Anyway, on the plane, I kept drinking and took a few more pills of something, ending up lounging on a plush L shaped sofa with the Awake! gang.

This was after making out with Kitty but before making out with Tenor Vant, in case you’re keeping tabs.

Hilton Harlan, the winner of King Con, the self-described “LPWA,” or “Little Person With Attitude,” sat down beside me. He introduced himself and said he was a big fan of my work. He called me a pioneer. He used the word “inspiration” because apparently I was the reason he sent in his first-ever reality show application video.

“So Ward,” he asked, “do you think what we’re doing here is a good move, career-wise?”

And I said, “Duh.” And then: “Dude, all you have to do ever is toe the line all the way to the open bar, then cross the line when the cameras are rolling.”

And he went, “That should so be a t-shirt.”

And I had to agree with him.

Then I lost 10-15 minutes.

When I “woke up,” Hilton was gone, and Tenor Vant had her tongue in my mouth, her hand on my thigh. It was taking everything in my power not to tent my hospital gown big time, especially when Tenor whispered in my ear that she’d wanted to do that for a long time.

So I said I’d wanted her to do that for forever, even though I’d never met Tenor before that moment.

Ms. Vant thought I was seriously rocking the hospital gown. She said I made it look “trés sexy.” She even liked the A.R.T.-fueled birth flashback I performed last week. She called it “eye opening,” claiming it was such displays that made her question if she wanted to have kids, besides the whole vagina stretching thing.

“And Ward, when Doctor Henry had to slap you on the ass before you’d quiet down, that was amazing.”

“No, babe,” I told her, “how you worked those beaded Capri pants during a sandstorm on Desert Duel – now that was amazing.”

Crickets chirped.

A pin fell.

Listen to the sound of nothing.

Killing me with a death stare, Tenor went, “Excuse me?”

I said, “Uh. Um.” I grinned and went, “Oops.”

Yes, open mouth, insert foot. Wrong show. Wrong girl. Tenor wasn’t from Desert Duel, where models were abandoned in the desert for a month of survival and runway training. That was Jill Conrose I was thinking about. Tenor was from Walk This Way, where former beauty pageant contestants had to survive together on an isolated island while wearing fat suits.

In a pouty huff, Tenor said, “I knew who you were,” and then stormed away with her one-foot-in-front-of-the-other model walk.

Which, in case you’re wondering, is how to exist only in the reflection of another person’s eyes.

Which, in case you’re wondering, is all I used to do as well. Living for Internet hits. Fan comments. Rating points. Getting recognized in the mall used to be the deciding factor about whether it’d been a good day or not.

After Tenor abandoned me, time slipped again. Maybe 15 or 20 minutes vanished off the clock, never to be seen nor heard from again.

Not so much a slow fade to black as a quick jump cut.

So cut to me lifting my head off my chest and at the other end of the couch was a dude with his head wrapped in bandages wearing a t-shirt that said YOU SHOULD SEE THE OTHER GUY. Bandaged dude was either passed out or watching the party rage on, though it was hard to tell which because of the dark sunglasses he was wearing.

I remember briefly considering asking Margaret if she’d heard about any reality celebs getting massive facial reconstruction, but that would’ve meant finding her and actually maintaining a conversation, which seemed unlikely. Add the Champagne, the tequila, the Jello shots, the pills, the last dregs of A.R.T. surfing through my veins, and the sum was this:

I was the cocktail.

Shake me up.

Pour me out.

A liquid contained within a solid.

Flowing in and around everyone and everything.

As, not too surprisingly, the cuts started getting closer together.

Jump cut.

I was behind the bar mixing terrible drinks.

Jump cut.

Laughing at a joke I didn’t remember the set-up to.

Jump cut.

On stage, still in the hospital gown, alongside Best Band in the Whole Wide World winners, What? She Said. I was rocking out beside Skyland Hope, air guitaring to their latest single, and somehow, somewhere, I’d traded my slippers for a pair of cowboy boots.

And I was wearing a sombrero.

And the crowd loved it.

Jump cut.

Standing with Harold, from It’s Your Funeral, and Trudeau Layton, from Office Romance, and I was nodding, only nodding, even though I couldn’t comprehend a single word either of them were saying.

Jump cut.

Sitting on the L couch beside Johnny True. And I really wanted to be interested in his theory that porn movies had the purest story arc in cinema, hands down, but I was having trouble focusing because dude’s wrist-to-elbow snake tattoo was moving.

“Cable guy meets lonely housewife…”

The tattoo snake disappeared under Johnny’s rolled-up sleeve.

“Lonely housewife needs cable…”

The tattoo snake slithered out of his open shirt collar.

“Cable guy lays cable…”

The tattoo snake encircled his neck, squeezed.

I screamed.

Jump cut.

Waking up in a bathroom stall, groggy, confused and, for some reason, I’d written THE BANDAGED MAN SEES ALL on the back of the stall door in red lipstick.

I had no idea why I’d done that, or who, as I noticed in the mirror, covered my face in lipstick kisses.

I also had no idea where everybody had gone.

The party deck of the plane was empty. The lights were on. The music was off. Confetti was crunchy and lifeless underfoot. A red balloon lay punctured on the floor.

I wondered about the time and where we were flying.

I wondered if I still had a chance of scoring with Tenor.

I wondered about possible hearing loss from my brief stint as a rock star because there were no sounds to be heard. Only an odd, eerie quiet.

Also odd and eerie was that, down the stairs, in the passenger cabin, everyone was already in their seats, staring at me stroll past with lipstick all over my face.

I crashed into my seat and turned to Eli.

“Eli, why does everyone have their seatbelt on?”

“Because, Ward, that’s what people usually do when planes land.”

So yes, ladies and gentlemen, I missed the landing.

“And what are we waiting for now?”

“The captain said there’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“A big surprise.”

Next Chapter: 03:44:36