Douglas Coupland - Miss Wyoming

«We are,» said John. It was a quiet moment, like being on holiday, after flying the whole day and navigating through cabs and crowds, arriving in the hotel room, shutting the room and taking a breath. What came next was unknown, and John realized he hadn't given this moment much thought. He was stage-struck.

«I just saw somebody move inside a window,» said Ryan.

«We have to go down there,» said John.

«Ryan …» said Vanessa. «Maybe we should wait here. Maybe John should be alone for this.»

«No. Come, you guys — I need you.»

Like clueless trick-or-treaters, they headed to the front door. From inside the house they heard a TV blaring, feet pounding an uncarpeted floor and a door shutting. John rang the bell before he had a chance to change his mind. All interior sound stopped. Vanessa rang it again three times quickly. A minute passed and still nothing. Ryan tried the doorknob to see if it was open. It was.

«Shut the fucking door, Ryan,» said John.

«Just checking.»

«Hellooooo … ?» Vanessa called into the crack in the door.

«Oh jeez,» said John.

«You are such a chickenshit, John.» Vanessa cooed into the house, «Hello — we're from Unesco.»

Ryan turned to Vanessa: «Unesco?»

«It was the first thing that popped into my head.»

«Right,» said John, «like you're Audrey Hepburn and ready to hand over a clod of Swiss dirt if they donate five bucks.»

From down the hallway came the sound of somebody tripping over a small heap of suitcases. A man appeared, pale as linguine, in a black bodysuit, a cell phone dangling from his right hand.

«Well, well, it's the Mod Squad. I'm Randy. You're John Johnson, aren't you? What are you doing here ?»

«Perhaps we could come in?» John asked.

«No. I — can't. I mean, I know you're famous and rich, but I don't know you personally. And I don't know these two here at all.»

«I'm Ryan.»

«I'm Vanessa.»

«I'm sorry, but I still can't do it.»

«That's okay,» said John. «We're looking for Susan Colgate.»

Randy didn't flinch. «And why would you be talking to me about this?»

«You are Randy Montarelli?»

«I was.»

«And you are Randy “Hexum,” then, too?»

«Yes, but what is your point? It's a free country. I can change my name. So you guys know stuff about my past. I'm not scared or anything.»

«We're not here to scare you,» John said.

«Okay, but why are you assuming I've got something to do with Susan Colgate? Do you have any idea how random it is to have you three show up on my doorstep like this? Asking about some washed-up soap actress? I can already feel my spirit entering therapy as a result of this visit.»

«So you're saying you don't know her,» said John.

«I didn't say that.»

«Do you know her?»

«We've met.»

«And?»

«I used to work for Chris Thraice a few years ago when I came to L.A. As far as I know, he and Susan are still friends, but I don't think they ever talked much.» Randy added, «Hey, kids, I have an idea. I won't tell the cops that you were here if you don't tell them you were here, either.»

«Deal,» said John.

Randy's face changed like still water brushed by a breeze. «Wait …» He looked at John with a degree of calculation. «Maybe there is something you need to know — something you should have.» John, Ryan and Vanessa exchanged Hardy Boy glances. «Hold on,» he said, and headed down the hall, knocked a piece of luggage out of his way and entered a room. A minute later he returned with a sealed manila envelope and offered it to John. «I hope you're feeling better,» he said to John.

«What was wrong with me?» John was taken back.

«Well,» said Randy, «I recently heard that you were suffering from Jeep's syndrome.»

«Oh jeez,» said John, «that's one of those bloody Internet rumors. Who starts those things?»

«What's Jeep's syndrome?» asked Ryan.

Vanessa said, «It's when an ingrown hair follicle above the anus becomes infected, causing a massive buildup of waste fluids, requiring a surgical excision and drainage. The most famous sufferer was English pop star Roddy Llewellyn, who once dated Princess Margaret.»

«Did we really need to know that?» John asked.

«Ryan did ask. And besides, I've heard the rumor, too. That's why I looked it up.»

Randy handed John the envelope. «You should find this interesting.» He closed the door.

A minute later they were back in the car. John was agitated, mad at himself for not having better strategized the encounter. «Shit, that guy's bailing town somewhere and he's our only clue. He could have Susan in those suitcases for all I know. Ryan, open the envelope. What's in it?»

«It's a script: “Scratch 'n' Win,” by Randy Hexum.»

«Shit — a script.» He slammed the steering wheel.

Vanessa said, «I have another clue,» but at that exact moment Ryan locked bumpers with a car identical to John's own — same color, same year — and their car was hobbled onto the other like animals in heat. «Oh wow ,» mumbled a surf brat loitering on the corner with a friend, «two gay Chryslers fucking.»

One night back in 1986, Susan came within an eyelash of being introduced to John Johnson at a party Larry Mortimer had thrown. Larry was eager to showcase Susan and to network her with as many people as possible. Meet the Blooms was riding high, and of the eighties crop of «It Girls,» Susan was the one most coveted by the networks.

For some reason there was a giraffe at the party. Susan heard somebody ask why, and someone else replied it was to help plug a disastrously overbudget chimp comedy that had tanked that weekend on 1,420 screens across North America. Susan was standing with people from Johnny Carson's production company. It was then that she noticed John speaking with that toilet-mouthed lady from Disney — Alice? — something about an Oxford don and a punt — and Susan deemed John dateworthy, and that he would be even more so once he had a few years to … ripen. She was going to ask Larry for an introduction when a woman on her right said, «Hel lo , Susan Colgate.»

Susan turned to the speaker who was, according to the framed photos on Larry's desk, Larry's wife, Jenna Mortimer, lovely, with hair like spun black glass, baby-doll features, dressed in a black chiffon evening dress that featured the linebacker shoulder pads of the era. This look, combined with a flash of teeth, created an aggressive posture.

«Hello — Jenna — Mrs. Mortimer. Hello.»

«It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Susan.»

«Oh — nice for me, too. How did we ever get this far without being introduced? Shouldn't Larry have done this, like, an hour ago at the very least?»

«Cuckoo, isn't it?» said Jenna. «Larry can be so forgetful. Such a business this is.»

«Larry's always talking about you.»

«I'm sure he is.» She motioned toward a buffet table. «Have you had something to eat?» She was making it clear that she was the hostess. Susan was overeager to sound like an appreciative guest and she blurted out a dumb lie: «Yes, I had some cheese.»

«But I'm not serving any cheese.»

Susan was flustered.

«Is your mother here?» asked Jenna, knowing full well that Susan lived on Larry's Kelton Street property. The truth was that at that exact moment Marilyn was scouring the streets of Encino hoping to find Don's car, hoping to find Don inside a bar with a slut, knowing there was a far greater likelihood of simply finding Don with a bottle, which was somehow worse.

«No. It's a lovely party. Really beautifully done.» Susan felt mature using the words «beautifully done.» It was the way she thought rich people spoke.