Spengler frowned. "Our primary concern should be the continued integrity of the biosphere. It's a responsibility shared by all conscious beings."
Venkman stared at Spengler. "Isn't that what I just said?"
Stantz turned to Venkman. "Look, Venkman, we don't have time for this. We've got customers waiting—
paying customers. You can wear pink diapers and go-go boots if you want. We're sticking with the old coveralls."
The three Ghostbusters marched back up the stairs. Venkman trotted up behind them.
"Coveralls," he shouted. "Great! Very imaginative, Ray. They make us look like we should be walking around the airport sprinkling sawdust on puke!"
Stantz shouted down from above. "We're wearing them. And that's final!"
Venkman took this in and shouted up, with a smile, "Okay, we'll wear coveralls—but think boutique!"
14
The TV screen flickered to life displaying a very awkward married couple, played by Louis Tully and Janine, in bed, reading.
Suddenly a "ghost," actually a puppet that seemed to have been created in an out-therapy class in a laugh ing academy, bounced above the bed on a badly con cealed wire.
Janine looked up and emitted a terribly acted scream.
"What is it, honey?" Louis blinked.
Janine crossed her arms and watched the puppet bounce off the plasterboard walls. "It's that darn ghost again," she said stiffly. "I don't know what to do any more. He just won't leave us alone. I guess we'll just have to move."
Louis offered a wise smile, which resembled the one worn by Alfred E. Newman. "Don't worry, honey. We're not moving. He is."
Louis reached for the prop telephone.
"Who are you going to call?" Janine asked.
Louis winked at the screen. "Ghostbusters." As Louis dialed, Spengler, Stantz, and Venkman marched into their room, clad in their old Ghostbusters jumpsuits. They walked as stiffly as wooden soldiers and weren't any better actors than Louis and Janine. The threesome faced the screen. "I'm Ray." "I'm Peter." "I'm Egon."
Stantz took a deep breath. "And we're the ..." "Ghostbusters!" the three men announced in uni son, while in the background Winston appeared, traips ing after the phony ghost with what looked like a massive butterfly net in hand.
"That's right," Stantz said, sweating into the TV screen. "Ghostbusters! We're back and we're better than ever, with twice the know-how and twice the particle power to deal with all your supernatural elimination
needs."
He glanced over his shoulder, where Winston was still trying to catch the "ghost" without messing up the' puppet's wires. "Careful, Winston," Stantz called. "He's
a mean one."
Stantz faced the screen again. Sweat trickled down his nose. "And to celebrate our grand reopening, we're giving you twice the value with our special half-price 'Welcome Back' service plan."
Venkman expressed exaggerated shock. "Hold on, Ray!" he exclaimed theatrically. "Half price! Have you
gone crazy?"
"I guess so, Pete," Stantz replied, wearing a Chesh ire cat smile. "Because that's not all! Tell them what else we've got, Egon."
Egon's mind apparently went blank for a moment. Rolling his eyes and frowning, attempting to remember the script, he suddenly recalled his line. "You mean the
Ghostbusters hot-beverage thermal mugs and free bal loons for the kids?"
Egon held up a mug bearing the Ghostbusters logo and a limp, uninflated balloon. He glanced at the balloon. Darn. He knew he had forgotten something.
Stantz didn't miss a beat. "You bet, Egon. That's exactly what I mean."
Stantz walked toward the screen as bold, flashing letters appeared below him. fully bonded—fully li censed — SE HABLA ESPANOL.
"So," Stantz announced, "don't you wait another minute. Make your supernatural problem our supernat ural problem. Call now, because we're still..."
He glanced over his shoulder. All the Ghostbusters faced the screen and pointed to their unseen viewers. "... ready to believe you."
An unseen hand clicked off the TV as Regis Philbin appeared, chatting up a thirteen-year-old pop starlet plugging a TV film about Wisenheimer's disease ... a sickness that afflicts elderly stand-up comedians.
Rudy, the Manhattan Museum of Art's chief security guard, watched the TV set go blank before he returned to his treasured edition of The New York Post. On the front page the headline screamed: ghostbusters save judge!
His reading was interrupted by the presence of a guest. Peter Venkman faced Rudy. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Dana Barrett."
Rudy glanced at the visitor. "Room 104. The resto ration studio."
Rudy's eyes grew wide. "Hey! Dr. Venkman—World of the Psychic. I'm a big, big fan. That used to be one of my two favorite shows."
Venkman was obviously flattered. "Thanks," he said suavely. "What's the other one?"
"Bass Masters," Rudy replied. "It's a fishing show.
Ever see it?"
Venkman backed away from the security desk. "Yeah, it's really great. Caught it when Meryl Streep was a guest. Take it easy."
Venkman stalked off down the hall, coming to a halt in front of the studio. He eased the door open and entered the large room.
At one end of the studio Dana was hard at work, cleaning a valuable Dutch still life. At the other end Janosz still toiled over the terrible painting of Vigo the rotten.
Dana smiled at Venkman. "Oh, hello, Peter. What
are you doing here?"
Venkman shrugged. "I thought you might want to knock off early and let me chase you around the park for a while."
Dana laughed softly. "Thanks, sounds delightful, but
I'm working."
Venkman studied the painting she was working on. "So this is what you do, huh? You're really good. Is that a paint-by-numbers job?"
"I didn't paint it," Dana said with a laugh. "I'm just cleaning it. It's an original Vermeer. It's worth about ten million dollars."
Venkman squinted at the painting, holding up his thumb in a classical artist's pose. "What a rip-off! You can go to Art World and get these huge sofa-size paintings for about forty-five bucks. And those black-velvet jobs? Can't top them."
He glanced around the studio, taking in the various pieces of artwork assembled.
"I'm sure they're lovely." Dana sighed. "So are you here just to look at art?"
"As a matter of fact," Venkman replied, "I stopped by to talk to you about your case. We think we know
what was pulling the buggy. We found tons of this ecto glop under the street. It's pretty potent stuff."
Dana was confused. "But nothing on the street was moving. Why would the buggy move? Why do these things happen to me?"
Venkman was about to answer when Janosz stuck his head between them. "Dana," he said. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"