Intervention

I left my monocycle in the alley behind the studio, going to the rear door, the gray one with the red X on it, like Bonnie had suggested when I called her.  "If it's safe for you to enter I'll have left the back door propped open slightly," she had said.

I was ecstatic to find the door minutely ajar, kept from closing completely by a micromemory plug.  I caught the plug in my left hand when I pulled on the handle, then cautiously stepped inside.  The lights were dimmed in Bonnie's dressing room, but I could see her in the full-length mirror against the far wall, admiring herself while she stood almost completely nude in a flimsy gauze dressing gown unfastened at the front.  When she caught sight of me she smiled broadly into the reflecting glass.

Turning, she said, "Lee--I'm so glad you came."

As I quickly closed the gap between us, I said, "Not half as glad as I am."

We embraced and kissed.

Leaning back, she said, "I hated to have you come here, but I can never get away.  It seems like my entire life is devoted to this show.  Don't get me wrong--I love it, but it takes a toll."

"I don't mind coming."

"But there's a certain element of danger."

"You're worth it."

I had just begun to pass my hands gently across her voluptuous breasts when the front door of the dressing room burst open and Euan McCloud stepped partially inside.

"I had a feeling this might happen," he said to Bonnie.  Speaking out into the hallway, he said, "He's in here."

A second later Hortensia came in.  Staring coldly into my eyes, she said, "You were warned."

I said, "I don't see--"

"Shut up," she said.  To Euan, she said, "Have the others bring the PUV round back."

He quickly exited the dressing room.

Bonnie hurriedly tied her robe as we stood awkwardly waiting for Hortensia's next move.  It was stunning.  To Bonnie she said, "Enjoy your very last show tonight.  Your replacement will be here tomorrow."

Bonnie said, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're through," Hortensia said.  To me she said, "Your thirty-days-of-fame period has expired."

The rear door I had entered swung open and two BookForce marshals entered.  One was wearing a Mark4 visor, and its laser sight made a red dot in the middle of my chest.  The other marshal said, "Let's go," and they led me outside into the night, where a black, penal utility vehicle was waiting.

Hortensia climbed into the back seat with me.  Through the rear passenger window I could see Euan McCloud standing behind the studio smiling at me.

As soon as the vehicle pulled forward, Hortensia said, "You'll be required to serve a two-year tour-of-duty with the BookForce as a junior marshall.  For the first year you'll be on the Fugitive Reclamation Squad.  If you successfully carry out your Year One responsibilities you'll be enrolled in AARP--Agent Assistant Reading Program--where you'll comb through all books produced by agententiary inmates in an effort to find works exhibiting potential.  A person of your intelligence should be able to graduate quickly, and in no time you'll find yourself promoted to full-fledged agent, assuming your rightful place at Paso del Norte, helping to funnel worthy authors into publishing contracts which will bring them their requisite month in the limelight.  Play your cards right and within a decade or so--if your book keeps selling moderately well--you may experience a one- or two-week revival period."

As the PUV pulled into the airport and made its way behind the main terminal it struck me:  the flame that burned brightly during my brief period of fame had just been snuffed out.  I would soon be part of the prosaic, mundane work-a-day world from which I had tried so hard to escape.