Mr. Showbiz

1992 was a pretty special time for most people in America. World War II had just ended and the nation was following an exciting new political leader named ‘Ross Perot’ who promised to carry them into an even more glorious future. Hollywood, California was not that glorious, however. It was still recovering from the effects of hair bands that invaded the city and nearly tore the place apart in the 1980s. The buildings, streets and even the famous Hollywood sign were still covered with Aqua Velva residue that could not be cleaned by any amount of paint thinner. It remained, however, the place where people continued to believe that dreams could come true. Thousands of people young and old arrived every year in cars, buses, trains and planes hoping to get their big break in acting, music or just to get the hell out of that god-forsaken town they lived in. Whatever way people saw it, Hollywood was still the city of dreams.

There weren’t very many sports bars around in those days because sports had not really caught on in the United States yet. One of them that did exist was a cozy enclave called Rusty’s on Wilcox just south of Hollywood Boulevard. It had a few tables and a thirteen-inch TV mounted high up in the corner. It was usually grainy and fuzzy and most often was tuned to a station that played reruns of old 70s shows like Ironside and Gilligan’s Island and Differ’nt Strokes. It almost never played any sports matches and yet the proprietor continued to call and even advertise the establishment as a genuine ‘sports bar’.

Rusty’s was a favorite hangout for Toby, Bill and Fred, three nincompoops who were trying to make their mark in the movie industry along with all the other nincompoops in the city. Toby and Bill had been friends since the sixth grade and they both took intensive writing courses at the College of Leaflets, Pamphlets and Brochures with the intent on becoming screenwriters one day. Fred somehow got an acting degree from DeVry University which was primarily known as a technical college. They all met as extras on a film set and decided that if they pooled their talents and resources they would make their own movie one day. One day.

For now, they were relegated to holding down standard jobs while their dreams were put on hold, just like everyone else. So, Rusty’s became the regular meeting place for the three friends, where they could gossip and talk and make plans for the future.

A half filled pitcher of cold beer sat in the middle of the table while three pints of varying quantities waited dutifully in front of their respective imbibers.

“So, who’s this guy coming to meet us?” Toby asked Fred.

“Yeah,” Bill cut in, “Sarah says he’s kinda’ weird.”

Fred let out a nervous laugh, “Ha. He’s not weird, he just doesn’t have very many friends here, that’s all. He just moved over here from Palms.”

Toby and Bill’s eyebrows simultaneously raised skyward. Palms?

“What does he do for a living?” asked Bill.

“I think he works from home or something,” Fred replied. “He used to be an actor.”

Fred suddenly looked up and saw a man come in and go to the bar and order a drink. He was average-sized, had average looks and, based on his Dockers slacks and short sleeved, button down shirt, he was also an average dresser.

“Oh, there he is now,” Fred said as he stood up and motioned to the man. “Bernie! Over here!”

Bernie saw Fred and started making his way to their table. Fred sat back down and mades a last minute plea with his friends, “Oh, I almost forgot, he’s got this, uh, condition, so try and be cool about it, okay?”

Bill refilled his glass, “What condition?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. Just try not to point it out or anything. I think he’s kind of sensitive about it,” Fred answered.

“Well, what’s wrong with him?” Toby asked just as Bernie arrived at the table.

“Bernie, hey, howya’ doin’?” Fred remarked as he stood up and shook Bernie’s hand. “Hey, this is Toby and Bill. Guys, this is Bernie.”

“Hi guys, nice to meet you,” Bernie said as he shook hands with the fellas.

“Well, have a seat, man. What’re you drinking?” Fred asked, filled with nervous energy.

Bernie pulled up a chair from another table, “Ah, I ordered something. It should be here in a sec. Thanks for inviting me out. It’s good to get out of the ol’ apartment every once in a while.”

“Hey, no problem. Glad you could make it.”

The barmaid came over and set a fresh pint of beer down before Bernie as Fred filled his glass. Bill ordered another pitcher.

“So,” Fred handed the empty pitcher to the barmaid, “did you have trouble finding the place?”

“No, no,” Bernie replied, taking a sip of beer, “I think I’ve been here before. It was the Fourth of July a couple of years ago.”

“Yeah, they usually have something going on around that time,” Fred chuckled pointing to the tiny TV mounted in the corner, “I think that’s when they have a Rockford Files marathon on TV.”

“Yeah,” Bernie began, “unfortunately, I thought it was St. Patrick’s Day and I showed up wearing nothing but my green boxers and a green top hat.”

Suddenly, as if on cue, crowd laughter punctuated the end of Bernie’s remark just like you would hear if you were watching a sitcom. Caught off guard, Bill and Toby look around for the source of the laughter. Toby finally turned back to the group, “What the hell was that?”

Fred and his nervous energy jumped right back in, “Hey Bernie, didn’t, uh, didn’t you used to be an actor?”

“Yeah, yeah, I uh, did some things here and there. Nothing big, though. I mostly work from home now.”

“Oh really? Doing what?” Toby asked.

“Internet processing stuff. That kind of thing.” Bernie had yet to gain the confidence to explain exactly what he did for a living since in those days the Internet was mostly used for writing letters to prison pen pals and any other application would have been too confusing to explain.

“Well, that sounds pretty cool,” Bill politely said.

Bernie seemed a little tense as he looked around the bar nervously, “Yeah, you get to make your own hours and take lunch as long as you want. And the best thing is you don’t even have to get dressed. You can go the whole day wearing nothing but your green boxers and green top hat.”

