Chapter Eight, Part II
Flapper on the Town
I love being a flapper. I love my grandma’s old dress; it’s a tight-fitting cocoon, draping down in overlapping tiers, giving me a beautiful, lean silhouette. After that it’s a goofy-long string of fake pearls, a pageboy wig from a costume shop, and entirely too much makeup, like Mary Pickford in a silent movie. I picture myself draped over a piano, whispering Gershwin tunes to a roomful of men with slicked-back hair and spats.
Yeah, yeah. Silly. But it’s Halloween – I’m allowed. Perhaps this masquerade is just what the doctor ordered. Lord knows, it hasn’t been much fun being me lately. Let’s just hope they don’t notice I wore this same dress last year.
My regulars are dressing to type. Harry’s a dashing mafioso, pinstripe suit, dark shirt, white tie, rakish fedora. Shari’s a Blues Brother: dark shades, black suit, skinny tie, white shirt. Caroleen’s a full-on hippie chick: tie-dyed shirt, hiphugger jeans, fringy leather vest and round purple Lennon spectacles. Kevin’s a Keystone Kop: high bobbie hat, long coat, gigantically wide belt and a Charlie Chaplin mustache. (Hamster’s taken a rare night off for a party in Federal Way. I imagine him dressed as an actual hamster, but I doubt he’d ever do it.)
It’s also fun to watch the song selections. I kick things off with “Superstition,” Harry does “Spooky,” and then (because somebody has to) Kevin tries out “Monster Mash.” Then Caroleen does “Mama, He’s Crazy,” which actually sort of fits. A quartet of guys from Pacific Lutheran University kick in with “Werewolves of London,” “Thriller” (complete with zombie dance and Vincent Price monologue), “Dead Man’s Party” and “Godzilla.” It’s amazing how many songs fit into the Halloween genre.
Which is why the next seems grossly out of place. I’m also having a hard time making out the name.
“Al? Al Lofus?” I’m surprised to find Harry, Kevin, Shari, Caroleen and Alex heading my way. Harry takes the mic.
“All of us,” he says. “We wanted to make a little presentation. We know, Channy, that you’ve been having sort of a tough time lately, and we thought this might be a good time” - he drops into a Tony Soprano accent – “to let you know exactly what we think of you.”
Caroleen snickers. Harry hands the mic to Shari.
“You see,” she says, “we just come here three, four times a week, and we’re the ones who get to have all the fun – and the whole time you’re working. And yes, we know it’s your job, but you’re so good at it – so good at making each one of us feel so special and cared for, and we really appreciate that.”
She hands the mic to Kevin. “So we got you a gift,” he says. “Something to go with that sexy flapper’s outfit. Here.”
He pulls an arm from behind his back and offers a long, thin gift box, wrapped in silver foil. I unwrap it and pull out a long black cigarette holder. I clamp it between my teeth like FDR.
“So what you’re saying is, I’m in a costume rut.”
“It’s not a rut when it works,” says Harry, all Skye Masterson (what’s next, Robert Deniro?). “We got you this, too.”
This box is small and square, containing a silver necklace with a treble-clef pendant.
“Oh guys,” I say. “It’s gorgeous!”
“Now,” says Kevin, slapping a nightstick against his palm. “Put on the damn CD so we can sing to ya.”
“Yessir!” I reply.
I spend the next five minutes at an elevation far above sea level, soaring over Gig Harbor like a figure in a Chagall painting as my regulars take turns singing “You Are So Beautiful.” I study my silver clef, radiant in the stage light, and think, This must be what a teacher feels like on the last day of school, when her students surprise her with a present.
Still, the attention is a bit much for me, so I’m almost glad when it’s over. We exchange hugs all around and then I pick out “H-E-L-L” by the Squirrel Nut Zippers and slap it on the CD changer.
Next: The Enemy Arrives
Purchase the book at: http://www.amazon.com/Outro-Michael-J-Vaughn/dp/1440111405/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1231020486&sr=8-1
Image by MJV.
