Cruise, Miscavige, & Seger

             Oh, no. There it is again. The opening, piano riff to Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Seger plays for the fifteenth time this evening. But instead of inciting horny, cheeseball fun, Tom Cruise whimpers into a wash cloth. He’s been hiding in the bathroom for ten minutes thinking this portion of the night was over, but no. The piano riff repeats itself awaiting Tom’s signature entrance. It wasn’t an invitation-it was a command, militant and sinister. He has performed the Risky Business dance for David Miscavige so many times tonight that the bottom of his feet feel burnt from sliding in his socks. Tom takes deep, scary breaths and flexes his muscular pecks that press themselves against his white button down like caged animals. Breathing heavy and looking into his own eyes, in the mirror, was one of Tom’s favorite hobbies and it immediately calmed him down. Quarantining with Miscavige in his underground yacht was a mix of paranoia and “fun” that swirled together so abstractly for Tom he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.  Again the riff plays, each chord hitting harder, growing impatient… 

              Miscavige looks dehydrated, his eye balls, like rubber, as he rests his head on the keys of a shiny white piano. He hiccups himself out of a drunken stupor and some drool lands on the slacks of his needlessly fancy tux. He starts licking the keys of the piano going from high to low over and over.  An albino alligator on a leash sleeps in the corner of the white room that gently sways with the tide of Miscavige’s underwater canal, built just below the Office Depot on Vine. Yes, exactly, the one with the swivel chairs! White leather couches line the rectangular room with a  giant silver statue of L. Ron Hubbard in the center of it, oddly placed, where a coffee table should be, making conversation impossible. Miscavige stops licking the keys and tries again, playing the riff.  “Come out, come out where ever you are," Miscavige taunts, playfully? It’s unclear even to himself what made him treat Tom this way, his only friend in the world.The power of knowing he could make the most famous person alive vanish in an instant was too wicked and sumptuous for him not to flirt with. Plus, he’s in love with Tom and is a self-diagnosed codependent. 

              After a beat of silence, David lurches toward the fire place. The roaring fire burns with a white flame. He stabs at the fire with an iron poker and then places the hot poker on his tongue. SSSsss. His tongue burns and his knees hobble up and down, convulsing with perverse pleasure. David moans delighted by the pain of his mouth flesh sizzling off. He gets bored of this and merrily puts the poker down and skips towards the piano as though he just picked a pretty flower. But then, the toilet flushes and the air is heavy again. His eyes peer around the  room with growing suspicion and land on the eight foot statue of L. Ron Hubbard. He runs up to it. “What? I’m a grown man!" At 4’9, David yelling at the silver L. Ron looks like Mickey Mouse scolding Walt. “You can’t tell me what to do it anymore!” Miscavige yanks violently on his ears and screams-a tick he’s had since he was a kid. 

              Suddenly, Tom appears, but he HAS PANTS ON! No longer in the Risky Business costume. It’s a firm chess move for Tom, not playing along in David’s freaky game. David doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. Why is Tom dressed? Very diplomatically, Tom gently suggests “I’m a little tired of Old Time Rock and Roll.” Tom approaches him, walking cautiously, his  arms stretched out guarding himself in anticipation of a Miscavige meltdown. David walks backward and sits himself down on the couch without breaking eye contact. Is Tom threatening him now? Or is hethreatening Tom? Who is feeling what? What are feelings? It was mission impossible for either of them to keep track anymore. 

Tom gets within an inch of Miscavige’s face. “Why don’t we try a different Seger song, ay?” Tom’s mouth being so close to Davids, immediately gives David a hard on, which was adorable because David Miscavige dresses his penis in a little Sea Org captains hat.  With his mouth still within an inch of Davids- “Alexa, play “Still the Same” by Bob Seger.” Tom says in the same intonation as “You had me at hello” in Jerry Maguire: soft, intimate, but with passionate conviction. It’s the type of conviction men had about their feelings in the 90s before their consciousness expanded just enough for them to be perpetually confused and horny. 

                The song begins to play. Tom, with his eyes (wide) shut, sways his head around and lifts himself out of David’s face.  The song has a melancholic catharsis to it, something that stirs the sadness in dead, alive men everywhere. “You always won, every time you placed a bet.” Tom floats around the room, pointing in various directions as he dances, his eyes slicing David with every side eyed glance at him. David sits watching like a pricky dork at a strip club, barely blinking, but showing no emotion. He listens as Tom bellows along with Bob. “You’re still the same. Moving game to game. No one standing in your way. Turning on the charm long enough to get you by.”  

                David has never listened to the lyrics so deeply before. Bob Seger is singing about him. Tom is singing about David, but Tom is also singing about himself. They were both trapped, David thinks- himself, Tom, and probably Bob Seger too. His rubber eyes moisten and a tear makes its way down his face. He looks up at L. Ron’s statue that grins at him maniacally.  “You’re the still same. Baby, baby still the same.” Tom, in the corner, is doing the Saturday Night Before move before the albino alligator chomps down on his leg. “Ouch. Damn.” Tom says, calmly. The yacht experiences a bout of turbulence as Tom pries the alligators mouth of his leg. The statue rocks back and forth with the fury of the choppy tide. “It must be busy at Office Depot” David says, his life drained out of him