Five Flavors of Dumb (20 page)

Twenty seconds into “Look What the Cat Dragged In” I was pretty sure Josh should’ve started singing. I even thought I heard him sing-screaming the opening verse, but only Kallie appeared on the monitor screen. She played with grim determination, staring at her fingers to make sure she didn’t screw up. I moved away from the monitor and approached the edge of the set.

Sure enough, Josh was in full swing—eyes closed, body rocking, head tilted to one side like he was having a seizure. Everyone except Will exuded raw energy, and the audience looked predictably shocked. I figured it’d be no more than another minute before the security guards started unpacking the defibrillators. In the meantime, the camera was locked on Kallie.

When Josh opened his eyes at the beginning of the chorus, he evidently noticed that neither camera was pointed at him, and his disgust was unmistakable. He began to drive athletically to his right, placing himself between the camera and Kallie, but as soon as he pulled off the complex move, the light above the camera went off. Suddenly the camera on the other side of the stage was fixed on Kallie instead, and Josh had even more ground to cover to get himself in frame. It didn’t seem to occur to him to stand in front of her. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested in sharing the spotlight. Either way, if his cavorting hadn’t been so ridiculously self-absorbed it would have made a fairly compelling spectator sport.

Josh needed only two more tours of the stage before he realized, like me, that Selina had crowned Kallie as the face of the band—that is, the
only
face of the band—and from then on he delivered each line with undiluted venom. I couldn’t tell if anyone else in the band had realized what was happening, but in any case, only Josh seemed to care. My sixth sense told me his fuse had been lit, and immediate action was required.

I found Selina in a corridor off the set, barking into her headset. When she saw me coming, she looked away to make it clear she had no intention of talking to me. I had a desperate urge to stride up and whip the stupid headset off her head, but instead settled for scrawling a brief message on a piece of paper and shoving it in front of her face: CHANGE THE CAMERA SHOT.

She spun around sharply. “No way,” she spat. “My director says that girl is the only one she wants our audience seeing. The others are punks.” I almost laughed at the way she said it, like Dumb had somehow insulted her sensibilities. (I wondered if Ed would be oddly flattered to know he passed as a punk by the standards of
Seattle Today
.) “Anyway,” she pressed on, “what was that crap about Dumb being spiritual descendants of the Dixie Chicks?”

“The Dixie Chicks have had a pretty tumultuous past, politically speaking,” I hedged.

Selina blinked twice. “And Celine Dion?”

“I was talking about the lyrics,” I explained reasonably, pointing to my hearing aids. “I mean, I could hardly be talking about the music, right?”

She huffed in displeasure, then flounced past me to the edge of the set as Dumb ended the song with a screeching blast of pure distortion. It sounded like an airplane landing just above my head.

I turned back to the monitor and saw Josh staring everyone down, especially Kallie. I wanted to call a time-out, sit the band down with a Sharpie and a clipboard and tell them that it was us against
Seattle Today
, and we needed to stick together, present a unified front. Only that was out of the question. They were already piling onto a too-short sofa, and Josh didn’t look like he blamed anyone but Kallie.

The camera cut to Donna as she beckoned Kallie over, patting the sofa cushion nearest her. Kallie hesitated, but glided along to her designated spot. With the camera ideally placed to capture the momentous occasion, freaky skeleton lady held out a bony arm and shook Kallie’s hand. I was afraid she might never let go, but then Tash plopped down beside Kallie, and Donna pulled away, leaning back in her giant-sized armchair in an attempt to put a safe distance between herself and Dumb.

“Well,” began Donna, smiling vacantly, “that was . . . such . . . goodness me ...”—I wondered if the stenocaptioner was having technical difficulties, but when I looked at Donna’s face, it was clear the problem was entirely hers—“such . . . I mean to say . . . tell us how the band formed, Kallie.”

Kallie looked like she’d just been asked to explain the theory of relativity. She crossed and uncrossed her boots as her hazel eyes grew large and fearful. Seconds passed like minutes.

