Oberon's Gift

by Richard Dante

  The instructor could see George was a bit overawed by his request.

  “Look, I know you can do it. You should do it; for yourself and for the school.” The professor had a far away look in his eyes as he continued. “There was something about the way you sang that song. You have an extraordinary gift. You shouldn’t hide it.”

  George fidgeted for a moment. He glanced down and seem to study the label on his guitar case. then he looked up as he spoke. “Sir, if you think I can do it, I’ll be glad to give it a try.” he answered finally. He could see the older man was delighted.

  “Good! Good! Come by Tuesday morning and we’ll go over the program together.”

  TWELVE

  George stood to one side of a large platform. The stage faced the stadium seats, which were filling fast. The occasion was the University of California’s Founders’ Day. The program would include a few speeches and much entertainment. There was a rock band on the bill preceding George.

  Professor Lawrence came hurrying up. He was a little out of breath. His huffing and puffing could have been from the exertion , or his excitement. The music instructor had heard George’s songs that morning, two new ones, and he couldn’t wait to see the reaction of the crowd.

  “How’re you feeling, George?” panted the instructor.

  “Got butterflies, sir, a whole flock of em!” George mumbled.

  The stadium wasn’t entirely full, but the program started on time. Several thousand spectators, students and faculty, had turned out for the colorful event, and more were arriving.

  First, a group from the drama department enacted a vignette depicting the founding of the university system. They received a modest amount of applause. Next, the president of the university made a short speech describing the growth of the institute of higher learning. There were several other speeches, including one by the student body president, who subtly asked for a few changes in future school policy.

  Following the speeches came more amateur acts, and the rock band was introduced to scattered enthusiasm from their fans. The band played several numbers and the crowd was very appreciative. A few students even started dancing on the track and in the stands At last the band excused themselves. There were loud groans from their followers and a few students got up to leave.

  Then it was George’s turn.

  The student body president gave a short introduction:

  “Here’s a guy who caused some real excitement at the auditions. I give you, George Potter!”

  George felt something like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. His legs went all wobbly as he struggled up the steps to the stage. There was some polite applause, followed by a wave of fidgeting as he fumbled with the tuning. He’d already tuned it, but now the G chord sounded out of whack. Perspiration broke out on his forehead. Someone in the crowd began to clap in rhythm and the assembly took it up: The unmistakable sound of impatience.

  From his left he heard Dr. Lawrence trying to get his attention.

  “George? The instrument’s tuned just fine. Now, go ahead and sing! Just like you did this morning.”

  George had been a little concerned he’d be nervous, and perhaps his nerves might affect his performance. He also wondered if the audition had just been a fluke, that maybe his blood sugar had been high that day, but as he looked across at the thousands of students and faculty in and entering the stands, he got the same flush of emotion he’d felt days earlier. As he took his place before the microphone, a strange energy seemed to radiate from his chest. It was as if the crowd was feeding him with power, and because this audience was so much larger than the audition committee, the feeling was even more overwhelming.

  Finally, George began to play the intro. The music became a tangible part of him, and he closed his eyes for a moment as he began to feel the pulse of it. The guitar was plugged into the sound system and as the intricate rhythms sounded across the big stadium, the crowd quieted. They’d never heard such playing! It had a great beat, but was different somehow. The sound got right down into their blood and they began to sway and clap to the music!

  Suddenly, George felt a sharp pain in his chest, and he had to stop playing. He bent forward to relieve the pain. Apparently his audience thought he was bowing and there was some scattered applause. Then the feeling inside him started to swell. The crowd sat like statues. There was only the sound of the campanile chiming the half hour.

  At length he started to play again and could almost hear the relieved sigh that came from the stands. It was upon him once more; that same expansive euphoria. He felt it grow until he thought he could hold it no longer. He sensed singing would relieve the pressure, so he began to sing. Emotions came swooping in on him like a fragrant whirlwind. The swelling within continued like some marvelous benign cancer as the feelings that filled his mind and heart poured out of him and flooded across the cinder track; up and around the students in the stands.

  He’d never experimented with drugs, but he’d read about them, and it was as if he’d received some marvelous hallucinogenic injection. It flowed through him and he experienced something intangible; like his soul separating from his body and moving out toward his listeners as he sought to imbue them with the emotions that filled his mind. He could only feel he had enormous power over them, and he became drunk with it as he moved out and rocked them with the positive meaning of his song.

  As he seemed to float closer and closer to them, he could see clearly their rapt expressions, their eyes glued to the singer before them, their lips slightly parted. Here was a voice and message they had never heard before, and he reached out and touched them, embracing them in a mantle of sound. They sat transfixed until the song ended. Then there was a peaceful silence, and no one heard the bell ringing for the next class. They heard only the echo of the song and the singer.

  At last it began--the applause. Slowly at first as if in disbelief, then building to a crescendo that rocked the stadium. They roared and whistled and stomped, and begged for more! More! More of George Potter!

