One Man Show (20 page)

I began pacing back and forth, going over the Jester lines in my head. It wasn’t easy with the audience jabbering and clapping
in rhythm.

“This must be what it felt like in medieval times,” Wally said, “when they threw people to the lions.”

“Roman times.”

“Huh?”

“They threw people to the lions in - ouch!” I rammed into the prop table. My eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the
dark.

“Are you all right?” Wally asked.

“Yes. No!” A surge of panic shot through me. “The audience is going to boo me off the stage!”

“Why?”

“They paid to see Jeremy Jason Wilder, not me!”

“So? You’re a ten-times-better Jester.”

I really needed that. Friends till the end.

The houselights went out. Everything got quiet.

“Wally?” I whispered, grabbing his arm with both hands. “My dad might be out in that audience right now.”

“Your
real
dad?”

“No, the guy who plays my dad on TV. Of course, my real dad!”

The musical intro started playing through the speaker system, and Cynthia launched into her minstrel song onstage.

Many sunrises ago, in the Land of Galico,

On a warm and dewy, bright September morn,

There arose unbounded bliss, unimagined happiness,

For the daintiest of princesses was born….

She sounded kind of wobbly on her last verse, but things just rolled along without a hitch after that. Leonard Shempski even
got the sound cues right. Felix was sweating up a storm again, but the gods of theater must’ve been smiling down on us, ‘cause
he managed to get every word out this time - with hardly a stutter. I kept checking out seat C101, the one that was reserved
for Dad. It stayed empty for all of act one.

Maybe he came late and he’s standing at the back of the house. Or he might be just minutes away; trains never run on time.
All my good stuff is in act two, anyway.

I spent the whole intermission peeking through that trusty hole in the curtain. It looked as though some of the audience had
left, probably because psycho Jeremy wasn’t in the play. I spotted Gordy and some girly-girl huddled together, reading programs.
Aunt Birdie was sitting next to them, snapping a flash picture of Granny hiding behind her purse. Mom and Aunt Olive were
standing by the covered piano, chatting with Pepper’s folks. No sign of Dad.

Could it be that I just don’t recognize him? I mean, it’s been a while. People change.
I tried to avoid the depressing maybe-he-just-blew-me-off thoughts that were knocking around in my brain. I still had to
be funny for forty-five more minutes.

“Places for act two, kiddles!” Miss Van Rye shouted, racing across the stage like a streak of silver lightning.

Somewhere around the beginning of the second act, when I was onstage without many lines, I glanced out into the house at third-row
center and just about freaked out. A dark silhouette was filling the aisle seat reserved for Mr. Theodore Grubbs. Adrenaline
rush! Just knowing he was out there watching made my performance more energetic or something. I thought I’d been giving it
my all, but I guess not, ‘cause suddenly it felt as if I was running on high voltage.

“No, Father!” Pepper said, bursting into tears. “I cannot marry the Prince, for his heart beats cold. And truth be known,
I love another - Jingle Jangles the Jester!”

“And I love her!” I said, leaping forward, feeling the love oozing out of every pore.

“Young fool,” Wally said, chuckling. “Surely you jest?”

“I jest indeed - ‘tis my lot in life. But I assure you, my love for your daughter is true.”

“But you’re nothing but a simpleton, a worthless twit, a penniless boor -”

“I get the point,” I said with a deadpan look toward the audience.
Huge laugh. I’ll probably be nominated for a Tony Award.

“Simple, perhaps,” I continued as the laugh died down, “yet my riches abound.”

“Limericks and limber limbs are not the riches of which I speak!” Wally said.

“Nor I, Your Majesty.”

I ran offstage and came back with a burlap sack, which I ripped open at Wally’s feet. Shiny coins and jewels came spilling
out, and the lords and ladies oohed and aahed.

“My dear father left this to me upon his untimely passing. It seems that over his lifetime as court jester, he’d collected
a small fortune - as did his father before him and
his
father before
him.
A bauble for a bawdy verse, a fourpence for a ditty…”

“Oh, Jing!” Pepper gushed, wrapping her arms around me.

The cast cheered, and the audience did too.

