by Nigel G. Mitchell
Wade, Rembrandt, and Arturo had looked up this world's Rembrandt in the Yellow Pages, then taken a cab to his house. It was a long ride, mainly because the inside of the taxi was papered with advertisements. There was even a TV screen mounted on the back ofthe front seat. It broadcasted ads for cigarettes during the entire trip. By the time it pulled up in front of Rembrandt2's house, Wade's teeth clenched in irritation.
As they got out, Pavel the driver began to speak in Russian. Arturo nodded with a forced smile and responded in kind. When he slammed the door and the cab had driven away, Wade sidled up to him.
"What was that all about?" Wade asked.
Arturo adjusted his tie. "I was merely informing him that we did not wish to buy a copy of Karl Marx's communist manifesto."
Rembrandt grinned. "Guess even the communists are in the ad biz in this world."
Wade looked up at Rembrandt2's house. It was painted with advertisements, just like every building in this world. This time, they were ads for Coca-Cola. A mural on
the front wall showed Rembrandt holding up a can of Coke with a big smile. The slogan "Drink Like A Man" was painted onto the front door.
Rembrandt whistled as they headed up the front walk. "Boy, this is some place. Wonder what I pull down in this world."
"I'm more concerned with your plan, Mister Brown," Arturo said. "Do you really think your double will be able to assist us?"
"Makes sense, professor," Rembrandt said. "Quinn's bein' held by that Washington and Lambert agency. And those guys want my double to work for 'em. We can use him to
get us in to save Quinn. I think."
Rembrandt had climbed the front steps and pressed the doorbell, causing it to buzz throughout the house with the chorus from "Cry Like A Man." After a moment, the door opened.
A man who looked exactly like Rembrandt looked out at them. He even wore the same red suit that Rembrandt wore on stage. His eyes widened as he stared at Rembrandt. After a moment had passed, he spoke.
"Who are you fellas?" Rembrandt2 asked. "And what's with the mask o' me on that guy?"
Rembrandt looked back at the others, then forced a smile. "Uh, actually, this is kinda complicated. See, I'm, uh...I'm you." He spread his arms at his last statement.
Rembrandt2's stare was a blank slate.
Rembrandt sighed. "Okay, look, this is real complicated, and we ain't got time to go into it. The straight skinny is, we got a friend in trouble and we need your help."
Rembrandt2 winced and glanced up and down the street. "Well...okay. But make this quick 'cause I got a recordin' session in an hour."
"Great."
Rembrandt stepped into the house and froze in the doorway. Wade came in behind him, and could see why he had reacted that way.
The inside of the house was like a shrine to Coca- Cola. There were photos of Coca-Cola bottles decorating the walls. The wallpaper carried the Coca-Cola logo. The chairs were shaped like bottles. The curtains had little pictures of bottles on them. Even the carpet had "Coca-Cola" written on it, over and over again.
Wade stepped further into the house, feeling as if she was stepping into a giant Coca-Cola factory. "Man, who's your decorator?"
Rembrandt2 shut the front door behind Arturo. "Hey, don't knock it. I get all this stuff free from the company. Even the house."
"I can see why," Wade said. "No one else would want it."
Rembrandt2 scowled. "Look, you guys got a point to make?"
Rembrandt turned to him. "Yeah. Okay. Look, here's the deal. We're from another planet. You don't have to believe that..."
"Good," Rembrandt2 said, "'cause I don't."
"...but," Rembrandt continued, "you do have to believe this. You know that new model at the Washington and Lambert ad agency? Quinn Mallory? Well, he's our friend, and he's bein' held prisoner at W and L. Now, we wanna go in and save him. All you gotta do is go to those guys and tell 'em you'll sign on with W and L. You take us
with you, get us in, and we'll handle the rest."
Rembrandt2 nodded slowly, then said, "No."
"Why not?"
Rembrandt2 went over to a mirror and began buttoning his cuffs. "You're askin' me to betray my agency and benefactor."
"Just for a little while," Arturo said.
"Bad enough." Rembrandt2 looked at him over his shoulder. "I used to be nothin'. Just a washed-up singer from the Spinnin' Topps, long past my glory days. My biggest gig was singin' the National Anthem at a Giants game. But Ogilvy and Masters took me on. They signed me up with Coke. They saved my career. And I ain't givin' that up for
nobody."
Rembrandt2 brushed down his coat with his hands. "So beat it."
Wade's heart sank.
A Coca-Cola bottle crashed down on Rembrandt2's head. Rembrandt2 slumped onto the floor, unconscious, soda running down his face.
Rembrandt dropped the broken mouth of the bottle in his hand with a sigh. "I was afraid this would happen. We'll have to go to plan B."
"What's plan B?" Wade asked.
Rembrandt spread his arms. "We got the Cryin' Man right here, sweetheart. Maybe we can bluff our way in."
"But you don't know anything about this world," Arturo said. "Suppose you don't play the part correctly."
Rembrandt began unbuttoning the coat of his double. "Well, professor, how do you feel about a career in modelin'?"
* * *
Quinn lay back on a couch in one of the cells. He was still in a state of shock. Looking back at him were Cindy Crawford, Naomi Campbell, Christy Turlington, and Kate Moss. In fact, almost every model he knew in his own world was in the prison with him. It was the only good side Quinn could see in being in his situation.
"So let me get this straight," Crawford was saying. "The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle states that it is impossible to predict the exact location of any subatomic particle at any given moment."
"Exactly," Quinn said.
Naomi raised a finger. "But what about Carrey's theorem of quantum calculations? If subatomic particles can be said to be nowhere at any given point, then couldn't it be said that these particles are everywhere at any given point?"
"I think you're right," Turlington said. "Wolf posed the idea that electrons exist in a sort of quantum field surrounding the nucleus of every atom. In this sense, it could be said that they exist in another reality, and our observation of these particles causes the field to collapse into one which we can observe."
Kate Moss nodded, biting her lip. "Mm. That could be extended to the macroscopic level as well. Suppose all matter in the universe exists as a quantum wave which collapses on observation. By that token, it can be said that nothing is certain. All reality exists only when observed."
"Wow," Quinn said. "You ladies sure know your quantum theory."
Crawford smiled. "The agency took us right before we were able to complete our studies. Once we serve our sentences, we plan to open up a lab together. We'd love for you to join us."
"Uh, actually, I don't plan to be around that long..."
The main door of the prison swung open. Three guards entered, glaring at the models scattered around the dungeon.
"Quinn Mallory," one of the guards said. "Front and center."
Quinn got up and approached the men. "I'm Mallory."
"Time for your photo shoot."
Quinn felt a scowl settle on his face as anger swelled within him. He resented being used like this against his will. "Well, what if I don't wanna go to the photo shoot?"
The guards unsnapped the straps on their holsters in one movement.
The main guard grinned. "Then we'll introduce you to another kind of shoot. Now either come with us quietly or you'll be the poster child for the local morgue."
"Okay, okay," Quinn murmured and raised his hands.
He allowed the guards to handcuff him and lead him out of the cell. As he walked down the great stone corridor to the elevator, the steel door closed behind him with a deep thud. He wondered if that sound was going to be one he would be hearing for the next four years.
