Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [90]
“And look how she’s standing! She thinks she’s Cindy Crawford with a halo!” Nikki shrieked with delight.
The two then pointed at the screen, both laughing so hard the bed shook.
“Oh, God, this is so priceless. I wish we were taping it,” Nikki said, wiping a tear.
John grinned and reached for the ashtray. He put the half-smoked joint between his lips. “Got a light?” he mumbled.
“Yay!” Nikki said. “I forgot all about that.” She scanned the room. “But we’re gonna need munchies.”
John smiled devilishly. “I got your munchies right here,” he said, grabbing his crotch.
Nikki slapped him on the arm and arched an eyebrow. “Don’t make me give you another prostate exam, Mr. Smythe.”
R
etail Salvage had the distinction of being the Poconos’ very own shop-from-home cable show. It was broadcast live from a small studio in an industrial park. The hours were irregular. The lighting was harsh. And at 4:15 A.M. Peggy Jean was the guest. Although she had visited numerous bookstores and radio stations and had established her own Web site, this was Peggy Jean’s first television appearance. Her self-published book was entitled, Peggy Jean, Jesus and You! Under the large color photograph of Peggy Jean was a quote from Debby Boone: “Together, Peggy Jean and Jesus will light up your life—take it from me.”
“And for our viewers who are out there watching in these early morning hours, what would you like to say to them?” the somewhat paunchy host asked.
Peggy Jean shouldered her way in front of the host and looked directly into the camera. “Maybe you have insomnia,” she began, “or a terminal disease. Perhaps you’re older and live all alone. And you’re frightened because you know that crime can strike anyone, anywhere, at any time. This book is for you. It offers not just hope, but real-life solutions.”
The host attempted to move out from behind Peggy Jean and stand beside her, but she would not allow it. She was much more experienced, and knew how to move on camera.
“Phone call!” someone yelled from off the set.
“I understand we have a caller,” Peggy Jean said, smiling confidently. “God has opened a window. Come on through!”
There was a loud crackling sound, followed by a screech. “Hello?” said the caller. “Hello? Am I on the air with Peggy Jean Smythe? Hel—”
“This is Peggy Jean Smythe and welcome to the show.” She deliberately did not use the name of the show, Retail Salvage, because she considered it too low-class. Wearing a Kathy Ireland sweater from Kmart had been her only concession to the lower-income demographic that this particular television station attracted. But one had to start somewhere.
“Hi, Peggy Jean! I thought that was you. I miss you so much on Sellevision.”
Peggy Jean would need to move this caller along. “Thank you very much. But the Lord had bigger plans in store for me. What would you like to overcome?” she asked.
The caller laughed. “Well, I’d like to overcome about fifteen extra pounds I put on after my second baby, but I th—”
“I understand perfectly,” Peggy Jean interjected. “You suffer from a poor self-image. And you’re understandably worried about the health of your new baby. After all, so many babies have medical problems that go undetected. My book can help. I can point you to the tunnel and you will see the light at the end of it for yourself.” She held the book squarely in front of her. The tip of her fingernail resting on the cover, pointing at her name. “Let Jesus and me help you, caller. Order now. An operator is standing by.”
“W
ould you like to save the placenta?” the midwife asked. “For soup stock,” she added.
Eliot winced.
But Bebe just gazed into her baby’s eyes. “You’re so perfect,” she whispered. “Yes, you are.”
The midwife shrugged. “I’ll bag it and put it in the nurses’ fridge for later,” she said as she carried the warm organ off. It was Holymount Hospital policy to at least offer.
Eliot reached over and stroked his newborn son’s head. “You are as beautiful as your mommy,