“Well, well, it seems that true love and a frugal nature have conquered all,” Wally said. “So raise your goblets high, good
folk! Let the celebration commence!”

The curtain closed behind Cynthia and her lute, and she sang the closing song:

Thus ends our tale of crowns and clowns, and love so fair and true, And in our wake I hope you’ll take this thought away with
you:
While breeding, grace, and handsome face are lovely to behold,

A titter here, a giggle there, are worth their weight ingold!

Curtain call. I was up last. Maybe it was just me, but I swear the applause-o-meter went crazy when I took my bow.
Actors are lucky. Not many people get applause. Even the guy who cloned that sheep probably just got a hearty handshake.
It was like being in a ticker-tape parade, jumping out of an airplane, and winning the lottery all at the same time. Like
a thousand pats on the back saying, “Great job, Dustin Grubbs!”

The cast formed a line across the front of the stage for our final bow, and the audience gave us a standing ovation! I must’ve
been hovering about three feet off the ground. The houselights came up and I got a good look at the first row. Mom, Granny
- even Gordy and his new girlfriend were on their feet, clapping. My eyes shot over to third-row center -the aisle seat C101.
Crash and burn.

Unless Dad had transformed into a tall black woman, he was a no-show.

“Fire up the grill, Ed!” Bunny hollered, holding open the door of the Yankee Doodle Diner. “Christmas just came early this
year!”

The whole cast and half the audience piled into the diner, taking up every chair, stool, and booth for this unplanned celebration.
Futterman, who was acting very un-Futtermanly, waved a fistful of wet money over his head and announced, “Order all the Uncle
Sam Burgers and Doodle Dogs you want, folks. It’s taken care of!”

“Eat your heart out, Jukebox Café!” Bunny shouted to her competition across the street.

It was the best night of my life and the worst. It’s hard being both happy and miserable at the same time, and I wasn’t going
to eenie-meenie-miney-mo. So I opted for miserable.

Aunt Olive had dropped Mom and me off at the diner and driven Granny and Aunt Birdie home. I wanted to go home
too, but Mom thought it’d be a good idea if we put in an appearance, since I was the star and everything. She was in a much
better mood, probably ‘cause Dad never showed up. We squeezed into a booth with Wally and his parents. They’d be driving us
home. I didn’t feel much like eating - or breathing.

“I’m sorry he disappointed you,” Mom whispered.

Or talking.

“I know you were hoping for a happy ending, like in the play,” she went on, “but that doesn’t always happen in real life.”

The Dorkins were gushing about Wally’s performance and asking him stuff like, “How did you remember all those lines?” So they
weren’t listening in, I don’t think.

“He’s always marched to a different drummer, your father,” Mom said, straightening her silverware. Mrs. Sternhagen used to
say that about me too, but I thought it was a good thing. “Maybe I’m too overprotective of you and Gordy when it comes to
him,” she said, “but I know how it hurts when someone you care about doesn’t live up to your expectations.”

“Yeah. Now I know what a bowling pin feels like.”

The smell of fresh peach pie came wafting by - but it wasn’t on the menu. It turned out to be Miss Honeywell. She floated
up to our booth, wearing a silky dress splattered with pink rosebuds.
Why is the town’s deputy sheriff standing in her shadow?

“Dustin, I’m just so gosh-darn proud of you,” she said. “The audience ate you up! Wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Grubbs.
You have a very talented, enthusiastic son.”

“Don’t I know it!”

“And what a fine job you did too, Wallace.”

Miss Honeywell finally noticed that King Kong was breathing down her neck.

“Oh, where are my manners?” she said. “I’m sure y’all know my fiancé, Mr. Lutz, the deputy sheriff.”

“Fiancé”? She’s engaged to that science experiment gone wrong?

The adults at the table congratulated them, and Lutz the Klutz grunted. He had Olympic-size sweat pools around his pits. Miss
Honeywell was blushing, and she grabbed his hairy hand, all lovey-dovey. Well, if it had to happen, I’m glad it was near the
end of the school year. I don’t think I could’ve lived through seeing her in class every day, knowing she belonged to another
man - and one who was allowed to carry firearms.

Okay, can we please get through the rest of the night without any more surprises?