Once again, the sound of an audience laughing was heard throughout the bar. Bill and Toby became more alarmed at this as Fred continued to try and act as if nothing was going on.

“Hehe, so uh, you’re originally from Oklahoma, right?” Fred asked Bernie. His forehead was beginning to sweat.

“Yeah, a town called Walters. It’s a really small town.”

Toby finished looking for whoever was playing the laugh track and slowly reengaged the conversation at the table, “I know how that is. I’m from Bakersfield. It’s officially a city, but I still consider it a town.”

“Yeah,” Bernie continued, “the place I grew up in is so small that last year they officially downgraded it from a town to a village. If two more families move out it’ll be called the Johnson residence.”

More audience laughter erupted just as Bernie finished. Fred tried his best to blend it in.

“Haha, that’s pretty funny…downgraded, haha, to a village! Haha, you crack me up, Bernie.”

Toby, on the other hand, was not laughing, “Are you guys hearing that?”

“Hearing what?” Fred immediately replied. “Hey, you know what, we’re all going to a party tonight. You want to come along?”

Bernie was resistant, “Nah, I should stay in. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Must be easy to get distracted when you work at home, huh?” Bill asked.

“Not really. My dog died last week and I got a little behind on my workload.”

There was now an audience ‘awwww’ as Bill and Toby stood up and looked around again, totally confused as Bernie continued, “Yeah, she was fourteen years old. That’s ninety-eight in dog years. She spent her last two days at the vet until they finally had to put her down. She really was my best friend and I’m going to miss her.”

Blank stares took over Bill and Toby’s faces as another audience ‘awww’ is heard.

“Well,” Fred broke in, “maybe a night out is what you need. You know, get your mind off it.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check,” Bernie replied a little more cheerfully. “My work’s piled up so high I’m going to need a back-hoe to clear a path to the fridge or else I’ll starve to death.”

Fred and Bernie chuckled as did the mysterious audience. By this time more patrons in the bar have noticed the audience reactions and have now begun the process of freaking out. One person ran to a payphone to dial nine one one.

“Besides, I’m actually on my way to se about getting a puppy.”

This time the audience gave a more positive ‘awww’ and there was even the sound of a little girl who apparently didn’t know she was not supposed to talk during audience tapings saying ‘mom, he’s getting a puppy’.

“Ooh,” Fred said with a big smile, “puppies are cute.”

“Yeah, I figure I’ll put those piles of paper to good use…” Bernie looked around the bar, smiling, “…one way or another.”

A loud roar of laughter came blasting out of nowhere and was followed by some enthusiastic applause. Toby and Bill began to sink into their chairs. The bartender was on the phone, most likely, to the authorities.

Bernie and Fred got up.

“Well,” Fred said, “if you change your mind give me a call.”

“Sounds good,” Bernie replied as he waved to Fred’s two frightened friends. “It was nice to meet you guys.”

Toby and Bill barely waved back as Bernie walked out of the bar. He was followed by a sitcom jingle like the ones they use on TV to transition from scene to scene. The jingle followed Bernie out the door.

“Well, he seems nice enough, right?” Fred concluded as he sat back down.

Bill looked over at Toby not sure what he just experienced, and then back to Bernie’s beer glass. It’s empty.

“Do we have to pay for that beer?”

 

Bernie liked to walk wherever he went. And it wasn’t just because he didn’t own a car either, he genuinely enjoyed the crap out of walking. And Los Angeles, mind you, is not and was not designed to be a walking town. No city planner ever had people’s legs in mind when they thought about how to get the population to and fro. They even went so far as to discourage riding bicycles and by 1962 Los Angeles had made riding on trains illegal. It was all about the automobile and the big tire companies. If you wanted to live here then you were just going to have to purchase an automobile, plain and simple.

Berne’s only problem with walking, and it was exclusively his problem, was that whenever he went out for a stroll the theme song to ‘Three’s Company’ would accompany him as if he were walking through his very own opening credits. In fact, a giant ‘ONE’S TOO MANY’ title would appear at some point in mid-air, scaring just about everyone around him. Bernie did his best not to notice, but the titles would become so real that he would end up running away, leaving stunned passersby grasping at the air where the titles used to be.

It didn’t really matter where he went. If he was outside his apartment in public music and titles would appear as if his own show were starting. The other day he tried shopping for some groceries when a gigantic ‘STARRING: BERNIE MACKELROY’ materialized and blocked the toilet paper aisle. Bernie was forced to abandon his grocery cart and run out of the store.

One of the side effects of Bernie’s situation was that anyone he came in contact with would often experience residual opening credits. Bill and Toby found this out one day when they were bogged down in a very complicated video game and the titles ‘WITH, TOBY AND BILL’ appeared in front of the TV, blocking the game. Toby tried to grab the titles but they were just air.

Fred was a bit more accepting when he was visited by some opening theme music and the titles ‘AND INTRODUCING, FRED’. He was vacuuming his apartment in his underwear and thinking he was actually in an opening sequence. He simply gave an ‘aw shucks’ look and then waved at no one in particular.

But, it would eventually take its toll on him. By the end of the day an exhausted Bernie could usually be seen running from such titles as ‘CASTING BY LINDA GREER’ and ‘PRODUCED BY SHELDON FENWICK’ and ‘DIRECTED BY SYDNEY FRILLSTEIN’. He was usually screaming.

