Read My Most Excellent Year Online
Authors: Steve Kluger
My Most Excellent Year (12 page)
Alé.
Alé in tights and a leotard, belting out the number while a dozen other kids sat around her and watched.
You mean it’s not the CD??
No, it was an old lady on a piano, but Alé made her sound like a sixteen-piece orchestra. And that was just the appetizer—because after the last verse was over, she hitch-kicked to her left, lunged into the dance, and turned into Donna McKechnie right in front of my eyes and ears. I’ve watched the DVD a hundred times from when Donna did the number on TV, and Alé must have seen it too—except that her legs have a photographic memory and mine don’t. She didn’t miss a step. Not one.
Why hasn’t she told me she could do these things? She’s more fabulous than I
am!
Then she happened to twirl in my direction—and stopped dead in her tracks mid-pirouette when she saw me staring through the window with my jaw hanging open onto French linoleum. Busted!
AugieHwong:
If you don’t call me back, I’m coming over there and breaking in through one of your stained glass windows. I may be too short for that gesture, but I’m doing it anyway.
AlePerez:
The answer is no. I said I’d help you produce and I did. I crunched the numbers, I distributed the posters, I okayed the programs, and I didn’t vomit on Stu Merliss. That’s all we agreed to.
AugieHwong:
Yeah, and that was also before I found out you were Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly combined. You’re closing the show with “The Music and the Mirror,” so get used to it. I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me when I’ve spilled so much of my own blood for art.
AlePerez:
Get over yourself. My parents don’t know about my secret life and they’re not going to. Maybe in another fifty years. And what were you doing there an hour and a half early anyway??
AugieHwong:
Look, if I can come out, you can too. And they don’t even need to find out about it. Tell them you have a sleepover with one of the girls that night. I’ll call them myself and use my Celeste Holm voice. It never fails.
AlePerez:
Hello? When did you come out?
AugieHwong:
Oh. I forgot to tell you. I’m gay and I love Andy. It’s a secret even from Andy. Nobody knows except Tick (although Lee Meyerhoff may be catching on), so please keep it that way until I’m ready to face the media. NOW will you do “The Music and the Mirror”?
No, of course she won’t do “The Music and the Mirror.” Her mom and dad won’t let her because it might upset the Prince of Greenland. Like there’s actually a need for Greenland. You can get ice at 7-Eleven.
I’m dressing her in Donna McKechnie Red with a slit down the right thigh, and one way or another I’m getting her mirrors. Screw the budget. What difference will it make when we’re fielding nineteen curtain calls? And since she obviously won’t cooperate with any degree of professionalism, it’s going to have to be done the cheap and tacky way. Like accidentally taking the programs to Kinko’s tonight instead of Monday. It’s for her own good anyway.
“Alé, I’m sorry. Somehow they got their hands on the copy two days early. How did
that
happen? Please unlock the computer closet. It’s very warm in here and I can’t get out.”
Watch. I’ll probably have to drag her to the Tony Awards too.
Love,
Je m’appelle Augie
The Word Shop
B
ROOKLINE’S
F
AVORITE
B
OOKSTORE
E-Memo From the Desk of
Craig Hwong
Hey, Teddy.
Augie invited Andy Wexler over for dinner next Wednesday. You ought to be hearing about it on CNN any minute. He pulled out Wei’s good silverware and embroidered tablecloth four days early and left them sitting on the dining room credenza “so we’ll be ready when the time comes.” This was in between producing a talent show, rehearsing his song, and executing seven laps of the 500-meter bureau-to-laundry dash to make sure the shirt and pants he’d chosen to wear for My Dinner With Andy were already ironed and didn’t have any “dings or loose threads on them.”
I still wish he’d talk to us about it, but maybe that’s not really necessary after all. I mean, it’s so
Meet the Parents
obvious that he thinks he’s bringing home a prospective son-in-law for us, what’s left to discuss? But why are they so shy around each other? Online, they’re practically married. Proof? Last night my kid fell asleep on his keyboard. Again.
Thanksgiving’s in less than a month. Wei’s bringing Dan-Dan noodles along with the string bean casserole, and Phyllis’ll only have two of her kids with her this year—Darius has to stay at Cornell for the holiday. Figure on us for around 1:00.
Craig
K
ELLER
C
ONSTRUCTION
BOSTON • GLOUCESTER • WALTHAM
ELECTRONIC TRANSMISSION
Craig—
In case you’ve forgotten, we were just as shy as our own kids are, even without an Internet. My first date (Charleen Paul, anatomical details classified) lasted four and a half hours and contained eleven syllables. Ten of them were hers. We need to face it—guys are a washout at every facet of romance except for the ability to pop a woody on a dime. But take notes next Wednesday anyway. I’ll need to know how to maneuver the obstacle course when Tony C brings Alejandra home for dinner.
By the way, Lori and I had our first date last week. Sort of. She wouldn’t agree to go out with me, but she made sure I knew where she was having dinner and grading progress reports so I could bump into her by accident and pull up a spontaneous chair. This is a hell of a lot more work that I remember. How does Augie make it look so easy?
Ted
P.S. Hey, you never did tell me what happened to that chick who smelled like aluminum foil.
The Word Shop
B
ROOKLINE’S
F
AVORITE
B
OOKSTORE
E-Memo From the Desk of
Craig Hwong
Ted:
She grew up to become a handy liner for most toaster-ovens, a convenient means of wrapping leftovers, and an excellent cover for casserole dishes, helping to seal in flavor and freshness.