  George was a almost in tears from the flow of adulation that soared over him. He could see Lydia in the front row and she was crying and laughing with happiness. Wait! Was it only his imagination? He thought he also saw, sitting next to Lydia, a little red-bearded man in a bright green warm-up suit. Oberon, the leprechaun, was grinning from ear to ear as he gave George a big thumbs-up salute!

  As the applause died, George pulled himself together, struck a thundering E minor chord and began to sing and play again. The audience quieted immediately and sat down, listening in spellbound silence to the phenomenon on the stage. This time it was a quiet ballad, so beautiful there was a rustling sound across the stadium as handkerchiefs and Kleenexes were applied to weepy eyes.

  When he finished they stood and saluted him with applause even stronger than before. George bowed and bowed. Then he prepared to leave the stage.

  “No! No!” they cried in one voice.

  “More! More! We want More!”

  George didn’t know what to do. A delegation of hundreds of students poured onto the field and toward the platform, their hands reaching up to him; calling to him; pleading with him to give them more of the uplifting experience. It was better than pot, LSD or any drugs they could imagine, and they wanted to keep the high they were on.

  He blushed, plugged his guitar in again, and went back to the microphone. He sang for them; song after song of love, happiness and a world filled with the wonders of hope and fulfillment. And they sat there in the stands or on the track listening or standing to applaud him all the early summer afternoon. Classes were forgotten as he sang on and on. Some became quite burned in the warm sunshine, yet they wereoblivious to everything but the singer on the platform.

  Eventually the sun began to sink beyond San Francisco Bay, and a magnificent sigh escaped from the crowd as the student body president came forward and asked them to please let
George Potter have some peace.

  As Danny descended from the stage, the crowd rushed out to envelop him. They lifted him up on their shoulders and carried him in triumph around the field like an olympic champion. Near him in the mob he could hear Dr. Lawrence calling out to him, but he couldn't make out the words for the cheering crowd. Finally they set him down and the crowd slowly dwindled away. Many hesitated as they left the field, looking back one more time at the amazing singer. Lydia came up to him and held him. She could see was exhausted, but there was look of great joy in his eyes.

  “George, I love you ,” she whispered. “And from what’s happened here today, so does everyone else.

  Dr. Lawrence was standing nearby. Next to him stood a handsome, sharply dressed young man. The crowd had gone and only the four of them were left on the field. The music instructor came up to George and Lydia, The blond haired young man followed.

  “George, here’s someone who wants to meet you.” there was a look of total admiration in the professor’s eyes.

  “George Potter, this is Paul Connor.”

  Even in his exhausted state, George realized he was shaking hands with The Star Maker, the hottest impresario in show business. Both the singer and his wife also realized they’d seen him before, on the Late Show. Twenty years earlier, Connor had been a major child actor. He’d starred in many films; singing, dancing and charming his way into the hearts of America. As he grew older and reached the awkward stage, movie parts came few and far between. Instead of becoming discouraged, Connor turned his energies to helping others. His connections and show business moxy pushed many talented performers to stardom.

  “Extraordinary talent,” exclaimed the young man. “Extraordinary!” Paul Connor’s voice was soft but positive.

  “Didn’t I tell you he was special?!” enthused the professor.

  “You did! You certainly did, but I never expected anything like this!” exclaimed the talent agent.

  George introduced Lydia to the two men as they moved off the field together.

  George was too frazzled from his performance to make more than brief replies, but somehow arrangements were made for them to meet with Connor over breakfast the next morning. Though the young agent didn't say it in so many words, he’d not only been impressed with George, but even more so by the crowd’s reaction. There was no doubt Paul Connor, Star Maker, had plans for ol’ George.

  THIRTEEN

  George and Lydia awoke at nine AM with a yawn and a warm embrace. Lydia sighed, stretched and said. “Are you going to call Paul Connor?” she purred from the crook of his arm.

  “ Sure, I guess so. You suppose he was sincere about making your little daddio a star?”

  “Darling, you are a star, whether the world knows it or not. He did seem pretty sure about you yesterday at the rally.”

  He gave her a squeeze, then rolled out of bed and picked up the phone book.

  “It’s gotta be in here some where,” he said leafing through the book. “Ah, here it is. Fairmont Hotel.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. Lydia slithered across to him and snuggled against him as he dialed and asked the hotel operator if Connor was awake. He was assured the young impresario was already up and making calls to Los Angeles. His line was clear and the operator dialed his room.

  “Hello, Mr. Connor...uh...Paul. This is George Potter. Are you hungry? Breakfast in forty five minutes. We’re almost next door in the Nob Hill Towers. There’s a button on the mail box. Right! See you in a half hour.”

  He replaced the receiver and unwound himself from Lydia’s embrace.

  “Move it dahlin’ He’ll be here in a demi heure.”

  She groaned, yawned, and put on her robe, while George called Liza on the intercom to order breakfast. A little over a half hour later the foyer buzzer rang and Liza admitted the agent. Over breakfast Connor quickly got down to business.