So, being a good friend, Fred decided to take it upon himself to try to advise his pal on how to cope with his unusual malady. Fred walked into Bernie’s tiny studio apartment where movie posters adorned the walls as did several headshots of popular actors. The furniture didn’t match but that wasn’t to be expected in a living space of this size. Bernie sat, dazed on his futon couch while Fred sat down in a worn out faded pink wingback chair. Bernie kept rubbing his temples.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Fred. This is terrible. I’m never going to be able to leave my apartment.”

Fred sat up, knocking over a pile of paperwork that was resting on the dresser next to him. There were piles of paperwork everywhere. “You’ve got to have it checked out, Bernie, you never know. You know, I got caught in one of your title sequences and had to be rescued out of it by using an old episode of ‘Emergency!’ Fortunately,…” Fred then took his eyes off Bernie and looked off into the corner as if there was a camera recording their conversation, “…I have all one hundred and twenty three episodes on video tape.”

He then went back to talking to Bernie, who hadn’t really noticed Fred’s aside.

“It’s not that I mind, I don’t, ” Fred continued. “It’s just that, you know, I don’t think that most people are ready to appear as unwilling guest stars in your life sitcom.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Bernie apologized.

“Look,” Fred turned his body and knocked over another pile of paperwork, “you can’t go on pretending like nothing’s wrong. You need to see a doctor. You’re a nice guy but people just aren’t ready to accept it. It’s too weird.”

“Yeah,” Bernie finally admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

Bernie felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. By just admitting that he needed help sparked the hope that maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there someone had the answer.

 

Doctor Mike’s waiting area was typical in that it had the usual magazines with the subscriber’s address in the corner torn off and the soft, inoffensive sounds of Muzak filling the air. It was atypical, however, in that there were several certificates and degrees that had to do with everything except medicine and were framed and hung haphazardly in any free space that was available on the wall. There was an accounting certificate and a carpenter’s diploma. There was a psychic’s credential that was issued from the prestigious Academy of Our Lady Psychics and Mentalists in Dearborn, Michigan. There was a magician’s learner’s permit that hung proudly over the doorway. Bernie showed little to no concern for this and just looked around at all the documentation with pure, childlike fascination.

Then, the back door opened and Doctor Mike stumbled out and pointed to Bernie, “You’re next.”

Doctor Mike was an older gentleman of sixty-three, tall and had a sturdy build. He played rugby in college and had a brief stint in the professional wrestling circuit before a back injury wrapped it all up in the sporting department for Doctor Mike.

Bernie regaled Doctor Mike about his unusual condition and when he was finished the good Doctor told Bernie to kindly take a seat on the bench with the thin, white paper that is supposed to protect you from previous patient’s germs and cooties or to keep you from spreading yours around to other patients. Bernie jumped up and Doctor Mike immediately thrust a probe in his ear and peered into it. He shined a bright light in his eyes and studied the reaction time of Bernie’s pupils. He then took his temperature with a thermometer and measured his blood pressure with a blood pressure monitor. Finally, he broke out his stethoscope and listened for any abnormalities in his heartbeat or his breathing.

Doctor Mike took the stethoscope out of his ears and rested it around his neck. “Well, it’s just as I suspected,” he gravely said.

Bernie’s heart began to race, “What is it?”

Doctor Mike stood up and calmly walked over to a table where he carefully put his stethoscope away and then turned back to Bernie, “It’s an extremely rare condition. There are only two known cases of it in the entire world, and you’re one of them.”

“Lucky me,” quipped Bernie which was followed by an audience laugh track. “Who’s the other one?”

“Buddy Ebsen,” he firmly replied. “But, no one’s seen him since 1984, so we don’t know what stage his condition is in, or if he’s even alive at all. We just don’t have the technology.”

Bernie started to look nervous, pensive even, “But, what is it? How did I get it? Is there a cure?”

Doctor Mike solemnly walked over to a chair and sat down. “Bernie,” he began, “as your doctor I’m required to be honest with you when it comes to your health. But, I can’t help you unless you’re completely honest with me.”

Bernie sighed, “Yeah?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Doctor Mike furrowed his brows and then looked at his watch. Whatever it was Bernie was going to have to come clean.

Somber music began to play out of nowhere as Bernie looked down at the ground, shook his head and took a deep breath.

“I used to have a pretty good sense of humor,” he began. “Everyone back home used to tell me how funny I was and that I should be on TV. They would say ‘you should be on tee-vee. You should be in one o’ them sitcoms’. So, one day about ten years ago I took their advice and moved out here to Hollywood. I was going to be the next Michael J. Fox. I was going to be the greatest sitcom star ever.”

Doctor Mike reached in his pocket and pulled out a small orange pill bottle where he promptly emptied two pills in his hand and put them directly in his mouth.

“So, I took acting classes, went on auditions, sent out head shots, went to networking parties, did the whole routine. Three years had gone by and I wasn’t getting anywhere. I was totally frustrated with myself, with this town, with everything. Anyway, one day I meet this guy at an audition for a bit part in Who’s The Boss? We start talking, and I’m telling him my story and he tells me that he knows someone that can make me a famous sitcom star.”

Doctor Mike continued to listen diligently.

“I didn’t think it was weird at the time, I mean, at this point I was so irritated with the whole business that I was ready to just pack up and leave and never come back. So, this guy tells me to meet him in the middle of the street on Vista Del Mar in Hollywood at midnight and he’ll guarantee that I’ll become a world renowned sitcom star, bigger than Michael J. Fox. Now, I know it sounds strange, but at the time I was ready to do anything, and it made total sense to me.”