Flapper on the Town
I love being a flapper. I love my grandma’s old dress; it’s a tight-fitting cocoon, draping down in overlapping tiers, giving me a beautiful, lean silhouette. After that it’s a goofy-long string of fake pearls, a pageboy wig from a costume shop, and entirely too much makeup, like Mary Pickford in a silent movie. I picture myself draped over a piano, whispering Gershwin tunes to a roomful of men with slicked-back hair and spats.
Yeah, yeah. Silly. But it’s Halloween – I’m allowed. Perhaps this masquerade is just what the doctor ordered. Lord knows, it hasn’t been much fun being me lately. Let’s just hope they don’t notice I wore this same dress last year.
My regulars are dressing to type. Harry’s a dashing mafioso, pinstripe suit, dark shirt, white tie, rakish fedora. Shari’s a Blues Brother: dark shades, black suit, skinny tie, white shirt. Caroleen’s a full-on hippie chick: tie-dyed shirt, hiphugger jeans, fringy leather vest and round purple Lennon spectacles. Kevin’s a Keystone Kop: high bobbie hat, long coat, gigantically wide belt and a Charlie Chaplin mustache. (Hamster’s taken a rare night off for a party in Federal Way. I imagine him dressed as an actual hamster, but I doubt he’d ever do it.)
It’s also fun to watch the song selections. I kick things off with “Superstition,” Harry does “Spooky,” and then (because somebody has to) Kevin tries out “Monster Mash.” Then Caroleen does “Mama, He’s Crazy,” which actually sort of fits. A quartet of guys from Pacific Lutheran University kick in with “Werewolves of London,” “Thriller” (complete with zombie dance and Vincent Price monologue), “Dead Man’s Party” and “Godzilla.” It’s amazing how many songs fit into the Halloween genre.
Which is why the next seems grossly out of place. I’m also having a hard time making out the name.
“Al? Al Lofus?” I’m surprised to find Harry, Kevin, Shari, Caroleen and Alex heading my way. Harry takes the mic.
“All of us,” he says. “We wanted to make a little presentation. We know, Channy, that you’ve been having sort of a tough time lately, and we thought this might be a good time” - he drops into a Tony Soprano accent – “to let you know exactly what we think of you.”
Caroleen snickers. Harry hands the mic to Shari.
“You see,” she says, “we just come here three, four times a week, and we’re the ones who get to have all the fun – and the whole time you’re working. And yes, we know it’s your job, but you’re so good at it – so good at making each one of us feel so special and cared for, and we really appreciate that.”
She hands the mic to Kevin. “So we got you a gift,” he says. “Something to go with that sexy flapper’s outfit. Here.”
He pulls an arm from behind his back and offers a long, thin gift box, wrapped in silver foil. I unwrap it and pull out a long black cigarette holder. I clamp it between my teeth like FDR.
“So what you’re saying is, I’m in a costume rut.”
“It’s not a rut when it works,” says Harry, all Skye Masterson (what’s next, Robert Deniro?). “We got you this, too.”
This box is small and square, containing a silver necklace with a treble-clef pendant.
“Oh guys,” I say. “It’s gorgeous!”
“Now,” says Kevin, slapping a nightstick against his palm. “Put on the damn CD so we can sing to ya.”
“Yessir!” I reply.
I spend the next five minutes at an elevation far above sea level, soaring over Gig Harbor like a figure in a Chagall painting as my regulars take turns singing “You Are So Beautiful.” I study my silver clef, radiant in the stage light, and think, This must be what a teacher feels like on the last day of school, when her students surprise her with a present.
Still, the attention is a bit much for me, so I’m almost glad when it’s over. We exchange hugs all around and then I pick out “H-E-L-L” by the Squirrel Nut Zippers and slap it on the CD changer.
Next: The Enemy Arrives
Purchase the book at: http://www.amazon.com/Outro-Michael-J-Vaughn/dp/1440111405/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1231020486&sr=8-1
Image by MJV.
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