Clip

By Kenneth Wayne

Charles is an expatriated American living in Japan who spots himself in a sex video that has gone viral. Initially, he dismisses it as a fluke. His apprehension fades after a Japanese barmaid is convinced that he was in the clip and enthusiastically accepts his offer to spend the night with him.

His new-found fame wanes when a supervisor at work watches Charles in a job-related video and notices that Charles’ facial expressions momentarily take on those of a different person. After this incident, Charles is convinced that his video “flukes” must be explained.

His journey to discover the truth reveals: a former porno starlet with a “unique” talent; the couple from the viral video wants him to join a secret cult; the CIA is involved somehow; people with blue auras are important; disappearing people complicate things; a Russian gambler at a Korean casino with an agenda; and inter-dimensional reptilian aliens behind it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth Wayne
• Release date: Feb 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458026149

Kenneth Wayne

Kenneth Wayne was born and raised on the West Coast of the United States, but has spent the past couple of decades in Asia. He has written six novels, dozens of stories, a novel-length travelogue, and two ESL textbooks. He is the founder of the Electronic Text and Literature Cloud (eTLC), a great way to discover the work of independent (indie) authors. The majority of writing on this cloud is available in a digitalized format, which provides indies a viable medium to distribute their work. Our focus is self-published material since we believe it remains closer to the "vision" of the writer than work reshaped by publishers with "elusive" marketing goals.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was me who banged the yummy heiress in the clip that went viral on the Internet, and it was my magic wand she left swaying in the wind while insisting on answering her cell phone. Couldn’t she just let it ring? Not that little lady.

How slim are the odds that an educator could frequent the playgrounds of Beverly Hills and succeed in enticing a high-profile socialite to bare her taut flesh on film? Imagine my surprise when I realized it was my face staring back at me.

My first thought was that someone wanted to pull my chain and had used some graphics software to cut and paste me into the segment. My porno debut may have been nothing more than the handiwork of some IT nerd; perhaps, the twisted project of a spiteful colleague, or that of a former student who sought revenge for failing one of my language classes.

The rationale for picking this famous homemade video as a defamation medium was clear: I do vaguely resemble the sleazy fucker now infamous for releasing over the Internet a sample trailer of him having sex with his paparazzi-hounded girlfriend. In addition, the grainy picture quality enhances the illusion that the white complexion and fair hair look more like mine than his.

One cannot discount, however, that I shape-shifted into it like any inter-dimensional reptilian humanoid with the ability to change form at will. As a member of such an elite clan of lizards, I could get that bimbo to do anything but refuse to answer her cell; few males, even shape-shifters, can stop the ‘social network.’

While still juggling competing theories, I decided to assess whether a colleague of mine was capable of manipulating digital movies. I did so, one Friday night, while we were tipping a few at an Irish pub close to Ikebukuro Station in Tokyo.

Let me get this straight, you want to morph an image in a clip? Ken looked at me through blue eyes that were a little glassy and bloodshot after knocking down half a dozen pints of Guinness in less than two hours.

I stared at my Jameson on the rocks. Well, maybe change the face a little. Do you think you could do that?

What would be the point?

I turned my gaze on him and said, Character assassination? Unfortunately, I couldn’t discern a change in his expression beyond the drunken slackening of muscles on his puffy face.

What the fuck are you getting at? Ken drained his glass and started to rise.

I don’t know, I just thought it might make an interesting plot for some thriller or something. I watched him wobble to his feet. This flabby, middle-aged alcoholic seemed neither to possess the ability nor motive to implant my image in the video.

Well Mate, I’m no assassin. Just going to tap a kidney instead, he said leaning over and mumbling in my ear. You want to watch?

Hey, fuck you!

No chance. I don't mate with schizophrenics, he said, staggering in the direction of the restroom.

From behind the counter the pretty barmaid asked in Japanese, Would you like another?

Nah, I'm about ready to call it a night, I replied in Japanese.