“I can answer that, Donna.” The words appeared on the screen, but the source wasn’t apparent until the camera cut to Josh at the far end of the sofa. (Trust Josh to look up the host’s name in advance.) “Dumb was born from the convergence of rock philosophy shared by its original members. Then Ed joined us because we’d cultivated a technique of rhythmic flexibility that some people misinterpreted as, for want of a better phrase, playing out of time. And that leaves Kallie.”

“Indeed,” replied Donna. “Tell us about Kallie.”

“Well, she can’t play guitar for
bleep
.”

The last word seemed bigger than the others somehow, and I felt my lunch making a bid for freedom. I almost wished the stenocaptioner had just written “shit”—at least I’m used to seeing that word.

“The only reason she’s in the band is to expose media bias,” continued Josh. “Think about it. We’ve added a piece of talent-less eye candy, and watched everyone fawn over her just because she’s hot. It’s a
bleep
joke. She’s a
bleep
joke.”

Selina was beside me in a heartbeat, her breath punching the air in angry whispers. I pretended I didn’t know she was there. I didn’t even do it to get even with her. I did it because the camera had pulled back to reveal the rest of the band fidgeting on the sofa, and I could tell they weren’t exactly thrilled with Josh’s word selection either. Actually they looked pretty angry, potentially violent even. It occurred to me that a fight could break out right then and I wouldn’t have been surprised. And I don’t think I was alone. Donna’s face twitched like she was being electrocuted; only her immaculate blond hair remained completely unruffled.

Selina pushed in front of me, waggling her finger and issuing some carefully chosen swear words, which seemed pretty hypocritical, I don’t mind saying. Then she pointed to the monitor, where the closed captioning conveyed Josh’s latest incriminating sound bite: “Do I have issues with Kallie? No. Why would I have issues with such a superficial, vacant, self-absorbed piece of
bleep
?”

“Let it go, Josh,” appeared on the screen, but it wasn’t clear who’d said it. It was even less clear whether anyone could slow him down now that he’d opened the floodgates.

I admit it—my mouth felt dry, gummy. Surely the director or producer or
someone
would pull the plug at any moment, but when I looked at the monitor again Josh was still holding court and the camera operator was either too shocked or too traumatized to change the shot. Since no one else seemed able to take charge, I took a deep breath and hurried to the edge of the set, waving my arms frantically. From his place in the middle of the sofa, Ed peered up at me with the widest eyes I’ve ever seen. He watched carefully as I flattened my hand and placed it against my neck, then moved it sideways like I was slitting my own throat. Would he understand that I wanted—no,
needed
—him to bring the interview to a close?

Ed shook his head mournfully from side to side. Apparently he’d already completed the transition from frightened to petrified.
Great.

And he wasn’t alone either. The oldest members of the studio audience seemed intent on hailing the nearest security guard, like they were seeking protection in case the impending riot somehow extended to them.

I felt Selina’s hand clasp my shoulder, but I brushed it away and held her off with my outstretched arm. At that moment I didn’t give a damn that her job was on the line too; I just needed to stop the wreckage. My pulse was racing. Sweat trickled down my forehead and back, and I wasn’t even the one under the blazing studio lights.

I looked at Josh, studied his lips to confirm that he was still monologuing on his new favorite topic: “The point is, none of us need some stuck-up bitch acting like—”

“Shut up, Josh!” This from Will, not only stirred to action, but shouting loud enough for me to hear clearly. I’d never known him to be so assertive, but it was too little, too late.

I’d seen enough. If the whole crazy ride was ending right there, I was going to have my say. Maybe I was being egotistical, utterly irresponsible, but if the band was about to flame out, it was sure as hell going to be me holding the match.

I took in a final view of them on the sofa—my five flavors of Dumb—and saw the pain and disappointment etched onto the faces of everyone except Josh. Surprising myself, I actually managed a melancholy smile, blew them a kiss, mouthed the word “good-bye.”

Then I walked onto the set just in time to see Tash launch herself along the sofa, her hands poised to strangle Josh on live TV. Fists flew. Bodies tumbled to the floor. And at the bottom of the scrum lay poor Ed, our own version of Switzerland. By now Donna was freaking out—she jumped out of her seat and scampered offset, almost knocking me down in her haste.

