by Dan Gutman
“You’ll be fine,” Paul assured him. “Relax, Raccoon. You’re a natural rapper.”
“The first time I sang in public,” Elke told the others, “I puked my guts up backstage before I went on. I was so scared that I thought I was going to faint.”
“Oh, great,” Richard said. “That’s what I’ll probably do.”
“Do you still get nervous?” Julia asked Elke.
“A little,” she replied. “But each time I sing in public, it’s easier.”
“It’s probably good to be little scared,” Paul said. “Keeps you on your toes.”
“I could never do what you do, Elke,” Julia said. “Just get up there all by myself. I could never dance in front of an audience unless there were other girls dancing with me. I don’t want everybody staring at me.”
“Oh, you could do it if you tried,” Elke told her. “You just have to pretend that the audience isn’t there.”
“I don’t care if they stare at me,” Richard said. “I’m just worried about forgetting the words. It’s all words, y’know?”
“Just like comedy,” Julia said. “Did you see what happened with that boy Don Potash?”
“The sweat was rolling down his face like a river,” Paul said. “I felt sorry for him.”
“Me too,” said Richard.
“That kid is hilarious, too,” Elke said. “He’s in my class. He cracks everybody up.”
“Poor guy,” Paul said. “He’s probably traumatized for life.”
“What does that mean?” asked Richard.
“It means he can’t eat Skittles,” Paul said, with a straight face.
“He just froze up,” Julia told Richard. “That won’t happen to you. You’ll remember your lyrics.”
“Hey, Raccoon, why don’t you just read the words off a paper?” Paul suggested.
“That would be lame,” Richard told him. “No rappers read their rhymes. You gotta just rap.”
“I get it,” Paul said. “Like you made it all up on the spot.”
“Yeah,” Richard said. “Hey, you’re not gonna tell anybody I was scared, are you?”
“Of course not,” Elke assured him. “Who would we tell? Your secret is safe with us.”
“Hey, speaking of secrets … ,” Paul whispered.
“Yes?” the others asked, leaning in closer. Nobody can resist a secret.
“I gotta tell you guys something,” Paul said. “I’m busting. I can’t hold it in anymore.”
“What? What? What?!”
“The BluffTones are not playing ‘Wipeout’ in the show,” Paul revealed.
“You’re not?” asked Elke. “Why not?”
“We’re tired of it,” Paul said. “Anybody can play that song.”
“Then why have you been practicing it all week?” asked Julia.
“So the grown-ups will think we’re gonna play it,” Paul told her.
“So what are you gonna play for real?” asked Richard.
“Promise not to tell?” Paul said.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Richard said.
“If you tell, worms are going to crawl into your body,” Paul said. “They’ll live in your intestines.”
“We won’t tell,” the others said.
“Okay, here’s the secret,” Paul whispered. “We’re gonna play ‘Stacy’s Mom.’”
“Get out!” Elke said, punching him on the arm.
“It’s true,” Paul insisted.
The others collapsed into giggles.
“Really?” asked Julia. “Isn’t that the song they said you weren’t allowed to play?”
“Yup.”
“Then why are you going to play it?” asked Julie.
“Because we like it,” Paul said, “and because we want to stick it to the Man.”
“What man?” asked Richard. “Mrs. Marotta isn’t a man.”
“You know, the Man,” said Paul. “The grown-ups. The judges. Authority. The censors. People who try to tell you what to do and how to run your life.”
“That’s the Man?” asked Richard.
“You learn fast, Raccoon.” said Paul.
“Aren’t you worried that you’re going to get in trouble?” asked Julia.
“Sure, I’m worried,” Paul said. “I’m no rebel. I never did anything like this before.”
“Reverend Mercun is going to freak out, you know,” Julia said. “He’ll probably pull the plug on your amps in the middle of the song.”
“Let him,” Paul said. “Maybe that will get us on the TV news.”
“You won’t win the talent show if you do that, you know,” Elke pointed out. “They’ll disqualify The BluffTones.”
