Friday the 13th comes on a Tuesday this month. Most people think 13 is an inauspicious number, but I consider it my lucky number. Hey, someone has to be its friend.
And speaking changing luck and people needing friends, here's the final chapter of "Before Gonzo was Great"...
*****
Old Friends Who've Just Met
by Kim McFarland
*****
It was, mercifully, not a dark and stormy night. Gonzo had enough on his mind without that. It would probably have been smarter not to bring his guitar, he thought, but somehow he couldn't make himself leave it behind. Was he good enough with it, though? He had no idea. Maybe he'd find out.
The backstage theater door was unlocked. Gonzo looked in. It was dark and musty-smelling, with bits of props and scenery and other items stacked against the walls. Was this the right place? He heard soft, distant music. Someone else was here. He walked in and shut the door behind himself.
He walked up a short flight of stairs and looked around the dusty, dimly-lit area. A desk, another flight of stairs leading up to a balcony-like second floor with a few doors. An antique intercom. This place looked like it had been empty since the days of Vaudeville, he thought as he followed the sound of music.
He looked through the wings at the stage. It was empty. Then he saw the orchestra pit, which contained a lot of empty seats and, at the far end, an upright piano. From the sound of it, it had not been tuned since the A note had been promoted to 440 Hz. Gonzo recognized the tune as something classical. As he approached the tune changed tempo, slowing down, and began to meander. Gonzo approached quietly, unwilling to disturb the player. When he could see behind the cabinet he was surprised to find that the musician was a large brown dog. The dog glanced up and stopped playing. "Oh, hi there. Didn't hear you come in."
"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'm early," Gonzo said.
The dog closed the lid over the keys. "I was just passing the time. You here for the auditions? Me too." He held his paw up to Gonzo, who sat at the edge of the pit and reached down to shake hands. "Rowlf the dog. Pleased to meet'cha."
"Hi. I'm Gonzo."
"So, you play guitar… hey, haven't I seen you around town? Singing in the park?"
"Yeah, That's me. I just do that for fun," Gonzo said, a little embarrassed. "Actually, I was looking for a backstage job so I could get some experience with a real show. I'm just out of college. I studied theater."
"I went to obedience school, myself." Rowlf noted that the hopeful stagehand had still brought a guitar. "It'll be a while before Kermit gets back, and he's the guy in charge. In the meantime, wanna jam with me?"
"Sure." Gonzo got out his guitar, which he had carefully tuned—just in case—and took out a pick.
Rowlf opened the lid again and said, "When I saw you in the park you were singing a long song, and I didn't hear the beginning. Sounded weird but good. It was something about the Wizard of Oz. Did you write that?"
"Existential Blues," Gonzo replied. "I didn't write it. I tweak the lyrics, though. Localize it."
"How about playing that? I'll jump in," the dog said.
"Sure." Gonzo put back the pick he had chosen and selected another. He wanted a grippy one for this song. He settled the guitar into a comfortable position, then began strumming energetically. After the intro he began singing,
"The elusive butterfly has just fluttered by my door,
My buddy likes the Giants, he says, "Hey Gonzo, what's the score?"
And I say, "Well, Nicklaus got hole in one in two and bogied three and four."
Does the left wing fly in circles? Colonel Sanders, nevermore."
Rowlf smiled as he listened to the strange, flow-of-consciousness lyrics. The tune was unpredictable enough that Rowlf did not try to join in. He noticed that Gonzo had only three fingers on each hand, which had to make fingering difficult. Rowlf could sympathize; there were piano pieces not made for his four-fingered paws.
The song went on for over six minutes, and swerved between narrative and nonsense, singing and monologue. When it was over Rowlf laughed and said, "That's pretty good."
Gonzo replied, "Thanks. I played that one more times than I can count back in college."
"Yeah, I can imagine," Rowlf said. "What other kinds of stuff do you play?"
"Oh, this and that," Gonzo replied, shrugging as much as was possible while wearing a guitar. "People make requests, and if I can't play 'em well, I can play 'em badly but funny."
"If you're gonna mess up, mess up like ya mean it," Rowlf said, nodding.
"Yeah," Gonzo said. He began picking out the tune that Rowlf had been playing, at first strumming out a note at a time, then adding simple chords. "What's this called?"
"Für Elise. By Beethoven."
"Um." He continued playing up to the point where Rowlf had stopped. The dog asked, "You play by ear?"
"Yeah. I can read music, but usually I play what I hear." He had only recently learned to read music, but he did not want to advertise the fact.
"Do you play anything besides guitar?"
"I've messed around with the trumpet and bagpipe and ocarina and other things, but I only own a guitar."
"You write anything yourself?"
"A few things…"
"How ‘bout playing one of those?"
"Well… okay. They're mostly for kids, though."
"That's fine."
Gonzo played a short, lively intro, then began singing,
"Lonely? I get lonely. Sad? Oh, I know sad.
But you do what you can with the things that you see to make life a jamboree.
And I see cows playing cellos with bananas where their horns should be.
And I see flags being waved by ducks in buckets, and pigs drinking lemon tea.
Jamboree, jamboree!
Find where you hide and look inside and you've got a jamboree."
This had a simpler tune, and when Gonzo started the second verse Rowlf joined in on the piano, adding playful elaborations, and sang along with the refrain. By the end of the song both were laughing. Gonzo, barely noticing that someone was walking down the right aisle, said, "That was fun!"
"Yeah. Hey, you ought to try that song out on Kermit," Rowlf said.
