Star Bright

The stage rocked from the noise of the crowd, the vibrations arcing through the boards up his legs and into his brain. It inspired him more. The perfect feeding relationship. The mob catapulted to ecstasy by the performer, the superstar recharged by the crowd. He spun on his heels, twirled around and caught the falling microphone. He threw it skyward again, forcing it into a perfect parabolic curve, spun around once more and caught the gravity-induced metal with a sweaty hand.

"Just leaving you with a Big-Bang!" Hank Sterling shouted into the mic.

He bowed, letting his long, unkempt locks splay over his head, then sprinted quickly off stage to the screaming adoration of the crowd. A roadie tossed him a towel as he made his way back toward the dressing room. His manager, Zeke Gabriani, grabbed him by the arm.

"Come on, Hank. One more encore! You've got them by the throat."

Hank jerked his arm free and glared at the slicked-haired man in front of him. "Did you see that bitch throw the sunglasses at me? They don't deserve shit!"

"Oh, come on, Hank," the manager said, trying to calm his temperamental star. "You can't let one crazy fan ruin your rep, man. Come on, go out there and give them a little bit more of you. Prove to them you're bigger than life!"

Hank rolled his eyes, but slowly relented. Working his way back through the wings of the stadium, he could hear the chanting, the whistles and crazed screaming. His heart began to pound again and the adrenaline rush he loved flooded his system once more. Hank bounded back onto the stage and grabbed the microphone. He gave the crowd a look and slowly they began to settle down.

"If a red star implodes within a nebula, the resulting density could catapult time inversely to that of a black hole, the resulting gravitational shift plunging any nearby solar systems into a prehistoric ice age!"

The enormous stadium throng erupted into a cataclysmic outpouring of emotions heard to the next county. Hank waved once more to his adoring fanatics and the radical astro/physicist once more sprinted off stage toward his dressing room. As he walked down the long hallway to the dressing room, his entourage dutifully in tow, he would pause briefly to autograph his latest book, "Time, Space and Mushrooms," for kids who had won backstage passes from radio stations.

One pimply-faced young boy stepped forward and challenged his theory of reverse implosion of galaxies, and Hank had to be literally pried off the poor schmuck.

"You fucking scum, you fucking scum," Hank yelled at the bloodied teenager as his manager and several friends pulled him further down the corridor.

The frightened youth, perhaps living out a dare from friends, was able to break free for a moment from security.

"You can't ignore the basic concept of relativity!" he sputtered before a pot-bellied sheriff shoved him to the floor.

Hank twisted and almost got free again, but luckily for him and his growing lawyer corps, his friends kept him in check.

"Come on, come on," Zeke said, "he's just a crazy little kid. Don't let some pimple-faced, hormone-revved punk ruin your great performance tonight."

Hank straightened out his collar and ran a hand over his long flowing hair. "I know, I know, Zeke. It's just I get so frustrated with those closed-minded, old fashioned farts."

"Forget about them, champ!" Bob, his childhood buddy said. "They're just jealous of your innovation."

Hank smiled broadly at his good friend and slapped him on the back. "Thanks, old friend. Just like the constancy of the speed of light, I can always count on you to keep my spirits up."

The rowdy group entered the dressing room and the star collapsed on a leather couch against the far wall. Someone threw him a beer and he popped the top and chugged half of it before he noticed the stranger in the chair by the long table of food. He understood instantly.

"Zeke! Get this fucking reporter outta here!"

As the writer squirmed in the chair nervously, the astro/physicist's manager waved his hands back and forth and shook his head. "No, Hank, now don't go on about this. You promised a month ago to speak to him, you can't refuse now."

"Zeke, I just finished playing the biggest show of the year! Now you want me to spill my guts to some hack?"

"Mr. Sterling, I promise I'm not one of those Time/Relativity freaks," the wide-eyed writer said. "I just want to get inside the brain of America's biggest rising star."

Hank Sterling sat up, laughed slightly and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag and blew a perfect ring of smoke toward the young writer. While keeping an eye out for a reaction, he crossed his leather-clad legs, finished off his beer and held out his hand for a replacement. With the precision of a force/speed equation, a beer appeared in his hand. He opened it, took a swig, and motioned for the stranger to join him on the couch.

"What's yer name, kid," Sterling asked, blowing another smoke ring.

"Jim. Jim Clemons of Astronomy Magazine."

A shapely blonde, wearing a halter top and painted on cut-off jeans, sprawled across Hank's lap and wound up wedged between the star and the writer. Hank gave her a deep, wet kiss before looking back at the science reporter.

"So, you want inside Hank Sterling's mind, do you?" He said staring intently at the young man but keeping an arm around the shoulder of the voluptuous blonde. "Well, let's get something straight right off," he said, sitting up and pointing at Jim with the cigarette. "Being an astro/physicist isn't just wild sex orgies with groupies, mind-numbing drug excursions and all night drunken debauchery. No, it's a lotta hard work-and you have to pay your dues!"

"Like you paid for all those hotel rooms you destroyed?" the writer said slyly.