“I don’t care,” Paul replied. “Does it even matter? Everybody knows you’re gonna win, anyway.”
“That’s not true!” Elke protested.
“Oh, please,” Paul said. “Sure it’s true. You’re the most talented kid in town. Everybody knows that.”
Elke was about to say something, but she stopped. She looked like she couldn’t decide whether or not to tell them something.
“Can I tell you guys a secret?” she finally said.
The others leaned forward.
“Go ahead,” Julia whispered.
“I don’t want to win,” Elke said.
“What?” Paul said, flabbergasted. “Are you kidding me? Why not? You’ll get that cool car. Even if you can’t drive it, you could sell it. It’s worth thousands of dollars.”
“You’re going to be famous, Elke,” Julia told her. “Everybody says so. You’re going to be the next Justin Chanda.”
Elke sighed and shook her head.
“I don’t want to be famous,” she told them. “My mom wants me to be famous. I just want to sing. I love to sing. But I don’t want to be a celebrity. I don’t want to have people following me around all the time, taking pictures and bothering me. Having to get my hair done all the time. I wish I had your courage, Paul.”
“My courage?” Paul said. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the courage to stick it to the Man.”
“Who’s the Man?” asked Richard.
“My mom is the Man,” Elke explained.
“Your mom is a man?” asked Richard.
“No silly,” Elke said. “My mom tells me what to do. At least until I’m eighteen.”
“So how could you stick it to the man, anyway?” asked Paul.
“I could just not show up,” Elke said. “I could ditch the whole talent show. That would show her.”
“What?!” Julia said. “Are you serious? Would you actually do that?”
“Maybe,” Elke said. “Shhhh. If my mom finds out I’m even thinking about this, she’ll kill me.”
“It’s a bad idea,” Paul said, shaking his head. “I hope you won’t do that. I’m gonna feel like it’s my fault. Like I gave you the idea.”
“You didn’t,” Elke said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. My mom told me that if I win the talent show, she’s going to leave my dad. We’re going to take that Hummer and drive to Los Angeles for me to try and make it as a singer and actress.”
“Wow,” said Richard. “She’d leave your dad if you won?”
“Are you serious?” Julia asked.
“Yes.”
“She told you that?” Paul asked. “She didn’t ask you?”
“She told me,” Elke said, “and I don’t want to leave my dad.”
“Your mom would actually do that?” Julia asked. “My mom would never force me to do something I didn’t want to do.”
“My mom wanted to be famous when she was younger,” Elke told them. “So when it didn’t happen, she decided that she would make me famous. I guess it’s almost as good.”
“So what are you going to do?” Julia asked. “How are you going to tell her you’re going to ditch the show?”
“I’m not going to tell her,” Elke said. “I’m just not going to show up. I’ll send my parents to the show and tell
them I’ll be there after I walk my dog. Then I won’t come. She won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“She’s gonna freak out,” Paul said.
“I know,” said Elke. “But I can’t tell her. Not to her face.”
“Why don’t you just come to the talent show and sing bad on purpose?” Richard suggested. “Then you’ll lose.”
“Not a bad idea, Raccoon,” Paul said.
“I can’t do that,” Elke said. “I wish I could.”
It was quiet for a minute while they let it all sink in.
“Hey,” Paul finally said, “if Elke ditches the talent show, one of us has a good chance to win it. Maybe I should just play ‘Wipeout’ after all.”
“I thought you were so anxious to stick it to the Man,” Elke said.
“Oh, yeah,” Paul said, snapping his fingers.
“Well, I know one thing for sure,” Julia whispered. “My group isn’t going to win either way. The Beach Babes are awful.”
“If I win,” Richard said, “I’m going to sell the car and give the money to you, Elke. Because you would have won for sure.”
“That’s sweet, Richard,” Elke said. “But if you win, you keep the prize. You will have earned it.”
At that moment, Mrs. Marotta’s voice boomed out across the multipurpose room.
“Where is Richard Ackoon?” she hollered. “He’s up next! The Beach Babes on deck, and The BluffTones on double deck. Where is Jake Perelmuter? Coleman Verburg? Let’s go, people! This is rehearsal time, not social hour!”
