Chapter 8 — The Journalist's Interview
Tiffany hesitated for a moment before practically making a running leap into the bathroom.
"Hey!" Marty hissed indignantly, pressing up against the wall to get out of her way. "What's the big idea?"
"Gotta get ready," she muttered breathlessly, fumbling open a cabinet. She was just about to take out a bottle of makeup when she paused. "I should change first," she realized.
"You're—You're actually going out there?" Marty exclaimed, incredulous. "We gotta leave!" He scrambled to his feet.
"We can learn something from him," Tiffany reasoned, skirting around him and heading out the door. Marty watched her go in disbelief. He heaved out an exasperated sigh and jammed his hands into his pockets.
Tiffany's distant voice was muffled. "We've already screwed up the future, so—"
"Yeah, I know," Marty replied, scuffing his sneakers against the tile floor. "It's just that I didn't want a Goddamn huge mess—"
"We'll figure it out somehow," she said tensely.
Marty grumbled. Stupid Tannens. Messing up the timeline even when he kept an eye out for them. Somehow, his future self's cold attitude towards Tiffany wasn't surprising. But that didn't explain why the old man had somehow 'forgotten' about her.
The doorbell rang again. "Hello?" said the dreaded voice through the intercom.
"Argh! Just wait a second!" Tiffany roared. She raced out of the bedroom, now fully clothed in future attire, and charged into the bathroom. Marty watched into bewilderment as she 'sprayed' her face with mysterious ointment to beautify herself. Apparently even the application of cosmetics had vastly improved since the 80's.
Tiffany smoothed out her hair and closed her eyes for a few seconds, calming her breathing. Her shoulders slowly relaxed and her fists unclenched. Marty watched in surprise and amazement as she casually sauntered out of the bathroom and to the front door. She pressed the button on the intercom.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said in a sweet, yet professional voice. "You're the two o' clock, right? Please come in."
She didn't sound frantic at all. Marty didn't know whether to be impressed or to feel threatened. He'd either have to pick up a few tips from her about stress relief, or keep a close eye out to make sure that his future son was really in love with her.
She pressed a few buttons, and the gate outside buzzed open. As the two men walked across her lawn, she opened the metal door and the old-fashioned one as well.
"Hello!" she chirped, forcing a strained smile.
A pallid, sour-looking man regarded her impassively. His tan, beaming companion flashed her a brilliant smile.
Tiffany paled.
"Hello!" said the tan man again cheerfully. "Nice to see you're finally ready."
Tiffany blinked in surprise. "You're not MJ!" she realized. It was only when the pale man raised an eyebrow did she discover that she had actually expressed that thought aloud.
"Excuse us?" he said in a deadly voice.
Tiffany looked at the tan man. "You're Martin Junior?" she asked.
He grinned. "The one and only!" he boasted proudly, pumping his arms. "Look better in real life than I do in magazines, don't I? 'Course, I don't let those stupid editors do all that Photoshop shit or anything. That's why I'm so overwhelming." He waggled his eyebrows.
"Here're our IDs," said the pale man briskly, showing her the cards. She looked at the cards and at each of the men in turn.
"I'm Tiffany Tannen," she said vaguely, showing them her card. "R-Right. C-Come right in, then," she said. She stepped aside, forcing herself to pretend that she wasn't petrified. The two men entered her house.
"Tannen, huh?" the not-MJ echoed. "Sounds like someone Dad complains about all the time, but God knows if I ever listen to him."
Tiffany flinched.
"Heeeey," the not-MJ continued suddenly. "Do you know anyone named Griff, by any chance?"
The pale man, whose name was Mr. Samuel Undergress and was some kind of legal agent, gave the not-MJ a sharp look. "Mr. McFly," he said in a low voice.
"Oh, right. Business," the not-MJ remembered, apologetic. "Things are really different when you're not on stage, you know?" He gave Tiffany a big grin, which she returned very weakly.
"So? What do you want to know?" said the not-MJ, plunking himself on the couch in a very familiar manner. "How I totally slaughtered the competition this time? 'Cause I can go on and on about that. How long is this gonna be? A half page?"
Tiffany felt overwhelmed. "Well," she began, trying to ignore her sudden unwelcome nausea. "We'll have to get past the legalities first."
The tan man's face fell. "You mean paper work?" he groaned.
"Afraid so," she replied briskly, gathering her journalist things, which were thankfully stacked on a nearby end table. She took out a pair of official electronic contract pads and handed them to the two.
"Thanks," said the not-MJ, taking out his stylus and signing the pad with a flourish. His agent took quite a bit more time examining the electronic contract himself before giving his approval as well.
"It is a half page article. USA Today," said Mr. Undergress to the not-MJ, who beamed.
