Back-Up Acts
Mary Kitt-Neel
Copyright 2011 Mary Kitt-Neel
License Notes
Cover Photograph © 2006 Mary Hiers
Mike Miroff was a nice enough guy, but Martine didn’t want to encourage him too much. She had reluctantly accepted a date with him, but only on the condition that she drive herself to meet him for dinner and then follow him to the concert afterwards. The concert was by Lois Bright and her backup band, The Clicktones. They had had a few minor hits in the mid-1970s before the slash-and-burn effect of the Disco era rendered light, popular soul music irrelevant. Martine had a couple of their songs on her iPod.
The day of the concert dawned with a suitable sense of dread. It wasn’t that Martine didn’t like Mike, but that she didn’t like him in that way. And when she thought of it in those terms, it sounded ridiculous in her head, like she was in junior high school and not a woman in her 40s.
Her son Tingo seemed happier than usual that she was going to be gone, and she was afraid that was because he wanted to have a party at the house in her absence. She tried to make it perfectly clear that she would be home by midnight at the latest, and that the house had better look the same when she returned as it did when she left.
Email, her daughter, was on a weekend-long camping trip to a Civil War battlefield with her school’s American History club to earn extra credit and keep her grades high enough that her dad wouldn’t give her shit about it. Martine had told Email that if she got in trouble on this field trip (for which there was precedent) she was to call her father and not her. The Joint in the Backpack Incident from the observatory trip her sophomore year still stung, and Martine wanted to share the pain if there was to be any this time around.
Tingo, in fact, had not even considered having a party while he had the house to himself. The nearby Presbyterian church had recently hired a new Youth Director, who happened to be a single woman who looked to be 25 or so and was extremely cute. She had short, spiky hair, and wore nerd glasses. She was small, but slightly hip-heavy, the way Tingo liked girls to look.
Every day at some point between 4 p.m. and 7 p.m. she walked right by the house with her two dogs. And they were awesome dogs too. Not little frou-frou dogs wearing diamond collars and cashmere sweaters. They looked like pound rescues, ever-so-slightly badass.
One day, hopefully this one, Tingo planned to chat up the girl and invite her and her dogs inside for something. Probably lemonade. He couldn’t remember if Presbyterians were allowed to drink, so he figured he better not offer her a beer. Having his mother out of the house would make things much easier.
It wasn’t that Martine wasn’t welcoming, or was mean to his girlfriends. She just had a way of walking around the house wearing white socks with sandals and her hair tied up in a chaotic mess on top of her head and either printing stuff out on the printer in the living room or shredding things she had printed before. The shredder was also located in the living room and emitted a high-pitched “schkreeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…” sound that turned your teeth to chalk. It wasn’t the impression he wanted to make on Miss Youth Director.
There was the small issue of getting Email’s cat, Ted, sequestered somewhere beforehand in case Miss YD’s dogs hated cats and tried to start something, but that was small potatoes compared with what he’d have to deal with if his mother and sister were around. As he got dressed around noon, he flexed in front of the mirror a few times and tried to convince himself that he, too, could pass for 25.
When four o’clock rolled around, his mother was still in her office working. Had she forgot? Dammit, that would be just like her to cancel her plans and not say anything.
“Mom,” said Tingo, “don’t you have that thing you’re going to tonight?”
Martine re-stacked a pile of cards on her desk as she looked up from what she was doing. “Of course. But we’re not having dinner till 6:30. I’ll be here till 6. I can fix you something to eat before I go.”
“No, it’s cool. I just thought maybe you’d be getting ready or something by now.” After all, Tingo had been mentally getting ready for his imaginary meeting with Miss YD since he had woken up, and frankly, he thought, Martine needed a lot more preparation than he did.
In his room, Tingo had set up his computer next to the window so that he could view the street corner and see the precise moment when Miss YD rounded it with her dogs. The problem was that he was nervous, and he was sweating. The minute his mother left, he was going to crank the air conditioning down to 68 degrees.
When Martine finally left, Tingo’s t-shirt was wet and he accepted that he smelled gamey. He knew that a strategic shower was necessary, but that he’d have to be quick about it. Ted the cat was at the door, ready to be let out, so Tingo shooed him out, flew to the bathroom, and set about getting as clean as possible in as little time as possible.
***
Martine was relieved to find that Mike wasn’t being amorous. Maybe he did understand the concept of being friends with a woman. Being a sports editor, he had a certain brashness about him, and she was relieved to see that he didn’t try to tone it down much in her presence. Had he become all gooey-eyed, she was prepared to bail on the date.
