by Eric Shoars
“I’m going to go snag the song book so we can see what our options are,” Lorelei says springing from our table.
Karaoke started about an hour ago and the show is in full bloom. A group of people are on stage and singing their lungs out. The crowd is singing along with them. Calling it a stage is being generous. It’s a carpeted area with a large flat screen television behind the singers with monitors in front so performers can read the lyrics. Not fancy but it works.
Lorelei is back nearly as quickly as she departed. “What’s our pleasure?” she asks flipping through the song book.
“Eric,” Laurel says to me, “you’re the mastermind that put this together...do you have any specific songs in mind?”
“I do,” is my reply as if Laurel has to ask. “We have two men and two women and we want to see how we sound together so how about ‘California Dreamin’ from the Mamas and the Papas?”
The three look at me and then each other. Three heads nod. “That’s our song,” Laurel says.
“How are we doing this?” Todd wonders. “Who is singing what?”
“Harmony is my speed, melody is not,” I offer. “Todd, if you can stay somewhere in the neighborhood of baritone I can hang with you.”
“Works for me,” he nods. “Ladies?”
Laurel looks at Lorelei. “I sing melody, you harmony?”
“That’s what I was thinking. Let’s get signed up for a slot and see if we have time for a little practicing before doing this before a live crowd,” Lorelei puts forth.
“Go for it,” Todd says. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it right.”
Lorelei practically bounces to the side of the stage to sign us up. “Looking at who is signed up ahead of us, I think we have about 15 minutes until we’re up,” she informs us upon her return.
Julie and Seth had gone up to the bar and ordered themselves drinks while we had been deciding what to sing. Julie has a tall glass of Bud Light Lime with three big green olives at the bottom. Seth has a glass Blue Moon. Julie loves being out and she’s enjoying the bar vibe. Not sure what Seth is feeling.
“I do like this pick, Eric,” Laurel says. “Our voices will be the stars, no doubt.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Todd puts a halt to the proceedings. This song is men singing melody and women harmony. What about that?”
Lorelei balks. “What about it? We can do it any way we want. This is our group, baby!”
The emphatic reply takes us by surprise and we all chuckle. I’m thinking a bond is forming and crossing my mental fingers it’s not wishful thinking.
Laurel and Todd do the countdown and then they hit the opening phrase, “All the leaves are brown...”
Lorelei and I come in, “”All the leaves are brown...”
Laurel and Todd, “and the sky is gray...”
Lorelei and me, “and the sky is gray...”
Our eyes widen as we exchange a look of mutual surprise and delight. We blend well together. Damn, we sound terrific and it’s not just me that is thinking it. I can see it on their faces.
Julie and Seth are swaying in time to our acapella cadence. Seth holds up his lighted cell phone. We catch sight of it and smile. We finish the last note and let it hang for an instant. We applaud for ourselves and then high five each other.
“Holy crap, we sound amazeballs!” Lorelei exclaims. She sends her hands in the air like she’s signaling a touchdown.
“I know I’ve been resisting this,” Todd follows, “but I gotta admit, we did sound decent.”
Laurel’s next in offering her assessment. “For us never having sung together, our voices complement nicely. We might – might – have something here.”
The three look at me. I think they were expecting me to be the first to say something and be all “see, we should definitely do this” and they’re a bit surprised when I don’t. A key principle in sales and marketing is to know when to stop selling and close the deal. The whole reason we’re here is to close the deal. Is what happens on stage tonight enough to tip them to a yes? We’ll see.
“This is why I wanted to get us together,” I reply. “This.”
We practice the song one more time and then sit tight until our turn comes. A loud round of applause diverts us from our conversation and alerts us to the end of the latest karaoke performance. The couple on stage was a hit and the crowd lets them know it.
Lorelei urgently bounces on her stool. “Guys, guys!” But before she can complete the thought the announcer on stage takes the microphone to bring on the next act.