"Toldja," he said triumphantly. He cracked his fingers. "Sooooo…Mrs. Beautiful," he crooned, winking at Tiffany, who had settled herself on the opposite couch. Mr. Undergress glared at him again.
"It's…Ms. Tannen," Tiffany corrected the tan man gently.
The not-MJ seemed undeterred. "What do you want to know?" he said sweetly.
That was then Tiffany realized that she knew nothing about this new MJ. She didn't even know what she was interviewing him for. He still looked like Marty, but drastically less so. He seemed have taken quite a bit more from Jennifer's side.
Meanwhile, Marty, who was still hiding in the bathroom, had the same things running through his mind. However, he didn't know whether his future son's near one-eighty in personality was caused by his and Tiffany's unwitting screw-up, or by the fact that his future self might've taken his promise to not raise his son as a coward a bit too far.
"Talk about how you got started in your career," Tiffany said, phrasing her words carefully.
The not-MJ beamed. "Weeeell…" he began. "I was seven years old when I entered my first talent show…you know, for school and all. Can you believe it? I was a dancer. But it was so much fun; I wanted to go on. It later turned out that I wasn't actually much for dancing; I was more in it for the lights, the excitement, and the thrill of being on stage, the center of attention." He chuckled good-naturedly. "I may have sounded a little pompous saying that, but…I honestly had a lot of fun. People watched me, I did my thing, and we all had a good time."
"And…how long were you…?" Tiffany prompted.
The not-MJ snorted. "How long as it been now? Four, five years?" He nodded to Mr. Undergress. "Well, I've been modeling since I was sixteen."
Modeling!
Marty nearly chocked from surprise. His son worked as eye candy? On the covers of magazines and God knows where else? Didn't he inherit any interest in music? Where did he get those good-looking genes anyhow? Marty didn't think himself as much of a looker, but Jennifer sure was pretty. Maybe that's where it came from.
"So that would make it five years," the not-MJ concluded after a bit of thought.
Tiffany smiled encouragingly.
"What else…" the not-MJ muttered. "Oh, I didn't really start professional modeling until I was seventeen, though. One of the directors saw something in me and bang! We just started running with it. And then we entered competition after competition and…you know the rest." He grinned knowingly.
That's when Tiffany felt as if she had been punched in the gut. No, she didn't know the rest. For all she knew, the man she loved was dead. It was as if this loud-mouthed, arrogant idiot was his ghost, rising up to mock her. MJ was gone. Gone, gone, gone. She subconsciously placed her hand on her belly. What was she going to do?
It had been quiet for a long time. Too long. Tiffany still had an interview to complete. She needed more information from the not-MJ, as much as she disliked talking to him. Maybe he could give her a clue regarding the shift in the space-time continuum. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look at the not-MJ sprawled on the couch.
"Do tell," she said sweetly, straining a calm expression.
"Eh?" said the not-MJ in surprise.
Tiffany shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. "About you and all of your…achievements. We have a half-page to fill, after all."
"Me, huh?" said the not-MJ, looking like Christmas had come early. "About me and my amazing accomplishments?"
Mr. Undergress looked at his client in alarm. "Mr. McFly, you really shouldn't—"
"Oh, shut up," said the not-MJ, brushing him off.
"—use up all of Ms. Tannen's time like this. Think about what you tell her. What you tell the rest of California."
The not-MJ ignored him. "I said shut up, chalk-boy. It's not like I haven't done any interviews before. And besides, it's the rest of the United States, stupid, not just California. We're doing the USA Today."
Mr. Undergress stiffened. "Ms. Tannen?" he said, suddenly getting up and turning to the journalist. "May I please use the facilities for a moment?"
"You mean the bathroom?" the not-MJ drawled, leering at the agent.
Marty stood up in alarm. He carefully but quickly crept to the toilet and stepped on top of it. He leaned towards to the wall, where the window, his ticket to freedom, was waiting.
"It's broken," said Tiffany quickly.
"Your toilet's on the fritz? Aww, that sucks," said the not-MJ. "Hey, nothing that ol' Mr. California here can't help out with. Hey chalk-boy! Come write out a check for the pretty lady!"
Mr. Undergress seemed to be reaching his breaking point. "I'm terribly sorry Ms. Tannen," he said with a forced calm. "But it seems that my client here—"
"Hey! You're talking to Mr. California here." The not-MJ looked like he had been robbed of something precious. "And if I say that I want to spread a little love around—"
There was a soft thump as Marty accidently slipped off the toilet.
"What was that?" Mr. Undergress said suddenly. Tiffany leapt to her feet.
"It's probably just…the newspaper…falling off…the toilet?" she ad-libbed, her heart hammering in her chest. "No need, no need…" she said, brushing past him shakily. "I'll check it out."
She hurried into the restroom and flipped on the overhead fan for a good measure. "You okay?" she whispered, concerned.
