GHOSTBUSTERS: The Return Page 22

  Milken clapped him on the shoulder. "This is it, Peter."

  Fielding shook his hand. "Time for the competition to eat your dust."

  "Isn't that next week's debate on the Food Channel?"

  Milken chuckled. "Go get 'em, tiger. Remember, we'll be watching from here on the monitor. And if you get into any trouble, Ted will be standing by to prompt you through your earpiece."

  Golden spoke quietly into a microphone. Venkman heard his voice in his left ear: "Let's do one last test to see if this works."

  "What did you say about the Turks?" he asked.

  Golden went pale. "It's not working? We have to find a new unit before - "

  Venkman raised his hands in front of his body. "Easy, boy. I'm kidding."

  "Kid...? That's not funny!" Golden snapped.

  "I dunno. I thought it was funny," said Venkman. "Winston, did you think it was funny?"

  "Oh, no, no," said Winston. "You're not dragging me into this one."

  "Doctor Venkman?" said the production assistant, a little more anxiously this time. "Thirteen minutes."

  "Go, go," Milken said with a soothing smile. "We'll be here to back you up. Break a leg."

  "Okay. Thanks," said Venkman.

  "I'll walk you out," said Winston.

  They followed the production assistant out of the room and into the hall. Once they were away from the room, Winston grinned. "Yeah," he said quietly, "It was funny."

  "I thought so."

  "You up for this?"

  "Sure, no sweat."

  "Uh, gentlemen...?" said the production assistant. "We have to move quickly."

  "You got it," said Venkman, picking up the pace. "On the way. No more interruptions."

  As the trio headed down the hallway, they passed a bank of video monitors that were mounted on the wall. All of them showed identical images of a group of rampaging sea serpents. "Hey, a Harryhausen movie!" said Venkman, stopping in his tracks.

  "Doctor Venkman! They're waiting for us!" said the production assistant.

  "Kidding. I'm kidding." He started walking again. "Although I don't think I've seen that one before... "

  "That's not a movie," said the production assistant. "Thats the news feed. It's on air right now."

  "It's real?" Venkman stopped again as they passed another monitor. "Is that the Hudson River?"

  Winston looked more closely. "Is that Ray and Egon?"

  "If it is, they better have a National Guard regiment standing behind them."

  "Holy... It is them! They'll be killed!"

  The production assistant was checking her watch repeatedly, and getting more nervous by the second.

  "Doctor Venkman! We need to get to the studio! There's eight minutes to air!"

  "They can't handle that alone!" said Winston.

  "Knowing them, Egon's probably trying to give the things a physical," Venkman replied.

  "Doctor Venkman!"

  Winston started to hurry back the way they came.

  "Where are you going?" called Venkman.

  "To help them!"

  "By yourself?"

  "We'll handle it! Don't worry about it - I'm off-camera anyway! You stay here! You've got a debate waiting!"

  Winston shoved open an emergency exit door and disappeared from sight.

  "Doctor Venkman! Six minutes! Are you coming?"

  Venkman stared blankly, first into Winston's wake and then at the video. "Yeah..." he said. "Coming... right with you... sure."

  CHAPTER 16

  Venkman laid the index cards with his notes on top of his podium and looked around the studio, trying to get his mind to stop racing. What with the impending debate, attacking sea serpents, and everything else that was going on right now, his thoughts were a blur at the moment. A little focus would have been welcome.

  He looked out at the audience that sat in collapsible metal bleachers behind the row of television cameras. He searched the crowd for Dana or any other friendly faces, but with the studio darkened and bright lights shining in his eyes, he couldn't see any of the audience members well enough to recognize them.

  In fact, he didn't even recognize most of the candidates who shared the stage with him, although he could see them just fine. Each was standing at a separate, identical podium, spaced evenly across the stage. Of course, he did recognize the Mayor, who was standing behind the podium at the opposite end of the stage. Lapinski caught Venkman's eye and glared at him. Venkman blew him a kiss in return.

  In Venkman's opinion - and, to be fair, many observers' opinions as well - the presence of the other four candidates was more than a little pointless. Everyone knew that the race was really down to the two leading contenders: Venkman and Lapinski. However, equal time legislation meant that the televised debate had to include all six of the candidates who were officially on the ballot, whether they had any real shot at winning the election or not.