“Up next on the A.J.’s on East Court stage, singing the classic song, ’California Dreamin’, here are...Onions At A Crime Scene!”
Three heads snap to Lorelei. “You didn’t!” Laurel says.
“Is everyone insane?” Todd is incredulous.
“What?” Lorelei mildly pushes back. “I wanted to see how it sounded. Kinda digging it.”
“History will show this is where the Onions were born!” I over-dramatize.
A confused clapping commences that turns into determined applause as we jump to the stage, grab mics, and glance over at the board operator to make sure he’s ready for us to begin. The lyrics are displayed on the screens in front of us. This is it.
The introductory notes play leading up to Laurel and Todd hitting their cue. Then Lorelei and me. We are officially singing together in public.
Thirty seconds in I close my eyes and just feel. Feel the energy of the crowd. Feel the flow of the music. Feel the blend of our voices. It is fantastic. I open my eyes as we’re bringing the song into the home stretch. The crowd is egging us on. We are a hit. Julie is beaming and could not look more proud. Seth is smiling and whistling. What the others are thinking is known only to them.
The song trails off and ends. We don’t move. The room explodes in applause so loud it becomes a physical force. We look at each other genuinely taken aback by the response but also feeling a tremendous amount of gratitude. We’re not sure what to do until the announcer leaps on the stage and re-announces us.
“That was superb!” He belts out. “Onions At A Crime Scene!” He looks at us and says, “You’ll be back later with another song, yes?”
We all nod emphatically without even checking with each other. Lorelei signs us up for another slot on the spot. We exit the stage and return to Julie and Seth. There are high fives all around. Julie comes up and wraps me in a hug and smacks me with a big kiss. Laurel gets a similar greeting from Seth.
“What a blast!” Lorelei blurts out. “We were sick!”
“Oh, come on, Lorelei,” I say, turning away from Julie slightly and tease, “you’re just saying that because you love to hear yourself sing.”
Lorelei sticks her tongue out at me in response but follows it up with a high five.
“That was fun,” Todd concurs. “Slick pick on the song, Eric.”
I nod slowly at my former best friend. “Thanks.”
Laurel looks around the bar. “We certainly are a crowd pleaser. I’m not trying to embellish but they honestly seemed to enjoy what we did. What’s our next song?”
All eyes are on me as I pick up the song book and flip through pages of candidates for the Onions’ next performance. I look at my three friends with a mischievous squint mixed with smirk and pause for effect before turning the three-ring binder toward them to reveal my selection.
“Talk Dirty To Me” – Poison.
Three sets of eyes go wide when they register my recommendation. Lorelei – of course – thrusts her fists in the air and screams, “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! What a frickin’ beautiful choice! I love that song!”
“Guess that settles it,” Todd confirms. “A.J.’s on East Court is getting a big dose of Poison tonight.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard that song in years but I can sing every word,” Laurel says. “It’s
unanimous.”
We have some quick practicing to do until we give these folks a performance they’ll never forget. They’ll remember where they were when the Onions were born.
Damn right they will.
***
April 28, 2018
A late April breeze blows through the back yard. The leaves on the enormous silver maple wave to me as the wind moves them. This Saturday morning finds me sitting in my favorite chair on the deck sipping a medium roast coffee. The air is still cool enough for the steam rising off the liquid to be visible as it does. The patio door slides open behind. It is the only thing that separates the kitchen from the deck and the great outdoors.
“How ya doin’, hon?” my wife inquires bringing a pot of coffee with her. She raises the pot offering another round of my morning brew. I extend my cup and Julie refills it.
My arm retracts once the mug is full. A shoulder shrug begins my response to Julie’s query. A verbal reply completes it. “I’m okay, I guess. I don’t know maybe there’s a little emotional letdown after meeting with the others. It’s been two weeks since our get together and...nothing. Not a word from anyone.” My eyes fall to the coffee as if there is something new and interesting to be found there. But there isn’t.