Marty was crouched near the wall with the window. "Yeah, fine," he hissed. "How the hell do you open the window, anyway? It's got no latches!"
"Well, you don't have to worry about it, because you won't have to go out that way," she reassured him.
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "How're you going to kick them out, anyway? All you did was stroke that guy's ego."
Tiffany pressed her lips into a thin line. "Who knows," she said. "I'll find a way. Maybe I'll just get those two to fight."
"Whatever," Marty said, sulking. "I just wanna go back and fix whatever we screwed up."
"You're not the only one," Tiffany sighed. She turned to go.
"Just one more thing," Marty said suddenly. The journalist paused. "My son's not that bad, is he? My real son, I mean."
Tiffany didn't respond at first, so the young McFly thought she hadn't heard him. However, when she turned around, he was surprised to see that tears were in her eyes. "He's nothing like this," she whispered.
Marty looked down. Tiffany wiped her face and steadied herself. She then slipped out the door.
"Hey, do you have the horoscope?" said the not-MJ as soon as she emerged. "I'm a Gemini; I forgot find out what's in it for me today." He gave his agent a significant look. "Though I don't think it could be much worse than a certain Scorpio ruining everything for me."
"Mr. McFly," Mr. Undergress said tersely.
"It was last week's issue," Tiffany said smoothly, though something that the not-MJ said triggered an alarm inside her head. She settled herself on the couch again, thinking fast.
"A Gemini, huh?" she prompted sweetly, crossing her legs. "That's fitting."
The not-MJ appeared taken aback. He scratched his head, bewildered.
"You know, you and your sister," Tiffany continued.
"Sister?" he echoed. Mr. Undergress glanced at her briefly.
Tiffany fell silent. MJ and Marlene were twins, but apparently Marlene didn't exist anymore. She felt a pang of guilt.
"When's your birthday?" she asked politely, after a slight pause.
The not-MJ cocked his head coyly. "June 20," the he replied, grinning. "And if I had this week's paper, I'm gonna bet that I had a lovely lady in my horoscope."
Mr. Undergress was too exasperated to even react to that comment. Tiffany, however, had gears churning rapidly in her mind.
"That's nice," the journalist remarked neutrally. She laced her fingers together. "So. Back to the interview," she prompted.
The tan man beamed. "So I get to talk on and on about all the stuff I've done, right?" he said excitedly. "No time limit?"
That gave Tiffany an idea. "Well, the contract gives you until 2:30," she said slowly, glancing at the clock. It was 2:25. "But I can give you another one to give you more time."
"Eh?" the not-MJ grunted in surprise, twisting around to look at the clock as well. "Five minutes? That's not enough at all!"
"Then I need you and your agent to sign again," said Tiffany, rising from her seat and retrieving the electronic pads. She knew that she was taking a great risk, but she decided to push it. "I can extend it to a extra full hour instead, if you'd like."
"An hour! I'd have to talk fast!" the not-MJ exclaimed. "C'mon, chalk-boy. Let's hurry up and sign this thing!" He snatched the pad from Tiffany's hands and forced it on his agent.
Mr. Undergress looked furious. "I will not," he said firmly, refusing to take the contract.
The not-MJ scowled. "What was that?" he growled dangerously. "You're not?"
"I will not," the agent repeated firmly. "I feel that it is my duty as your agent to prevent you from embarrassing yourself even more, Martin Junior."
This seemed to work the tan man into a rage. "What! Embarrassing? You're not my mother, Mr. Underpants!" he roared, looking ready to launch himself at his agent and grapple with him on the living room floor.
"I can reschedule," Tiffany interjected hurriedly. "Since this seems to be quite a bad time for the two of you. I won't publish anything."
Mr. Undergress looked angry and relieved at the same time. "I'd better have that in writing," he threatened, turning to the journalist.
"What? You're not publishing?" said the not-MJ, giving Tiffany a devastated look.
"Not yet," Tiffany corrected the tan man. "Next Sunday at three o' clock? That's my next opening. And yes, I will have it in writing," she added to Mr. Undergress.
The not-MJ made a series of dissatisfied grunts. The red slowly faded from the agent's cheeks. Tiffany took out a legal document and fulfilled her promise.
"Thank you," said Mr. Undergress, politely taking the document and looking much calmer. "And yes: three o' clock next Sunday is fine."
He turned to the tan man. "Come, Mr. McFly. We're leaving," he said. He headed towards the door. The not-MJ fumed.
"You know, I hate my mom for hiring you," he complained, eventually stomping after him. The agent opened the door and exited, and the not-MJ paused to give Tiffany one last half-hearted wink. Then, he walked outside as well and slammed the door behind him.
Tiffany didn't move until she saw the two pass the gate, get into the car, and drive away. Then, she collapsed onto the couch.
LittleMana: See, now this chapter is a day early. Happy Thanksgiving!