Doctor Mike nodded his head in understanding. It made perfect sense.

“So, there I was, midnight and I’m standing in the middle of the street and this guy I met in the audition walks up, but he looked a little different. He usually looked like he worked at a Miller’s Outpost or something but this time he was scary looking. He wore all black leather, gloves, jacket, pants, wild make-up. He looked like he was in one of those eighties hair bands.”

An audience laugh track broke the silence.

“He was also wearing these black sunglasses. So, he asks me what it is that I really wanted in life. I told him, “I want to become the greatest sitcom star in the world.” Well, he looks at me and says, “We already have one of those. Haven’t you ever seen Family Ties?”

Another series of audience laughs.

“I said that I didn’t care, people have told me that I was funny. I was funny back home. I can be funny here. So, he thinks for a bit and says that maybe he can work something out.”

“So, what did you do?” asked Doctor Mike.

Bernie looked down at the ground, a little ashamed.

“I sold him my soul,” he quietly admitted.

Doctor Mike didn’t seem surprised by this revelation. He remained quietly interested.

“You sold your soul to the Devil?” he finally asked.

“Yeah,” Bernie answered wiping a tear from his cheek. “I think that’s who it was. I mean, who else goes around buying things like that?”

Another light audience laugh.

“Did it work?” asked Doctor Mike.

“Well,” Bernie started, “It turns out the Devil, or whoever he was, had quite a sense of humor. He didn’t get me auditions or parts or interviews for sitcoms. Instead, he just turned my entire life into one giant situation comedy.”

The audience reacted with laughter.

“Now, I’ve got canned laughter and little transition jingles that follow me around wherever I go. And I don’t even know where it’s coming from. Do you know how hard it is to go on a date with this problem? I mean, where is it coming from Doctor Mike?”

“It’s coming from here,” Doctor Mike pointed to his own chest. “It’s coming from the void that your soul created when it left your body.”

“But, I mean, how do I get it back? My soul, I mean. I’ve tried everything, finding Jesus in every faction of Christianity. I’ve tried Judaism, Islam, I even thought the Jehovah Witnesses could help. Everyone just kicked me out because my ‘condition’ kept disrupting their services.”

The audience loved this and rewarded him with, yep, more laughter.

Bernie, however, looked at the ground in shame.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?’

“Actually,” Doctor Mike stood and hovered over Bernie, “it isn’t.”

Bernie looked up at him as a tear rolled down his cheek, over his chin and was caught and soaked up by the thin, white paper he was sitting on before it could touch the doctor’s bench.

“You want to know something,” Doctor Mike asked.

“What’s that?”

“Buddy Ebsen did the same thing,” the good doctor replied as a ‘dun-dun-dunnn!’ chimed in right on time.

“Really?”

“Yes. Did you know that he was originally supposed to play the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz?”

“Yeah, but didn’t he get some kind of allergic reaction?”

Bernie didn’t even notice when it happened but Doctor Mike was now holding a pointer and referring to a full sized picture of Buddy Ebsen.

“The silver make-up had aluminum in it and it caused him to swell up to the point where he had to be hospitalized,” he said as he pointed to the affected areas in the picture.

“It almost killed him. My grandfather was the attending Doctor when they brought him in. He was fresh out of medical school, only nineteen years old…” and Doctor Mike looked away from Bernie, off to the side as if there were a camera filming him, “…that’s a hundred and thirty-three in dog years…” and then looked back at Bernie.

“He became pretty good friends with Mr. Ebsen, but then the war came along,…” Doctor Mike looked off into the distance with a thousand yard stare, “and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Bernie waited for the doctor to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking far off into some future land.

“So, what happened to Bu…”

“Oh yeah, well anyway, Oz became a classic and Buddy thought his shot at fame was over.” Doctor Mike turned the picture of Buddy Ebsen over to reveal a chart on the back side, in particular, a downward line that represented Buddy’s career.”

“He spent years doing odd little movies here and there. And then came a little show called the Beverly Hillbillies,…” He pointed to the lowest point on the graph to where it said ‘Beverly Hillbillies’, at which point the line shot back upwards almost in a straight line. Doctor Mike looked off into the distance again, “and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Yeah, but,” Bernie interrupted, “didn’t that make him a world renowned sitcom star?”

“You’ve obviously never been to the Annual Buddy Ebsen Carnival-Jubilee Festival of Grinning and Happiness in Peru,” Doctor Mike said as he directed Bernie’s attention to another chart that was just pictures of huge crowds of people. ” It’s a solid month of drinking homemade gin, whittling little sticks of wood, and all the Ellie-Mays you can ever imagine. Oh, he’s a world renowned star alright.”

“Yeah but, that was the sixties. There was a lot of wacky, unrealistic shows then. Gilligan’s Island, Hogan’s Heroes. The show was a fluke.”

“A fluke? A story about four country bumpkins living in Beverly Hills with millions of dollars at their disposal and yet they wear the same old Dog Patch clothing every single day, drive an old beat up jalopy and constantly refer to the swimming pool as the ‘see-ment pond’? A plot like that has disaster written all over it, my friend. But, not if Mr. Ebsen had anything to say about it. He was ready to pack up and leave town forever, just like you were. This was his last hope.”

Bernie sat up straight, “You mean, he had the same condition I have and was still a sitcom star?”