“Don’t lose hope, Eric,” Julie encourages. “No one has said ‘no’ yet. This idea may not be at the top of their priority lists like it is yours.”
Another shrug.
“Anyway, remember that Aniko and Jared are coming over to barbeque with us today. They’ll be here about 5. Please make sure the grill is ready to go,” she requests.
“Will do.” Doing the mental math I realize we’re short a few people. “What about the kids? Theirs,” I add quickly knowing Nicole and Ashley have out of town plans this weekend.
“Aniko said the kids are all at friends for the weekend so it’s just us adults.” Julie ducks back inside the house sliding the door shut behind her.
Julie’s not fooling me. She knew today was the day the others said they’d let me know by whether they are in or out. The barbeque is a diversion.
The past couple weeks have seen me especially prickly to be around. The hope was that my friends wouldn’t go up to deadline before letting me know of their decision. It’s been challenging to not contact them, to get a sense of which way they’re leaning.
I look down at my phone. No texts, no missed calls. A hard breath out. I look out across the back yard. A cardinal rests atop the chain link fence. A rabbit hops his way across the neighbor’s yard until out of sight. Moments like this are why I start my Saturdays on the deck with my coffee. Normally it helps me relax but not this Saturday.
Two Saturdays ago Todd, Laurel, Lorelei and me had the first face-to-face meeting we’d had in decades. Sure, the evening had its bumpy moments but, all in all, it was a good night for us. The saving grace was karaoke. Singing the songs we did brought us together more than just in physical proximity. We came together as a group. We rocked that damn bar with California Dreamin’ and Talk Dirty to Me. I thought the place was going to shake itself apart after we finished that second song.
The first song helped us to mesh, to blend. It also eased any nervousness we had. When Talk Dirty to Me began, we were fired up and didn’t hold anything back. It was unadulterated joy. The crowd was belting out the tune with us. It felt like a concert performance and my inner nine-year-old jumped up and down with the crowd.
And then it was over. We all had a fantastic time. High fives and hugs were exchanged. Believers were made, I think. But it was also a fantasy in a bubble, a step out of our reality. The problem is reality always re-asserts itself without hesitation or mercy.
Singing together on a bar’s karaoke stage is one thing but dedicating ourselves to a reunion tour is quite another. It’s a life change, a reality change. And perhaps a change the others simply are unwilling to make.
Here I sip and survey and ponder what should have been. And second guess. Oh, yes, there is plenty of second-guessing myself and what I could have done differently that night to get the three closer to a yes than where they are; if they’re even in the neighborhood of a yes. Maybe they’ve already decided no and are just reluctant to tell me because they don’t want to hurt my feelings.
The patio door slides open again and Julie walks out holding a priority envelope, the kind that needs to be signed for. It doesn’t occur to me immediately that it’s for me. “Here you go. Delivery guy just stopped by and left this for you.” Julie slides back inside and slides the door closed behind her.
Fancy dressing for a rejection letter. Yes, I’m ready to embrace pessimism. Rockstar said no thanks. Liquid Ice said no thanks. All the energy drink companies have passed on sponsoring us. I’ve been in sales and marketing long enough to be prepared for rejection. Even the best ideas can get brushed aside. No matter how hard you work or how creative you are, no matter how much you believe it will be a benefit for the client, ‘no’ is the answer you get.
This is officially the moment that will signal the end of the Onions, the tour, the whole thing. I pull the tab at the edge of the envelope and open it. I tip the envelope and dump out two loose pieces of paper. My eyes scan the message after tossing the cardboard envelope aside.
“Dear Eric. Thank you for submitting you sponsorship proposal to us. This is not the type of activity our brand normally sponsors. However, your proposal captured our imagination and our brand is very interested in sponsoring your band’s upcoming reunion tour. You’ll find enclosed a comprehensive sponsorship form. This form allows you to provide more detail on how the sponsorship money will be utilized so we can make an informed, final decision. To confirm, our brand would be the exclusive sponsor of your reunion tour should we decide to sponsor it. Please complete and return the form via email at your earliest convenience.”
