18. And an Interview?
18
AND AN INTERVIEW?
MAL
I was never going to get used to the makeup they glommed on us to go on-camera. On the other hand, a guy named Smithson did an astonishingly good job with my hair, turning it into a windblown mane that wouldn’t have moved in a tsunami.
“Perfect,” he said. He leaned down and confided in my ear, “You have the best hair.”
Well, Ian was practically bald and Archer was wearing his blond hair too short to really take to styling, so I would have won by default. But a kind word was always appreciated in the nervous time before performing.
We were led back to our greenroom. Ian went straight to Nicky’s side, but Archer and I didn’t have the luxury.
“Where’s Prentice?” I asked no one. “Still being interviewed by O’Connor?”
“My girl can talk your ear off,” Archer said proudly. “Want to go get them?”
“Nah, it’s cool. If you think they’re happy.”
Phil was sitting next to my mother, who was chatting easily with Nicky’s mother. I kind of wanted to force Phil to back off, but Prentice was right. My mother could handle herself.
Archer pulled out a brush and sat on the floor to comb Charlotte. A wardrobe person checked on us and shrieked. Arch had dark-gray Great Dane fur all over his white clothes. That required some very enthusiastic attention from the wardrobe mistress and her lint roller. Archer just grinned and asked her if he could take Charlotte out for a walk.
She was horrified by the thought, and there was great agitation on the various walkie-talkies. Eventually, one of the Milt McAllister staff writers appeared. “I have the most experience,” he said with a mournful air that somehow made me want to laugh. “I’m really good at picking up poop. I’ll get her back to you in plenty of time for the taping.”
I got bored. I could play “Street Dancing” in my sleep, so I wasn’t very nervous about the performance. I was thinking idly about going in search of Prentice when Milt McAllister walked into the room.
Which was very cool.
Here was a man most of America watched four nights a week, just as friendly and easy as I could hope. He met all the parents, praised and signed a drawing Finn had done of him, exchanged hearty handshakes and some comedic insults with Phil, and then turned to us. “Guys, I’m so pleased to have you on the show. Congratulations on getting to number one! The fans are going to love watching you perform. Where’s the dog? Where’s Charlotte? She came, didn’t she?”
We explained that she was on a poop-and-sniff, and Milt howled when he heard one of his writers was doing the honors.
“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he said. “Listen, one of my acts had to cancel, so we’ve got a few extra minutes. Are you guys okay if I bring you to the couch for a small chat after you play? Yes, Phil, we’ll amend the contract!”
Archer spoke for us. “You want to interview us?”
“If you don’t mind. That concert you did at the high school, standing on a pickup truck? That was pretty cool. I’d love to hear about that.”
The three of us checked in to make sure everyone had the chance to object if they wanted. “Well, sure.”
“Great! Okay, this is going to be fun. Just be yourselves. We’ll have a blast!” He was so confident that I began to believe him.
Kyle, the producer, arrived to show us the stage for a quick rehearsal. They’d set up our equipment, and I took the time to get my drums right. We played a few bars. Then we got to meet the very cool members of the late-night house band, who were a crisp and excellent group. Kyle had to pull us away from that enthusiastic discussion. Those were guys I’d definitely like to get to know better.
We were back in the greenroom when Prentice finally returned. I took her hand gladly. “Good chat?” I asked, to make sure she was doing okay.
“I love her,” Prentice whispered, nodding at O’Connor, who was back to cuddling our horse-sized dog.
“Good.”
“Are you okay?” she wanted to know.
I did a yes/no waggle. “I wish it was over. He wants to interview us.”
“Omigawd, that’s awesome! Like, sit on the couch and chat like you’re George Clooney or something?”
“I hope I remember how to talk, you know?”
“You’re going to be excellent. Damn, what did they put in your hair? Is this cement?”
“It’s great, isn’t it? If I try to bend my hair, I can hear it break!”
Prentice laughed, which made me feel good. “Why do you say that like it’s a good thing?”
“I don’t know. I like it. It’s easy, and it looks good.”
“Yes, it does. Hard to run my fingers through it, though.”
“Well, that is a downside. I hadn’t thought of that until now.”
“We could shower it out later,” she whispered.
Now I was sitting in a room filled with parents, squirming to hide the growing wood in my crotch. Naughty Prentice. I kissed her just a little.
We probably would have gone on making useless chatter if a production assistant hadn’t come to lead the non-band members of our party to their seats. “They’ll be in the first two rows,” she assured us. “You’ll be able to see them when you perform. Come on now. Taping’s going to begin soon.”
“Good luck,” Prentice whispered to me. Her kiss was entirely too short.
And then it was just the three of us and one sleeping dog in a room designed for many more people than that. Too much space, all of a sudden. It felt odd.
“Well, this is the damnedest thing,” Ian said.
Archer and I nodded. We had nothing more to add.