“Still does as far as I know. He was pretty good at keeping it a secret. Off the set he never told any jokes, never said anything funny. He became so serious around Hollywood circles that after the Hillbillies ran it’s course they gave Buddy one of the most serious roles on TV…”

Doctor Mike pointed to the graph again which was now a graphic of dark clouds that hovered over the title of a TV show. The ‘dun-dun-dunnn’ music pierced the air.

“Barnaby Jones,” Doctor Mike revealed.

“Barnaby Jones?”

“Only Ironside was a more grim and serious. But Raymond Burr didn’t make a deal with the Devil. Buddy Ebsen did. It’s ironic, he sold his soul to the Devil to become the funniest sitcom star around, and it ended up putting an end to his comedy career.”

Bernie shook his head and rubbed his temples, ” So, I’m going to have to live with this for the rest of my life?”

Doctor Mike threw a couple more tiny pills in his mouth, ” Not quite. You see, my grandfather, who was good friends with Buddy, began some rudimentary research on his condition just after Buddy sold his soul. My grandfather was the only person that Buddy confided in.”

“Did he find anything?” Bernie asked, hopeful.

“Well,” Doctor Mike began, “he did notice one thing. I assume you experience title sequences?”

“All the time,” Bernie responded.

“Who is your producer?” the doctor asked carefully.

“My…my what?”

“When the producer credit comes along what is the name that appears?”

“I…I can’t recall. I’m usually running away at that point.”

“It’s important. There may be a connection that would prove my grandfather right and finally clear his good name after all these years.”

“Wha…what exactly did your grandfather…”

“Try and remember. What is the name that comes of for the producer credit?”

Bernie tried his best to recall. There were so many titles and so many names.

“I…I think it’s Sheldon…something,” he finally said.

Doctor Mike slowly leaned in to Bernie, “Sheldon Fenwick?”

A connection was finally made in Bernie’s head, “Yeah! Yeah, that’s it! How’d you know that Doctor Mike?”

The Doctor stood up and walked over to a lone chair near the desk and sat down. “Do you remember the name of the acting student who bought your soul?”

A look of realization fell over Bernie’s face, “Oh my God, Rodney Dupree!”

Doctor Mike shrugged, ” Oh, well, I thought it might be the same guy. It was a longshot, but…”

“No! I remember Rodney telling me that he changed his name when he came to Hollywood for tax reasons.”

Doctor Mike perked up and raised one eyebrow, “What was his name?”

Bernie’s eyes widened as the realization of this moment nearly overwhelmed him.

“Sheldon Fenwick.”

And at that moment the room was filled with the biggest ‘DUN-DUN-DUNN!’ yet.

Doctor Mike nodded his head triumphantly, just as he thought.

“Just as I thought,” he concluded.

And then it happened a second time where Bernie either wasn’t paying attention or he dozed off for a moment or two, but suddenly, sitting right next to Doctor Mike in a chair was a large, chisel-jawed Irish Catholic priest named Father Jeff. His face was worn with miles of character and his deep, blue eyes almost murdered anyone who dared to gaze at him. He was smoking an unfiltered cigarette.

“Bernie, I’d like you to meet Father Jeff.”

Bernie was stunned at the sudden appearance of the priest that he almost couldn’t find the words. “Whe…when did you come in?”

Father Jeff spoke with a thick Irish accent that made it difficult to understand what he was saying.

“T’rough da’ hole in da’ space-time fabric near da’ examination table. But, dat’s not important right now. Doctor Mike tells me yer havin’ a little trouble wit’ da’ Prince o’ Darkness.”

“Uh, yeah, well…” Bernie fumbled, now unsure about this whole doctor visit, “I think it’s him.”

“Couldn’t be anyone else, cuud it? Laff track followin’ ya’ around like da’ clap on a whore. Openin’ credits invadin’ yer social space like…like da’ clap on a whore! In my book dat’s no way ta’ treat an up an’ comin’ sitcom star like yerself.”

“Well, actually, I work from home now…”

Doctor Mike interrupted, “Father Jeff is experienced in dealing in the ways of…well, Sheldon Fenwick.”

Father Jeff zeroed in on Bernie’s sweet, innocent face, “All I need ta’ know is one t’ing…”

Bernie and Doctor Mike watch Father Jeff as he inhaled the rest of his cigarette and then flicked it absentmindedly to another part of the room. Doctor Mike chases after it.

“Do ya’ still wanna be a sitcom star?”

 

Fred was sitting in his own studio apartment watching TV when the doorbell rang. He stood up, pulled up his pants and answered the door to find Bernie standing there out of breath like he just ran a Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot.

“Fred,” he tried to get out between heavy breaths, “listen, I don’t have much time. I need a favor.”

“Well, sure buddy. What do you need?”

Bernie took a couple more deep breaths, “I need to borrow your cat.”

“My cat? Bernie, I don’t have a cat.”

“That’s not important right now. What we need to do is get your cat over to Vista Del Mar right away.”

“Bernie, I don’t have a cat. I have some Sea Monkeys, though.”

“Also,” Bernie was finally catching his breath, “I’m going to need a loaf of bread, a quart of milk and a stick of butter.”

“But, I already went to the store…”

“Meet me with all those ingredients in the middle of the street on Vista Del Mar in half an hour. It’s over by the Capitol Records building.”

Bernie took one long last breath, turned and sprinted away as he called out over his shoulder, “And don’t forget your cat!”