Paul quickly got down on one knee and gathered Elke, Julia, and Richard around him.
“Okay, whatever we said here is secret, right?” he told them. “Nothing leaves this room. Got it?”
The four of them put their hands on top of one another’s like a team before the big game.
“Got it.”
Chapter 14
A Million-to-One Shot
“Attention. Flight 117 to Los Angeles has been canceled. We regret any inconvenience… .”
Justin Chanda was having a bad day.
Oh, sure, he was a mega-selling recording artist with millions of fans, three Grammy Awards, his own clothing line, and enough money in the bank that he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life. But right now, waiting in line to buy a corn muffin in Tulsa International Airport, none of those things mattered.
After meeting with his lawyer in New York that morning, Justin had been heading back home to California. His connecting flight to Chicago had been diverted to Oklahoma because of bad weather. As he sipped a cup of coffee, he was kicking himself for continuing to fly with commercial airlines instead of buying himself a private jet. He could certainly afford one, and he could have avoided all this mess. This is what I get for trying to lower my carbon footprint, he said to himself.
Justin shook his head in disgust. He just wanted to be home.
The day had started poorly, even before he left New York. His girlfriend dumped him. For the past year, Justin had been dating Francesca Wolff, the slinky actress on the hot new TV series Virtual World. Just about every week there was another picture of the couple in People magazine, frolicking on some beach or shopping in L.A. Then she sent him a text—a text!—saying that if he didn’t want to marry her, it was all over between them. She said she wanted a man who was willing to make a commitment.
Justin was willing to make a commitment. But not to Francesca Wolff. She was beautiful and they looked great together, but when there were no cameras pointing at them, they simply didn’t have much to say to each other. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with somebody like that.
To make the day even worse, Justin’s cell phone was dead. He had forgotten to charge it in the hotel room the night before. Living without a cell was almost like living without oxygen.
With his flight canceled, Justin had to figure out what to do next. Hoping to avoid being recognized, he pulled his Dodgers cap down over his eyes and walked over to the departures board in the terminal. It was already past four o’clock. There were no more flights to L.A. for the rest of the day.
“Mr. Chanda, can I have your autograph?”
He looked down. It was a girl, probably ten or eleven years old. She was staring up at him like she was looking at Santa Claus. The girl held out a pen and a little autograph book. On one side of the open page, the words “Donald Duck” were written in sloppy handwriting. The girl’s parents stood a few feet behind her, beaming under their Mickey Mouse ears.
Justin didn’t mind signing one autograph. The problem was that if anybody spotted him signing the girl’s book, they would come over and ask for an autograph too. And if he was spotted signing for two people, ten more would come over. And if he was seen signing for those ten, a crowd would appear. It always did. Then he might have to sign a hundred autographs. He had already signed a bunch for the people on the flight from New York. Justin loved his fans, but writing his name repeatedly on little scraps of paper was the part of celebrity that he could do without.
“Yeah, sure,” he told the girl without much enthusiasm. He took the pen and scrawled his name next to Donald’s. The girl’s mother snapped a photo to preserve the moment.
A men’s room was a few yards away, and Justin dashed into it before any other autograph seekers could accost him. He went into a stall, closed the door, and sat down. This was the only place he could be alone and think things over.
Justin reviewed his options. He could see if a nearby airport might have a flight to L.A that night. Or he could stay overnight at a Tulsa hotel and try to catch a flight home to L.A. in the morning. Or, he could rent a car and drive home … 1,400 miles. That last option was the least attractive. Plus, it would pump tons of carbon into the atmosphere, which he was opposed to on moral grounds. Just last week he had performed in a benefit concert to save the rainforest.
Justin rooted around in his carry-on bag for his wallet. He would need his credit card and photo ID no matter what he decided to do. While he searched, his fingers came upon a envelope. His lawyer had handed it to him in New York. It was a personal letter. Most of Justin’s fan mail was answered by secretaries. But this one came from his hometown, so his lawyer thought it might be important. The return address said “Mary Marotta, Cape Bluff, Kansas.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. Justin tore the envelope open.
