There was a pause. Backstage Voluptua was hissing a final demand at the network man. “Flatulence indeed!” she snarled. “Now, hear this! I either get four-wheel disk brakes and electric windows, or the whole deal is off!”
“All right! All right!” he agreed hastily. “Only get out there before anybody notices the dead air.”
Voluptua’s outsize frame swept onstage and paused surely in front of the cameras. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “The story you’ve told is completely true. I know, because I lived it. And if it weren’t for Acne Foundation, I’d still be the victim of my overstuffed derma back in the hills. That’s why I’d like to urge all those looking in to give until it hurts to this worthy cause. Just think, thanks to your contribution, some poor, unfortunate little tyke with acne may be cured and freed to develop normally just as I have.” She tossed half of her 46-inch bosom by way of stressing the point. “Yes, thank God for the Acne Foundation. But I’m not here to cry about my pimply past. No, indeed. I’m here to entertain you. And I've written a poem to show that acne and amusement can go hand-in-hand. I call it ‘Dimples, Not Pimples'."
Voluptua curtseyed like a little girl and began reciting in a purposefully childlike tone:
“All the men admire my dimples.
’Twasn’t always thus.
Once my dimples all were pimples,
Large and filled with pus.
"Adolescence was quite gruesome.
Candy was a vice!
Boys who looked above my bosom
Never ogled twice!
“Life, it seemed, was one long itching,
’Til that lucky day
Acne experts cured my twitching,
Chased my spots away.
“Now my face is milk-and-honey,
Skin you love to touch!
Yet it’s lower—Ooh! How funny!-.
Skin men yearn to clutch!
“I've been cured and others can be;
Kids don't have to live
Heckish lives because of acne.
Stamp out acne! GIVE!”
“ ‘Heckish lives’?” I whispered to Misty.
“Can’t use ‘hellish’ early in the evening,” she whispered back. “Kids might be watching and repeat and then their mothers raise heck.”
“Speaking of kids--" I motioned, and Misty looked.
Backstage there was a quiet flurry as the network man attempted to extricate the next guest, a little girl, from the clutch of her mother. “I don’t want any more ggrrmmpphh-” The child’s protest was cut off by the mother’s cramming a large handful of gooey chocolate candy into her mouth.
“We’ve got less than a mi—” the network man was protesting.
“Peacock color,” the mother was muttering anxiously.
“In color, we’ve got to bring out the acne. You’ll see. The more candy she eats, the more purple the bumps turn. Central Casting didn’t tell me it was color. They should have told me. I would have given her some chocolate-colored marshmallows with the jelly in them for break fast.” She jammed another large glob of chocolatey goo into the little girl’s mouth.
“Glomph!” The little girl swallowed hard. “No more!” She backed away from her mother. “No more, or I’ll throw up. I will! No more!”
“Just finish what I've got here,” the mother wheedled. “You want to be good and purple, don’t you, sweetie? You want Central Casting to be pleased, don’t you?”
“I don’t give a --- about Central Casting!”
“I see what you mean about kids and language," I whispered to Misty. “Why, they’ll repeat anything.”
“Sure. Except she knows what she said. And I don’t blame her, either.”
“I slave to make a career for you, Janie, and this is how you repay me!” The mother’ s voice was quavering now. “Is it for my sake I want you to eat the candy? No! It’s for you! So you should be nice and pimply and purple so they’ll want you for that big East Coast benefit next month. Come on.” The whine changed to a wheedle again. “Just one more mouthful, you should break out.”
“No time!” The network man wrenched the little girl away from the mother and pushed her towards the stage where Voluptua was waiting in front of the cameras to introduce her.
The emcee and the doctor slobbered over the kid, and then Voluptua gagged over a few words assuring the child that she’d grow up to be just like Voluptua if only folks out there in TV-land would give, give, GIVE! This over, the kid was whisked oft-stage and returned to her mother while Voluptua sat down at the table and took over one of the telephones from the volunteer who’d been manning it.
Now the emcee introduced another acne victim. This one was a gangling adolescent boy with a face like Bikini Atoll after an H-bomb test. The intro consisted of a recitation of the boy’s troubles, a list worthy of Job and -- it seemed to me—apt to snap the heartstrings it was tugging. It concluded with the fact that this messed up teenster had one overwhelming desire and with the request that he now tell the audience what it was. The juvenile Job peered nearsightedly at the cue cards held up for his benefit off-camera and began to speak in a squeaky monotone:
“THROUGH ALL MY TRA
VAIL, I’VE BEEN SU
STAINED BY ONE HOPE.
IT IS THAT ONE DAY
I MIGHT HAVE THE HO
NOR OF MEETING PER
SON TO PERSON MISS A
PRIL WILDER. MISS A
PRIL WILDER IS MY I
DEAL. I THINK SHE IS
LOVELY, TALENTED, BEAU
TIFUL. SHE WOULD NEVER
LOOK AT A POOR UNFOR
TUNATE ACNE VICTIM
LIKE I AM. I’VE AL
WAYS KNOWN MY CONDI
TION WOULD DISGUST
HER. BUT I DREAM A
BOUT MEETING HER ALL
THE TIME. I WOULD GIVE
ANYTHING IF MY DREAM
OF MEETING APRIL WIL
DER COULD COME TRUE.”
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee zinged in, “here is one of the most rewarding moments which may ever take place in the medium of television. In our studio, at this very moment, Miss April Wilder is waiting to meet this young man, to make his dream come true. What have you got to say to that, Billy?” He asked the juvenile acne victim.
“IT IS TOO MUCH TO BE
LIEVE. I FEEL LIKE CRY
ING.”
“Well, you just go right ahead and cry, Billy.” April swept onstage and came up to him. “Here I am, and you and I are going to stay together all night, our chairs together side by side while we answer those calls from all those wonderful people out there in TV-land who want to help you and the countless victims like you. But before we do that, isn’t there something you want from me?” Billy peered at the cue-card.
“WOULD YOU AUTO
GRAPH A PICTURE
JUST FOR ME?”
That’s how the card read. But Billy just blinked his eyes and ignored it. “Would you give me a great big kiss just to show that my unfortunate condition shouldn't turn people off?” he said instead.
April’s jaw dropped open and she looked around quickly for some sign from those running the show. The network man looked back at her and shrugged. There was no way to avoid the kiss.
She approached the leering Billy cautiously, seeking some facial terrain which, might be relatively free of pustules for the osculatory maneuver. But Billy gave her no chance to pick her spot. He grabbed her with both arms and kissed her full on the lips, one of his hands sliding down to cup her left breast, the other descending to grapple with her right buttock. Quickly, the camera zoomed away from them to the emcee.