Beautiful Music for Ugly Children (17 page)

Please.

Then I hear my dad yell, “Hey!” When I look up, he’s motioning to me, so I walk over, praying things won’t be horrible.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let me introduce you to the Millers. They’re our biggest clients. Bob, Evelyn, this is my … ” He breathes as deeply as he can. “This is Gabe.”

I almost can’t stick out my hand to shake Bob’s, but I do, and I manage a smile at the same time. “Nice to meet you, Bob.”

Bob looks me up and down but doesn’t miss a beat. “Your dad tells us you’ve just graduated. Any college plans?” Bob’s very slick and smooth, the kind of guy I couldn’t be if I tried a million times. Just like I couldn’t be the boob-licking dude.

“Still working on it.”

Evelyn chimes in. “Maybe you should go into accounting like your dad.” She gives my dad a big grin, sort of a
he’s a chip off the old block, isn’t he?
kind of grin.

“I haven’t decided.”

“Good luck!” Evelyn turns back to her own Blizzard as I realize mine’s now a cup of soup. Bob and my dad shake hands one more time and my dad guides me back to our car by my elbow, just like he did when I was a little girl. It’s not a very father/son gesture.

The drive home is silent. I eat my ice cream soup and try not to notice the fact that my dad is sniffling. When he parks the car, he turns to me, eyes red and full. “I’m trying, all right?”

“It was great, Dad. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He gets out of the car, slamming the door and hurrying inside.

“And thanks for the ice cream.” I barely hear “Any time” in return because he’s already upstairs.

Pete is watching TV, of course. His latest fix is
Survivorman
, which is a pretty cool show because it’s easy to remember how good you have it after you’ve watched the guy in the Amazon or Antarctica for a week. It makes me grateful for hot water and toilet paper.

I plop down next to him on the couch. “Can we switch it to VH1?”

Pete throws me the remote. “I’ve already seen this one.”

I change it to VH1 Classic and we watch a Michael Jackson video retrospective. It’s close to the anniversary of when he died, so of course everyone wants to talk about how wonderful he was. He’s still not Elvis.

Pete is inspired, so he gets up and starts working on his moonwalk, and I start trying to do the circle slide, and we end up laughing so hard my mom comes down to find out what’s going on.

“Would you two please be quiet?” She’s not upset, but she’s not necessarily amused, either.

“Sorry,” Pete says.

“Sorry, Mom.” I whisper it, so she knows we’ll tone it down.

“Stop having so much fun, all right?” She smiles her mom smile at us, the one that says we’re forgiven.

“See you in the morning.” I hug her, a little too hard because I almost knock her over.

She’s so surprised she laughs. “Good night, kids.” She leaves, and Pete and I settle in with another episode of
Survivorman
.

If anybody tries to hurt my family, I’ll strangle them with my bare hands.

The Ugly Children Brigade is the New Elvis because They’re Cooler Than Cool

Friday night. The Vibe show is locked in, nailed down, tight as it can get. Tonight we hang out at the B side wall. It’s seventy-two hours until Summer Mondays in the Cities. I haven’t been able to eat since this morning.

I have on my dusky plum shirt but with some cargo shorts and Tevas. Paige matched me before we came down to the station, and now she’s standing next to me, watching all the meters on the board. I see her hand sneak out towards a volume slider.

“Don’t touch a single thing.”

She jumps back. “I’m not.”

“But you were thinking about it.”

The awkwardness between us seems to be gone, which is fine, because I’d rather be a BFF than a perpetual stress ball. There will be other girls. Just no one like her. It’s crossed my mind to text Heather, but I haven’t. Not yet.

John’s sitting in the corner, fiddling with a cigarette and flipping my Zippo open and closed. “It was so much nicer when we could smoke on the air.”

“Yeah, but it’s much healthier not to smoke at all. And would you quit fiddling with that thing?”

He chuckles. “Don’t be surly. The Vibe show is perfect. You’ve rehearsed and fiddled with it forever. And you could do a Beautiful Music show in your sleep, so everything’s just right. You’re perfect on both counts.” He glances at the clock. “And you’re on in three seconds.”

“Welcome, welcome, to Beautiful Music for Ugly Children right here on community radio, 90.3, KZUK. I’m Gabe, your host, and tonight is a tribute show—to radio. You heard me right—radio, in all its craziness. Where would I be without radio? Nowhere. To start us off, let’s hear one of the masters himself, Elvis Costello, along with the Attractions, with ‘Radio, Radio.’ ” The song unleashes itself on the airwaves with unmistakable enthusiasm.

John’s beaming. “Nothing like unbridled youth to wake people up. So what’s up tonight after Elvis C?”

“LL Cool J, Flo Rida, Queen, R.E.M., Chuck Brodsky, George Jones, Joni Mitchell, Regina Spektor, Donna Summer, Rancid, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, ZZ Top, and Wall of Voodoo. In that order.”

He nods. “And the ones for your Vibe show?”

Like I don’t know. He’s just testing me. “Elvis Costello, Rancid, Flo Rida, ZZ Top, and Wall of Voodoo.”

