by Eric Shoars
“We’re definitely gonna have to re-order before the next show,” Seth says nodding his head with a sardonic tone in his voice.
“Are you kidding me?” Laurel responds, exasperated. “That’s the reaction?”
“Ho-lee crap,” Todd says putting both hands on top of his head, flabbergasted. “They bought all of it? All of it?”
Only Lorelei seems unfazed. “Woo! Embrace the good!” She is jubilantly dancing in place.
“Is that your ‘Gitr Done’ catchphrase now? Is that where we are?” I tease. Lorelei sticks her tongue out at me in response, not missing a beat of her happy dance.
Faith picks up the question our minds hadn’t gotten to yet. “So, question, where does all this money go? I mean, that’s thousands of dollars you made tonight. That’s before we’ve settled up on ticket sales.”
Glances are exchanged. Our entire mindset was to be able to pay for the tour without coming out of pocket. The Centrum Silver sponsorship made sure the tour was paid for including paying for promotional materials. It’s a real possibility – even with having to re-order merch – money will be left over once the tour concludes. Julie and Seth have been accounting for every penny to make sure we’re spending responsibly.
Laurel looks directly at me in a way it appears we’re the only two in the room. “We decided to donate proceeds to fight human trafficking but we haven’t decided exactly who gets the money and when. Shouldn’t we get that figured out?”
Butterflies pinball in my gut with an intensity that makes me feel I got caught breaking a prized vase. All eyes are on me now. My left hand rubs my chin, signifying a ready-made response is not forthcoming. More seconds pass until I’m ready to answer.
“I’m thinking we have Julie and Seth look into organizations that fight human trafficking and provide services to the rescued where we could donate funds. Once the tour is over, all funds after expenses are paid – including sponsor money – will be donated to the selected human trafficking advocacy organizations.”
“I can embrace that good,” Laurel concurs winking at Lorelei. She purses her lips, shaking her head slowly side to side, feigning dismay that our lead singer hijacked her catchphrase. A room full of nods makes the decision final.
“Excellent,” I say. “Can we pack up and go to the hotel now?”
***
Morning comes too damn soon especially when bedtime the night before was three in the morning. I roll out of the king-sized bed about six hours after calling it a night. A quick glance at Julie finds her in blissful slumber. The last thing I do before departing the bedroom is to take a moment for a long stretch. A little tired and sore from last night’s show but it’s a welcome kind of fatigue.
The French doors open quietly as I head for the living room on the other side. They shut quietly as well maintaining Julie’s sleep.
The hotel we’re staying in offers suites and, with the size of our group, a nice value and experience. Our suite has two master bedrooms on either side of the room with living space in between that includes a full kitchen so we can make our own meals if we want. The coffee maker is my destination. A full pot of hot coffee beckons. Julie had the presence of mind to set the timer before we turned in this morning.
Three cabinet doors are opened before locating the mugs. Moments later I park it on the cream-colored couch with my morning cup of giddy-up, my body ready for the coming caffeine infusion. A large yawn is my audible greeting to the morning. If it weren’t for the fact this Sunday morning begins in a hotel in Minneapolis, it would be tough to accept last night wasn’t a bizarre dream. But it was not. Not by a damn sight. Makes me wonder if the reception in St. Louis and Chicago will be like last night.
A click from my left draws my attention, French doors opening once more. Julie enters the room. “Morning, love,” Julie utters with a yawn following it up with, “Need coffee.” She sits next to me on the couch on the spot being patted by my right hand. Julie’s wearing her blue, sleeveless shirt with a wine glass on it with the words “wine some” below it and a pair of gray pajama pants.
“Here, take mine,” I tell her extending my cup. “I just poured it and haven’t taken a sip yet. I’ll go pour myself another one.” Julie thanks me, accepting the offer. I rise, get myself another cup, and then return to her.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks.
“I made a few mistakes,” I retort borrowing an old Steven Wright joke.
