Chapter Twelve Boomers on Tour
‘Do you think I’m boring?’ I ask Patty the following evening.
I’m sitting on her bed while she finishes her make-up then gathers together some stage clothes; the Granny-Okies have an audition later and I’m going with them so I don’t sit in the house fretting about why Michael didn’t turn up. I’ll fret in some draughty theatre instead.
‘Would I have boring friends?’ she replies, sweeping her hand down her body as if to say, Look at who you’re talking to.
‘Sometimes the lively one in the gang has a quiet friend just so they won’t outshine them.’ An insight I have gained from many a coming-of-age film. However, the dull one usually ends up discarding her glasses, having her hair curled and being the belle of the ball, which doesn’t look as if it’s going to happen this time.
‘There’s a difference between quiet and boring,’ says Patty, sitting down on the bed beside me. ‘What’s brought this on?’
I sigh and confess that Michael didn’t turn up and hasn’t bothered calling me. Then I tell her about Dad being very laissez-faire about whatever was on Mum’s list.
‘I seem to be the only one who’s shocked by what she wants to do.’ I throw myself down on the duvet. She lies down next to me and takes my hand.
‘It could be worse,’ she says. ‘What if she’d said that she wanted to smoke pot? Would that be worse than having an affair?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I reply after a moment’s contemplation. ‘I think I’d be surprised and bemused because she’s never wanted to do it before, but it wouldn’t hurt Dad.’
‘So that’s what’s worrying you?’
Again I take my time in considering this.
‘I think so,’ I reply. ‘I would never do anything to hurt either of them, and yet here I am promising to do something that might split them up.’
‘I understand that. Your folks are one of the constants in my life too. Maybe we should get your mum to try marijuana instead of having an affair; at least your dad could join in with that.’
Patty laughs and I join in as I picture the scene.
‘I can just picture her having a wild time and loving it. She’ll get a later-life spurt and will go off into the sunset to ride motorbikes and smoke pot in some commune. Dad will go with her to relive his youth and I’ll be left here like some lemon.’
Patty starts laughing.
‘I’m picturing your folks on easy-rider Harleys with big reefers hanging out their mouths, turning up at the garden centre kicking over the gnomes.’
‘But still wanting their free pensioner cups of tea,’ I add, smiling through my angst.
She stands and pulls me up, telling me that it’ll work out and I’m to go with the flow for now. It’s easy for her to say.
The doorbell chimes and we peek out the window to see that Sheila and Kath have arrived. I go downstairs to let them in while Patty finishes getting ready. They bustle into the living room, full of excited chatter.
‘I’m thinking about putting a few Miley Cyrus moves in,’ Sheila is saying.
‘You could pretend you’re having trouble with your haemorrhoids — call them your Piley Cyruses.’ Kath gets a grimace from both of us.
‘Gross,’ says Patty, coming down the stairs like a grande dame greeting her people. ‘I’m not sure we can base a whole song on your Anusol requirements.’
‘We’ve based them on less,’ Kath says, making a good point. ‘And it’s supposed to be good for eye wrinkles, so there are lots of angles.’
I’m part grimacing again and part checking out the hall mirror as we leave the house, looking at my wrinkles and wondering whether it’s actually worth a try.
Frankie has set up this evening’s audition with the organisers of a party festival which tours the country. It’s held in local parks and is free to attend, so they need fairly cheap acts to open the line-up. Although it probably goes without saying that Patty is envisaging herself somewhere near the top of the poster rather than the bottom. She’s also particularly offended that she has to audition, having genuinely believed that their YouTube footage should have been enough. I imagine the organiser will wish they’d settled for that by the time their set is over as Patty plans to give them both barrels.
When we reach the theatre, the organisers are surprised that the girls want a changing room as everyone else is just playing their set in jeans and T-shirts, but they point them in the direction of a tiny room. It’s just as well they’re all in their make-up as there’d be a Granny-Okie Grapple if they all had to use the one mirror in there. The stage hand comes to tell them they’re up next.
‘Break a leg,’ I tell them and take my space in the seating area behind the organisers, hoping to hear what they say.
The lighting technician has his instructions and the stage goes dark while I hear the girls tiptoe on. Suddenly their torches go on and they’re set for the new opening medley they’ve now perfected. ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ morphs into ‘Making Your Mind Up’ and finishes with ‘Wannabe’. Patty is in the Ginger Spice Union Jack dress with big granny pants underneath. She comes down from the stage licking her lips seductively, and as she gets closer to the organiser it turns into more of a cartoon lick, like a dog with a juicy bone would do. She presses her finger on his nose and starts grinding seductively as she shakes her hips — and the granny pants start to fall down until she can step out of them and drape them across the organiser’s head.
