Day 29: 50,366 Words

I can't believe this is it— the final post! I wrote this last scene of the novel (before the epilogue) just for all of you. 

The smooth sounds of Death Lab for Treatie were almost having a calming effect. Almost. The piquette he was sipping, trying to blend in, was almost making him relaxed. But that wouldn’t do. He had to stay sharp. Even with the insultingly low alcohol content of the wine-adjacent beverage, he had to be careful. 

He almost spat out his olive-tasting piquette when The Rock finally walked through the door. He had trouble fitting through the frame, as he so often did. James knew that he would. 

He winked at Gordon, who nodded solemnly. With a flourish, he flung his cape over his shoulder and approached The Rock. 

He had done all the planning he could do. And now it was going to play out. He took another deep breath. It was show time. 

The Rock seemed perturbed to be approached by a man in a cape. He was especially perturbed when he recognized the man. As James had requested, Gordon was wearing a red t-shirt announcing his affiliation as a graduate from the Department of Social and Political Thought at York University. He was wielding a copy of his dissertation. Even from across the dimly lit tavern, James could tell that the dissertation was way too long and needlessly wordy. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Rock,” Gordon said in his characteristically annoying tone. He gestured towards a booth that he had set up, just for the occasion.

“Not you again!” The Rock groaned loudly and rudely. Gordon only looked slightly hurt by this. He was pretty used to that reception by now, and if he let it deter him every time, he wouldn’t be where he was in life: the head sommelier at the Jack Kerouac School of Experimental Disembodied Vineyardry. 

“It is I!” Gordon squealed with a flourish, once again flinging his cape over his chest for dramatic effect. 

James didn’t know if he should roll his eyes or squint and nod them. Gordon was doing an amazing job at being tedious and grating, which is exactly what he was asked to do.

“Listen, pal,” The Rock said menacingly, in a way that only giant muscular action stars can, “I’m having a really bad day, here. My movie project is falling apart, and my friend gave me really negative feedback on my proposed one man show. Whatever it is that you’re doing here, leave me out of it!”

“Ah, but I can make your day better!” Gordon said tiresomely, gesturing towards a booth that he had set up for the vineyard. “I listened to your feedback about the mojitos, and I’ve come out with a new line of cocktails that I think will really pique your interest!” 

Gordon added a flirty wink, which caused The Rock to visibly recoil. Since The Rock was lost for words, Gordon took it as a sign that he should continue. That was mostly how he found openings to speak in his regular life, anyway.

“These cocktails are based on my dissertation, copies of which are sale this week for $19.99!” Gordon gestured towards a small table that was piled high with the surely impossible to read tomes.

“What a steal,” The Rock shot back, in barely concealed rage.

Gordon began pouring something from a light pink bottle into a tiny glass that would have been comically small in The Rock’s hands, if anyone believed that he would take it. No one did, though. 

“The first cocktail, the Discipline and Punch-ish, teaches us that power is not concentrated, easily locatable, and repressive. Instead, it is diffuse, capillary-like, and productive of subjectivities and identities. Power is everywhere, and because of this, to resist power is not to put oneself outside of power; it is to reconsider how power is exercised. It has notes of pear, forest floor, and vodka.”

Gordon tried to hand The Rock a glass, but he was too incandescent with rage to accept.

Undeterred, Gordon continued. 

“The second is a Merleau-Ponty Mojitarita,” Gordon giggled. It was extremely off-putting. 
“This cocktail makes a sustained argument for the foundational role perception plays in our experience of the world. By mixing the best of a margarita and a mojito, we can understand that perception to be an ongoing dialogue between one's lived body and the world which it perceives, in which perceivers passively and actively strive to express the perceived world in concert with others. It has notes of citrus, the water at the bottom of a flower vase, and tequila.”

As Gordon was pouring the cocktails, the entire tavern started to notice that The Rock was in their midst. Instinctively, everyone simultaneously knew not to approach him when his biceps and veins were bulging with fury. They just collectively fell silent and looked on, helplessly, as the tiny man continued to antagonize the giant and muscular action star. 

The Rock, who had been stunned into silence, slowly composed himself. He began to speak.

“Gordon. I am going to ask you this only once. I do not need a lengthy explanation, as you so clearly love to provide,” he gestured towards the pile of dissertations. “Is there any tequila in those mojitaritas? Or just notes of tequila?”

As The Rock spoke, his voice slowly rose until he was shouting. 

Gordon blinked slowly. “Notes,” he finally said. 

Only silence followed. An uncomfortable, chilling, and heavy silence. 

Everyone in the tavern turned towards The Rock, afraid of what he was going to do next.

Everyone, including Jason Statham.