I sank low into the cracked vinyl, trying to make out the words that were bleeding through a flyer taped to the window: TRECNOC
GNIRPS. I was thinking of what Mom said. It really does sting like hot arrows when somebody lets you down.

“Spring concert,” I said out loud.

“Huh?” Wally said.

“The flyer - on the window right behind you. Check it out.”

Wally reached around, peeled the flyer off the window, and gave it the once-over.

“It says there’s an outdoor concert in Lotustown. It’s next Saturday.”

“Cool,” I said. “Wanna go? My treat.”

“It’s free.”

“Like I said, my treat.”

“But it’s classical,” Wally said, scrunching up his face. “You
hate
classical music.”

“Yeah? So?”

Wally stared at me as if he were counting pores. I figured it was about time I bit the bullet and did something that he liked
to do, for a change. People could slip right through your fingers if you didn’t hang on tight enough.

“Okay,” he said. His eyes were shining brighter than Miss Van Rye’s sequined dress. “Let’s go!”

“You’re on - Wallace.”

Bunny zoomed over to our table and took our drink order. She brought us our two Diet Cokes and three regulars in record time.
The booth was rattling with conversation, but my mind kept jumping back to one thing. It wasn’t long before my thoughts turned
into words.

“There could be, like, a
million
reasons why Dad didn’t come,” I said to Mom. “What if he’s really sick - or hurt? What then?”

“Dustin, for heaven’s sake,” Mom said out of the side of her mouth, “just drop it, okay?” She took a long sip of Coke through
her straw and swallowed hard. “He didn’t have much of a problem dropping
us.”

“That’s not true,” I blurted out. “He used to call the house, and you kept it a big secret from me and Gordy. And I know he
used to send us presents too, but you sent them right back.”

I knew I was sworn to secrecy, and I didn’t want to upset her twice in one night, but the words just came out. Mom had that
surprised look on her face again. Shocked, even. But I could tell from her reaction that what I had said was true.

“I’m really fed up with your aunts’ filling your head with this garbage!”

“But it’s
not
garbage, is it?”

No answer. Wally’s family stopped talking. They were probably listening to every word we were saying. I didn’t care.

“I mean, what’s the big deal if I talk to Dad every once in a while? Or see him, even?”

“Dustin, I can’t believe you’re thinking of such things after what he pulled tonight. When will you learn? Enough is enough!”

“You’re a Grand Old Flag” came blaring through the diner’s
new jukebox, and that was the end of that.
It was hard to admit, but Mom was right. He had his chance and he blew it.

The chitchat in the booth slowly picked up again. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the
Reach for the Stars!
key chain Dad had given me. “To Dusty. Luv, Da.”
That’s how sixth-graders sign their Valentine’s Day cards. “Luv” - not “love.” ‘Cause they don’t really mean it.

A spider plant was sitting on a ledge next to our booth. I reached over and dropped the key chain in the dirt.

“Attention, everybody,” Futterman shouted. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” He was standing on a chair, clinking
his root-beer mug with a spoon.

Uh-oh. Now what?

“First off, great show!” he said as the talking petered out. “And we didn’t need that smart-aleck Hollywood delinquent to
pull it off either. Well, after all the tickets were sold, anyway.” He chuckled at that. “The play tonight raised enough money
to cover the repairs for the baby-grand piano - and then some! Who knew that people around here would go for this stuff in
such a big way?”

“Hey!” Pepper’s stepdad said with a mouthful of Doodle Dog. “Us Buttermilk Fallians appreciate culture too, ya know!”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Plunket said. “We’re not a bunch of boobs and rubes.”

“Okay, settle down,” Futterman said, raising his voice over
the commotion. “I have more good news. First thing Monday morning I’m placing an order for the Mascot 2000 electronic scoreboard
for our gymnasium! Plus, I think I could manage to set aside a little cash for next year’s show.”

“Next year’s show”? I have to be dreaming. I’ll be hitting that snooze button again any second now.

“Can we do a musical?” Darlene asked. “I’ve had three years of tap and baton.”

“We’ll see,” Futterman said. “Now, I’m not real big on mushy sentiment, but I like to give credit where credit is due.”

Since when? What’s gotten into Futterman?