I hate to bother you, but weren't you in that, that video? She leaned toward me as though worried a bartender or another customer would overhear our conversation.

Did you watch it?

My boyfriend showed it to me. She wiped a glass with a towel while she looked at me. Perhaps she was puzzled by the incongruities between the man in the video and the reality that sat on a barstool in front of her.

When do you finish work?

Since it appeared that I might hook up with the barmaid, Mayumi, I decided to nurse my whiskey. Ken didn't notice, kept pouring down the pints, and made about a dozen trips to tap his kidneys. After he returned the first time, we didn’t resume our conversation about computer graphics since Mayumi and I were busy discussing the video princess of the Internet.

Yeah, she's cool, but we broke up just before she started the TV show, I lied.

Whose show? Ken asked, with a big grin on his bald-headed face.

Hey, that's our little secret. I winked at Mayumi.

Another hour or two later, after we jabbered about inter-dimensional reptilians and other alcohol-fueled topics, Ken left to catch the train home. Within an hour, Mayumi and I took a taxi to my small apartment. Evidently, she and her boyfriend weren’t that tight since it didn’t take long before I had her straddling me like the heiress in the video. There were a few other similarities between the two, but one big difference was that her cell did not go off. An even bigger difference was that Mayumi went off much stronger than the socialite. Certainly, there are a lot more fireworks in Tokyo than L.A. More to the point, by the time she left later in the morning, was she convinced that it was me in the video? Well . . .

When Monday came, I was back in a classroom full of first-year university students. Each of the twenty English language classes I had, at six different universities in the Tokyo area, met for ninety minutes, once a week. I had shown them a short video and handed out an article and worksheet based on the same theme.

While I moved around the classroom, a male student with rather long, dyed, brown hair raised a hand and motioned me over to his study group.

Mr. Journeyman, uh, what's lod? he asked through a toothy grin. I walked over and observed that his powder-blue-tinted contact lenses seemed out of place on his Asian face.

Didn’t you know that 'bou' or ‘sao’ is 'rod' or ‘pole’ in English? I smiled back, thinking his appearance suggested a hint of the alien.

I understand that, but how could it fly? Who think that?

Well, many people apparently. I felt a little defensive as I noticed grins on the faces of the other three students in his group.

Who pick this article? asked a petite girl in blue jeans and a pink T-shirt.

Well, aren’t you interested in learning something that’s not usually covered by the major news sources?

You believe in these rod? a student in a group across the room shouted. More students began to giggle.

'These rods' not 'these rod,' I corrected.

Another student asked, Journeyman believe?

Well, let's just say it may be feasible. There are many instances of flying rods caught on video since 1994. Actually, there are many sightings in Japan. You may know them as ‘flying fish.’

This like lizard people from article last week? another boy asked.

Mr. Journeyman believe space lizards? Miki, the petite girl wearing jeans, asked. I turned to face her and noticed how similar she was to Mayumi, the barmaid I entertained Friday night.

Do you want to see me shape shift?

Sure, she giggled.

Sorry, not today and no, I don’t believe flying rods are anything more than an optical illusion caused by a camera blurring the image of fast insects.

Well, I do, said Yoko, a heavy-set, black-haired girl with a round, pimply face. Everyone turned to look at her.

Flying fish? asked Miki.

Lizard people, Yoko said as the bell rang.

Your homework is to answer the questions on the worksheet. See you next week. With that, I got the hell out of there.

That night, after a light meal of tofu and a salad, I fired up my computer to once more view the sex video. While watching, I wondered for the umpteenth time how I got on it. I had spent the past ten years living and working in Japan as an English teacher. During most vacations I left Japan, so it was feasible that I could’ve gotten to know the socialite during one of those trips, and could’ve made the video, but I know I hadn’t. Even though I couldn’t have been at the filming, an eerie sense of being there hit me when she answered her cell phone while having sex and started talking on it. I could recall being unnerved by the interruption, and felt a momentary decline in passion. After that, the rest seemed less familiar and even my resemblance to the man began to fade.

