Chapter 32

Corey navigated Kirby through the crowd with her hands on the teen’s shoulders, steering her like a car.

“Where are we going?” laughed Kirby.

“I told you. To meet a friend.”

“I don’t understand. How do you know comic book people?”

Corey stopped in the calm eddy of one of the aisles and spun her around.

“You really want to be an artist?”

Kirby nodded, her brow knitted, her mouth an even line. So earnest, thought Corey.

“Then you are. It’s as simple as that. I’ve been doing it for twenty-five years. And writing songs and playing guitar longer than that, but it’s not always easy.”

“I know.”

Corey shook her head. “You think you do. Like right now, I’m doing this mercenary thing where I’m kind of writing songs for a band…comprised entirely of boys. Former boys.” It still hurt to say it out loud, and the girl’s pure, hopeful expression didn’t make it easier, but it was better she hear about the real world, gently and from her, than let the real world introduce itself in a time and place of its cruel choosing.

“Are you trying to say ‘boy band?’” asked Kirby.

Corey looked around. “Keep it down, kid.”

“Which one?”

“Shit, I haven’t even told your father yet…”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated and embarrassing and…”

“Which one?”

“A-Game.”

“Oh my God.”

“You’re a teenage girl. What is your general impression of them? Are they still lame?”

Kirby’s face looked queasy suddenly. “Before my time. Sorry…but I know they were huge. So, are you going to be a millionaire?”

“Doesn’t quite work like that. I’m not getting paid a fee for the song, but I would get a cut of the royalties and a piece of the publishing. All back end shit. But it was either that or license Limelight, which is one of my sonic babies.”

“I love your stuff by the way.” In the breathless way Kirby blurted it, Corey could tell she’d been waiting to say it. 

She raised an eyebrow. “You know my stuff?”

“Duh. Damsel Underdressed is standard issue.”

The casual use of Kyle’s military jargon made Corey grin. A chip off the old block.

“Thank you. That feeds me. Which is good, because real food costs money. So unless I write a smash record for myself in the next three months—and let’s be real, the chances of a forty-one year old woman getting any radio play in the music business these days, let alone topping the charts, are about as likely as getting attacked by a shark in Kansas—then A-Game is the only game in town right now currency-wise.”

“A sharknado is a legitimate meteorological phenomenon.”

Corey cocked her head and looked at Kirby, the smile spreading on her face.

“Anyway, it’s not the first time I’ve supplemented my income to put some bread on the table,” continued Corey, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve occasionally dabbled in graphic design, hence my familiarity with all this.”

“Really?”

“Who do you think did all the artwork for The Toddlers back in the day? Or designed all the posters and flyers and postcards? Moi. So I’ve crossed paths with a few of these folks. And anyone else we want to talk to who I don’t know, I’ll play the rock star card.”

“That’s so weird.”

A group of cosplayers walked by and catcalled. “Nice Jessica Jones cosplay.”

“Keep moving, Frodo.” Then to Kirby, “Come on, let’s go.”

At the far end of Artist’s Alley, an army of young women stood in line with armfuls of comics waiting to be signed. Corey passed by the booth at the head of the line, but there was a sign that read Veronica Iconic will return at 2 pm. Most booths were only staffed by the writer or artist, but bigger names in the industry had a team of people helping them with their merchandise, organizing the lines, and running interference.

Veronica Ironic was one of those names.

She had been knocking around the scene for years, getting superhero work and doing indie books, but it wasn’t until she created the Captain Bitch comic that Veronica Iconic went meteoric. Captain Bitch herself was a wry, post-modern superhero who fought institutionalized sexism. The hero was a chipper intern at a fictional social media giant who looked exactly the same as her super alter-ego, the only difference is that when she suited up in a ridiculously flimsy uniform, she dropped the cheerful mask in favor of her Resting Bitch Face and abounding cleavage. It was as flimsy a disguise as Clark Kent’s glasses. Captain Bitch monitored her feed, and when mentions got toxic—her version of the bat signal—she flew through Suffragette City to do battle with the likes of The Mansplainer, whose battlecry was “Actually!” and The Male Gaze, with his headful of one-hundred ogling eyes.

The supervillains she put away always begged her to smile more.

The comic drew critical acclaim for simultaneously embracing and piercing superhero tropes and was a smash with everyone but the diehard superhero fanboys she poked fun of so relentlessly. The line snaking around her booth was filled with elder comics aficionados, fawning young girls, the LGBTQIA community, and more.

