The Talent Show (11 page)

“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.”

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.