“And your secret song?” We’ve thought about a million different ones, and I finally came up with my final choice last night. It’ll bring the house down.

“You won’t know until I play it,” I tell him. John and Paige are coming with me.

“Perfect.” He gestures to the door. “I’m going outside.”

Paige takes over John’s chair. “Did you really bring Donna Summer?” She hates disco.

“ ‘On the Radio’ was an obvious choice.”

Elvis Costello slides into LL Cool J, then he’s over and I’m back on. “Who would have guessed, Ugly Children, that more than a hundred years ago, someone would invent something as marvelous as a radio? It’s hard not to love an object that brings you the wonderfulness of music, even music like Flo Rida’s. I have no idea if airplay matters to a musician’s career today, but it might. You never know. Let’s roll a little funky with his song ‘Radio,’ on 90.3, KZUK.”

It sounds like a Top 40 station in here. Gross.

John comes back into the studio after Queen. He gives me the thumbs-up as I talk, then motions Paige to get back out of the chair he’d been sitting in. She does, but she gives him a look, which he doesn’t see.

“Tonight, Ugly Children, what would you like to do? How about another go at B side graffiti? Name it, claim it, write it all over, and let’s let R.E.M. accompany you. Their A sides are as cool as their B sides. Here’s ‘Radio Free Europe,’ some old-school alt rock on KZUK, 90.3 community radio.”

Paige groans. “You just think you’re as cool as a B side.”

“I’m cooler than your B side, that’s for sure.” I tug her hair, which is quite lovely tonight, but I don’t mention it. “How about if we put your B side and my B side together and make some beautiful music?” My smile tips Paige into anger, and she storms out of the studio.

John watches her go. “She’s a bit sensitive, isn’t she?”

“Well, we had a … moment … a while ago, and she’s not sure what to think about it.”

“You mean like a moment-moment?”

“Not quite like that, but we … kissed. More to prove a point to Mara, but we kissed.”

“Hot damn! I told you it would be all right.” He claps me on the shoulder.

I frown. “Having her best friend turn into her boyfriend isn’t her thing.”

“Too bad. Guess there’s not much you can do about it.” He points at the CD player. “But you’ve got more pressing matters—like dead air.”

“Pardon me, fans, listen to the big old pause. Chalk it up to live clowns in the studio. Time now for some Chuck Brodsky, and his song called ‘Radio.’ I know, I know, repetitive titles. But enjoy it anyway.”

Once I’m done, I tell John to steer the ship while I go find Paige. Not like she’s disappeared—she’s gone no farther than the back door, and she’s smoking a cigarette, something she never does.

“Where’d you get that?” I pull it out of her fingers and put it out.

“John left his pack down here.” She shows me his Marlboros and my Zippo. “You really need to watch your mouth.”

“Can I help it?” I try to keep it light. “I wanted that kiss to mean something, and you shot me down.”

She’s turned away from me, lighting another one. “I didn’t shoot you down. I just told you it’s not possible.”

“Why not?” I grab my Zippo back from her. “It could work.”

“Yeah, well … boyfriends are easy to find. Best friends …
not so much.” Her eyes are soft, even if her words are trying to be hard, and she’s close to tears. Paige does not get close to tears.

Even though I don’t want to, I hear her. Then I hold out my hand. “Would you please come inside?”

She stubs out her butt and puts it in the ashtray, then takes my hand.

John’s excited when we get back to the studio. “I talked to the UCB! I told them to get ready for your visit, and that you couldn’t wait to meet them, and then I played Conway Twitty.” He’s quite pleased with himself.

“You have your own show, dude.”

“Yeah, but it’s the UCB! And there was no dead air—did I ever tell you my best no-dead-air story?” He settles into the legend. “It was Halloween, 1962 or so, and I was on the second floor of a building in San Diego, watching the crowd downtown have a huge outdoor Halloween party. They were watching me, too.”

“Did you have a costume?” Paige wants the details.

He gives her a look. “Just a mask. But that doesn’t matter.”
He sails on. “There was a balcony on our floor, and I went out to get some candy and wave at folks, and I locked myself out. Can you believe that? Here I was, pockets full of Halloween candy and a minute left on my song, and no way to get back to the studio!”

“Did you have to call someone?” I can picture John eating Halloween candy and waving to people in the street below, then cursing his head off when he realizes the door is locked.

“Nope. I jumped off the balcony, scraped my hands when I landed, twisted my ankle, lost all my Halloween candy, tore open a window with my bare hands, which made them even more bloody, then climbed in the building and ripped two doors off their hinges to get inside the studio. With no dead air. I even had enough breath to talk before I put on the next record.”

“Which was?” I know he’ll know.

“ ‘Searchin’,’ by the Coasters. Pretty good story, huh? That’s me, ol’ Super DJ.”