Dear Mr. Chanda,
I don’t know if you remember me, but we went to high school together. In fact, you and I were Sandy and Danny in Grease for the senior class play. My last name was Lampert then. Hard to believe ten years have gone by so quickly. Everyone here in Cape Bluff is so proud of what you’ve accomplished. There’s a new principal now, but some of our old teachers are still here, and so is Reverend Mercun, Officer Selleck, and others.
I’m sure you’re crazy busy, so I’ll get to the point. You probably heard about the tornado ripping up the town. The elementary school library was flooded and almost all the books were ruined. We’re holding a talent show at the school on March 21 to raise money and help Cape Bluff get back on its feet. I can’t think of anything that would be more inspiring to the kids here than if you were to show up that night and just say hi to everybody.
I know this is a million-to-one shot. But every so often a million-to-one shot comes in. If you can make it, great. If not, the folks of Cape Bluff and I wish you the best of luck with your upcoming projects.
Sincerely,
Mary Marotta (formerly Lampert)
Of course Justin remembered Mary Lampert, now Marotta. In fact, he had a crush on her back when they were in high school. He got the lead in Grease because he could sing. But he was a skinny little nerd back then and didn’t have the courage to ask out such a pretty girl. Mary Lampert dated football players. He didn’t think he had a chance with her. Thinking back, he remembered a football player named Marotta. Mary must have married the guy. Lucky guy.
In Justin’s mind, he was still a skinny little nerd. Bu
t now he was a rich and famous skinny little nerd. He was one of the few people who left Cape Bluff and became a success. He had never looked back.
Justin looked at the boarding pass of his canceled flight to check the date—March 21. Then he read Mary’s letter again. The talent show was that night.
The grim-faced lady at the United Airlines Customer Service counter took one look at Chanda, Justin on the boarding pass, peered at his face, and nearly fainted. Suddenly she was all smiley like a schoolgirl, happy to help him in any way she could. Being a celebrity does carry certain advantages.
Justin explained his predicament and the customer service rep pecked some keys on the computer in front of her.
“There’s a flight to L.A. tonight from Springfield-Branson Airport,” she said, “but that’s almost a three-hour drive from here. You’d have to hurry to make it.”
“I’ll take it,” Justin quickly agreed. “I can get there.”
He rushed to the rental car area. The lady at the Avis counter also recognized him, and agreed to give him their newest car—a yellow Toyota Prius convertible—in exchange for an autograph.
“Nice!” he said, scrawling his name across a road map on the counter. “A hybrid. Fifty miles to the gallon. Very green. You’ve got a deal!” He thanked her and hurried to go pick up the car.
Interstate 44 starts near Oklahoma City, passes just below Tulsa, and is a straight shot to Springfield, Missouri. Along the way it crosses the state lines almost exactly where the corners of Kansas, Oklahoma, and Missouri touch.
Justin liked highway driving. He found it relaxing. And having grown up less than two hours from Tulsa, he knew the area. He’d driven it plenty of times.
After an hour or so on I-44, he started to see exit signs for familiar towns—Vinita, Baxter Springs, Joplin. His old stamping grounds. The next sign said CAPE BLUFF, ONE MILE.
Cape Bluff. The old memories came flooding back. He remembered the day he was sitting in the high school cafeteria when he jokingly suggested to his best friend Laurent Linn that they form a bubblegum boy band. Laurent agreed that they couldn’t be any worse than The Backstreet Boys or ’N Sync. Justin and Laurent rounded up a few other guys in the school choir and named themselves “Pendulum Dune.” The name didn’t mean anything, but they thought it sounded cool. Justin wrote a bunch of songs that sounded a lot like those other groups. Laurent was a real techie, and he built a little recording studio in his basement. Pendulum Dune recorded a demo CD there, and sent it to every radio station within a hundred miles. Somehow, it caught the ear of a talent agent who signed the boys to a management deal.
