Pill Collins

The Party - Episode 1

"In all seriousness," Pill said after the laughter had died down, "Could you please play this?"

In his right hand, he held a white CD on which some plain text around the center sat. It read, "Can't Stop Loving You Mix," with a red heart drawn on at the end. The group in front of him looked from the disc to his face, serious as the attire he came to the party in: a black, pin-striped suit, white undershirt, and black tie. Not a wrinkle or stain on the entire piece.

Betty, the host of the night's affairs, put a hand on Pill's arm. "Pill?"

"Oh, please, Betty?"

She shook her head, but took the CD nonetheless. Her husband followed her to the entertainment center, and Pill settled into his seat and smiled at the group. "Yay. You guys will like this. Oh, yeah. Definitely." He nodded vigorously.

Nobody responded. The rest of the party was respectfully dressed in casual pajama-wear. It was the first of a hopefully annual London Slumber Party meeting in a small section of London, where Pill Collins and his neighbors had lived for years without contact. Pill, in all honesty, was not actually invited to the party, but when he saw the cars, his curious nature pushed him to don his best suit and venture over for a late-evening visit with his favorite mix tape. He figured they would be happy to have him at the party.

When he saw the attire, he was proud to have worn the best suit.

The music transitioned to Can't Stop Loving You, but instead of the studio version, it was a gritty, homemade one with Pill singing over the lyrics in some sort of echoing room.

Pill spoke over the song, "I recorded this on a regular cassette recorder; can you believe it? And in the restroom, as well!"

Sure enough, the sound of water running soon permeated through the speakers.

"I was in the midst of bathing," he explained, shrugging slightly.

The song drew to a close, and at that, the party sighed in relief. The room was at an utter standstill; nobody moved and people had set down their plates. Forks clinked against plate-ware as party-goers were stunned to silence. The television had been paused, and the men and women in the other room had returned to the main room with makeshift sheet clothing wrapped up around them. Pill smiled as all eyes turned on him.

"Opinions?"

Betty walked the disc back to Pill, trying to smile. She remembered him from radio and television, and she knew he'd moved in next door, but before this, she'd never had any contact with the man. And as she appraised his clean-shaven chin and hopeful eyes, she wondered if the celebrity version of Pill was all a lie. After all, this was completely out of character for the man she'd seen rise to the top of charts.

"It was...lovely," she said quietly as the party returned to its original upbeat level. "Pill, I do believe we are about to turn in for the night. Would you like to take any food with you?"

"Sure," he said, rising. He nodded to people as he made his way to the snack table, grabbing a large bowl of popcorn. "Thank you for having me! I hope you enjoyed my new song!" He waved until he was outside, and he kept waving until he could wave no more and hurried back to his house, munching on kernels all the way down the street in the cool, dewy night.

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The Mission (Part 1) - Episode 2

Pill Collins sat in his den, clutching a pen and permanently wrinkled paper, sighing repeatedly in the silence. After telling the world he'd decided to quit music, he started writing for an e-zine named Shorties and Street Talk, which was a website geared toward getting news out to little people living in the inner cities of America. Neither of these subjects Pill specifically had experience in, but somebody had to write for the little people, and he figured that, out of all the people in the little world, he could do it best.

This particular article was entitled "Long Long Way to Go," and it defined the struggles Pill had as a child, the time at which Pill was the smallest he'd ever been. The problem with the article was that none of it had been written. Pill was experiencing a most awful case of writer's block, and he couldn't think of one single thing he remembered struggling with as a child. Pill considered himself a very headstrong child with a clear mind and definition of what he wanted in life.

While other kids were out frolicking about, galavanting in the streets, Pill was hard at work, constructing his future. One album in particular he spent his 12th year creating: No Jacket Required. It was his proudest moment. But he never struggled with it. So how was he to relate to these little people in this particular instance?

Pill decided to go for a walk.

The lights were off in most of his neighbors' houses, all asleep and tucked away in beds. Down the street, though, an inn and a few bars were nestled in, all crowded around a fountain in the middle of the square. Pill decided to go to the bar adjacent to the inn and grab an iced tea. He was no drinker, of course, but when he was in the bar, everyone wanted to talk to him.

He sat down in the least sticky chair he could find. A hush fell over the bar, and the bartender turned down the television. Pill blushed, turning to acknowledge the room, but instead found that the bar-goers were staring at the doorway and the man who had just entered.

"Mr. President! Wow!" The bartender scurried to greet the American president, Mr. Gary Busey. "It is an honor!"

"It's my pleasure, Mr. President! What will you have? It's on the house?"

Pill frowned and took a sip of his tea. It tasted stale. It tasted unimportant.

The president took his drink from the bar, sipped a little, and settled in right next Pill. "Whoa!" President Busey jumped when he noticed Pill. "You're Pill Collins!"