Veronica Iconic was having a moment.

And she happened to be a friend of Corey’s.

Corey pulled out her phone and her thumbs flew across its screen.

                                 Yo bitch, where are you in NYCC?

“Are we going to get in line?” asked Kirby.

Corey gave the teen a look as if she had just smelled rotten fish. The bubbles were already forming in reply.

Lyon! You here!?

Yup. Want to say hi, but you
have a line out the wazoo.

Eating lunch before the next signing.
Come behind the riser, third door on the right.

                                                                        Bringing a friend.

Cool.

“Line,” said Corey, and shook her head. “Follow me.”

They ducked behind the riser and found a narrow corridor hidden from view from the crowd. They found the third door and opened it to discover a break room, set up as a small oasis for the creators. There were several round cafeteria tables, populated with weary writers, pencilers, and inkers. In the corner sat a petite woman with a shock of purple hair, shaved close on one side and a sleeve of tattoos on her arm. At the sight of her, Kirby went rigid, but Corey stood right behind her, gripping the girl’s shoulders. She gave them a squeeze.

“Hey,” said Corey, “it’s cool.”

“I don’t think you appreciate how insane this is.”

“V’s really sweet.”

“She’s my hero.”

“And look, your hero is eating a chicken salad sandwich.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it. When I was twelve, I threw up on Joan Jett’s boots. We laugh about it now.”

“I haven’t even processed meeting you yet.”

“Just be cool,” she said, then yelled, “Bitch!”

The woman with the purple hair looked up and her face brightened.

“Lyon!” she yelled in return.

The creators in the room stopped and looked up. A decent percentage of them put down their sandwiches and coffee to look around as if to say, “Is that who I think it is?” and “Why would she be here?” Hands still on Kirby’s shoulders, Corey steered the girl through the gawking artists, and only released Kirby when the teen was close enough that bolting would be more mortifying than standing still. Corey and Veronica hugged, then Corey stepped back.

“V, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Kirby Williams.”

“Kirby? You’re in the right place,” she said, and thrust out her hand, “Hi, I’m Veronica.”

“I…know. I know everything about you.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet. Sit down, gang.”

Corey pulled out a chair and flopped into it, then watched Kirby slowly bend and lower herself. It was like watching the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz before greasing up. It was impossible to sit with the portfolio tucked under her arm, but rather than put it on the floor beside her, she clutched it to her chest like a life preserver.

“That line is crazy,” said Corey. “You’re the shit, girl! You’ve done it!”

Veronica swiped the air in front of her. “Sure, people know me here. One block away in any direction, no one knows who the hell I am.” She turned to Kirby. “What about you? What’s your favorite part of the con so far?”

Kirby looked from Corey Lyondell’s face to Veronica Ironic’s face and back, and managed, to Corey’s surprise, to say, “This is definitely in the Top…One.”

Both women burst out laughing.

“Her mind is slightly blown right now,” said Corey. “We just met about fifteen minutes ago. And I’m dating her dad. And I just introduced her to her comics matronus.”

“Aw, honey,” said Veronica, and she reached out and grabbed Kirby’s arm and gave it a gentle shake. “Please give my condolences to your father.”

“Hey!” yelled Corey.

“So where is this mystery man?”

“I told him to take a hike. Kirby and I had some business to attend to.”

“Dad takes me to all the cons. He’s really great about it, but…”

“Fathers are mortifying,” said Veronica.

“Yes!” said Kirby, relief flooding her voice.

“He’s cute,” said Corey, and she looked at Veronica, who put out her lips.  

“No!” said Kirby. “I mean, yes, he means well, but like in a golden retriever sort of way. He’ll fetch something for you, but it’ll have teeth marks and drool all over it.”

Veronica turned to Corey and held an imaginary microphone to her chin, “Corey Lyondell, any truth to the rumors about teeth marks and drool?”

Corey slapped her hand away, laughing. “He’s sweet, but don’t fucking tell him. I don’t need him getting cocky on me.”

“You don’t get it,” said Kirby. “One time, when I was in grade school, he heard we were having lockdown drills for, like, active shooters? We’d have to hide in the closet. And one of the kids asked, ‘What if I have to go the bathroom?’ And the teacher said, ‘Don’t worry, I have a bucket and a sheet for privacy.’”

“That is the literally the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard,” said Veronica.

“America, ladies and gentlemen,” said Corey. “We had a good run.”