"Hey, that was years ago! I've matured from that brash, youthful nova into a safe, secure white star."

"Then your days of blowing up at new counter-theories are over?"

Hank laughed slightly and took a stellar-sized swig of beer. "Hell, I wouldn't go that far," he said, squeezing the blonde's shoulder a little harder than she liked. "Sure, I still get a little angry at people who criticize my thoughts, but fuck, who doesn't attack when attacked? And when I've settled down a little and given it a thought, I have to admit that it's best for all of us astro/physicists to embrace free thought. Why, everyone has to start somewhere, right?"

Jim scribbled a few notes on a pad and looked up reflectively at the mega-star as the modern-day genius threw back his unkempt locks. "Such as when you came onto the scene?"

"Exploded, my friend, exploded onto the scene," Hank corrected, stamping out his cigarette on the armrest of the couch. "But that's an old story. I'm sure all of your readers know about my lean years in Los Alamos. Working all the small labs and lecture halls at every backwater town from one end of this great country to the next."

Jim nodded his head. "Yes, just about everyone knows about those tough years. Facing those small, often hostile crowds."

"Yeah, I had ta face more than a few wickedly thrown test tubes. But that's the past. What you need to write about is my future."

A young girl with a bow-tied ponytail rushed up to the couch and smiled broadly at the superstar. "My Gawd! I can't believe it!" she squealed.

Hank rolled his eyes and took his hand from around the groupie's shoulders to prepare for the unexpected. "Now, how did you get in here, young lady?" he asked, in his best older man voice. The image didn't fit.

The teenager froze, the excitement of the moment overwhelming her. Hank smiled and put a reassuring hand on her arm.

"I, I, know the arena manager's daughter. He got me in 'cause, 'cause I just love you," she finally stammered after calming down. "Your eyes are like the bluest ocean, your face chiseled out of marble, and the way you theorize on time and dimensions just sends chills through my body." She thrust a high school science book in front of his face. "Would you sign this for me? I mean, I'd be the absolute envy of my physics lab!" she said, giggling.

Hank basked in the adoration, then quickly took the offered pen and signed the book. "Here ya are love," he said, returning the book. 'Now go back to that lab and tell 'em you kissed me in an imploding nebula of dark matter." With that he pulled her over the back of the couch and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her trembling lips.

When he released her, she screamed, clutched the sacred book to her chest, then ran in ecstasy from the room. Off to tell about her wild love affair with the biggest, throbbing, astro/physicist in the U.S.

Hank laughed heartily, pointed at the door his admirer had just ran through, and nodded at the scribe. "That is the future, my good man. One day, that little teenybopper will eclipse my theories with some new galaxy-shattering truth."

Jim Clemons took a few notes then looked at the still charged up star. "So you think your theories will someday become passé?"

"Man, every astro/physicist knows that just around the corner at some small observatory, lurks a young concept just waiting to knock him outta the heavens and into obscurity. But that's the business, man. The masses are always looking for the next big thing."

"It doesn't frighten you or make you mad?"

Sterling thought about this and took a very long drink. He crushed the can, flung it across the room at his agent, and as mysteriously as the first time, another beer materialized in his hand.

"Every astro/physicist fears it," he said, wincing. He took another long, steady swig from his beer and stared off into a bleak, distant horizon. "Fears he'll be out on the street, lost in the bottle, dragging his telescope from one alley to the next."

"A sad sight."

"Yes, and one we've seen too often. One star after the other, hitting the Barbara Bush Rehab for Astro/Physicists, but eventually landing in the streets once more. Cursed by an addiction to drugs and cheap particle theories."

"Sad," the young hack repeated, recalling a recent story he wrote.

"Remember Bob Feinstein? One of the top astro/physicists of the sixties? He had that big hit everyone went gaga over about light, dark particles and vodka." The leather-clad icon shook his head. "Whew, those were the days. Drugs, sex and physics. Anyway, he hit a bump in the galactic road of fame and eventually degenerated so much that his lab mates had him committed."

"Man."

"Yep. Shine on you crazy starman. But that'll never happen to me."

"Never?" the writer quizzed, poised for an earthshaking quote.

"Yeah, ya see, I believe in the old astro/physicist axiom."

"Which one is that?" Clemons said, leaning forward.

"Better to supernova than phase out of existence!"

Hank laughed hysterically at this, and smiling maniacally leapt up and pulled the zombified groupie with him. In a nanosecond the two had warped into the dark recesses of the building. Off to prove Newton's law of physics about a body in motion remaining in motion, and leaving the young astronomy writer to ponder whether stars ever really changed.

Bio printed by the magazine about the author:

Jay Williams only experience with astronomy is his uncanny ability to spot the Big Dipper and Orion's Belt. When not dreaming about the Rock 'n' Roll lifestyle, he writes short stories for literary and men's magazines such as "A Carolina Literary Companion," "The Stake," "Aura Literary/Arts Review" and others. However, as he enjoys eating and living under a solid roof, he also works at the University of Texas as an academic advisor.

Screen shot of Star Bright in Circle Magazine, circa 2001