  The moderator sat behind a desk, facing them from the front of the stage. She was Jenny Nguyen, anchor for the news station's local newscasts and New York correspondent for their national coverage. In the space of just a few short years, she had already racked up a shelf full of journalism awards and built herself a reputation as a serious reporter who pulled no punches, whether she was dealing with gangsters or the governor.

  Not that Venkman recognized her from her newscasts; he didn't really watch the news, since he generally found current events too dull to bother with. But it was hard to miss her print ads, which were plastered on buses and billboards all over the city. Even if the sheer exposure hadn't been enough to make her stick in his memory, there was also the fact that, in his humble opinion, she was a babe.

  At the moment, Nguyen was leaning back in her chair with her feet on the desk as she paged through her own notes. A large clock was mounted on the front of her desk. It stared out at the candidates to make it easier for them to stay within their appointed time limits.

  "Five seconds," said the stage manager.

  Venkman cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Nguyen showed no signs of moving from her comfortable position. He wondered if she'd heard.

  "Four."

  Nguyen still hadn't moved.

  "Three. Two."

  The movement was so smooth and practiced that, if Venkman hadn't already been watching, he would have missed the whole thing. As the stage manager said "two," Nguyen slid her feet off the desk, sat up in her chair, laid her papers and hands on the desk, and looked cool and professional just as the red light on the television camera lit up.

  "Hello and welcome," she said. "I'm Jenny Nguyen, and this is the New York City mayoral debate. With only a little more than four weeks to go before the municipal election, we've brought the candidates together to discuss their platforms and address the issues."

  The cameras flashed on briefly for a close-up of each candidate as Nguyen recited each name in turn. "With us in the studio today are His Honor, incumbent Mayor Arnold Lapinski, Republican Party."

  The Mayor nodded to the camera with a wink and a confident smile.

  "Democratic Party candidate David Sumner."

  "That's 'Sommer,' " said the candidate.

  "Oh. Excuse me. Sommer," said Nguyen. Quickly, she moved on. "Green Party candidate Dylan Karma-Gonzales."

  The candidate in the pony tail raised two fingers in a peace sign.

  "Chartreuse Party candidate Libby Kay."

  "Hello," said an impeccably coordinated woman in matching suit, shoes, lipstick, and eye shadow.

  "Right to Smoke Party candidate Wallace Schlunk."

  "How ya doin'," said a shaky, sallow-faced man, taking a drag on an unlit cigarette.

  "And New York State Independent Party candidate Peter Venkman."

  Venkman looked deeply into the camera lens with the most sincere expression he could manage. "Hi."

  There were whoops from the audience - or, to be precise, what sounded like a couple of voices in the audience. Through the glare, Venkman thought he saw a coupl
e of silhouetted arms waving in the bleachers. Or maybe they were flags. Is that...Louis? he thought. And Dana?

  "Each candidate will be given two minutes to deliver an opening statement," said Nguyen. "Subsequently, I will ask the candidates a series of five questions. Each candidate will have one minute to offer a response, followed by thirty seconds for a rebuttal. Finally, each candidate will have two minutes for a closing statement."

  Venkman barely heard Nguyen as she laid out the rules for the audience. Despite his best efforts at focusing his thoughts, his mind was still racing. Nervousness over the debate would have been bad enough by itself, with facts and figures smashing up against each other in his head. But the knowledge that his friends were out there, fighting for their lives against giant reptilian monsters, made it even harder to stay centered. Somehow, the danger of looking foolish or exceeding his time limit just didn't seem all that serious when he weighed it against the possibility of being chewed up and swallowed alive.

  "The order of the speakers has been determined by a random drawing," said Nguyen. "The first opening statement will come from Mister Schlunk."

  "Thank you," said Schlunk. He was then seized by a coughing fit that consumed the first fifteen seconds of his two minutes.

  Venkman screamed at himself silently. Hey! he thought. Get it together! It was one thing to space out during the rules - after all, he'd been briefed on them until he could recite them backward and forward. But not paying attention when his opponents were speaking was just plain stupid. He needed to stay sharp to catch their openings and weak spots, and to defend himself against anything that was thrown his way. He took a deep breath, then turned to face Schlunk and catch the rest of his statement.

  "...Fascist oppression of our precious personal freedoms," Schlunk said between wheezing breaths.

  "Thank you," said Nguyen. "Ms. Kay, may we have your opening statement?"

