Having a party
Having a party
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(For Ross, who enjoys a good tune now and then; Happy Halloween)
Ronnie Mitchell and his band were just starting up when I walked in the door. Ronnie is a famous international club singer, a black man with a rich brassy voice, a signature stutter step delivery and a high end that so brilliant it was almost metallic; perfect for hitting those last squealing high notes.
His backup singers, three shapely black girls in glittery pale blue and silver sequin gowns caught the spotlights and shot them back over the crowd seated at tables like living disco balls. A white kid was on the piano, the drummer was another black man who looked amazingly like Dooley Wilson, the piano player Casablanca. The horn section was tight, ready to deliver the goods, hot and fresh right out of the oven.
Ronnie snapped his fingers four times and the piano player eased into an absolutely irresistible boogie woogie called, having a Party. “We gonna have us a party next Friday night…Aw shucks, this party you can’t miss…” It was amazing! It was like being transported back to 1956. Best of all, it was one of my favorite songs.
I knew it by heart. I was bopping my head, moving my body to the beat when Ronnie signaled for the spotlight and pointed at me.
In two shakes I was bathed in the white-hot light. A wave crashed over me soaking me to the bone in embarrassing sweat. I was gonna shrink like I usually do but then something got into me and I figured what the heck and went for it. I stood up as the band came around the second time, caught a nod from Ronnie.
Someone handed me a mic and I swung into the second verse; “Now we’re serving plenty to eat come Friday night. Now if you’re hungry that’s where all hungry people ought to be should be sho’nuf they should.” I nailed it. This was mine time.
Mitchell stuck his arm out and gestured for me to come up on stage. Hey, why not? The band noodled around the hook while I wound my way through the clapping, cheering fans and stepped on the raised platform.
Ronnie, smiling those beautiful pearly whites, beads of sweat on his handsome ebony face, was bopping up and down, snapping his finger and looked at me. I caught his rhythm on the downbeat and jived right in, suddenly able to snap my fingers.
Funny, I’d never been able to do that before. Bending my knees and back, matching his time so we moved together like it was choreographed, the crowd roared as the third verse came around and we caught it together.
Him on melody, me on harmony our voices blended together perfectly. Even our black and white tuxedos matched. It was a moment you dream all your life for and this was mine.
If only I’d known at that very moment behind my back shuffling toward me was a hideous nightmare that the radioactive tests had disturbed, 20,000 leagues beneath the Black Lagoon. Green slime dripped from its praying mantis jaws and burned smoking black holes through the three-inch thick Adamantium deck I was bopping on.
The sudden and absolute deafening silence of everyone in the room except for me was a subtle clue, but somehow I missed it and kept right on singing. The monster dragged its stinking corpse of a body up behind him and lightly laid a six-inch claw on my shoulder and called my name.
I jumped halfway out of my skin, squealing like a stuck pig. Fire! Blood! Lawyers! M-U-R-D-E-R!!! “Urggg, it’s got me, it’s got me,” I quailed. Terrified beyond terror I turned to face… five foot one inch, white haired little Mrs. Tromphmer, my client who had a terrified look on her own face. “I’m sorry to disturb you Mr. Chocolate but you didn’t hear me with those earphones on your head and I was shouting. I need to know, did your price to clean the carpets include tax?”
Breathing in great ragged gasps of air like someone saved from drowning I squeaked out, “The tax is included.” Mrs. Tromphmer shuffled off muttering to herself “Happens every time.”
The End.