Paige doesn’t quite believe him, but I do. While she grills him about the heroic leap off the balcony, I give the UCB more songs to dance to. Then we get to the final cuts. “All right, listeners, you’re full of radio songs now. Let’s close out our night with two more bursts of energy, both of them dedicated to the old-school humongous-ass AM stations in Mexico. Here’s ‘Heard it on the X’ from ZZ Top, and ‘Mexican Radio’ from Wall of Voodoo. See you next week, listeners. This is Gabe, signing off of Beautiful Music for Ugly Children, right here on community radio 90.3, KZUK. I’m off to claim my B side.”

Even though they’re not quite my flavor, ZZ Top makes me smile. Nothing like Texas rock at one a.m.

John’s shoving CDs in their cases and gathering everything into the crate. “UCB, here we come!”

Paige turns to me. “Ready to meet your fan club?”

“Not really.” My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed my pepper spray.

“They’ll love you because you look so good. Who’s your personal shopper?” It’s the first smile I’ve seen out of her all night.

“Her name is Paige, and she’s really good. Just don’t kiss her.”

“What’s this I hear about kissing?” John’s shutting lights off while making sure Marijane is gardening her butt off. He elbows me in the side, and Paige sees him.

“NOBODY. SAID. ANYTHING. ABOUT. KISSING.” Each pause is punctuated by a whack over the head with Paige’s handbag, which is big enough to hide a small child in, and that must be what she has in there because it’s heavy and it hurts.

We pile in John’s Caddy. Paige is in the back seat, and I hope she doesn’t decide to hit me again with whatever’s in that bag. John tells us more about his radio days. Jumping off a balcony and locking himself out for Halloween candy is one of the less stupid things he did.

“Do you know where you’re going? You’re two streets west of where you need to be.” Paige sounds like a diva actress directing her driver somewhere.

“Sorry.” John’s turning corners, getting back to where we need to be. “I thought they were expecting him at 1:30.”

“That may be, but he still can’t be late.”

It’s only 1:15, and I hadn’t even noticed we were on the wrong street because I’m too busy trying to figure out what to do if they all laugh at me.

Suddenly we’re there. I close my eyes and ask the universe for fifteen seconds of goodness. Just fifteen seconds.

When I open my eyes, I see a crowd by the graffiti wall. Maybe twenty people. Not sixty-eight, but not ten.

My legs are shaking. I don’t know if I can do this.

John parks, hops out, and opens my door before I get my brain together. “Presenting … Gabe!”

They could throw eggs, or cold spaghetti, or rocks.

But one person starts to clap. Then another. Then they’re all clapping, long and loud, like it’s 1954 and I’m Elvis. John and Paige are whistling and cheering right along with them. The only thing I can think to do is bow, so I do.

These people like Gabe. Me.

Then everyone stops looking and starts chatting again. People are coming over. A guy hands me a cup full of something that smells like Hawaiian Punch with a distinct alcohol edge. “Don’t drink it too fast. It’s pretty strong.” He walks off while another girl points me toward a bunch of chip bags, Subway sandwich wrappers, and Oreo cookie packages laid out on top of a car hood. “If you’re hungry.”

Then someone grabs me, and it’s Bobby X. “You’re crazy good. How do you find all that shit?” He’s more animated than I’ve ever seen him.

I nod toward John. “My neighbor is a DJ too.”

Bobby X actually shakes my hand. “You’re awesome, Liz. Gabe.” And he wanders off.

Then Marci Anderson comes up to me. We’ve been in at least one class together every semester since ninth grade. “Why didn’t you ever tell anybody about Gabe? He’s really interesting!” Then she blushes. “I mean, you. You’re really interesting. Sorry.”

“It’s not the easiest thing to tell someone.”

She blushes again. “Your show’s great.” She scurries away.

After that, nobody calls me Liz. I chat with people, and sometimes I hear myself laughing. Like honest-to-god laughing, because people are saying funny things, and I feel comfortable, so I laugh. It feels so good. Liz never laughed.

Paige, of course, is in her element, flirting with everyone. John’s having a good time, too, chatting and laughing and eating chips like they’ll disappear out of stores tomorrow. Nobody minds talking to him, because he’s doing his best to be his charming DJ self. I wonder if he introduced himself when he was on the air.

I scan the crowd—no Heather. That’s probably good. I see Mara standing over by the car-hood table, and she’s by herself so I decide to talk to her. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.

She’s grabbing some Oreos, so I reach over her hand to snag one. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Oh! Hi, uh … hi, Gabe.” I can see her cheeks get red, even under the streetlight. “Um … how are you?”

“Really fine, actually. I need to thank you.”

“For what?” It’s obvious this isn’t what she was expecting to come out of my mouth.

“For outing me. You shoved me off the cliff. Turns out I can fly.” God, that’s dorky. But it’s what it feels like.

“Oh. Well. I guess you’re welcome.” She walks away with her handful of Oreos and a backward glance over her shoulder. I can tell she thinks I’ve lost it. I probably have.

All of a sudden I hear a voice yell, “Get the hell out of here!” from somewhere behind me. Then I’m shoved in the shoulder and a different voice says in my ear, “What a waste of humanity!”