Even though I had this strong sense of déjà vu, I believed the best explanation was that the video had been changed. But why would someone alter a sex clip filmed in L.A. with the likeness of an unknown English teacher living in Tokyo? What other explanations could there be? An inter-dimensional reptilian definitely topped ‘the most improbable’ list. Coming in a close second was the existence of a doppelganger. Astral projection caught on film had to be included as well, I guess. By default, doctoring the video appeared the most logical. Subsequent events, however, shot logic to pieces.

Chapter 2

Good evening Charles, this is James Wharton from Shinshi. A gravelly voice penetrated my ear when I picked up the receiver of my desk phone.

Oh James, what a surprise, I said as I leaned back in my chair, stared at the muted porno clip playing on my computer, and wondered what shit was about to happen. Rarely are part-time instructors contacted by tenured faculty unless there’s a problem.

It's nice to hear yours as well. You know I often feel guilty I don't make it around to the adjunct faculty room more frequently.

Well, you're so busy with all those meetings and committees, right? Also, it must be tough being the one appointed to liaison with us lowly peons.

You know, I envy you, working at several places, you don't have to put up with all the politics and backstabbing that's involved in academia. His condescending remark revealed that he was oblivious to what I had just said.

So, what’s up? Why the social call?

I just wanted to know if you could spare me a few minutes after your classes tomorrow.

I do have to head off pretty quickly since I have fourth and fifth periods at Meidai, but I could stick around a little. I wondered why I didn't say I had to fly right after class.

That's great. I'd only need about ten minutes at the most.

If that’s the case, why don’t you just tell me, now?

The main gist relates to the new observation system we’re implementing this year. I'm sure you received a memo on it a couple of weeks ago.

Yeah, I saw it in my message box.

You can imagine how observing classes by video appears threatening to some teachers, so it’s been decided that a face-to-face explanation is more personable. When then is a good time for me to meet with you tomorrow?

Twelve-fifteen in the faculty room would be fine with me. I watched the heiress humping on my computer.

That’d be fine. Thanks for allowing me some time from your busy schedule. Please understand how we appreciate what you have done for us and I know that I'm proud to be working at a university with so many professionals like yourself, James mumbled a convoluted compliment that sounded as though he were reading it from a card.

See you tomorrow, then.

"Right Charles, well I hope I didn't take up too much of your time this evening.

No problem James, bye. I hung up and wondered why he always ended his conversations with that slimy compliment. Evidently, he thought it was a good way to grease the wheels. No doubt, it’s something he picked up from one of those how-to books on networking and succeeding in business, or some such bullshit. Probably that kind of behavior was what helped him to squeeze into his cushy position at Shinshi University.

The next day, as I walked back to the adjunct faculty room after my second class, I made a bet with myself that James would not show up since he would eventually realize that he told me over the phone everything he wanted to say. After leaving an elevator full of students, I turned left and headed toward an exit. Ahead of me were two girls I’ve had in classes for the past two years. They were busy chatting, so they walked slowly in their high boots and micro-minis.

Have a nice week girls, I said as I passed by, nodded and smiled.

You too, they both replied in English.

Oh, Mr. Journeyman, can I ask question? Mami, the one nearest to me, asked.

Sure, I said, stopping and turning to face them.

Last year was fun and it helped my speaking.

Why, thanks.

But this year, we mostly handouts, Akiko said with a little hesitation in her high-pitched voice.

Yeah, we don't get to talk enough, Mami added with a serious look on her thin, tanned face that was framed with the same long, straight, dyed-brown hairstyle as Akiko. It's kind of boring.

Don't you find the topics interesting?

Not really. We spend too much time read about war, or politics, or . . .

Or reptiles from space, Mami said, interrupting Akiko.