“No, it gets worse,” said Corey. “So I told Dad at dinner, and since he’s in risk management and he thinks about this stuff every day, he went out and bought these things called ‘wag bags’ for every classroom in the school. They’re like portable toilet kit things…”

“Stop,” said Veronica Iconic, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Nope. No.”  

“He didn’t…” said Corey.

“He did! And at the next assembly, the principal introduced the wag bags and personally thanked my father by name. I’m in the middle of the auditorium, everyone turns to look at me, and fourth graders are not known for their sophisticated approach to toilets…”

Veronica Iconic cupped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

Corey felt her skin grow hot and waved her hands in front of her face. “I can’t. I can’t even…”

“They called me Wag Bag for a year.”

“I’ll kill him,” said Corey. “I will retroactively murder him.”

“You can’t tell him I told you!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because he’s still a golden retriever. He still takes me to cons all over. He’s still the best Dad ever…but he’s still a Dad.”

“I need a palette cleanser or I’m going to have nightmares on your behalf,” said Veronica Iconic. She nodded toward the leather bag still pressed to the girl’s chest. “What do you have there? Captain America’s shield?”

Kirby offered a shy smile. “Art.”

“Yours?” asked Veronica, teasing out the word.

She nodded.

“Gimme,” she said, gesturing for it. Kirby’s eyes widened in shock and she looked over at Corey, who gave her a reassuring nod.

As Veronica Iconic undid the straps of the carrier bag, Kirby was simultaneously transfixed and looking like there was anywhere else on the planet she would rather be.

“Relax,” said Corey. “It can’t be any fucking worse than Wag Bag.”

Kirby laughed and then, all of a sudden, her work was out, free of the leather bag, under the harsh fluorescent glare of the small break room, in Veronica Iconic’s hands. Veronica pulled on a pair of studded cat eyeglasses.

“Whoa,” said Veronica. “Like…whoa. How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” said Kirby with a nervous laugh. It leapt out of her, the hope in it almost painful to Corey.

“This is breathtaking. This is like David Mack or…”

“Emma Rios,” said Kirby quietly.

“That’s just who I was going to say,” said Veronica. She lowered her glasses and stared at Kirby. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

Corey watched Kirby’s eyes well up. Just a hair. In that moment, it was not just an acknowledgement of the girl’s talent, but of her identity. Her very essence. Parents and friends had always told Corey she had a good voice, a facility with a guitar, but they were civilians. It was flattery and that was pleasant, but it was empty calories. It wasn’t until professionals—musicians she admired—told her she was onto something that she felt like her very soul had been validated. Reading compliments from female pioneers praising Damsel Underdressed in print or sharing the stage with singer-songwriters whose posters she’d once had on her wall or getting a knowing nod or a wink from one of her idols across a crowded awards show after-party…those were the moments that buoyed her. They did not forward her career in any tangible way her agent cautioned, or provide any discernible metrics her label executives reminded her, or put bread on the table her own insecurities whispered in the dead of night, but how does one put a price on a seat at the table? Those brief moments were her most treasured possessions. Glittering golden coins barely visible in a dark well that grew deeper by the day.

This would be one of those sustaining moments for Kirby. Corey fought to keep the tears out of her own eyes.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” said Veronica, leaning forward, into Kirby, her cat-eye glasses now perched on top of her head. “You need to make a comic.”

“How do I…”

Veronica Iconic shook her head. “Not a big one. Just a small one. An ashcan, no more than eight pages.”

“Why?”

“So next year, you can hand them out to editors as a calling card. Your art is gorgeous, but this business is storytelling. If you can string these images together and show movement and progress through a story, you and I are going to make gorgeous, lyrical comic book babies together.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“I do,” said Veronica Iconic, “but you’re not going to like it.”

“What?”

“Wag Bag.”

Kirby’s eyes grew wide and her mouth opened, and she looked to Corey, who simply spread her hands.

“She’s right,” said Corey. “It’s gold.”

“But it took a year for people to stop calling me that. Now you want me to put it into print?”

“For civilians, that’s devastating,” said Corey. “For artists, it’s rocket fuel. Own your pain, kid. You already paid for it, so you may as well put it to good use.”

“Juxtaposing that story with your ethereal figures and liquid watercolors, it will be devastating,” said Veronica, “devastating to whoever sees it. But, I’m sorry to say, also hilarious.”

Kirby cracked a smile, and Corey could see the wheels turning.

“You can see it, can’t you?” said Veronica Iconic.

