The Classix

(OLD) Chapter 6

Note: So basically, this week I was watching some of that new show on ABC, The Family, and I kept getting SO upset over things that would happen to the characters. There was one moment where my chest physically ached and I thought to myself, Maybe I should stop watching this because it puts me in so much pain.

I now understand everyone who is lamenting of how saddening this current book has been, and how awful those parts of book 1 in which Emeray started dating Cartney were. Happiness is imperative, even if it's just in some nice glimpses in distressing parts. I'm just an evil writer dictator who forgets that people actually feel connected to my characters and don't know their ultimate fates like I do. HAH.

PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Apparently Cartney is going to surprise Emeray on her birthday. Who else is really annoyed with the fact that we haven't heard from the other members in a while? Well, it's all for good reason. Glad you're feeling as disconnected as everybody in Delicatum.

emeray

On the eve of my birthday, the Analytix brought me news I've never heard of. The public, it seems, caught word of my plans before I knew I had them.

And some call for celebration.

". . . NO WAY! Do you think that's true? I hope it's true!"

". . . We bring you a very delightful and unexpected report today on Notness News . . ."

". . . Oh my gosh! If this is actually happening in a few days, I think I'm going to be the happiest person in the entire world!"

And a good few call for skepticism.

". . . It's definitely not true. I mean, come on. That is definitely not the logical next step that should be taken here. But yet again, The Famoux are never logical . . ."

". . . Yeah, it has to be a rumor. Everybody calm down!"

". . . So, is this news true? Unfortunately, Betnedoor Gossip can't confirm or deny yet. We're just going to have to wait and see . . ."

And plenty call for frustration.

"What kind of an idea is that? I don't get it."

"The Colburn Lampoon's report? This is one hell of a dive for public attention. Frankly, we don't even care anymore to find out if it actually happens tomorrow."

"Do you think that means the other Famoux members aren't even going to be a part of her actual birthday, then? Ugh, I don't even see the other members anymore. Honestly, when was the last time we heard about anything they're doing lately?"

"I'm so done with this. Why do they keep throwing them at us? When did the Famoux become the Emeray and Cartney show?"

But I don't call for celebration.

And I don't call for skepticism.

And I don't even call for frustration.

I only call for Cartney. For answers.

I'm in the car, on the way to Cartney's apartment, my leg bouncing up and down restlessly against the leather seat cushion. It's only the afternoon, and our fourth dinner out of five isn't supposed to start for another five or so hours. After my stop in the Analytix, however, I couldn't possibly wait for then. A restaurant with nosey waiters and onlookers is the last place to hold this conversation.

The paparazzi seems to be everywhere. As the car moves down the street, I notice they have multiplied since I left the Metropolix; an exponentially growing cult of sorts, dashing down the sidewalks to follow us to our destination and searching in earnest for a sign––confirming or denying their allegations, it doesn't matter. In the business of snooping into my life, a bad sign is better than no sign at all.