Perplexed, Fred shook his head, “But, I told you I don’t have a…”

Suddenly, Fred felt something soft and fuzzy slither between his ankles. He looked down and saw the friendliest calico cat in the whole world.

“What the heck?”

 

Vista Del Mar was a small side street that ran parallel to Argyle Street and perpendicular to Hollywood Boulevard. There were apartment buildings on one side that were highlighted by rows of Los Angeles’ famous palm trees. These skinny, extremely tall trees lined the streets and curved sideways as they grew higher making them look as if they were perpetually blowing in the wind. There was an empty lot across the street from the apartments that gave a clear view of the Capitol Records building way over on Vine Street. The street was virtually empty as the sun began to fade into the Pacific Ocean, but no one could see that because of the permanent Aqua Velva layer that was now part of the atmosphere.

Bernie rounded the corner and slowly walked up Vista Del Mar. He was alone. His eyes were keen as he walked in the middle of the street like one of those old timey western guys on his way to a shootout in the middle of town. Somewhere in the air some of that western showdown music began to play. It didn’t bother Bernie, however, as he kept walking slowly up the street. About halfway up he stopped, looked slowly to his left and then to his right. His body was tense. Whatever was going to happen he was ready for it, or so he thought. That was when he heard a voice.

“Did ya’ find da’ cat?”

Startled, he looked to his right and saw Doctor Mike and Father Jeff standing right next to him.

“Holy crap! How’d you do that?”

Doctor Mike was still wearing his white doctor’s jacket with his stethoscope around his neck. Father Jeff took out an unfiltered cigarette and lit it up. He took a long drag, breathed in the delicious smoke and blew it skyward.

“It’s an old trick ‘dat Jesus used to play on his disciples. But, dat’s not important right now. Did ya’ get da’ supplies I asked fer?”

Bernie relaxed a little, “Yeah, my friend is bringing them right now, a loaf of bread, a quart of milk and a stick of butter.”

Father Jeff nodded, “Good. I haven’t had time ta’ go to da’ store. ‘Dare’s no food in the rectory an’ if ‘dose nuns don’t get ‘der milk an butter sandwiches ‘dey’r gonna get ‘der panties in a twist. I should jest give do’s nuns what de’y really need, a nice fat, juicy…”

Doctor Mike interrupted, “Bernie, did you get a chance to call Rodney Dup…uh, Mr. Fenwick?”

“Yeah,” Bernie replied, “I found his number in an old actor’s directory. He remembered who I was and I asked him to meet me down here. By the way, what is the cat for?”

“It’s an old tactic ‘dat Jesus taught da’ Cannanites when dey were warin’ wit’ da’ Philistines. Dey’d lure de’r enemies into de’r territory by tellin’ ’em ‘dat der’d be some nice pussy waitin’ fer ’em. An’, when da’ Philistine army would show up an’ saw ‘dat de’r was not’in’ but a bunch o’ cats peein’ all over damnation, actin’ all stand-offish an’ whatnot, an’ da’ Cannanites would commence ta slaughterin’ every last one o’ dem bastard Philistines, Biblical style!!!”

“And, that worked?” asked Bernie.

Father Jeff looked over at Bernie out of the corner of his eye, “I don’ know any man on earth dat’ll refuse a meetin’ wit’ a nice pussy.”

Doctor Mike chuckled, “That Jesus sure was a card.”

Father Jeff took another smooth drag, “I’ll introduce ya ta him someday.”

Suddenly, Father Jeff tensed up. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. “Who’s dat?” he quietly whispered.

Down at the opposite end of the street a dented up silver Honda Accord turned the corner and drove slowly towards the men. It pulled to the side and parked as Fred, Bill and Toby got out and started walking towards them. Toby was carrying a bag of groceries and Fred was carrying a cat carrier called the Kitty Kennel.

Bernie smiled, “Oh, it’s…”

Fred was enthusiastically walking towards them, “Hi guys. I don’t know where this cat came from, but there he was, just outta’ nowhere…”

Suddenly, Father Jeff dropped his cigarette and pounced on Fred, attacking him in a fit of ungodly rage.

“Go back ta’ Hades ya’ soul-stealin’ rapscallion!!!”

Toby and Bill froze in their tracks. Bernie tried to call out, “No! wait, wait!”

Fred clumsily tried to escape as Father Jeff continued to attack.

“You an’ yer army o’ darkness are welcome here no more, HELL-FREAK!!!”

Bernie and Doctor Mike rushed over and pulled Father Jeff off of Fred.

“No, no,” Bernie cut in, “this isn’t Fenwick! This is my friend Fred. He…he brought the cat.”

Father Jeff stopped his assault. He stood, gathered his wits and composed himself, a little embarrassed. Fred tried to compose himself too, but was understandably freaked out.

“I’m sorry,” Father Jeff finally said as he brushed himself off, “I…t’ought you were da’ devil.”

Fred, with his ever present smile and general good nature, waved it away, “Uh, that’s okay. It’s an honest mistake. I’m…I’m Fred.”

He and the Father shook hands as Bernie introduced everyone, “That’s Toby and Bill. Guys, this is Father Jeff and Doctor Mike.”

Toby and Bill stayed where they were, reluctant to go anywhere near Father Jeff.

“Uh, here’s the bread…” Toby slowly said, “…’n stuff.”

“Thanks, guys,” Bernie nodded his head in appreciation. “Thanks for coming.”