  "Certainly." Kay looked into the camera with a prim smile. "Over the past few years, we've heard a great deal from the present administration about addressing the issue of 'quality of life' crimes. Yet, one of the most serious crimes against our quality of life continues unabated and unenforced.

  "As a certified color life consultant, it is obvious to me that, at its heart, New York is a Spring city. However, rampant mismanagement and mis-coloring has left it dressed in colors that say Winter - or Autumn, at best. Immediate action must be taken!

  We must begin an extensive program of renovation and re-painting to better align the aura of the city with... "

  Venkman found himself starting to drift again. He pulled himself back with a sharp mental yank. Enough already! he scolded himself. This one's for all the marbles. If you could believe the latest polls, he had a serious shot at the Mayor's office right now. And once he was planted behind that desk, the sky was the limit. Easy Street was just around the corner.

  But if he wanted to get there, he was going to have to ace this debate. As Milken explained it, there probably weren't going to be all that many people following the debate in real time on TV or the radio. Afterwards, though, the results would be carried by every newspaper and news program in the metropolitan area. And every account would lead off by saying who won.

  The debate was big. He couldn't afford to blow it.

  He forced his attention back to everything that was proceeding around him. Kay was saying something about more positive color schemes instilling a sense of pride in the city and discouraging crime.

  He hoped the other Ghostbusters were all right.

  Oh, he was rational enough to know that, whether he was there fighting beside them or not, the outcome was probably going to be the same. The threat was too big for one person to swing one way or the other. Either they were going to figure out a way to stop it (and everyone would go home happy) or they weren't (and no one in New York City would ever go home happy again).

  But he still felt as though he should be there.

  Yet he also knew that he had to be here.

  Was it any wonder that he was having so much trouble focusing?

  "Thank you, Ms. Kay, for a colorful statement," said Nguyen. The audience chuckled.

  Venkman heard Golden's voice through his earpiece. "Nothing to worry about so far, but those are the lightweights. Peter, you're scheduled to be up next. Get ready."

  Venkman cleared his throat and shook the mental cobwebs out of his head. Showtime, he thought.

  "Next, we'll hear from Peter Venkman," said Nguyen. "Doctor Venkman, your statement?"

  Venkman nodded to the camera. "Thank you," he said. "I look on New York... "

  Everyone watched him expectantly, waiting for the rest of the sentence. But nothing more seemed to be coming. He just stared at the camera and remained silent.

  The seconds were ticking by.

  Golden's voice sounded desperate through the earpiece. "Oh geez - he's frozen!" With forced calm, he said, "Peter, it's okay. You're okay. Just say the words with me. 'I look on New York as a city filled with potential...' "

  Venkrnan didn't say anything.

  "Doctor Venkman?" said Nguyen.

  Finally, he relaxed his shoulders and spoke. "Look, I'm sorry," he said to the camera. "I really want to be mayor. Really."

  Golden's electronically-filtered voice screamed in his ear. "Peter, what are you doing? Don't start adlibbing! Stick with the statement we rehearsed!"

  Venkman removed the earpiece from his ear. "But here's the thing," he continued. "Right now, some friends of mine are risking their lives to try to stop a bunch of big, ugly, giant lizards from destroying New York. Oh, don't get me wrong - they're good at this kind of stuff. They're the best. But there's no way they can do this one alone.

  "Now, I don't know if I can make any difference against these things. It's not like I'm John Wayne or anything. Maybe we'll all just end up as one big blue plate special of Monster Chow. But I've got to try."

  He loosened his tie and gestured toward the other candidates. "All of these people up here have plenty to say about the City and the issues and what they want to do. It's important stuff, and you should listen to what they have to say. But I can't be part of it right now. I've got to go.

  "Maybe this will cost me the election. Maybe not. I don't know. But in the vast scheme of things, it doesn't really matter. Because, y'know, some things in life like friendship, or saving lives... Well, they're more important than politics."

  He started to step away from the podium, then stopped himself and looked up into the audience. "Oh, and Dana?" he said. "I love you."

  With that, he ran out of the studio.

  For nearly a full minute, the studio was silent. Everyone - the audience, the candidates, the moderator, the television crew stared, slack-jawed, at the door that was slowly swinging closed.

  Over in the control booth, the director told the crew to switch to the camera that was focused on Nguyen.

  It took her a few seconds to realize the red light on the camera was on.