“You!” he shouted, shoving the table he was sitting at to the side. The beer bottles on the table crashed to the ground as he leaped towards The Rock.

“Now!” James shouted. No one knew who he was shouting at, and the entire tavern looked around, confused. 

Suddenly, a soccer ball flew swiftly through the air in the direction of Jason Statham. Watching it arc across the tavern, it was as if time slowed down. It sailed through the air until it hit Jason Statham squarely in the back of the head. 

The impact of the blow caused Jason to trip over an inappropriately placed stack of chairs, and to land with a crash on an out of place folding table. A big fall, indeed. 

From a corner of the tavern, Garth Ball winked at James. James winked back. He had always possessed that rare gift, allowing him to wink non-lecherously. 

The big fall had stunned the pair of muscular action stars only for a moment. The Celebrity Feud Support Group Supporters had to act quickly. 

Fernando Torres rushed towards Jason Statham, who was immediately entranced by his attractiveness and football prowess. For just a moment, the rage that he felt towards The Rock had subsided. 

Isla distracted The Rock by urging him to ignore the haters and to perform his one man show about his sex life regardless. He was so flattered that he forgot, for a split second, why he had been so irate only seconds before. 

This was it. The final part of the plan. James looked to a dark corner of the bar and nodded for a final time.

Out of the shadows emerged Gord, the star employee of the Romance Inn. He was wearing a red Celebrity Feud Support Group Supporters t-shirt and a particularly attractive pair of jorts. He was carrying that same Trisha Romance painting that the group had recreated at The Romance Inn, only weeks ago.

He hadn’t been unavailable after all, Isla laughed to herself. This trickery by James, it turned out, she didn’t mind.

Shaking off the distractions, which James knew would only work for a short time, both The Rock and Jason Statham set their eyes on one another. Gord needed to act quick. He needed to act now. 

“This anger that you feel,” he started, “this anger that’s coursing through your veins, like the supervirus ‘Snowflake’ in the smash hit film Hobbs and Shaw, you think that it’s directed towards each other. But it isn’t. It’s anger at toxic masculinity!”

“This guy? Again?” The Rock roared. “Trust me, I know that I’m really just angry with Jason Statham. His ideas about standpoint theory are dangerous!” 

“Be that as it may—” Gord continued, undeterred.

“Hey!” Statham cried.

“The world is trying to tell you that rage is the answer. That you cannot work out your feelings through conversation. That you cannot experience moments of genuine connection because you are men. But the world is wrong!”

“I don’t know how!” Jason Statham cried out in frustration. 

“You have to start somewhere,” James said, his hand outstretched. “The moment that you decide to break free of the confines of toxic masculinity, you can do anything.”

Gord gestured towards the Christmas Morning painting, which was set up on an easel. 

“Recreate this painting,” he said encouragingly. 

The entire tavern gasped.

“It can’t be done!” someone shouted. 

“Impossible!” cried another. 

“But it’s too saccharine!” Jason Statham wailed. 

“Nothing is impossible in the world of Trisha Romance,” Gord smiled. 

“What the fuck is even going on?” Jason Statham shouted. 

“But we don’t have costumes! Or the right set!” The Rock remarked.

“Just trust the process,” Isla cheered. 

“To build your friendship back up, we have to break down your commitment to toxic masculinity,” James helpfully explained. “By putting yourself in the shoes of this family in the painting, you step out of your embodied gender prison and into liberation!”

“What?” Jason Statham asked. The Rock shrugged. 

“I know that this isn’t the place, or the time, for gender trouble. But trouble gender we must!” 
Both The Rock and Jason Statham were nodding and squinting. 

“When Trisha Romance is in your heart, it doesn’t matter if you’re dressed right or if the scene is perfect.” 

This was it. He had them.

Gord raised his fist in the air. “Big muscular action stars of the world, unite against the patriarchy! You have nothing to lose but your chains and your muscle shirts!”

Statham and the Rock looked at each other silently. One of them wasn’t going to move forward without the other. At the same time, they nodded. 

The entire room burst into cheers. Garth Ball kicked his final ball, towards the light panel on the wall. Death Lab for Treatie began playing once again as the room plunged into darkness.

Isla immediately went about setting the scene. The Rock was to reprise his role as the infant holding the candy cane. Jason Statham decided to play the role of the daughter holding a stocking by the fireplace. Fernando and Abigail played the father and mother cuddled up on the couch, while Theo stood in for the son who had made the shitty Christmas card. 

Finally, they were ready. 

The lights came back on, revealing a stunning Christmas morning tableau. The Rock and Jason Statham beamed with pride. Death Lab for Treatie played “I Will Follow You in the Dog Park,” providing a beautiful backdrop for the scene. 

And as always, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.