Those girls depressed me a little with their complaints, but my spirits brightened when I noticed James was not waiting for me in the faculty room. I checked my message box and found he had left a note that explained something came up and he'd be happy if I could just send by email the time and class I'd like to have taped.

Fate has chosen Chinese, I told myself, grinning slightly. I used the meeting with James as the way to determine where I would eat lunch. If he came, I decided I’d eat in a healthy Japanese noodle shop close to this university. If not, I’d eat in a less healthy but more delicious Chinese restaurant close to the university at which I taught later in the afternoon. Fate was stacked in favor of Chinese since I was sure James wouldn’t show up.

The restaurant chosen by fate was a five-minute walk from the station closest to Meidai University. It took me about forty minutes by train to get there from Shinshi. From the sidewalk, I noticed that the parking lot was a little more crowded than usual, but still not packed. Since I had about ninety minutes before my next class, I would often stay in the restaurant and read or grade papers. If it was not very busy, I felt a lot more relaxed doing that. If it was very crowded with people waiting in line, however, I felt I had to eat and run since I occupied a whole table.

The glass doors opened automatically as I entered. Immediately, the cooks, waiters and waitresses called out a greeting, and a waitress with rather short-cropped black hair smiled, bowed and motioned me toward a table by a window. I sat down and picked up the menu lying on the table. The walls were covered with simple but satirical sketches of pigs wearing Mao suits with red stars on the caps. For some reason, the background music was usually reggae. Today was no exception.

The fare and its presentation were quite different from the average Chinese restaurant in Japan; no doubt, the pig sketches and reggae reinforced the uniqueness. Rather than serving lunches that used separate bowls for the soup, rice, pickles and main course, this restaurant would put everything in one large bowl. The choices offered were basic: mostly pork-fried rice, ramen, or sweet-n-sour pork. As the pigs on the walls indicated, almost all of the dishes contained pork, but the portions were big, fatty, and very tasty.

I motioned the waitress over and ordered some pork-fried rice. She smiled and retreated to the rear of the restaurant where two cooks were slaving away.

As I waited for my food, I started reading an e-book. While reading, I felt I was being watched. As a Caucasian in Japan, I was used to people staring at me, children pointing, or even people approaching me just to practice their English. I glanced up and saw a young couple seated at a table across the restaurant looking my direction; they nodded their heads and smiled when they realized I noticed them. I nodded back and returned to my book. After a few minutes, my order arrived; I became absorbed in my meal, forgetting about them.

Excuse me, but could you give me your sign? a young man asked in English. I looked up, and the staring couple was standing at my table. The man was holding a napkin out for me to autograph.

Sure, no problem, I said, thinking it was strange but not too surprising since I'd been mistaken for Western actors or musicians several times before. At that time, I would sign the autograph of the person they thought I was. Now, however, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be. Since they didn’t ask, I just signed my own name.

Here you are, I said, handing the napkin back to the man. They glanced at it, looked puzzled, thanked me, went to pay their bill, and quickly left the restaurant. ‘I should have asked them who I was’ I thought and then went back to eating my fried rice to the beat of twenty-year-old reggae.

Chapter 3

On the day of the taped observation, I was greeted in the hallway outside the classroom by a technician who worked in Shinshi's AV Center.

Are you Mr. Journeyman? the slim young Japanese man asked in English, holding out his right hand.

You must be here to film the class, I replied in Japanese, giving his hand the shake he anticipated.

I have equipment set up in back of the classroom, he said in English as we entered the room together. I saw the tripod and camera while I nodded and smiled at several of my students already in the classroom.

When the class begins, I'll turn the camera on then leave. When it's over, don't worry about the equipment. I'll pick it up later, he said in Japanese, no doubt deciding I understood enough Japanese, or maybe he just felt self-conscious talking in English in front of the students.

It's pointed at the blackboard, right? I move around a lot during class, so I probably won't be seen very often.

That doesn't matter; just do what you normally do.

