Chapter Forty Elton Emu #2
I eye her cooling mug on the small table, swirled with cream and sugar, just like the coffee I brought with me.
“Thanks,” I say, setting it beside her mug.
Beverly smiles down to Ava. “Hey, we’ve got a chair just for you to watch in, A.” She walks Ava toward a short black folding chair near the camera. The back is lined with colorful pennants. “We save this one for only our coolest kids. That’s you, right?”
Ava nods, immediately falling into it.
I crouch down. “Now, you gotta stay in this chair while we film, all right? No talking.”
“Okay.”
“And if you giggle, cover your mouth, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Attagirl.”
Beverly walks to the folding chair where Bernie is slumped and tucks him into her arms like a mother might a child. She returns, along with spare papers in one of her hands. “Okay, you got the script beforehand, right?”
“Yeah, Jimmy sent it to me.”
“Good. Well, we’ve got a copy for you here, too, just in case,” she says, holding out the papers. The sheets flutter in her shaking hand. “Generally, we do just a couple practice run-throughs before filming.”
I gingerly take the script from her. “All right.”
Her hand was shaking?
Now mine is too.
Beverly twists on the spot, murmuring to the same person in all black who talked to me earlier.
“Ready?” she asks. Beverly nods, and the woman then yells out in the studio, “All right, everyone, can I get Finch, Becca, and Westin to stage!”
I climb the stairs up to the stage while people walk on with puppets already slung onto their arm.
They shake my hand in character—with the puppet’s hand, of course—before grabbing what look like little stools on wheels.
I remain standing, but they sit with their arms raised in the air.
Eventually, there are four people sitting by my feet, two of whom are Beverly and Finch.
He shakes my hand from the floor with a nod.
“Good to see you again.”
Beverly tucks Bernie onto her arm. Finch slides his right arm into Bernie’s spare hand, and the two of them exchange a smile. There’s an understanding between them. A partnership. I might be jealous if it weren’t so charming.
A guitar is suddenly shoved in front of me.
“For you,” Rob says.
I take it from him. “Oh. Thanks, bud.” I almost forgot. I strap my guitar over my shoulder. I’ve been staring at Beverly too much. I need to get my head in the game.
I wish I knew more about her life now. She seems good. Tired. It’s the same look I see when I stare in the mirror. She’s probably so busy.
“All right, let’s get going.” The same woman who spoke to Beverly gestures to me. “Griffin, you ready?”
“Yeah.”
“And…action.”
Suddenly, all the puppeteers fly onto set on wheeled seats, their puppets raised above their heads, bopping up and down into frame, with floating feathers or fuzzy fur on their birds. It’s a chaotic jumble of puppets and puppeteers down by my feet with headsets.
When Beverly and Finch roll in—Beverly with two arms tucked into Bernie and Finch with one—Finch’s opposite hand is set on Beverly’s back as if to steady her, keeping them close together. They’re two parts of the same whole. Perfectly, professionally in sync.
Suddenly, I’m face-to-face with Bernie. Wide eyes. No eyelids, of course. An open, expressive beak. It’s like staring at an old friend, like time has not passed.
We perform the script, and the words flow like we’ve done this a million times before.
The other puppets bop around us when they talk and even when they’re idle.
It’s ridiculous. It’s silly. It’s wonderful.
And when we break into “The E Song,” it’s like coming home.
It’s the familiar refrain I’ve performed for weeks.
I’ve practiced it more than our upcoming concert set, which probably annoys Jimmy to no end.
But I overheard him humming the tune to himself the other morning. I’ll never let him live it down.
Every time I glance at Beverly, she’s beaming ear to ear.
Her arm bounces up and down as Bernie moves across set, rolling on the little stool next to Finch as they hold back their own laughs.
I want to bottle even a fraction of her smile for myself, but I wouldn’t want to steal a single sliver of her light. She’s completely in her element here.
After one more round of practice, I look out and see the studio filled with more people. Someone is behind a camera now. The same woman from earlier taps a clipboard in her hand.
“Looks good. Let’s get one big cheer, everyone, then we’ll get rolling!”
I jolt when there’s a collective two-clap from the cast and crew, followed by a “Whoop!”
I grin to myself. The positive energy is palpable.
“All right, quiet on set.”
My hands tense on my guitar as a quick succession of words follows. It’s startling how rapidly everything happens.
“Lock it up. Roll sound.”
“Sound speed.”
“Roll camera.”
“Rolling.”
“Mark it.”
Someone steps out with a clapboard.
“Birds on the Block. Season one. Episode three, scene one. Take one.”
“Action!”
And then we’re off to the races. The moment the puppeteers roll onstage, every bit of tension melts away.
There are bouncing birds. Goofy voices. Clever one-liners. And Bernie is beside me the whole time, along with Carmen Crow and Hector Hawk, dancing to “The E Song,” calling out wrong words, getting corrected by each other and me.
It’s pure magic.
When the director finally calls, “Cut!” I don’t move. I want to do it again. And thankfully, we do. There are about three more takes, just to make sure we get everything right. Each time is more exciting than the last, and when we finish, there’s a round of applause from the cast and crew.
Ava immediately runs to me, and I crouch down onstage to pull her into my arms.
“Have a good time?” I ask.
“Bernie funny.”
“He was, wasn’t he?”
“Daddy too.”
I kiss her forehead with my eyes closed, and when I open them, Beverly is across the room smiling at us. She averts her gaze the second she notices I’m looking back.
“You can stick around for a bit and hang out,” the woman in charge says, tucking her clipboard against her chest. “Most people do.”
“Want to, munchkin?” I ask Ava.
She’s already gasping in excitement.