“I think so…”

“Well, if you can pull that off? Every editor in the business will come calling.”

“Is there a way I could…could I maybe…send it to you? Like, when I’m done?”

That a girl, thought Corey.

“When you’re done?” Veronica Iconic looked at Corey. “She’s too cute. Raise your right hand and repeat after me: I am hereby fully fucking drafted into the IconiCorps.”

Kirby repeated it, dropping her volume to a whisper when she reached the swear.

“Say it, bitch!” yelled Veronica, laughing. All heads in the break room turned toward them.

“I am hereby fully fucking drafted into the IconiCorps!” yelled Kirby.

“Good. Now I can put you to work. You’re spending the afternoon at my table with me.”

“I am?”

“You’re so good, you don’t even know. I bet no one around you knows, not really. It’s not their fault, they just don’t have the vocabulary. But I’m damn well going to make sure you have it. Cons are a great place to see the business side of things. And unlike these elusive, inaccessible rock star bitches over here, fans can walk right up to comics creators and have a conversation. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Kirby looked at Corey. “Can I?”

Corey winked. “I’ll take care of your Dad.”

“Slut,” said Veronica.

On the way back to the booth, Corey whispered into Veronica’s ear, “Thank you for that.”

“I didn’t do it for you, bitch. That girl is so good, I’m locking that shit down now.”

“Be back in an hour or two?”

“Take your time.”

Corey met a perplexed Kyle at the food court, nursing a beer. He brightened when he saw her, then his face fell.

“Where’s Kirby?”

“Cloud 9.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him the kiss she had really wanted to earlier. Then she pulled back and slugged him in the arm.

“What was that for?” he said, rubbing his arm.

“Girl stuff. Where were we? Want to make out in a corner and make some fanboys jealous?”

“Absolutely, but you two…got along?”

“She’s a sweet kid.”

“She’s a shy kid. Around new people anyway.”

“Are you sure you’re not projecting, Mr. Williams?”

“I was never shy.”

“Well, she’s hanging out with Veronica Iconic…” she said, examining her nails. “Maybe I just bring out the best in her.”

“What? Really?”

She brushed her nails against her chest and examined her other hand. “She’s working at her booth for a couple of hours, safely tucked under Veronica’s wing.”

“Are you serious?”

“V’s an old friend. She’s showing her the ropes.”

“I’ve been trying to convince her to show…she’d never…” He looked around the Javits, trying to process this information. Then he looked at Corey and she laughed. His smile grew, and as she saw the amazement and gratitude in his eyes, she felt her words bubbling up and out of her unbidden and she blurted, “I’m writing songs for A-Game,” at the exact same moment he said, “I love you.”

They both said, “Wait, what?”

“I said ‘I love you,’” said Kyle, “but I think you said something about a 90’s boy band.”

“Technically, their heyday was the early 2000’s but does that bother you?”

“Well, it wasn’t quite the reciprocal response I was hoping for.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have all the necessary facts to make an effective determination.” He’s not getting it, she thought. “Could you love somebody who could do such a thing?”

“Not tell me?”

“No! Work with a boy band.”

“Why would I care? I love you.”

“But I care. I don’t want you to think I’m a sellout.”

“I’m in love with you. Why would I think you’re a sellout?”

“Because I fucking sold out?”

“Look, I don’t like taking out the garbage, but unless I want to live in an apartment filled with garbage, then sometimes I have to do something I don’t enjoy doing.”

“Did you have to choose a trash-themed analogy?”

Kyle shook his head, exasperated. “Listen, will you get an honest wage for honest work? Will this help you?”

“Yes. Eventually.”

“Okay. And can part of you—even a tiny part—be proud of this work?”

“I actually wrote a pretty great song for them…”

“Then there you go.” He spread his arms in front of him, as if gesturing toward a table piled high with exculpatory evidence. “And also I love you. I’m not counting, but I’m pretty sure that’s like the fifth time I’ve said it.”

Corey beamed.

“I love you so fucking much, Kyle Williams,” she said and grabbed him by the lapels to pull him in for a long kiss.

After, he pulled back.

“Wait, do I need to be jealous? Aren’t they all incredibly good looking? And jacked? And rich?”

“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about, baby. Now let’s bang face right here in the Comic Con food court and give these nerds a thrill.”

She leaned in again, but he stopped her.

“One more question,” he said.

“Oh my God, do you ever shut up?”

“Will you go to Coast Guard Prom with me?”