Craig
FRESHMAN FOLLIES
2003
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
ACT I
| “You’re Gonna Hear From Me” ( Vocal ) | Augie Hwong |
| “In the Mood” ( Alto Saxophone Solo ) | Ricky Offitt |
| “I Feel Like a Dork” ( Bass Guitar and Vocal ) | Stu Merliss |
| “Heat Wave” ( Vocal ) | Quita Tapper and the Qui-Tettes |
| “Somewhat Damaged” ( Guitar, Keyboard, Vocals ) | The Ninja School Dropouts: Kyle Cummings, Derek Powell, Aaron Bailey |
| “Casey at the Bat” ( A Play in Verse ) | T.C. Keller, Andy Wexler, Gridley Tarbell, John Siniff |
ACT II
| “History Tests, Bathroom Passes, and Other Ruminations” ( Monologue ) | Bruce Daniels |
| “Root Beer Rag” ( Piano Solo ) | Ruthie Andress |
| “So Unsexy” ( Vocal ) | Nancy Mercado |
| Bob Dylan Medley ( Acoustic Guitar and Vocal ) | Noah Kessler |
| Oration | T.C. Keller |
| “The Music and the Mirror” ( Vocal and Dance Solo ) | Alejandra Perez |
Dear Jacqueline,
You might remember that when you and Jack first moved into the White House, you told Tish Baldridge, J. B. West, and anyone else with ears that you had no intention of becoming a public figure. You wouldn’t hold press conferences, you wouldn’t visit hospitals or charity wards, and you wouldn’t take up canasta and make a national spectacle of yourself like Mamie Eisenhower. Absolutely not. You detested the idea of being First Lady.
However, I do seem to recall the photograph of you and de Gaulle taken during the Paris visit in 1961 when you were received like a queen and he was gaping at your Givenchy breasts. And I’ve watched your televised tour of the White House on Valentine’s Day 1962, which I somehow remember as three shots of the East Room and fifty-nine close-ups of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy.
Yes, I can see how much you loathed your role as First Lady. But I imagine it probably grew on you before you’d even noticed what had happened.
Augie didn’t just run off tonight’s program without telling me. He actually had it displayed in the glass case outside the administration office on the same bulletin board where the National Merit Scholarship finalists are posted—guaranteeing that everyone in the building would see it, including visiting dignitaries from neighboring school districts and half the Massachusetts Board of Education. Lee Meyerhoff had to drag me toward the closest exit just so I could cool off to a body temperature of 115.
“You can let go of me, Lee. I’m all right now.”
“Then stop hyperventilating!” Our tug-of-war over my left arm lasted only until we turned the corner of the hallway and found my locker pasted over with notes and Post-its. I stopped in my tracks so suddenly that Lee nearly broke her nose when it hit the back of my head.
“What are those?” I asked, alarmed.
“I could be wrong, but they look like notes and Post-its.”
“Thanks for your help.” Since I had absolutely no idea what they were going to say—except perhaps “Fraud!” or “Get out of town!”—I peeled them off one at a time so we could take turns reading them out loud. And with each successive sentiment, I grew progressively more speechless while Lee grew a little too smug for her own good.
Now I know who told Augie to show up at the Lycée an hour and a half early. Like 120,000 Japanese Americans interned during World War II, I’ve been shot down by a conspiracy.
Alé,
Singing
and
dancing? Only J Lo can do both, and look how far
she’s
gotten. I’ll be there.
—
Renee
Alé,
Break a leg. I don’t know how you can do it. I’d be so nervous I’d die.
—
Beth
Alé,
I can’t wait to see what you’re going to wear. I hope it’s something exotic.
—
Marsha
Alé,
I’m having a sleepover with three of the kids next Friday. So far I’ve only invited Soupy. Let me know if you can come.
—
Kath
Alé,
You go, girl.
—
Quita
So I suppose I can understand how your head might have been turned by celebrity. Come to think of it, if I’d gone from being a
Washington Times-Herald
photographer to having the president of France drool on me, I might have compromised my morals too—but at least I would have tried to argue myself out of it first.
First period.
I definitely
won’t
perform this evening. If there’s to be egg on anyone’s face, let it be an omelet on Augie’s. This wasn’t
my
idea.
Second period.
Besides, I plan to graduate from Harvard with a degree in political science and an international post in the diplomatic corps soon after—which certainly doesn’t leave time for anything as
idiotic as prancing half-naked across a gymnasium stage.
Third period.
Furthermore, just because I can imitate Donna McKechnie in front of a mirror doesn’t mean that I belong in front of an audience. Carlos imitates Ricky Martin in the shower and sounds as if he’s being beaten to death by a Puerto Rican street gang.
Fourth period.
After I call Mamita with a cover story about a sleepover at Lee’s, Lee and I make plans to sneak in to Brookline Village during lunch period and buy a dress for tonight’s performance. Something wine red with a slit up the right thigh, though the slit isn’t really necessary—Lee’s bringing scissors.
Fifth period.
I tell Augie that I’m only appearing in the show because I’ve been pressured into it by my constituency, but that still doesn’t mean I’m ever going to speak to him again. Augie pretends to believe me. Anthony doesn’t. He stands there with a barely hidden “I
knew
she’d do it” plastered across his face as though it were Clearasil.
Suddenly the thought of Anthony watching me perform tonight makes me very nervous. Why should that matter? He’s hardly de Gaulle.
Fondly,
Alejandra
AlePerez:
I changed my mind. I’m not doing it. Furthermore, you’re devious and disloyal, and I’d have to be clinically psychotic to trust you again. Ever.
AugieHwong:
You’re going to perform “The Music and the Mirror” exactly as written and bring down the house with it. And that, Miss Brice, is the end of this discussion.