Things took an unusual turn, however, once they arrived for the concert. It was being held at a small civic auditorium, a size of venue that attracted niche acts and nostalgia groups that the over-40 crowd would appreciate. They saw several people they knew as they were ushered to their seats. The curtain was a few minutes late going up, but that was nothing unusual.
The announcer came onstage to make the required fire safety speech and point out the emergency exits. When she was through, she cleared her throat and looked from side to side, as if she had to deliver bad news.
She did.
At some previous point in their tour, Lois Bright had become embroiled in a creative argument with The Clicktones, and the two parties had mutually agreed to part ways. The Clicktones had quickly mustered up a replacement for Miss Bright, but once she found out about it, her lawyers put a stop to it and sent a cease-and-desist order.
The Clicktones’ lawyers responded swiftly, but when all was said and done, the two sides came to the compromise that The Clicktones could sing all the songs in the set list, as long as they completely left out the parts that Lois had sung. Since they sang backup, this resulted in an entire concert of nothing but backing vocals.
Mike looked annoyed and whispered to Martine, “Do you want me to find out if I can get a refund?” Martine thought it was fascinating, however, and wanted to stay. She wasn’t disappointed. The instrumentalists were in top form, and so were The Clicktones. It was like watching two hours of live karaoke tracks. She had to hand it to them: they put everything they had into their show, lead singer or not.
***
By 8 p.m., however, Tingo was curled up on his bed, watching “Aqua Teen Hunger Force” and wondering if he would ever leave the house again.
He managed to shower in record time, but while he was still wearing only a towel, with his hair wrapped up in another towel, Email had called. She had forgotten to remind their mother that Ted needed to take his antibiotic pill for the infected salivary gland he had suffered a week ago, so Tingo was going to have to take care of it. And it had to be done pronto, because Ted was actually supposed to have the pill in the morning, and it was already night.
“He’s outside, Email. I’m not going and looking for your cat, especially after it gets dark.”
“He’ll come in. All you have to do is call him. And if he doesn’t come to you, just shake the cat food box or open a can of cat food. If he hears it he’ll come running. Geez, you act like I’m asking for one of your kidneys or something,” she said.
Momentarily, Tingo had
forgotten about Miss YD in his focus on getting Ted inside and giving him his pill. Still pissed at Email, Tingo grabbed the big pink box of Frisky Delights and headed for the front door. Swinging the door wide open, he stomped outside angrily and shouted “Meow!” while shaking the box as hard as he could.
It was at that precise moment that Miss YD and her dogs walked directly in front of the house.
Tingo stopped and felt his blood freeze. Miss YD had smiled at him, the way people smile at a mentally handicapped person at the mall. He wanted the front porch to part and swallow him whole. On the positive side, however, Ted came running and followed him inside the house with no extra prompting.
So upset was Tingo, that it didn’t occur to him that administering a pill to a cat was not an easy thing to do, and that it was a good idea to have a layer or two of clothing on when attempting it. By the time he had tended to his wounds and put on clothes, he knew that there was no chance of getting a pill down Ted’s throat and that even catching him again was going to be a challenge.
Eventually he hit upon the idea of grinding up the pill with the mortar and pestle that sat on the kitchen windowsill and mixing it with some yogurt. He then added the yogurt to some of the wet food Email had designated for Saturday. Ted ate it, and Tingo felt satisfied that he had done his part. He also figured he better develop a positive relationship with Ted, now that he could never show his face in public again. He gave the cat a few scritches behind the ear as Ted licked his little chops after finishing up the cat food.
***
Martine ended up enjoying the concert immensely. In fact, knowing what had happened to The Clicktones, the audience members who hadn’t left treated it as a once-in-a-lifetime event, and the auditorium had taken on the feel of an impromptu party. The Clicktones gave it their all, and really connected with the audience. They even had people dancing in the aisles to a couple of numbers, and did two encores.
Martine embraced Mike and kissed him on the cheek after he had walked her to her car. Her eyes were sparkling. “Thank you so much,” she said sincerely, before getting in to drive. Mike was happy. His philosophy was that if a date didn’t end with getting slapped in the face, it was a success. He figured that he must have succeeded at his new year’s resolution to clean up his vocabulary.
When Martine arrived home, she quietly slid the key in the lock of the front door, thankful that no party appeared to have taken place. A small, dim lamp burned on the fireplace mantel, and she could see Tingo asleep on the couch, with Ted curled up asleep on his chest. She felt a sharp pang of maternal love. Tingo could be a major pain in the ass, but he had a heart of pure gold. “Some girl’s going to be very lucky to get you someday,” she said softly before heading off to bed.
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