Sonofabitch.
My surprise comes out under my breath. They didn’t say no. They may actually say yes. My mind races. There is potentially a national sponsor for a concert tour, for a reunion tour, that may never happen. Don’t count your chickens yet, a voice that sounds eerily like my mother’s whispers in the corner of my brain. Not a done deal yet but hope remains.
When I was a kid I played this game with Mom when we went grocery shopping. As we made our way up and down the aisles, I would find a toy or a box of cereal I wanted and would sneak it into the cart. The point of the game was for the item to successfully make it to checkout without Mom noticing until she pulled it out of the cart and put it on the conveyor belt. Nine times out of 10 she’d look at the item, look at me smiling mischievously at her, and tell me to put it back. The cashiers thought Mom was mean but I didn’t care if I got the item or not. It was considered a win if I got the item to the cashier. Mom knew I was going to do it and she still couldn’t catch me sneaking stuff in the cart.
Just before I would depart to go put the item back I would shrug my shoulders and say, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Then off I’d go and when I returned the last of the groceries would be going into the bags. Mom would smile at me and shake her head. Every time we went grocery shopping we’d play the game and I’d see how far I could get. “Can’t blame a guy for trying” just got me a step closer to a freaking tour sponsorship for a band that doesn’t exist and a tour that doesn’t have any dates on the calendar! I begin rejoicing again.
The door slides open behind me. “What’s going on? I heard a commotion,” Julie says, poking her head out the door. “What was in the envelope?”
I stick the letter in Julie’s face to read for herself. Her eyes get as wide as dinner plates, almost cartoonish. “Holy crap!”
“I know!”
“What is this? Are they in?” Julie inquires.
“It’s a letter of interest to be the exclusive sponsor of the reunion tour of Onions At A Crime Scene! Potentially an exclusive sponsor! Exclusive...sponsor.”
&nb
sp; Julie asks the obvious question. “What are you going to do if the others don’t agree to be part of the band?”
“Oh, don’t go throwing reality in my face,” I say, brushing aside her seeming negativity. “Let’s just enjoy the moment, the irony of it all. It’s beautiful.”
“That’s all well and good but the fact remains you have a potential sponsor who is expecting a tour,” Julie states with the impact of a large, soaked blanket.
“Don’t spoil my irony with your inconvenient facts,” I reply. “I know. I do. But this is the first hopeful thing that’s happened since karaoke. I’ve felt like a lone wolf and, largely, I have been because I’ve kept the whole idea under wraps for so long.”
“Yes, I know that. But that doesn’t change the fact you would be expected to fulfill a contract,” Julie persists.
“Fine. I’ll tell them they are now contractually expected to fulfill a tour. They should immediately fall in line.” My tone is sarcastic in a playful way.
“Okay then, smarty pants drummer of a band that doesn’t exist,” Julie fires a sarcasm salvo back at me, “what are you going to do about this letter?”
“For the moment, nothing. I’m just going to enjoy this. If the others are in, I’ll need to write the long-form proposal the brand is requesting. On the bright side, I have the website ready to go live; I just have to add the brand’s logo. The rest is adding them to our promotional materials as I get tour dates and such.” I pause as a squirrel runs across the yard and up our silver maple. “Until I know that their brand is officially in, I’m going to keep this letter to myself.”
“Why do you keep saying ‘the brand this and the brand that’? Why don’t you say their name?” Julie says.
“Simple,” I reply in between sips of coffee. “I don’t want to jinx it. No names until it’s a done deal. The Rock and Roll gods may get angry if I get cocky.”
Julie shakes her head as she retreats back into the house. “You and your superstitions.”
***
“Hang on…you’re doing what with who?” Aniko is confused and not afraid to show it.