Nocturnal Emissions (30 page)

“Come on…it’s just a fun song, Walter, you know that.”

“I tried to look past that ‘Walter Egan tribute album’ crack, but this is all just too much.”

“Walter, please, please…you can’t do this to me!”

“Tunnel of love, tunnel of love,”
Rake sang laconically,

“Ooh, filly, take me for a ride

Tunnel of love, tunnel of love

Ooh, mama, ooh, mama

Tunnel of love, tunnel of love

Ooh…”

Widget had finally noticed Egan’s departure, and screeched, “Hey! What’s the problem over there, Teddy?”

The music was cut off abruptly. The crew froze in place like a herd of deer caught in headlights. The backup trio quit their gyrations and stood dripping.

Winsome whirled around, teetered as if he might faint, but caught himself and stammered, “Ahh…sorry to distract you, Widget. We were just talking about the song.”

“What
about
the song?” the rosy-cheeked puppet demanded.

“Um…well, I was saying how Bruce Springsteen has a song called
Tunnelof Love
, too, but that Walter’s song came out ten years earlier, and, ah…”

Widget snorted. “Ooh, wow, what an innovator. Did he invent the Internet, too?”“That’s it, man, that’s it,” Egan said to Winsome. He took a step back in the direction of the stage and called to Widget, “What is it with you?

Supposedly you like my song, and you treat me like this?”

“Fuck your song, then,” Widget said. “We’ll scrap it from the album and do a cover of Springsteen’s song instead. Right, Rake?”

“Yep, little feller. Do the Boss instead, mm-hm.”

“Hey, go for it, Sling Blade,” Egan said.

“Ah, get the fuck out of here!” Widget called back sweetly.

“Shut up, you freakin’ ventriloquist’s dummy.”

“You fucking idiot,” Widget retorted. “Clearly I’m a marionette!”

“Okay, Walter, come on,” Winsome said, pulling him away toward the door. “You’re going to have to leave, I’m sorry…you’ve stirred them up enough. God, now there’s going to be hell to pay!”

“Well good luck to you with that, Teddy,” Egan told him. And over his shoulder he shouted to Widget, “Hey, keep wishing on a star and maybe someday you’ll be a real boy, Pinocchio!”

“Fuuuuuck youuuuu, Egan!” the marionette shrieked.

The scene cut after this, and led into another segment that was really much the same thing. Asinger named Bruce Springsteen was invited to watch Rake and Widget shoot a video for their cover of his song
Tunnel of Love
. Like Walter Egan, this performer also appeared not to have heard of the duo before despite Winsome’s assurances that they were “massive” with the young crowd right now.

The same set was employed, the treadmill in front of a greenscreen (the same background, added later, of a pink-painted tunnel), the same cavorting rubber-sheathed backup singers. But Springsteen, plainly appalled, put a stop to the proceedings quickly. Widget hurled some abuse, and Winsome took the rock star aside to try to calm him down. “Bruce, come on—it’s
Rake and Widget,
man!”

“Okay, then!” Widget yelled. “If you don’t like that one, let’s try another one of your songs!” Stomping in place with his lowered brows and wooden pout, the puppet launched into a rollicking number called
On the Dark Side
.

“That isn’t my song!” Springsteen barked. “That’s John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band!”

Widget stopped singing and said, “What are you talking about—of course that’s one of your songs!”

“It isn’t my damn song! I think I’d know!”

“Okay, right, whatever you say. How about this one, then?” And the marionette launched into a rollicking number called
The Boys are Back in Town
.

“That isn’t my song either and you know it!” Springsteen bellowed, causing Widget to cut his singing. “It’s Thin fucking Lizzy!”

“Ah, get the fuck out of here, you washed up has-been!” the puppet raged.

Springsteen started toward him but Winsome struggled to hold him back.

Widget added, “And if you ever disrespect me again, I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you’ll be coughing up splinters for a week!”

A
fter this, an excerpt was shown of a video the duo had managed to complete: their cover of a song called
Little Green Bag
by the George Baker Selection (who made no appearance in the documentary). The video started with Rake’s long, thin, black-clad legs walking into the frame in slow motion, followed by Widget’s stumpy limbs also wearing black trousers, his floating feet barely lighting on the ground as usual. The camera setup changed to a long shot to show that Widget wore a miniature dress suit like a child might wear to its baptism. Both he and Rake wore dark glasses. Later in the video Widget was shown dancing wildly in this attire, his toddler’s legs blurring in a frenzied jig, pouting and drawing forked fingers past his eyes.

The documentary took an interesting turn in another direction, interviewing the three backup singers seen in the
Tunnel O’ Love/Tunnel of Love
videos. The black girl complained about Widget’s advances (“One time I felt something poking me in the butt and I turned around and that little fucker was smiling up at me. It was his goddamn nose.”). But more intriguing was a story the white girl had to share, sniffling and dabbing at tears while the Oriental girl put an arm around her shoulders consolingly. This young woman related:

“One time I was looking for Rake and Widget to ask them something about the next day’s shoot—they were the directors, ya know?—and I knocked on their trailer’s door. I didn’t hear anything, so I opened the door and called out for them. I saw a blue kind of light, like TV light, in another room, so I went inside the trailer and followed it. And I saw…oh God…”

“What did you see?” asked an off-screen interviewer.