“What is this all about?” Bill interrupted, concerned that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come down here. “Is there some sort of exorcism about to take place or are we just gonna make sandwiches and play with the cat?”

Suddenly, an audience laugh track filled the air, causing Bill to freeze, “Oh crap.” Everyone looked at him.

Doctor Mike walked over to Bill, “Open your mouth and say aahh.”

Bill complied as Doctor Mike stuck a tongue depressor in Bill’s mouth. After several tense moments of rummaging and probing, Doctor Mike turned and looked at everyone gravely, “It’s spreading. We need to work quickly.”

Father Jeff casually lit another scrumptious cigarette, “Looks like he ain’t waitin’ around ta’ do any soul barterin’. What time did he say…”

All of a sudden, far up the street, a man appeared out of nowhere. Everyone stopped and looked. The man walked down the middle of the street towards the gang.

Father Jeff eyed the man, “Well, well, well, he decided ta’ show up after all.”

Fenwick began walking towards Father Jeff. Father Jeff started walking towards Fenwick. The rest of the crew stood and watched with great trepidation. Fred leaned over to Bernie, “What happens now?”

“I’m not sure. This is my first…” Bernie’s eyes darted around the street, “…whatever this is.”

Bill walked over to Doctor Mike very concerned, “Hey, uh, is this laughing thing permanent?”

Doctor Mike glanced back at Bill but kept an eye on the showdown in front of him, “We’ll see, my friend. We will see.”

About a hundred feet away Sheldon Fenwick and Father Jeff finally reached each other and came face to face. Fenwick, middle aged looking, clean dresser, tight haircut, looked as if he could hold down a job at Miller’s Outpost, gave Father Jeff a sly smile.

“Jeff.”

“Shelly.”

“Long time.”

“Too long.”

“When’s the last time I saw you,” Sheldon asked, “The Roman Empire? The Crusades? Germany?”

“London, November 9th, 1966. Ya’ introduced Yoko Ono ta’ John Lennon an’ went an’ undid all my work wit’ ‘dose boys.” Father Jeff took a drag but kept his eyes focused on Sheldon.

Still well within earshot, Bill, Toby and Fred all looked at each other and wondered what the hell were these two guys talking about.

“Oh yeah,” Sheldon snickered, “sorry about that. You gotta admit, though, nobody was expecting that one. How’ya been?”

Sheldon looked over and saw the cat in the Kitty Kennel.

“I see you’re still using that lame pussy tactic your buddy Jesus taught you. How is he anyway?”

“Cut tha’ malarkey, Fenwick. Where’s da’ boy’s soul?”

Sheldon smiled confidently, “Oh, it’s…in a safe place.”

Growing frustrated, Father Jeff took his tone up a notch, “What’re ya’ tryin’ ta’ play God er somet’in’? No way, Jose!!!”

“I was just trying to help the boy,” Sheldon innocently replied.

“I t’ought I told ya’ not ta’ conduct any o’ yer hell-business on my turf.”

“This is Hollywood, babe. This turf’s up for grabs.”

“Not anymore it ain’t. Not on my watch. Yer gonna rue de’ day you ever set foot in ‘dis place.”

“Who’s gonna make me rue the day? Huh? You and that stupid Philistine army?”

“Yer cruisin’ fer a bruisin’ my friend.”

“Ha! That’s what you think.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Sure.”

“Sure.”

Sheldon Fenwick and Father Jeff stared at each other, two warriors whose rivalry spanned millennia, whose battles involved the epic armies and civilizations of history, were now squaring off on some crummy side street in Hollywood, California.

Sheldon finally broke the silence, “Well, it looks like we’ve got a disagreement on our hands.”

“Yes we do,” Father Jeff agreed.

“We sure do.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yesiree.”

Sheldon and Father Jeff stared at each other some more as if they’d forgotten why they were there in the first place.

“So,” Sheldon finally said, “what do we do now?”

Well,” Father Jeff began, “you’ll return da’ boy’s soul back to ‘im an’ stop all da’ nonsense wit’ da’ laugh tracks an’ da’ jingles an’ whatnot, an’ ‘den you’ll high tail it out of tha’ cosmos so’s we’ll never have ta’ see tha’ likes o’ you fer all eternity. Da’ end.”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, Jeff. Business is too good here.”

“Well den…” Father Jeff dropped his cigarette on the ground and began rolling up his sleeves, “…looks like I’m jus’ gonna have ta’ proceed ta’ plan B.”

Bernie and the gang could sort of make out what was going on from about fifty feet away. They heard scuffling and the soft sounds of punching.

Fred tried to get a better view, “What’s going on now?”

“I…I think he’s trying to get my soul back,” Bernie replied.

“Is this technique sanctioned by the church?” Bill asked.

Toby cut in, “Say, exactly what religion is this father Jeff affiliated with anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” Bernie replied.

“Nobody really knows,” Doctor Mike added.

Bill squinted as he watched Father Jeff and Sheldon rumbling in the street, “I grew up Catholic and…I’m not familiar with these particular religious proceedings.”

Doctor Mike tried to bring sense to the situation, “This isn’t your normal denominational predicament, boys. We’re observing divine history here.”

“Does he need the cat yet?” Fred asked.

“It’s un-worldly,” Doctor Mike continued. “It’s a heavenly deed we’re beholding right now.”

Toby was getting a little concerned, “I think he needs some help.”

