Chapter 2

The boat deposited Polygon, Egress, Bon Mot and Entré at the harbour, along with several hundred other passengers, all of whom seemed to have a better idea of what to do next.

“There’s no denying that it’s incredible,” Bon Mot said thoughtfully. “But where do we go from here?”

Polygon glanced at his friend. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah- much. But where are we going? I thought you had this planned out.”

“I think Egress has booked us into a hotel until we can find somewhere more permanent,” said Polygon.

“Think again!” said Egress. “I asked Entré to do it, in fact...”

“You didn’t!” Entré interjected.

“I left a note on the fridge,” Egress explained.

There was silence but for the noise of the city for a few seconds, before Bon Mot summed up their situation.

“So basically- we’re fucked,” he said.

“Certainly looks that way,” Polygon agreed.

“At least tell me we’ve got U.S. currency on us,” Entré sighed heavily.

“Sure,” Egress nodded and dug around in her pocket before pulling out a wallet. It was battered and old but stuffed with dollars.

“Your life savings,” she told Polygon, kissing him on the cheek.

“I didn’t know I had any life savings.”

“I found a jar of cash in the garage downstairs and had it converted to dollars...” Egress began to explain.

“Er... Egress,” said Bon Mot. “We lived in a flat in tower block- none of the garages on the ground floor were ours...”

“So I’ve just taken... what, exactly? Some pensioner’s retirement plan?”

“Looks that way, yes,” Polygon agreed.

“You were right, Bon Mot,” Entré groaned. “We really are totally fucked.”

“Well, not entirely,” Egress said, diplomatically. “I mean, it’s not like we have to send him his money back in the post or something straight away. We can find out who we’ve nicked it from and pay it back later, right? In the meantime, we can at least use it to rent a hotel room, somewhere.”

“Alright, then,” Polygon agreed, and it was with this imperfect plan that the four of them set off into New York City, the lights of the place enveloping them and generating a sense of excitement and of nervous tension.

***

Out on the swankier edge of the glittering city, a woman by the name of Melonie stood looking around her new studio. It had been redecorated for the new chat show she was hosting- simply called ‘The Melonie Show’, though she’d happily admit that this didn’t say wonderful things about her imaginative capabilities. This, after all, wasn’t the point- Melonie prided herself on being a straight-talking, down-to-Earth type of woman and it was this that had gotten her the role of chat show host, some two years ago now. Her show was going into its third season, and the new studio was intended as a present from the producers and broadcasters- an assertion of her staying power and ability to maintain the audience’s transfixed attention.

Her boss, the producer himself- a man name Louie Vineman with slick, greasy hair and an ostentatious moustache- wondered up behind her.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think we’re going to wow the punters with this set up!” she said. “Just give me a solid topic to start the series with.”

“It’s your show, but some of the ideas boys think that the next series should address the issues raised by extreme lifestyles. They thought the first one could be on obesity and how it affects the lives of ordinary people living with it.”

“Possibly. It’s not exactly new and cutting edge, though. Americans only have to look out their window to see fat people. They watch these things for the freak show factor half the time.”

Vineman sighed wistfully. “Has anyone ever told you how hot you are when you’re being cynical?”

“Yes. You... at least eight times in fact.”

“Glad you’re still at it then. Anyway, the mundanity of it is something of the point. We’re bringing your ‘freak show’ right into the lives of ordinary people with things that affect them or their neighbours.”

“I love it! Obesity and the lifestyle problems that come with it, as seen through the eyes of ordinary people LIKE YOU!”

***

“I never imagined that New York taxis would be this bloody cramped,” Egress sighed as their cabby drove them to the nearest decent hotel.

“To be fair,” Bon Mot said, “there are four of us. And three of us are quite fat.”

“You holding up OK?” Polygon asked, leaning against Egress. “It’s just that, now that you mention it, you do look kind of squashed into a corner.”

“I’m fine,” she said, with a note of resignation in her voice. “I’m just worried that you’re getting crushed. You are very thin and breakable.”

“Me? No, I’m great. Actually, I’m finding this strangely erotic.”

“Well, that’s alright then,” Egress decided as they shot along the road at several times the speed limit. After a few moments of silence, Bon Mot put in:

“Actually, I’m glad you said that, Polygon, old pal. ‘Cause I thought it was just me.”

“Nope. Me too. Egress?”

“Slightly, now that you mention it, yeah.”

“Entré?”

“A little. I suppose.”

“Taxi Driver guy?”

“No!” replied their driver. “And frankly, you fuckers scare me!”

“Don’t be scared, sugar,” Egress said, draping her arms around the back of his seat. “We’re just a mobile love-in is all!”

She quickly took her arms off the back of the driver’s seat however, as his panicked reaction to her, albeit joking, advances nearly resulted in them crashing head first into a brick wall. The rest of the journey just passed in contemplative silence.