"Indeed I am." Pill smiled and shook Busey's hand.

Busey said all this as if he'd practiced the speech many times. Pill scrunched his eyebrows, but immediately accepted the mission, saying, "I'm not busy, just writing an article for Shorties and Street Talk. What's the mission?"

Pill followed Busey into the cool night, where without saying a word, Busey handed him a slip of paper and went back into the bar. Pill was left to open it up. It read:

Pill: I knew I would find you. Do you remember the woman I introduced you to when we were at the luncheon last fall? Well, she broke into the White House and stole my childhood stuffed squirrel, Chunky. I would like you to ask her on a date in America and get to know her enough to go to her house, retrieve it for me, and then tell her: Mr. President called. He said that dinner is served. Thanks, Mr. President

On the back was the phone number and name of the woman he vaguely remembered from that luncheon. He nodded in the dark to himself. This would surely help him write his story: an actual challenge. Pill stuffed the letter in his mouth and gulped it down. His stomach would remember the phone number better than his brain.

Pill walked home, daydreaming about the woman named Jessica who would soon fall deeply in love with him. He hoped he might get a chance to play her a song or two before he delivered the president's message.

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The Mission – Part II (Episode 3)

Later that week, after Pill had successfully vomited up all the numbers in Jessica's phone number, her gave her a call. He knew she would answer when she did, after the fourth call, because Pill understood the ways of the woman. They needed him.

“This is Pill Collins,” he said, before she could speak. It was how he always answered the phone. He even opened up all his albums that way, though the producer thought it would be more mysterious if he left it out.

Mystery was good. Pill didn't want to put his whole life out there, just willy-nilly, for everyone to read about in Shorties and Street Talk.

So Jessica responded with a squeal. “Really?” It was more of a sigh than a squeal. A happy, knowing sigh. Everything was going to be all right for Jessica now that Pill was there. “What do you want, Pill?”

“I need to see you right away.”

“Why?”

Pill smiled, looking down at the sheet of paper he'd written his speech on. “I need to see you right away.” He said it twice, by accident, but he knew it would just make her want him more. “You and I should get together because I was telling you an anecdote, and by mistake, you walked away before I finished. Silly Jessica. I will come to your house and finish the story, and then we can have similar discussions while we drink tea.”

He heard her sigh again. “If I say 'no?'” she asked.

“Would you dare?”

“I guess you know where I live.” Her phone disconnected.

Pill turned to his cat, Pill Collins, and picked him up. “She must have been too excited to realize that she hung up on me, huh, Pill Collins?”

~~

Comfortable in first class, Pill arranged his three Walkmans on the table in front of him while they serenaded fellow passengers with a three-part harmony, beautifully recorded in his spacious bathroom.

He leaned over to the four flight attendants standing around his seat. “I recorded this in my spacious bathroom.”

“That's wonderful, sir. Please turn it off, now.”

~~

Jessica's home was very simple. As he entered, he pointed out that her floor would look much better if it were plated with platinum records. She nodded and showed him into the kitchen. It also needed something like a record-plated floor. Luckily, he'd brought a large faux floor plant that he'd had altered to show his face on each leaf. A thousand green Pill Collinses in one pot. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He placed it in front of the oven and sat down with her.

“Jessica. I may have tricked you into inviting me into your simple, boring home. I am sorry, but I need something from you that you have taken from a friend of mine.”

“What is it, Pill?” Jessica's face was blank. Blank with confusion and fear.

“Jessica, where's Chunky?”

She stood up abruptly, and it nearly tore out Pill's heart to see her struggle to be rude to him. “Get out.”

But instead of choosing the exit, Pill stood and began running through the kitchen to the first door he saw. He opened it, rushed inside, and shut the door behind him. Unfortunately, it wasn't the bedroom, as Pill thought it would be. He grabbed a box of Cookie Crisp and opened the door.

“Pill, President Busey and I have been through this. There never was a 'Chunky.' He understands that. I need you to leave.”

“Never! I flew here from Pill Collins's home in London and I will not return without Chunky.”

Pill ran past Jessica and found the living room, and the bedroom adjacent to it. He began throwing the folded clothes off the bed and pushing pillows out of the way. “Where is your stuffed animal hideaway, Jessica?” he yelled, clutching the Cookie Crisp in between his legs.

“Pill!” Jessica entered the room and picked up the panties laying in the doorway.

He brushed past her. “Where is your phone?”

“Get out! Get out! Out!” She shooed him to the door and slammed it in his face.

A solitary tear fell from Pill's eye. With a heaving sigh, he clutched the cereal against his chest and bellowed a jazzy rendition of Hold on My Heart as he ambled back to the limousine.

“I'm sorry, Mr. President.”

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