Doctor Mike waved it off, “We can’t interfere with such a pious episode. We’re mere mortals. In fact, our eyes shouldn’t really be witnessing this at all.”

Doctor Mike covered his eyes as the rest of them watched the surreal sight of a priest and a possible Miller’s Outpost employee brawling in the middle of the street at sundown next to the Capitol Records building.

Toby looked in the bag he was holding, “Is there a place we can put this milk? I think it’s going bad.”

“Give some to the cat,” Bill suggested.

Toby looked around, “I need a saucer.”

Fred stayed focused on the rumble, “This is so fascinating. Good versus evil. God versus the Devil. This is better than Emergency!”

“Yeah, I sure hope he knows what he’s doing,” Bernie worriedly said.

“I really think he needs some help,” Toby noticed.

“Being on the side of the righteous is all the help he needs. Gentlemen, avert your eyes!” And Doctor Mike covered his eyes a second time, blocking out the fact that Sheldon was now on top of Father Mike beating the crap out of him. Out of the bottom of the ruckus a hand, Father Mike’s hand, slowly reached out in the direction of the fellas. He managed to slowly roll over in between blows and finally face everyone, who looked like they’re all stoned and watching TV, and with the only strength he had left Father Jeff directed all of his remaining energy to his lungs which pushed out a burst of air past his vocal chords that bellowed out, “Fer God sakes, HELP ME!!!!!”

Everyone hesitated for a moment, and then immediately rushed over to Father Jeff and start beating the crap out of Sheldon Fenwick. The sun reached the horizon and bathed the city in a lovely orange and pink glow and made the dreamlike scene of a group of men dog piled in the middle of the street battling for one man’s soul so, so very Hollywood indeed.

At night, Rusty’s picks up a little more business with people that are unwinding from a long day’s work or people who have recently waged war on the devil himself. Two pitchers of beer sat in the center of one of the tables as Father Jeff lit up a glorious cigarette. His face and hands were littered with cuts and bruises and band-aids. Toby and Bill, who also had minor cuts and contusions, were feeding the cat some milk from a saucer. Fred and Bernie sipped their beers and tried not to wince from their own facial lacerations. Doctor Mike, the only one who was not injured in any way, sipped on a proper gin martini.

Fred patted Bernie on the shoulder, “So, how does it feel to be normal again?”

Bernie grimaced slightly from the sore spot on his shoulder that Fred just slapped, “I can’t tell. I keep thinking that any second I’m going to hear a bunch of people laughing.”

Suddenly, a bunch of people from another table start laughing, startling Bernie. He looked over and saw a man telling a joke to his friends.

Bernie wiped his brow, “Whew. That was a close one.”

Toby leaned over to Doctor Mike, “So, Doctor Mike, what’s next for you?”

Doctor Mike sipped his drink, “Well, I’m going to go on sabbatical for a couple of years. I’m going to pick up where my grandfather left off and do some rather intense research on the healing power of boiled jellyfish and dog slobber. And maybe then…” his eyes drifted off into space, “… I can finally clear his good name once and for all.”

“What about you, Father Jeff?” Bill asked.

“I’m leavin’ da’ clergy, son. My work here is done. Lucifer shant be bodderin’ you peelople no more. I t’ink maybe I’ll just roam da’ earth fer a couple o’ centuries or so.”

Fred scratched his head, “But, he was just a guy, right? I mean, he wasn’t really the Devil…was he?”

“Sheldon Fenwick was evil incarnate,” Father Jeff blurted out. “I t’ink ‘dat da’ world will be a better place now ‘dat he’s outta da’ picture.”

Bill butted in, “But, he just ran off. In fact, I think he went to call the cops.”

Father Jeff got a wild look in his eyes, “Bring ’em on.”

“So,” Bernie began, ” I don’t understand, we beat the crap out of him and suddenly I have my soul back?”

“Yah,” Father Jeff replied, “in about two ta’ tree business days. ‘Dats usually da’ way it werks.”

Bill stared at Father Jeff, “Just raw violence?”

“‘Dat’s the only language ‘dat evil understands.”

“Wow,” Toby sat back, ” we beat up the Devil. That’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“I actually thought it would be a lot more complicated than that,” Fred mused.

Bernie offered his hand to Father Jeff, “By the way, Father Jeff, I never got a chance to thank you. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, laddy. Now ‘dat Sheldon Fenwick is outta da’ picture I ‘tink there’ll be some big ‘tings waitin’ fer ya in da’ future.”

Suddenly, a group of girls approached Bernie, giggling. One of them cried out, “Oh my gosh! I can’t belive it! It’s Michael J. Fox!”

Her friend thrusted a notebook and pen in his face, “Can I have your autograph?”

A third friend who had been giggling like a maniac finally found the courage to speak, “I just loved Teenwolf! Oh m’gosh, is there going to be a Secret of My Success II?”

Bernie looked bemused. He looked over at Father Jeff, “Well, I guess it’s a start.”

The gang had a good laugh at that last line when suddenly everyone froze like they do at the end of a sitcom. The theme song to Differ’nt Strokes now blared out from nowhere. Some credits mysteriously roll through the air until everyone realizes that it isn’t really a freeze frame, everyone is just holding really, really still. Bernie slowly looked around, “What the hell are we doing?”

Tired of holding still, everyone else slowly broke the Freeze Frame. Only Fred continued to be frozen with a huge Three’s Company grin plastered on his face.

Three business days later the entire planet was annihilated by an asteroid the size of China.