“They’re lunatics!” she screamed. “What the hell are they doing on my show?”

I strode onward. The red lights above the cameras showed they were still filming, catching the dying embers of the band’s impromptu beat down. Frankly, I didn’t care. I didn’t even hesitate when uniformed security guards joined the fray like they’d waited their entire lives for the chance to throw a few punches in the name of keeping the peace. There just wasn’t room in my racing mind to contemplate any of these things.

Ten yards from the melee I narrowed down my choices to breaking up the fight, rescuing Ed, or unleashing a well-aimed shot to Josh’s private parts. But then Kallie struggled from the sofa and stumbled toward me. Tash extricated herself too, and grasped Kallie’s hand like she’d just appointed herself bodyguard. I looked to see whether Ed was still breathing—he seemed to be—then braced as Tash and Kallie stood before me. I wondered if they’d scream at me, and realized I couldn’t blame them if they did. A manager was supposed to prevent situations like this. Instead they moved to either side of me, locking my arms with theirs, and I knew they didn’t blame me at all.

Just then, Ed was rescued by one of the older and kindlierlooking security guards, who’d clearly identified him as collateral damage. Ed even locked eyes with me and mouthed the word “go,” which reassured me he would survive.

Without a word, Tash and Kallie and I marched off the set, ignoring Donna’s wild gestures and threats of retribution. For the first time we were sisters together, and nobody and nothing could stop us. A crowd had clustered in the lobby, eyes glued to the monitors relaying events from the studio, but it parted when we arrived. With looks of surprise, awe, and disgust, they watched us leave the mayhem behind.

As we paraded through the glass doors and embraced the stiff salt breeze, I sensed that all eyes were drawn to Kallie, like always, but she didn’t seem to notice. I wondered what she was thinking. Did she need Tash and me to apologize for all the cruel things we’d said? If so, she wasn’t letting on.

All the way to Pike Place Market no one said a word, but with every step the past felt more distant. We moved as one body, shared a single mind, and even when the streets grew busier we never unlocked our arms—just forged ahead like we owned the city. And for those few precious minutes, hip to hip like the Three Musketeers, I think that, just maybe, we really did.

When I was little, Mom would take me to Pike Place Market for fresh fruit and vegetables, and sometimes a bouquet of flowers to celebrate the weekend. We used to watch the fishmongers tease tourists with their fish-throwing routine, and breathe in the chaos of thousands of bodies crammed into a space made for hundreds. Pike Place always seemed alive, the beating heart of downtown. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been there.

Tash pulled us into a café, ordered three lattes and paid up-front. There was no use in arguing with her—this was as close as she’d ever come to apologizing for treating Kallie like crap, and we all knew it.

We huddled at a table next to a bay of windows. A month before, Tash and Kallie would have piled onto seats without a thought for me, but now they sat beside each other on one side, with me on the other, so that I could follow the conversation more easily. Such a small gesture, but it meant everything.

I looked out the window, across the dark waters of the Puget Sound. To the west, the peaks of the Olympics showed off the first snows of winter. I sensed Kallie and Tash gazing out too, immersed in the wondrous scene like they were trying to purge the ugliness of the afternoon. By the time the first hot tears pricked my eyes, I wasn’t the only one crying.

“Since Dumb is over now,” I said, stating the obvious, “you may as well tell me if you sent the messages from ZARKINFIB.”

Kallie frowned. “I thought that was Baz.”

“No. I asked him.”

“Well, it definitely wasn’t me.”

“Or me,” said Tash. “It sounds like the kind of thing Josh would do.”

I’d already considered that, and ruled it out. I’d surmised Josh’s motives for being lead singer in his own private rock band, and they were no more laudable than mine had been for managing it. But I couldn’t believe he’d waste his time trying to educate me about the deeper significance of rock music when he couldn’t even see it for himself.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Maybe Will.”

Tash snorted. “Not likely. Will doesn’t give a crap what you know or do. All he cares about is playing his bass. Right now I hate him just as much as Josh.” She gritted her teeth so the muscles in her jawline bulged out. “I’ve been playing in his stupid band for two years, and he still doesn’t notice me.”