The production assistant finally appeared and led us to the stage. “The show is going really well, and the audience is hot. You’re going to have a great time.”
She probably said it to every single person who stood quaking behind that blue curtain, but who cared? She thought we were going to do great; we’d probably do great.
Still, the curtain was intimidating. It wasn’t just an audience on the other side, people who would probably be dancing as soon as we started. No, there were the enormous, black, alien cameras with their terrifying red lights and the ability to project anything we did into houses from one coast to another.
Shit. Wish I hadn’t thought of that.
At least now I was waiting uneasily behind my drums. I double-checked everything. I had six more sticks within easy-to-grab distance. It was all set up the way I liked it. Ian had his head down, still as deep waters. Archer was pacing in small circles, Charlotte tracking him.
Deep breath. Inhale, hold, exhale. No need to be nervous.
Ian called Charlotte over.
“What’s up?” Archer asked.
Ian bent and fiddled with Charlotte’s collar. “Just thought I’d check, make sure it’s on properly.”
“She barely needs it,” Archer protested. “She’s a very good girl.”
“Yes she is,” Ian agreed. “Go back to Archer. Go to Archer, Charlotte.”
Char did the canine equivalent of shrugging and went back to sit, upright and gorgeous, next to Archer.
We waited. And waited. And waited.
Then suddenly, it was all too soon: Milt McAllister’s famous voice was audible.
“And now, to perform the hottest song in America today, please welcome . . . Aftermath!”
The curtain pulled away. Archer looked to me and then to Ian; I looked to Ian. We clicked into each other. As soon as we did, the fear vanished. I played the opening riff to “Street Dancing.”
And after that, there were no more nerves.
Who had told us the audience was hot? They weren’t lying. The crowd screamed when we began. By the end, they were on their feet, dancing. Prentice, O’Connor, and Nicky were all in the second row; they’d let the parents sit up front, and they were all dancing too. So was Milt McAllister, and so was the house band.
The crews running those massive cameras, the producer, the people who held up cue cards . . . all dancing. The song was irresistible. And Aftermath was unstoppable when we played it.
Usually when we played more than one song, Archer would introduce Charlotte, but since we just had the one opportunity, Charlotte sat at Archer’s hip as he sang, watching the crowd and occasionally adding her own bark to the proceedings, which at least proved we weren’t lip-synching.
I was sorry we had only the one song. We were just getting warmed up, and if the screams were evidence, the audience wanted more too. But the Milt McAllister Show had a schedule to keep, so he let us take our bows and then brought us to the sofa.
By unspoken accord, Ian and I let Archer sit closest to Milt. Archer was our front man for a reason.
“Outstanding, guys. That was just so great. Thank you for that! Let’s start with introductions. Now, you’re Archer Armstrong, right? Lead singer. And next to you is Mal Becker, the drummer.”
I waved to the applause and caught Prentice’s eye. I winked at her, and she laughed back. I was filled with the warmth of self-confidence and the knowledge that we’d done well. Archer would do our talking, and all was right with the world.
Milt was still doing introductions. “And next is Ian O’Rourke, your wizard of the guitar. And I think you wrote ‘Street Dancing,’ didn’t you, Ian?”
Beside me, Ian nodded. Always chatty, our Ian.
“But there’s still one more member I don’t know.” Milt gazed with admiration at Char, who sat, upright and beautiful, beside Archer. “This is the Aftermath dog, isn’t it?”
“Yes, this is Charlotte. Would you like to meet her?”
“Can I?”
“No, you don’t have to stand. Up, Charlotte. Up, girl.” Archer patted Milt’s desk, and the audience erupted in applause when Charlotte put her front paws on the desk and looked down at Milt McAllister.
Milt was charmed. “Oh, you beauty! This dog is magnificent!” He stroked her head and she wagged her tail gently, enjoying the attention. “Oh, you’re glorious! And—and what’s this? What have you got here, girl?”
Ian stiffened at my side, but I was too interested in what Milt had found to pay him any attention. What? What had Charlotte found this time? Was it Milt’s shoe, sporting some new canine ventilation?
No, it wasn’t. Archer called Charlotte down, and when she turned, I saw it too.
A ring was hanging from her collar.
A diamond ring.
My eyebrows went up into my hair, and Archer elbowed me in excitement. We both turned to Ian. Now? He was going to propose to Nicky now ?!
“Did someone bring me a diamond ring tonight?” Milt asked carefully. “I don’t usually accept bribes, but that’s a very pretty sparkler.”
The audience craned forward to see better, and the showrunner had a hand on his headset, in conversation with the control booth at the back of the enormous room.
Ian finally spoke up. “Sorry, Milt. That’s not meant for you.”
Everyone swiveled to look at our most silent member. Milt, skilled at the art of interviewing, wasted no time. He got to the point. “Who is it for, then?”
