, Wendell had forgotten to just enjoy himself. So as long as he was soul-searching, he would do and say whatever came to mind. He would swear and spit and dress in whatever he wanted, and to hell with inhibitions. He was going to take this opportunity to act out, to rebel against everything that had kept him down. Maybe he’d manage to have a little fun. If not, he’d tucked his diary into his pocket. Just in case.

As the elevator slid down the shaft and arrived at the ground floor, Decker blurted out, “The get-up’s a little gay, Felix.”

"It's all for you, Paisley," Wendell winked. With a prompt ding the doors slid open and Wendell stepped out, Decker gaping stupidly in tow.

"Right... Well, the first thing we have to do today is a signing, and people have been lining up for a while now. We’re at the first table in the back of the hall. There’s already a cup of Sharpies there for you to use. I made sure our table was set up by the back door, so you don’t have to push through a crowd to come and go. I know you hate that.” Decker beamed, evidently proud of himself for securing such good arrangements.

Wendell shrugged. “Ok.”

“Right.” Decker said again, put off by the lack of enthusiasm. He looked Wendell up and down as they reached the back entrance to the convention hall, taking a last scrutinizing glance at his clothes. “No funny business, though. This is sort of a big deal.”

Wendell pretended to yawn and he pushed open the door with his free hand.

He put on his best phony grin as the two of them stepped out onto the miniature stage and a burst of cheers and applause assaulted his ear drums, only slightly softened by the carpeted walls in the enormous room. The faceless crowd jumped and clapped and swarmed around the booth while Wendell waved carelessly. Every person looked the same to him. They always did. He removed the portfolio case from his armpit, dropped it on the rectangular table, and sat down in the nearest chair, waiting for the fan girl screams to die. Decker took charge by removing a microphone from its short stand on the edge of the long counter.

“Thanks for coming, everybody, to Felix Haydn’s autograph session.”

The room exploded into more screams. Don't they ever shut up? Wendell groaned, refusing to further acknowledge the mass of people that watched him as if he were a cell under a microscope.

When they quieted down again, Decker continued. “We’ve got a lot to time to get to everybody, but this will go smoothly if we can get a line going right over here,” he gestured. “Have everything you want signed all set and ready to go by the time you get up here...”

Wendell could already feel a headache slinking around in his skull, and he managed to tune out most of the noise by massaging his temples. This would be more difficult than he thought; he'd underestimated his hatred for conventions. But maybe he could use this frustration to his advantage. As Decker finished his announcements, Wendell pulled out his diary and, grabbing a black Sharpie from a plastic cup on the table, scribbled two words:

Show time.

Decker pulled up the seat beside him while a few of the hotel’s uniformed volunteers lined the crowd up along the wall. He nervously straightened his cap, setting the microphone beside the mug of multi-colored markers. "Let's remember to be somewhat professional, ok Felix?”

Wendell nodded with a smirk and reached for the microphone before his manager had completely placed it in its tiny stand. He rose from his seat, tapping the checkered mesh of the mic’s tip, and it flared with static noise as he cleared his throat into it. The unorganized crowd turned on him curiously, and he gave himself a gentle shake down to help him prepare for the biggest act of his career.

“What are you doing?” Decker asked as the chatter faded.

“Being professional,” Wendell answered before speaking directly into the microphone with as light and airy a voice as he could muster. “Um, hey everybody.” He coughed, hoping to emphasize a sense of polite embarrassment. “Hi, hi… I just wanted to address a really serious issue and, uh… you know, maybe get some guilt off my chest. You’re my fans, and I love each and every one of you, so it’s only right I open up. You deserve to know –”

“Felix,” Decker whispered, his face splitting into an expression of realization and dread. “Sit down –”

“Some of you may have heard about the death of my neighbor’s cat and the rumors circulating that I was the one who killed it.”

Faces turned and some murmurs sounded. Nobody had heard anything of the sort, thanks to Decker doing his job.

“I’m sorry to say that…” Wendell swallowed, feigning distress, “the rumors are true. I did kill Mrs. Nowles’ cat.”

Decker’s head dropped in miserable defeat, his hard work to keep the story under the radar wasted. Wendell saw mixed reactions in the crowd. Some of the people at the foot of the stage smiled awkwardly, sure he was kidding. Some looked truly stunned. He even thought he spotted a few people who genuinely laughed. He had predicted each reaction, though, and he plowed on.

“I know, it’s really awful and I’ll have to live with poor…”

Shit, what was the damn thing’s name?

“…Whiskers’ blood on my hands for the rest of my life. I formally apologize to Mrs. Nowles and to any one of you who may be offended by this discovery. It’s not an easy thing to accept, I know.” He grinned apologetically at his confused fans. “But I hope you won’t think any less of me. I mean, I don’t even remember doing it! I was completely out of my mind drunk when it happened!”

Gazes flew to Decker as he very suddenly leapt to his feet and went to pull the microphone from Wendell’s fingers. But Wendell side-stepped him, keeping his manager at bay with his elbow. “So yes, I apologize profusely to all you cat lovers out there – Ow Paisley, get off –”

Decker gave Wendell one last hard shove that sent the skinny man stumbling backward. He barely managed to keep on his feet by catching the corner of the table. “Yeah, it’s been a difficult time for everyone affiliated to Felix,” Decker panted into the microphone “since we can’t control his actions! But believe me, he’ll be learning to control himself.” Wendell rolled his eyes as Decker glared at him, his tones turning to angry hisses. “And his apology is a sincere one, and he has every intention of having something good come from –”

“You’re damn right!” Wendell cut him off with a boisterous call. He pulled his portfolio case closer and unzipped it while Decker groaned into the mic. “I do indeed want to turn it into a good thing. In fact I had the best idea ever just last night! I took inspiration from my mistake and was up until dawn creating this!” He withdrew a large sheet of paper and held it up for the crowd to see.

Decker covered his face with his hand and the crowd gasped.

It was a colorful pastel drawing of a tiger-striped cat, misshapen and bleeding in a puddle of shining red. A creamy film even misted the cat’s popping eyes, and its body was littered with pus-filled gashes so deeply set in the animal’s clumped fur that bone was visible.

“This lovely number will go to whoever fixes the highest bid!” Wendell announced happily. “And who knows? Maybe the benefits will go to poor Mrs. Nowles! And you’ll be lucky enough to have this testament to animal cruelty hanging in your living room. Remember everybody,” Wendell said pointedly to the stunned crowd, “your pets have feelings too.”

Wendell smirked over the crowd of dumbfounded fans and at his manager, who was glaring hatefully at the cat drawing.

This is so fucking perfect!