After class, I ran into James Wharton, a tall, burly American, as he was lumbering along a sidewalk outside.

Hey James, I was just under the gun.

What do you mean? he asked as we stood under some trees whose leaf cover did not prevent sunrays from announcing that the hot and muggy Tokyo summer was poised to begin.

My last class was taped.

Oh, how did it go?

I don't know. Okay I guess. So, what's the next step?

As I understand it, you’ll receive a copy of the tape by mail so you can view it, James said through his bushy mustache. Then you’ll be asked to choose a time to chat about it with someone in the department. Probably, it'll be me.

It sounds like a hassle. I squinted my eyes a little to avoid the sun shooting through the trees, as I tried to make eye contact with this late-middle-aged man still in possession of a full head of jet-black hair.

Yes, it's more work than any of us thought it would be. Jackie and I have been assigned to handle all the foreign English instructors.

So my tape will be watched by one of you?

That's right. He glanced at his watch.

Well, I better let you go, you look a little rushed.

We have a short departmental meeting starting just under a minute, he said like a giant child in dire need to urinate.

Take care, I've got to head to my other university. I gave him a wave and pointed myself in the direction of the part-time faculty room.

Probably talk to you soon, bye, he replied, his huge frame hastening in the opposite direction. As I walked, I wondered how qualified either of them were to view the tapes and comment on them. Certainly this was more like observation by peer than by supervisor.

Those lazy fuckers won't keep this up, I said to myself, knowing they would drop the system once they realized how time-consuming it was.

Within a week, I received my copy of the video. Included was a short checklist of things to look for while viewing it: tasks, verbal flow, and movement patterns.

What a crock of anal bullshit, I thought, while looking over the list.

After supper, I sat down with checklist in hand and turned on my old VCR machine. The memo about the observation system stated that a DVD copy would be supplied if a teacher did not have a VCR. What would happen, though, if you had neither?

Overall, the tape was no rude awakening. Since I had taught for many years, and since I had so many similar classes, I was aware of the usual body language I employed, the percentage of time allotted for teacher-fronted as opposed to student-fronted tasks, my verbal flow, etc.

There was, however, something very disturbing about twenty minutes into the class. I was standing off to one side of the room, away from the blackboard and near the door, with my arms folded while I watched the students work on a group task. Simply, though, I didn’t look like me. I rewound the tape and played it again.

I remember that part of the lesson. The students were getting into the task, I knew that all I had to do was watch them and help out whenever a group appeared to be having a problem, or a student would ask for help. As a result, I started to daydream about something. It was then that I no longer looked like myself. Rather my face took on a lecherous expression, and from my body language, it appeared as though I was trying to look down the front of the blouse of a female student, named Tomoko, who sat close to where I was standing.

Tomoko often wore rather low-cut tops and had a nice rack. I confess I did have a tendency to glance at her breasts while walking by. Simply, it was hard not to since from a standing position, it’s easy to view down the low-cut blouse of a girl sitting. On that day, though, I specifically avoided such actions since I knew I was being observed. I do remember I was daydreaming at that time, though. Who was looking down her dress? Could it be possible that someone entered my body while I was daydreaming?

What is Jackie or James going to think about this? I asked as anxiety produced a clammy sweat and a tingle went up my spine. I continued to watch the video and by the end of it, I realized only about fifteen to twenty seconds existed in which I transformed into a leering fiend.

Maybe it won't be noticed, I mumbled to myself, but knew it was so obvious that the only way it would not be spotted was if the other person didn’t watch the complete video. I remembered that when I worked as a teacher-trainer and had to view classroom-observation videos, I would fast forward at the pair- or group-work segments since it was obvious that the same task would continue for some time. If the viewer had already watched a number of these, fast-forwarding is what either Jackie or James would do as well. I just hope it’s James who goes over it.