Archer was clutching my arm, and I held my hand up to stop anyone from interrupting. In the audience, Nicky had her hand over her mouth. Go on, Ian. Do it!
Ian sighed. “I was going to do this later,” he said. “Not on television.”
Milt looked to his producer, who must have given him some “keep going” signal. “We’d be honored if you did do it on television.”
Ian looked to me and Archer.
I nodded to him. “Go on.”
“Fuck yeah!” Archer said.
Ian set his shoulders straight. “I had a great song too. Oh well.” He confused us all by calling Charlotte to him. “Come here, Charlotte. Come. Sit. Good girl. Charlotte?” She looked at him alertly. “Charlotte, find Nicky. Go get Nicky.”
Charlotte bounded off the platform and stood in the well meant for cameras, out of the brilliant cones of light. She scanned the huge room, ears up and tail wagging. The audience was breathless in anticipation, and the cameras scrambled to keep her in view.
“Call her, O’Connor,” Archer said quietly.
“Here, Charlotte!” O’Connor called. “Here she is. Here’s Nicky!” Charlotte spotted O’Connor and then Nicky halfway along the second row. The dog took off. “You guys are probably going to want to stand up,” O’Connor laughingly warned the people along the aisle.
There was a small stampede of men and women rushing to clear a path for the Great Dane, and most of the audience stood, too, to be able to see better. A guy with a shoulder-held camera was now following Charlotte. The dog finally made it to Nicky, who was crying and laughing.
Charlotte barked mightily when she got to her quarry, her front feet coming off the ground in her excitement.
Then the dog looked back to Ian, who said, “Bring her here. Bring Nicky, Charlotte.”
The audience cooed when Charlotte reached out gently and closed her mouth on Nicky’s wrist. The dog backed out of the row, bringing a laughing Nicky with her.
Charlotte pranced as she led Nicky back to Ian, who stood. “Would you like my seat, Nicky?” he asked.
She was fussing with her hair and laughing as she sat. “Now? You do this now?”
His slow smile lit up his face. “The timing was not my idea. Hang on, let me get this from Charlotte. Sit, girl.”
He knelt to unhook the dog’s collar and slide the ring off. He handed the collar to me and nudged Char to Archer. Then he stayed on one knee and faced the woman he loved.
“Nicky, I was going to do this later, in front of your family and mine, but here we are.” He took a deep breath. I took one myself. My heart was pounding, and I wasn’t more than a thrilled observer.
Go on, Ian. Protect your own future. Your happiness.
“I don’t deserve you, Nicky. I know that. You deserve so much better than me. But when I try to imagine my life without you, I can’t—I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. So please, baby, take pity on me. I’ll spend my life making sure you’re safe and protected and happy. I love you so much. Please, please—” He sniffed and blinked, unable to go on.
Nicky, a truly wonderful woman and someone I saw as a sister, laughed in joy. “Either you ask it or I will, Ian. Don’t leave me hanging.”
His stress eased at her teasing. He grinned. “Nicky, will you marry me?”
She exhaled, the word coming out of her like a breeze. “Yes. God, yes.”
She threw her arms around him and slid off the sofa until they were both kneeling, the studio shattered by the applause.
I turned to Archer and found him grinning as widely as I was. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s help them up.”
We stood. I got my hand under one of Ian’s elbows, and Archer got the other. We boosted him up and he pulled her, and at last, they were on their feet, red-faced and crying and filled with joy.
I stepped back and Archer did the same, but Nicky wasn’t having it. She turned and hugged me while Ian embraced Archer. Then we switched, and I pounded Ian’s back as he pounded on me. We were all laughing.
Once the wave of adrenaline had passed, we found Charlotte had gotten fully on top of Milt’s desk. He stood with one arm around her, fastening her collar on her lean, graceful neck. He was laughing too.
“Are you going to put the ring on her finger?” he asked, which reminded Ian.
At first we couldn’t find the ring; Ian had thrown it when Nicky launched herself at him. But an alert audience member spotted it, and he slid the ring onto her finger.
“Well,” Milt said, pleased. “That’s about all the time we have. Unless either of you other gentlemen . . .?”
I looked at Prentice, and she laughed back at me. “Not at this time, Milt. Sorry,” I said.
Archer, too, exchanged a glance with O’Connor. He paused like he was thinking about it, but she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. He shook his head.
“I’ve got to come up with something original,” he said, “although it’s going to be hard to top this one!”
We went through the end-of-show dance of talking without microphones while the credits rolled. Nicky broke away to hug her parents, and Archer and I shook Ian’s hand formally.
But as excited as we were for Ian and Nicky, I was thinking to myself. What would it be like to find the person you wanted as your partner? Not just for now, but . . . until old age? Until death?
Had I found her already?
Prentice smiled at me from her seat.
Might be time for a little conversation.