Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(77)
“Back office,” a hoarse, high voice calls. We follow Divine to the back and walk into a cloud of cigar smoke that smells like someone burned a pile of dirty underpants to cover up the smell of a camp latrine. A man clenches a fat cigar between his teeth and types, hunt-and-peck style, on a wheezing slab of a laptop. A giant painted mural of some sort of rodent-like cartoon character covers the wall behind him. It’s an attempt at cute that landed squarely on terrifying. The man at the desk appears to have been made by some blindfolded god. Despite the damp chill, he’s somehow still sweaty, and his mustache looks like he glued a drain clog to his lip with spirit gum.
He does not look like a successful man. He does not look like one who brings success to others.
He starts to say something but instead coughs. And coughs. And coughs. He holds up a finger. More coughing.
Finally, Divine says, “Is your brother in the back? We have some business to talk with you, but first a little”—he makes a motion like he’s pulling a cord for a horn—“toot toot. To aid digestion.”
The man nods, still coughing, and waves Divine and Yuri into a back room. They close the door. And it’s Lawson and me with Coughing Man.
His coughs subside. He pounds his chest and hawks a loogie into a garbage can by his desk. “You working with Divine?” he croaks.
“Possibly?” I say.
“What’s your name?”
“Josie Howard.”
Coughing Man looks at Lawson.
“Lawson Vargas.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” I say.
The man sticks his cigar back between his teeth. “Wald Disme.”
“Wald Dis—like Walt—”
“ANY RESEMBLANCE MY NAME MAY BEAR TO ANY PERSON ALIVE OR DECEASED IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL AND NOT TO BE CONSTRUED IN ANY WAY AS INFRINGEMENT UPON THE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF HERETOFORE MENTIONED PERSONS ALIVE OR DECEASED WHOSE NAME MINE MIGHT COINCIDENTALLY RESEMBLE,” Disme says with great force and energy. It sounds like something someone made him read off a card verbatim until he had it memorized.
“Okay,” I say, “so it’s a kooky coincidence your name sounds almost exactly like—”
“ANY RESEMBLANCE MY NAME MAY BEAR TO ANY PERSON ALIVE OR DECEASED—”
I give him two thumbs-up. “Yep, yep, got it.”
“So what’d old Jackie-boy tell you? He gonna make you a star?” He says the last part in a pretty passable Divine impression.
“We’re just talking. I don’t know if—”
“You got a nice face. Good cheekbones. Probably do all right in front of a camera.”
“Um. Thanks. That’s…cool of you. Anyway, like I was saying—”
“Did Jackie-boy tell you we worked together in the nineties?”
“No.”
“I was the head of Wald Disme Studios. We were in the straight-to-video market.” He points with his cigar. “We were Netflix before there was Netflix.”
I take a closer look at the cartoon character painting. “Is that the mascot for Wald Disme Studios?”
Disme grins. “Rickey Rat! The rat with ratitude! ‘Ratitude’ like ‘attitude.’?”
“Yep. Got it.” I squint. “Is he…smoking a cigarette?”
Disme wiggles his ears. He’s really good at it.
I study his face, perplexed. I motion at my ears. “What does—”
Disme wiggles his ears more furiously.
“Yeah, I don’t get it.”
Disme rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in exasperation. “It’s my thing I do instead of winking.”
“Oh. Cool. So, your mascot is a rat smoking a cigarette.”
“Kids like edgy. It’s the Wald Disme brand.”
“Huh.”
“Disney would release one of their goody-two-shoes, yawnfest mermaid movies, and we’d get on the stick and pound one out in a few weeks, get that sucker in video stores. Beat Disney to the punch.”
“Pound one out,” I murmur.
“So people rent ours instead. It’s cheaper. You can watch it at home. And it’s better.”
“Better? How?”
“Well, for starters…” Disme makes a circle with the thumb and forefinger of one hand and pokes his cigar in and out several times, making a slide-whistle noise with his mouth. “Sex. You looked confused.”
“I was, but more about why enticing parents to rent a cartoon mermaid movie with boning in it for their kids to see is a wise idea.”
Disme shrugs. “Sex sells.”
“Obviously,” I mutter, glancing up at a huge urine-colored water spot on the ceiling.
“Plus, kids’ll find out sooner or later. Sex is natural.”
“I guess so? But also highly weird to have in a kids’ cartoon movie.”
“You do you. I’ll do me. Disme.” He points at me and wiggles his ears.
I sigh.
Disme stares off with a faraway nostalgic expression. “We even started to build DismeWorld. Like Disney World, only better. But that was not to be.”
I brace myself. “Please tell me the difference wasn’t sex.”
“Rides were more dangerous.”
“Incredible.”