As luck would have it, Jackie was slotted to talk with me. The following week, she wrote me a memo that requested me to pick a time from three she suggested and email my decision to her. There was nothing written in the memo to imply anything out of the ordinary. I regretted I had to meet with Jackie since I knew she was an opinionated feminist who would probably react much more negatively than James.

Of course, either would react negatively since this university experienced a very public and very ugly sexual harassment scandal several years earlier. At that time, a full-time Japanese professor had been caught selling pornographic material over the Internet. When his house was searched, they found hundreds of videos he had taken of mostly underage girls, but some included university students (several from Shinshi). No doubt, a video of a teacher looking down a blouse pales in comparison, but since that time, the school had run a large sexual harassment campaign. No doubt, it would be wise for me to replace Shinshi with another university the following year. That evening I sent my preference for the meeting time by email.

Before I knew it, I was facing the door to Jackie's office. On it hung the typical paraphernalia: a chart announcing her office hours; a note pad on which students could write memos; and several small posters concerning global issues and sexual harassment.

Fuck, I groaned as I knocked on the door.

It's open, she called. As I entered the room, a vague flowery scent greeted me as I renewed contact with an overweight, middle-aged woman with blue eyes and blondish hair whom I had met once, very briefly, at a faculty party about five years earlier.

Well, thanks for taking the time to meet with me Charles. I know this is more of a hassle than any of us anticipated, she said as she stood up from her desk and waddled towards me. Dressed in a simple sleeveless, light-green blouse and brown slacks, she extended a very pale, puffy hand for me to shake. Why don't you sit down there, she said, pointing to a chair in front of her gray metal desk.

Thanks, I said as I sat. She waddled back to where she had been sitting and plopped back down.

I gather you viewed the video, she said, smiling through a triangle she made with her fingers in front of her chin, with her flabby elbows resting on the armrests of her office chair. While smiling, she peered at me through a rather thick pair of frameless glasses.

Yes, I went through it and looked for the variables listed on the checklist, I said looking at this rotund Caucasian ensconced behind her desk.

So, what did you think of your performance overall?

Well, the tasks were clear, my pacing was okay, my voice was rather easy to hear and not too fast or too slow, and the proportion of teacher-fronted and student-fronted time was about right for a discussion course, I said watching her slightly rock in her chair and smile as reflected light danced off her glasses.

Yes, I agree. Overall, it was a fine job. You have a clear layout, and you didn’t overburden the students with the task at hand. Simply, a very impressive job, she said, while she continued to rock and smile. Her positive attitude allayed a lot of the anxiety I felt.

Why, thank you.

I have a question, though. Did you or the students choose the theme that was used? Obviously, it didn’t come from one of the nice textbooks that you’ve written, she said charmingly.

Have you ever used one of my books?

No, but I’ve been planning to next year.

Well, you’ll be the third teacher who ever used one. Definitely, they’re not best sellers.

Oh nonsense, they seem very nice. Anyway, that’s not the question here. I'm curious about who decided to discuss the government's possible involvement in that terrorist attack, she said as she stopped rocking and leaned forward a little, her raised elbows now framing her abundant bosom.

Well, I thought it was interesting for the students to learn about alternative viewpoints besides the typical corporate media report that is accessed by the Japanese networks.

Yes, but really, it's only a conspiracy theory, isn't it? she asked, as she leaned back and resumed rocking.

Well, it's very much the same as teachers using environmental or other so-called global issues with a political agenda connected. Don't you think so?

Not really the same, I think. At least those issues have something about them that help the students to develop. Highly speculative theories built on hearsay and unverifiable sources are more like propaganda, don't you think? she asked, no longer smiling.

Well, I just wanted to give the students something they could use to contrast with the generally accepted viewpoints, I replied, a little too defensively.

Okay, fair enough. Well, was there anything else about your performance that you would like to discuss? She began to take on the appearance of a prosecuting attorney baiting a witness.

Not that I can think of, I said much like a little boy who knows that his mother just found