Dancing Barefoot

Chapter 5. The Saga Of SpongeBob Vegas Pants or “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Star Trek”

The phone emits a soft, electronic chirp, designed to sound friendly and helpful.

At 8 a.m., after five hours of sleep, and a night spent moving from one smoke-filled casino to another, nothing sounds friendly and helpful, especially this phone.

I launch mind bullets at it, and visualize a spectacular explosion followed by silence. It continues to ring, so I try the more conventional route and pick it up.

“Good morning, Wil. It’s Jackie Scott,” she says.

My mind fumbles for recognition. Jackie Scott? Jackie Scott. Who the hell is Jackie Scott? I wonder if she’s related to Jack Daniels, my good friend from last night. Jackie Scott . . . Oh! I know, she’s one of the organizers of the Star Trek convention that has brought me to Las Vegas.

“We need you here at 10 for an autograph signing. Do you want to be picked up at 9:30, or do you want to take a cab?”

Did she say 10? They don’t need me until five. I’m sure of it. I am so sure of it, I stayed out until just past three, drinking and gambling. She must be mistaken.

“Wil? Hello?”

When asked where he got his ideas, the great writer Ray Bradbury said, “I listen to the voices in my head, and write what they tell me.” Because I’m a wanna-be writer, I listen to the voices in my head whenever I can. The loudest of those voices is someone I call Stay-in-bed, ...