He spun around like the devil. Fairfax looked no older than Forty-Two, by the looks of it. He didn't even move an inch; only the chair. That fine brown leather chair that just barely reached above his shoulders. He had glasses on. Pink lenses with golden details. He knew it was gold 'cause they were so goddamn shiny. Might've been some special brand of aviators; he'd never seen someone wearin' those, before.
"Mister Fairfax?" Finn asked after swallowing hard like the little chump he was.
He nodded briefly, tightening his lips around the cigarette as he spoke, "the one and only. And who might you be?"
He somehow managed to take a seat opposite him, slowly sliding my business card through the desk and past a turquoise rotary phone that sat on his left side. Fairfax grabbed the card and gave it a good look.
"F. Faraday?" he raised an eyebrow at him, the long cigarette jerking back and forth. "What's the F stand for?"
"Faraday."
"The first F, goddammit." Fairfax casually threw the card in one of his desk drawers. "Are you thick, or something?"
"The first F stands for Finn, sir." he replied with too much weakness in his freshly watered throat.
He chuckled and looked to the side, "I had a cousin named Finn. He was a real go-getter. Are you a real go-getter, Faraday?"
"I suppose I could be."
Fairfax scoffed again and sucked his cigarette hard, blowing back a cloud of fumes from the sides of his mouth. "You're here for one reason and one reason only: to make it to Tinseltown and share the big screen with Nicholson or Kristofferson; hell even smooch a kiss or two with the Diane Sawyer herself."
"That all sounds well and nice. I'm not gonna lie, mister Fairfax." he said again.
He smiled slightly, still keeping the cigarette. He was holding on to it for dear life. "What parts do you come from?"
"Vegas."
"Heh, I had you figured for a strip boy."
Before he knew it, he was already a dozen or so shots deep in with Mr. Fairfax. The devilish bastard had somehow lured him into a false sense of security. With that gumbo juice running through his veins, all he could see was wonder. And the catastrophic amounts of alcohol certainly weren't helping. Come to think of it, that might not be alcohol. Whatever it was, it was turning all his worries away, making them to be carried by the strong winds of the desert around this Town. Whatever that sassy secretary gave him added a little spice to his curry, and Mr. Fairfax sure was enjoying it. He began to cackle like a madman whenever they made eye contact.
Finn stared into his sunshades covered eyes, or at least tried to. The once salmon pink lenses were nothing but a swirling surface that had all but hypnotized Finn's bewildered self. Mr. Fairfax's teeth began to melt, it seemed, Finn lifted his hand to raise the issue with him but he felt as though his mouth had been stolen. He looked under the desk and around me only to see the wooden creases turning to gaping, toothy mouths that were echoing Mr. Fairfax's words. Twisting like turns and being poured into his ears like freshly harvested honey mixed with goat milk. A familiar taste.
"What are you lookin' at, boy?" his words began to float in the air. Rising up to the ceiling and dissipating.
He cocked his head at him at a devilish speed, "sorry, what was that?"
Finn asked. Not because he misheard him, oh, he heard him plenty. He asked him 'cause he wanted to see those words again. He didn't quite get their color. And that's the problem; each letter he spoke was every color of the spectrum; colors he hadn't ever seen yet.
"I said what are you lookin' at, boy." he quickly reached for his phone and Finn had begun to worry.
He thought he'd started to ring up security but soon he saw the truth. Or, heard it, rather. Mr. Fairfax was almost indecipherable from those damned Hike and Cliff It's . Finn had to pause after each word. The man had a real voice for the radio, and he could really hear it. He cursed and hacked into the phone and slammed it. He picked up just to do it all again.
He repeated this for what felt like an hour; just yelling obscenities that your mother wouldn't want you to hear.
"Yes. Who is this?" mr. Fairfax's voice began to settle into a calm rhythm. "Miss Hawthorne, you say? I never heard of Hawthorne around town." he nodded after a brief pause. "An acting job you say? Go ahead and read that casting call description, I have a pen and paper handy." he didn't.
"Medium height, fair-skinned man. I got 'em right here. I'm sure there's something we can do about the hair. Maybe a wig or some whosit to cover the man's mess of hair; it's too brown." he paused again, listening deeply before his gaze met mine fully. Even behind those glasses I knew he was staring at me. "I have just the handsome man you're looking for. He's got the squarest jaw this west of the Mojave. And to boot, he's got one hell of a schedule. Yes ma'am. Of course, ma'am. I'm sure we can meet in an hour. I'll bring my boy around; he'll be right as rain and we get down to business, ya hear? Be sure to roll out the red carpet for this one, he's a real star, ya hear? Oh, right. Ixnay on the carpet, then. See you in a few, madame."
At once, Mr. Fairfax slammed the phone down into its socket and grabbed the red leather jacket that was hung over the chair. He bolted out of the office and I followed him in a daze of rapid dashing that took us out of the building.
Mr. Fairfax raced and sprinted around the outskirts of Dean Town, hunting for what he called the 'Delado Studio Park'. He kept repeating it like a madman, to the point that I saw those words written in the sky after some impromptu firework show finally decided to take place somewhere in the not too distant skyline. Now, Finn didn't remember hearing anything about a 'Delado Studio Park' whilst he was perusing around the town. Perhaps he'd seen it before but couldn't remember it again; it was pitch black except for the colorful pretty lights that surrounded and followed the pair everywhere we went. Like some kinda carnival sweeping through the town like high tide. Mardi Gras, but without the Mardi part, since he wasn't too sure what day it was.
