Big? Someone from Rainbow thought we could be big?
“Wanna go for a drink?” Jane asked.
Drinking age in BC was nineteen.
Randy and Norman were nineteen. Lisa looked nineteen. Kyle had a fake ID. Even though I was a few months away from eighteen I wasn’t going to be fooling anyone. So when we went to celebrate at Bud’s Good Eats, a converted garage-turned-cowboy-diner that served Tex-Mex nachos and cheap beer, I was about to order a Coke when Jane told the waiter she was buying and ordered a round of Coronas for her friends.
The waiter, who looked like a heftier, unhealthier version of John Belushi in his Saturday Night Live cheeseburger sketch, glared at me and started to say something when Jane flashed her playmate smile. Belushi responded with what looked like an attempt at a grin, surrendered, grunted and turned.
There were nuts on the table. Kyle passed them to me. “I’m allergic,” I said. Before Kyle could put the nuts down, Jane had already ordered a large nachos—“extra salsa, extra peppers.”
Belushi was back before the next hurtin’ song was over and didn’t hesitate for a moment before depositing bottles in front of everyone including me. Each had a little slice of lime sticking out of the top. I watched as Kyle smoothly popped his lime into his bottle and I tried to poke mine in the same way. Naturally, my wedge stuck, so I discreetly pushed my finger right into the bottle hoping Jane wouldn’t notice.
I’d tried wine a few times—if you could call the Manischewitz red my family served at Seder and Friday night dinners wine—and once, when I was on vacation in Honolulu and went to a party with some friends, had a pina colada and some brown cows because they tasted like liquid desserts. That was it for me and alcohol. But I was definitely having beer tonight, because Jane was buying beer.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Jane said. “You need to take this on the road. Tour Canada. Then, after that kicks ass, we tour the States.”
Randy looked like he was choking on a nacho. “The United States?”
“Unless there are other states you’d like to tour,” said Jane. “I think Australia has states.”
Kyle was trying to picture himself onstage—in America. On Broadway. Then on screen. Robert Redford’s career flashed before his eyes. “What do we have to do?”
Jane answered like she’d been plotting this for months, maybe years. “Make sure the show is portable. I like the music you used, but you’ll need original tunes. That way we won’t have any hassle over rights. And when we sell the soundtrack, we’ll make all the money. And, obviously, we’re looking at big illusions. Really big. Think you can do that?”
Norman nodded like this was his idea, then repeated the words with what almost passed for authority, “Original tunes.”
“No problem,” said Randy. “So we get a live band? That’ll rock.”
“No, better off with recorded music. Cheaper than having to pay a band every night. At least at first. I mean you do wanna make money off this, right?” She didn’t have to wait for an answer—the dollar signs were already dancing in everyone’s eyes like we were the cartoon nephews of Scrooge McDuck. “A band’s expensive. So what you need’s a soundtrack. You put together the show, I’ll put together the tour. I was thinking we premiere here in August and start touring in September—you know, hit the campuses, build a following.”
August?
August was only four months away.
A following?
“Groupies,” said Randy.
Jane smiled. “Sure.”
“So, you’ll be our promoter?”
“Oh yeah,” said cousin Jane.
Then, without warning, Randy produced a flower from the sleeve of his jacket, at least I was pretty sure it was from his sleeve. Jane laughed and clapped her hands lightly so just the table could hear her before Randy asked, “Can we share a trailer?”
Jane picked up her bottle but much to my surprise, not to hit him with it. “To The Black Metal Fantasy.”
We all clinked Coronas. I took my first sip of beer which tasted like flat, stale 7 Up, but it went down well with the jalapenos and the hurtin’ tunes. I already felt drunk.
Original music. A tour. It wasn’t exactly my fantasy life, but throw in a kiss from Sarah and it was darn close.
That’s when reality sank in.
I was only a bit player here. Randy and Kyle and Lisa were the stars. Norman was the technician. And this was his cousin. I was just the hired help. The evil henchman.
Then Cousin Jane popped everyone else’s balloons. “We need to do a showcase first. I need Brad to see what you can do.” Brad. Brad Bowen. The man who ran Rainbow—the company that brought in acts like the Rolling Stones, the Who and the Bay City Rollers. And Randy thought performing for Cousin Jane was scary.
“So you want us to do the show again?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “No.” Her intensity surprised everyone.
“But you loved it,” said Randy. “Won’t Mr. Rainbow, Mr. Bowen, I mean Brad …”
“No,” she said before he could finish stammering his question. “I can see the potential here. But it’s rough. Brad won’t see how well you did that switch, he’ll just see you’re using bedsheets. He won’t think about how you only need a bit of money to make a better guillotine. He’ll just see this one’s made out of wood. He’ll eat you alive. You have to prove you can do something as good as …” She fished for a moment, then landed the great white shark. “… Henning. So you need illusions like Henning’s.” She’d squished our dreams like they were a handful of Jacko’s sponge balls.
None of us said anything, but nobody had to. There was no way we could make a show that looked like Henning’s appear out of thin air. We were doomed. The only person who didn’t look concerned was Jane.
“It’s easy,” she said.
Easy? “There’s no way,” said Randy.
Jane flashed that smile of hers again and this time it shone directly at Randy. “You don’t have to do big illusions. Just do your best small ones. He doesn’t need to see a full show. It’s a showcase. Twenty minutes. You’ve got twenty minutes worth of good tricks, right?”
“No problem,” said Randy.
“Great,” said Jane. “Now that we’re working together, I want to know what you’re all about.”
As another round of Coronas appeared, Jane stared at Randy, maybe through him. “So what are your ambitions?”
Randy didn’t miss a beat. “Getting to know you better.”
Jane was definitely looking through him. “You wanna be a star.” It wasn’t a question.
“Oh yeah,” said Randy. Some things are too sacred to joke about.
She tilted her head and stared at Kyle. “And I know you wanna be a star.”
Kyle smiled. I looked at the exit.
There was no way I was going to be part of a twenty-minute showcase.
Jane put her hand on mine. It was warm, I was warm—everywhere. “And what do you want?” I wanted to be smooth enough to give the same answer Randy just had.
“I don’t bite,” she smiled. It was definitely getting hotter at Bud’s.
Somewhere,