The Fourth Wall

They agreed to meet again at Edgar’s office in a month. Marty threw himself into the endeavor. Twice a week, he worked the afternoon shift at the community kitchen, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the after-school childcare program. He also showed up regularly for a night shift at the homeless shelter, where he played a lot of euchre.

The project exceeded expectations. Social media posts from residents and clients of the facilities expressed grateful surprise at receiving help from this celebrity. Hashtags included: #saintmartycruz #helpinghands #notfake news. The press got wind of it and ran stories about Marty’s efforts and altruism.

At their follow-up meeting, Edgar set out his desk chairs on the balcony among the African violets. The forecast called for sun and a stiff breeze. They sipped coffee and gazed down at the golfers. Marty Cruz, looking centered and more relaxed, waited for his agent to speak. He was expecting some cheery thanks for the results of their experiment and his announcement that would stay in the role.

“You okay?” Marty asked finally.

“Yes and no,” Edgar said. “I’m glad that you’re in a better frame of mind, but there’s a problem. I’m getting word from the top that your volunteer work has created some unexpected consequences. They want you to stop.”

“The producers are telling you this?” Marty said.

“Higher up,” Edgar said.

“The network management?”

“No, higher.”

“What’s higher than that?” Marty said.

“The big guy himself. He thinks you’re making him look bad.”

“But he’s in prison, and he’ll be there for the next ten years. Isn’t that bad enough?”

“Apparently not.”

“Seriously, what can he do about it?” Marty said.

The answer came in the form of a warning shot.

Sadly, most Americans these days have come to accept that bullets can start flying, blam, in any location at any moment. Still, it was a shock. A threesome of goons (who cast these guys?) drove up in a golf cart and jumped out on the tee below. They were all wearing blue surgical masks to hide their identities. One of them reached into his golf bag and pulled out a .22 rifle. In a continuous motion, he pivoted and raised the gun and fired, shooting out the plate-glass door on Edgar’s balcony. The goons jumped back in the cart and drove away.

The glass shattered and fell in a hundred shards at Edgar and Marty’s feet. They started and gawked at each other in disbelief.

Trying to release the tension, Marty said, “Well…there goes the fourth wall.”

Edgar nodded and winced and reached for his phone. He added, “And I don’t think it’s coming back anytime soon.”