And before he could wonder any longer, he was slapped wide awake from his technicolor dreamscape by the soft and oddly delicate hand of Mr. Fairfax as they reached a pearly gate. Golden bars and beams curved beautifully in a baroque pattern that couldn't be more fitting for the colorful state of the town. He and Finn seemed tiny in regards to that big, beautiful, golden pearly gate. It was golden, with a little bit of pearl, but very pearly with a little bit of gold. The perfect combination.
"Hey, Dumbo. Let us in, will ya!" screamed Mr. Fairfax like a dying goat at the scarce few buildings beyond the gate. "We're here for the 1:00 AM!"
Before Finn could turn back to see where they'd come from, they saw a large man, perhaps twice their height and width in feet. Large, imposing and adorned with golden and pearly jewelry. Finn didn't even know there was a suit size that big, but he wore the hell out of that cream and white combo. Dumbo, who was coming from one of those beyond buildings, fiddled behind the pearly golden gate, and opened it with a sudden but terribly transcendent and angelic hymn playing. Finn didn't know where the sound was coming from but it was a desperately needed change of pace and groove from Mr. Fairfax and the town's madness.
Dumbo spoke with an impossibly high voice that contrasted his large and imposing frame, speaking in an eloquent and cordial manner as he escorted us through the park where I saw no end of wonder. "I hope he doesn't end up being another fluke," Finn could hear him grumble.
"Fluke?!" Finn shot his head back at Mr. Fairfax. They spoke in hushed tones. "Thought I was the next big thing?"
"Eh, he's talking about Luke Wyrme. The poor bastard couldn't make it through some intimate scenes. Said that what we were doing was 'unholy' and 'against the will of god'. Devil worship and some such nonsense. Thou shalt not sin and all that meandering crap, you know! Those proselytizing freaks can't stand the sight of this town, let alone its aura."
The two were escorted in a mad rush through the seemingly busy studio lot, dashing through the film crews that were scrambling for equipment, the underpaid extras in outlandish costumes and the producers that were too busy sniffing snow. Finn had begun to go even madder, but this was another Monday for Mr. Fairfax -- or was it Thursday? Finn didn't care as the anticipation began to build up, climbing faster and faster toward that sweet, sweet climax. One that would be reached at one of the few studio buildings past the sets.
It was a glamorous building with a pretty sign that even had pretty lights. The kind of fright that comes with such a sight wasn't lost on Finn's up and coming might. He prayed at the altar that was the doorstep of this studio's main office, before being picked up by the scruff of his neck by Dumbo, "no time to waste, punk." squealed the large and imposing man.
They were tossed unceremoniously into Miss Delado's office, a woman whose reputation had transcended the bounds of sanity. Her desk, a monument to success, displayed an array of awards and accolades, exuding power and dominance. Her gaze pierced through Finn's dilated eyes, stripping him bare of any pretense or facade.
"Ah, Mr. Fairfax, always bringing fresh meat," miss Delado purred, her voice a blend of seduction and authority as her cherry red lips dripped with poison. "And who do we have here? A charming young man, indeed."
Finn felt his pulse quicken as words stumbled from his tongue. "Finn; my name's Finn." he managed to mumble, his confidence unraveling under the scrutinous gaze of her deep-set blue eyes.
"Finn." she chuckled, a throaty sound that sent tremors down his spine.
The room seemed to warp and contort, walls melting away to reveal an expansive studio lot, larger than life sets stretching into the abyss. Posters of incomprehensible movies adorned the walls, their titles bizarre, their imagery surreal, and their taglines nonsensical. Such hits as 'The Devil's Dented Dance' and 'Julio and The Stretch'. The fabric of reality unraveled, merging with the haze of drugs and a twisted desire for fame that consumed Finn's fractured mind.
Miss Delado leaned back in her chair, a wicked smile spreading across her lips, revealing a set of perfect, white teeth. "Tell me, Finn, are you ready to become a star? Are you prepared to give everything you have, everything you are, for a taste of greatness? For a seat at the big boys' table?"
Finn hesitated, the world teetering on the edge of reason and absurdity. But his commitment to the unhinged, his thirst for notoriety, propelled him forward, driving him to embrace the madness that swirled around him.
"Yes," he declared, his voice tinged with a reckless determination. "I'll surrender it all—sanity, normality, and every damn thing in between. I'm ready to become a legend -- a star!"
Miss Delado's smile widened, a predator sensing its prey's surrender. She extended her hand, a contract materializing as if conjured from the darkest recesses of Finn's mind. "Then let us seal this unholy pact. Sign your name in blood, Finn, and let the madness consume you."
Finn's heart pounded, a frenetic beat that matched the pulsating rhythm of the world around him. He took the pen, the weight of his decision heavy on his soul. Without hesitation, he scrawled his name at the bottom of the contract, the ink merging with his essence.
As the ink dried, the room fractured, reality splintering into a kaleidoscope of absurdity. Finn, the Fabulous, embarked on a descent into the heart of madness, where drugs, fame, and the grotesque danced in a sinister waltz. Little did he know that his signature would forever dissolve the boundaries between reality and hallucination, plunging him into a realm where the only truth was the chaos that defined his existence.
And so, Finn delved deeper into the rabbit hole, his consciousness merging with the deranged tapestry of Delado Studio Park, hurtling towards a fate unknown, fueled by fear and loathing, in a world that thrived on the intoxicating mix of dreams and nightmares.
Just as quickly as the signature dried, the cotton mouth that Finn had turned a silky, wet harmony of soft tissue and flesh. He could feel his tongue again, and the poor sap couldn't be happier. He'd also gotten happier due to that shiny, alluring contract that he was almost done signing. It almost danced as he signed away the troubles that had clouded his dreams and hopes for a little over three decades.
The poor sap then turned his head to Mr. Fairfax after making a less-than-comforting discovery.
"Where are the terms and conditions?"