They’re sitting open-mouthed and I’m not sure how it’s going, but the girls are good, and as soon as they start the Madonna medley the organisers are nodding along and even doing the vogue moves with them. They finish with their usual last song — ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ — which has a lot of audience participation, with half the audience (in this case two people) being urged to shout ‘stay’ and the other half (me) telling them to ‘go’. Sheila has changed into a nightdress and is egging on the go crowd because she’s already taken her teeth out. She holds up a glass with a pair of dentures in it as proof.
The organisers applaud as they finish and ask to meet in the office for a conversation when they’re changed. This doesn’t take long and the girls head to the office and take seats. I stand at the back as there aren’t enough seats and I’m an interloper anyway.
‘We loved it,’ says the lead organiser, who introduces himself as Zach and his assistant as Khai. ‘I have to say I didn’t know where you were going to begin with but I could see the boomer humour...’
He looks at Khai and they fist-bump his joke.
‘Your key demographic will obviously totally get you,’ he continues. ‘And we’re expecting them to make up potentially a quarter of the audience.’
‘It’s critical to us that our festival embraces all minorities and as diverse a demographic as possible,’ Khai adds. ‘And for us, diverse means diverse.’
I’m guessing neither Zach nor Khai have noticed that the Granny-Okies are looking completely bemused.
‘Could you elaborate on that?’ I ask as openly as I can. It’s taken me a while to think of a way of getting an explanation without looking completely stupid. The organisers explain how gender, sexuality and race have been balanced across the programme.
‘But age is a demographic that often gets ignored and we’re determined to correct that,’ says Khai, getting a ‘too right’ in response from Zach.
‘Menopause is huge right now,’ Zach continues. ‘And we’re looking to represent that. Our festival will be “change” friendly; we’ll be selling portable hand-fans to keep those hot flushes at bay, lyrics up on stage for when you forget them and experts handing out information to break down the barriers. We know that many women your age will be coming along with their grandchildren so we want them to see themselves reflected on stage.’
‘They’ll also be coming just for some fun,’ says Patty.
‘Amen to that.’ Khai holds his palm out to high-five her.
I can’t tell from Patty’s expression what she’s thinking but they get the gig, and after the organisers say they’ll be in touch with Frankie to sign contracts, we head out into the street rather bemused.
‘I’m a demographic,’ says Sheila, the first to speak.
‘There I was thinking you were just a crazy old woman with good legs,’ Patty says.
‘I’ll have you know I’m a diverse old woman with good legs,’ says Sheila, laughing.
We head towards a bar and order some wine. Looking around, we see there are tables of women our age all chatting and having a giggle. I’m still struggling with the idea that we’ve all just been called a minority that needs to be represented in a diversity programme.
‘We’re not a minority in the population,’ says Patty, getting serious on us. ‘But we are when it comes to the entertainment business. There are always a few big stars that the media likes to point to and say — “look how wonderful she is for seventy” — but most of the time they’re trying to shame us into hiding away or getting facelifts.’
Sheila and Kath nod wisely.
‘I’m not sure whether to be offended or not,’ I tell the girls after the drinks have arrived and we’ve toasted a successful audition. ‘I’m barely at menopause.’
I get expressions of sympathy from them.
‘It won’t be long,’ Patty says. ‘And don’t be offended, they’re right — menopause is huge now, it’s worth billions. Every celebrity and their ageing pooch have a view on it. They’re always sharing their “journey” or selling their collagen supplements.’
‘I take them,’ Kath interjects, patting her cheeks. ‘Not sure if they work but I’m frightened to stop.’
‘There are even musicals and comedies about it.’ Patty is getting that glint in her eyes I know all too well. ‘It’s big business and we should have a slice of it.’
She stands up, picks up the menu and moves a few steps away from the table. Then she selects something on her phone and turns her back to us. She presses play and the introduction to a song we all recognise starts playing. Patty swirls around, strutting towards us, puffing out her cheeks and fanning herself with the menu. She starts singing along, ad-libbing the lyrics as she gets to the chorus, ‘I’ve had a hot flush, baby, this evening,’ to the tune of Donna Summer’s ‘Hot Stuff’.
Even in this raw state I can see it will go down a storm as everyone can join in so easily. In fact, that’s what Sheila, Kath and half the restaurant start to do before Patty is even through the second verse. When she’s finished she gets a round of applause and, of course, takes a bow. I think the Granny-Okies have a new string to their already bizarre bow.