  “George,” he began. I’ve already talked with Dick Baum of NGM records this morning. I told him about you, and frankly he doesn’t believe you exist. He demands proof positive. Do you suppose you two could fly down to Hollywood with me on Monday to show him your stuff?”

  George’s eyes were shining. “You sure work fast, Paul. What do you think Hon.?”

  “I don’t think it would hurt to skip a class or two for such a worthy cause,” Lydia answered with a grin. “Now, however, if you gentlemen will excuse me I need to get ready for school. The impresario rose slightly in his chair as Lydia left the room. After Lydia had gone, Connor studied the young man who sat across from him in silence.

  “You’re an attractive son-of-a-gun,” said the young talent executive finally. “But, I tell you what. Would you consider...ah..your beard? It’s a beauty, but it hides your face. The general public likes to have everything exposed. Or as much as is decent.” He hesitated a moment. “Is there any chance you’d consider shaving it off?”

  “My beard?” asked George with a puzzled look on his face. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve had this beard for years, but...Well, okay, I’ll shave it off it you think I should.”

  “It may be curiosity on my part. I’d like to see what you really look like, and believe me, I know the public. They’ll want to know the same thing. There will be a public. You can be sure of that, George!”

  The two sat talking for a while. Paul outlined the steps to George’s career as if he was already famous. In the eyes of the young entertainment industry leader, George was already on top, though the actual moment was still months away. It was almost as if he could read the future.

  Then the two men fell silent and Paul sat staring at the grad student across from him. The look unnerved George a bit, and as if he could see he was making his new protégé uncomfortable, Paul Connor smiled and excused himself.

  “Please ask your wife to pardon my lousy manners, but I really have to run. I’ll have the plane tickets sent over this afternoon. We’ll take the Monday nine A. M. United Flight from SF International.”

  ****

  The following afternoon George and Lydia spent some time playing with George Two. Then, as they put him down for his nap, George grew thoughtful.

  “How do you think I’d look without my beard? “ he asked with a grin.

  “Oh George, you’re not going to shave it off?! I love your beard! I’ve never seen you without it.”

  “The man wants it off. I think it’s time I shaved it off anyway. I can always grow it back. Come on. Let’s see what the ol’ boy looks like shorn.”

  George took scissors to the bathroom. Lydia followed him. He began to cut away the beard and could see Lydia’s pained expression reflected in the mirror. When he had the beard as close as he could with the scissors, He checked his progress.

  “What a bum,” he observed, rubbing the dark stubble. Lydia grinned a sad little smile at the tragedy that was taking place. He washed his face then applied lather and steamed his beard in a hot face towel for a couple of minutes. He reapplied lather and began to shave with a twin blade. It took a little time; the stubble kept clogging the razor.

  Finally he wiped away the last of the lather, turned toward his wife and gave her a tentative little smirk.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She stood there for a few moments just staring at him, not saying anything, like he was some kind of freak.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, glancing back at the mirror.,

  “George,” she said, her eyes widening with amazement. “You’re absolutely adorable!”

  “I am?” he asked her reflection.

  “Yes! Absolutely...absolutely adorable! Give us a big smile,” she demanded softly.

  George turned and gave her a big toothy grin.

  “My God, George! I can’t believe it! That smile! It’s dazzling! Makes my orbs ache. You make Donny Osmond’s smile look like he’s frowning.”

  George stood there grinning and she stood there l
ooking for a while, then she added: “But something is odd; or at least different. I’ve only seen snapshots of you without your beard, but somehow you’re not the same. In those pictures you weren’t...well...so ostentatious, I guess that’s the word.”

  She tilted her head to one side as she studied him.

  “Your teeth--that’s it! I thought there was something. Lately they seem to be bigger and whiter. What have you been doing to them?”

  “I don’t know...nothing. I really hadn’t noticed. The beard hid a lot of things. But I think you’re right. George bared his teeth, made a buck-toothed-beaver face and lisped,

  “Mah teeth ya thay? Hathen’t ya heard that motht big tharth hath big teeth?!”

  She laughted as he winked at her. “And what about the sparkle in your eyes?” she exclaimed.

  “You like?” he asked.

  “I like!” she agreed enthusiastically.

  “Gee, if you say so.” he said looking into the mirror and giving himself a big grin. “I am kinda cute at that.”

  “Oh you!” she laughed. Inside, however, she had serious new feelings. She already adored ol’ George, but this New George?!... Funny, but it was almost like she was falling in love all over again with the charming man in the mirror.

  He grabbed her playfully and gave her a big, lingering kiss. The embrace went on and on, and when they finally moved apart she gave him that special look of hers.

  “I know,” he breathed. “Me too.” He took her hand and they smiled at each other as they walked back into their bedroom.

  FOURTEEN

  Paul Connor glanced out the port beside him. The 747 was making a wide curving arc as it started its approach into L.A. International. They were over the coastline and Connor observed the Pacific was sparkling blue-green in the morning sun. The beach communities and even Smogville itself were brilliant in the sunlight. the day was so clear and bright, the city dazzled the eye. There were still a few shabby corners to the old town, but it was home and L.A. looked beautiful to him.