“Widget was in the corner of their little kitchen, sitting on the floor and kind of slumped down with his head hanging to the side, like this.” She demonstrated. “His eyes were open, but he wasn’t moving. In this funny blue light, I saw that he had strings. Strings, like a puppet!”

“You mean like a marionette?”

“Right, like that. I’d never seen them before, but they showed up in this light for some reason, kind of shiny and glowing. But they, they looked like they went straight up through the trailer’s ceiling!”

“And what was this funny blue light?”

“It came from a big glass jar on the kitchen table. Something was inside it, floating in water or whatever and glowing blue. It looked like…maybe like a head of cabbage, or some cauliflower.”

“And you saw Rake, too?”

“Yes,” she choked. “Rake was sitting on a chair in front of this little table, kind of slumped forward, too, with his head drooping down like he was drunk.

His eyes were open, but they were rolled up all white. His…his cowboy hat was on the table, and…oh God…and I swear, the top of his head was
open
.

Like someone had sawed the top of his skull off! And it was just black inside…all black inside his head!”

Nothing was provided after this segment, by the interviewer or a narrator, to explain the significance of the woman’s disclosure, to elaborate on it or pursue it in any way. Instead, following this it was another scene wherein a performer was called in to watch Rake and Widget interpret one of his songs in a video. This artist was what was called a “rapper,” with the stage name Ice E (his full stage name being Ice E. Conditions, formerly Ice Dover). This man looked wary and ready for hostility right from the start, once he’d had his first look at the singing duo who had invited him. Rake was dressed as usual, but Widget wore a baseball cap fitted on his head sideways, a shiny sports jacket and matching pants, baggy and riding low, and a series of gaudy gold chains.

But if Ice E was wary before, he was clearly fuming once the shooting got underway. Rake and Widget took turns signing his song
King of Humility,
the puppet starting off with:

“The other day I drove my ‘cedes back to my old hoodAll the folks there thought I was gone for goodTold them as I stepped out from behind the wheelEven with all my fame I was keeping it real
”

Then Rake, stiff as a board while Widget stomped in place beside him and gestured toward his own chest with his little arms, sang without a drop of inflection:

“My mansion’s got a wine cellar full of champagneWhen they stocked it up they had to use a craneBut now I stood on the corner with all my old crewTossing back a forty of our favorite old brew
”

And Widget again, with his surly lowered brows and wooden pout:

“I’m fuckin’ all the bitches

While you just masturbate

I’m buried in riches

But my head is on straight

I’m the king of humility

Can’t you see?

Ain’t no motherfucker more humble than me!”

Of course, the last bit was sung liltingly as: “…more huuuuumble than me.”“Hold up, hold up,” Ice E roared, moving forward into the stage lights and waving his arms, “what the fuck
is
this shit?”

Widget waddled to the edge of the little stage they were being filmed on.

“Excuse me?”

Ice E whirled and shouted at Winsome, while pointing back at Widget.

“Nobody told me this freaky little midget was gonna cover my damn song!”

“Oh my God,” Winsome cried, “Mr. E…please don’t!”

“I ain’t letting it happen! You hear me? This is bullshit!”

“Hey, ‘G,’” Widget said, “we’re covering your ‘damn song’ whether you like it or not.”

Ice E turned around again, very slowly, to face the hip hop-attired puppet—his eyes bulging, white all around their pupils. “What the fuck did you say?”

Widget started weaving his head from side-to-side, as he repeated, “I said, we’re going to cover this song…and if you don’t like it you can kiss my woooooden ass –“ he tilted his head to one side, batted his eyes adorably and added in his sweeter-than-sweet voice “–
bitch
.”

Winsome and one of the crew members managed to restrain the rapper for a moment, but he tore free, reached inside his jacket and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol. He thrust his arm out to its full length, the pistol held horizontally rather than vertically, and fired off shot after cracking shot.

(“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Hee cried out, so tightly wedged in my recliner beside me, “I didn’t hear that this happened!”) Widget was thrown back, the baseball cap falling from his head. Rake went down on a knee beside his sprawled partner, while Ice E spun around and bolted for the exit. People were screaming, pulling out cell phones to call for the authorities, or to take videos of the fallen celebrity. Winsome dropped to both knees, holding his head between his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and presumably mouthing a prayer.

The documentary camera rushed closer to shoot over Rake’s shoulder, and there lay Widget, struck by multiple bullets. Vivid red blood was leaking from the holes punched in the puppet, forming a growing puddle under him in which splinters floated. Rake held one of his chubby little articulated hands, and looking up at him with half-closed lids, Widget said, “Aw, fuck, man, I’m dying.”

“Hold on, little feller,” Rake said tonelessly.

“I’m fucking dying, man.”

“I’m with you, little feller, mm-hm.”

A sound between a dry rattle and a wet gurgle was emitted, and then Widget’s wooden tongue was thrust from between his painted teeth.