Gonzo fidgeted, then replied, "I don't know. It's kind of strange."
The dog shrugged. "So what's wrong with strange?" Before Gonzo could answer Rowlf noticed the newcomer, a green, spindly-legged frog. "Ready to face the music?"
"So to speak," the frog answered.
Rowlf gestured at Gonzo. "This is Gonzo. We've been jamming. Maybe you shoulda brought your banjo. Hey, Gonzo, sure you don't want to audition with
Jamboree?"
Gonzo shook his head. "I want to get
hired. I figure, it's safer to go for a backstage job and work up from there."
"Work up to what?" the frog asked.
Gonzo shrugged. "Whatever I can do. I'll try anything!"
"Good attitude to have around here," Rowlf remarked.
Gonzo said, "I used to make a living playing music in parks. It wasn't much of a living, but… well, there's something about performing for an audience, even a little one in a park, that's really cool. I just played the guitar and sang because that's how I could make enough to eat, but I really want to try more. If I can get my foot in the door, see where I fit in, then I'll try out some of my ideas."
"What kind of ideas?" the frog asked.
"Well, eventually I want to combine music with performance art. The ordinary with the extraordinary."
"Such as?"
"Well, like eating a tire to the tune of
The Blue Danube Waltz," Gonzo said. "They may not understand it unless they've been starving artists themselves, but they won't forget it in a hurry!"
The frog looked stunned. Rowlf said, "Neither would you, if you actually ate the tire."
"Not a steel-belted one, of course. That'd be
nuts."
Rowlf and Kermit exchanged looks. Rowlf said with a grin, "Well, you said you wanted to show people things they've never seen before."
"That certainly fits the bill," the frog said.
"And he's a pretty good tenor," the dog continued. "He can carry a tune, which is better than some we've seen, Kermit. You could start him in the chorus."
Gonzo's eyes widened. This frog was Kermit? "Wait, was that an audition? You didn't tell me!" he exclaimed.
"So? Looks like you passed," the dog said with a grin.
Gonzo put his guitar back in the case, trying to conceal his confusion. Begin in a chorus? He had expected to be shifting scenery years before he saw the stage! This ancient theater wasn't the big time, but it was certainly a step up from the college drama club productions he had been involved in.
Kermit, sensing that Gonzo needed a moment to get himself together after that shock, asked Rowlf, "Who do we have next?"
The dog moved his sheet music, revealing a clipboard. "The Orphingtons. They're dancers."
"Oh, I think I saw them out front. Would you fetch ‘em, Rowlf?"
The dog nodded, said "Woof," and walked up the aisle.
Kermit said conversationally to Gonzo, "We're just starting out, and Rowlf's helping me with everything. He's an old friend." He held out a clipboard. "I'll need your contact information."
"Okay," Gonzo said. He wrote in his name, address, and telephone number.
He was about to hand it back to Kermit when Rowlf returned, herding a small flock of white chickens down the aisle. Gonzo stared in surprise, the clipboard forgotten. Kermit looked at the birds, then said to himself, "Orphingtons. Of course." He said to the chickens, "What do you do?"
One of the chickens clucked at length. Kermit said, "Sorry, I didn't catch that."
The chicken repeated herself slowly. Kermit shook his head in frustration. Hesitantly Gonzo said, "Um, she said they mainly do ballet and modern dance, but they can learn anything."
"You can understand them?" The hens looked as surprised as Kermit did.
"Yeah."
"Great! Stick around, I can use the help," Kermit said.
"Sure!"
One of the hens handed Rowlf a thin book of sheet music and clucked. Gonzo said, "She'd like you to play the third piece." Rowlf nodded and set the sheet music on the stand.
Gonzo watched, enthralled, as the chickens demonstrated their steps to an out-of-tune rendition of "Swan Lake." They were enchanting, feather-clad visions. He had always been fond of chickens, but until this moment he had not realized how lovely they could be!
Afterward Kermit said, "I don't think I've ever seen anything like that."
The lead hen clucked and bowed elaborately, in ballet fashion. Gonzo told him, "She says thanks. Uh, I could get their contact information for you. They can't hold a pen with their wings."
"Okay, thanks."
As Rowlf went to get the next hopefuls, Gonzo guided the chickens into the wings. He took down the names the chickens gave him. "Buffy, Bernice, Ethel, Camilla, Stephanie, Louise." One of the chickens looked at the paper and squawked. He corrected the spelling of her name.
After he got their address and telephone number—they all lived together, not far from here—he gathered his nerve and clucked, "I hope they pick you. You're the most beautiful dancing chickens I've ever seen."
The chickens stared at him, surprised to see someone else speaking their language. Then they all began laughing.
Startled and hurt, Gonzo muttered, "Sorry."
One of the hens touched his arm with her wing. She stifled her giggles and told him that they weren't laughing at him, only his accent. In English he sounded normal, but in Chicken he sounded like a hick from the sticks. He said—in English—"Well, yeah, I learned on a farm in Kansas."
She clucked reassuringly and patted his arm with her wing again. The other chickens had regained their composure. She told him that she would see him around, then left with her sisters. Gonzo watched them go, and heaved an embarrassingly theatrical sigh. If they were in the show, he would do anything in his power to be in it as well.
He left for home in a dreamy state.
Ten minutes later he returned to drop off the clipboard and retrieve his guitar.
****
All characters and the song "Jamboree" are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. "Existential Blues" (the lyrics of which I have shamelessly altered) is copyright © Tom "T-Bone" Stankus. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. This story is copyright © Kim McFarland (
negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.
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