“Ha, ha, wise guy. Seriously, how are you today?”
“Tired, as you might imagine. A lot of it is coming off a day-long adrenaline ride. Still trying to come to grips last night actually happened.” My first sip of coffee brings a warm rush of get ready to greet the day as it makes its way through my system. “Last night was beyond my wildest dreams.”
“I know the sex was great but what about the concert?” Julie deadpans taking a page out of my playbook.
The second sip of coffee nearly comes out my nose causing me to sputter. Julie laughs, proud of herself. “I got you! I finally got you! After all the times you got me, I finally got you.” Her chest puffs out which is great because she’s got a nice chest.
“I have tasted my own medicine and it is bitter!” I acknowledge, doing my best Phoebe Buffet impression from the TV Show Friends.
“Would you two keep it down?” a questioning voice of protest comes from the opening French doors on the other side of the room. Ashley and Nicole step in. Ashley’s curly blonde hair has a mind of its own, going any which way it pleases. She’s wearing a salmon-colored tank top with grey cotton shorts. Nicole’s straight, red hair seems undisturbed in comparison. She’s wearing a red t-shirt so long it’s almost a dress. Both yawn in unison. “Too early,” she adds.
“Coffee’s on,” I inform them, hoping the caffeine rush will help their brains log on a little faster. Nicole tells Ashley to sit down and she’ll get coffee for them both. Ashley curls up in the chair that flanks me while Nicole parks herself in the chair that flanks her mother after she hands her sister the promised coffee.
“Is this our coffee or the hotel’s?” Ash asks. “It’s unquestionably top-notch.”
“Hotel’s,” Julies answers. “I’ll see if it’s a brand we can buy if you guys like it.”
Before any of us can say anything a frantic, machine gun-like knocking assaults our room’s door. We all jump, Nicole spilling coffee on herself with a curse as the hot liquid lands in her lap. The knocking doesn’t stop.
Setting my cup on the coffee table in front of me, I launch myself off the couch and run for the door. Probably should look through the peep hole first but I throw caution to the wind before throwing open the door. Seven people are poised on the other side. It’s the rest of the Onions family, band plus kids. Lorelei’s daughters have a look of alerting everyone to the coming apocalypse while her mom and the rest of the crew have a mixed expression of lethargy and confusion as to what all the fuss is about.
Hope and Faith dart past me making a beeline for my daughters. I pivot and extend my right arm to welcome the rest of the confused crew to our humble temporary abode. Not sure there’s enough coffee for all of us. The adults line up behind the couch all wondering what has the girls so out of sorts.
“Did you see this? Did you?” Hope and Faith urgently question Ashley and Nicole.
“See what?” Nicole wonders.
“This!” the twins reply in unison. “This!” Lori’s girls hold up their phones, one before each of my daughters. “The Onions are trending! The Onions are trending!” they call out like a digital version of Paul Revere.
Ash and Nicole squint at the respective screens in front of their faces leaning in as they survey the digital landscape. Brows furrow. They leap out of their chairs and run for their bedroom. Nicole and Ashley emerge a few minutes later with a tablet and a Mac, respectively. They are logging on while still in motion.
&nbs
p; “Shut the front door!” Ashley exclaims. Her eyes come off her screen to look at the rest of us. Her eyes are cartoon wide again. “The Onions are trending.”
“You don’t say? I hadn’t heard,” comes from me dripping with sarcasm. “But what does that mean?” Four young women look at me like I’m the dumbest human being on the planet, not even trying to hide how annoyed they are by the question.
“It means a ton of people are posting about you at the same time in a short amount of time. The Onions are all over social media and, when you’re trending, it alerts other people on social media that this is a topic they should be aware of. People from last night are posting the crap out of their pictures and selfies from the First Avenue show.”
If any of us weren’t awake before, we are now. Each of us locates the closest millennial to peer over her shoulder to see what she’s seeing. We get immediate confirmation – the Onions are all over social media. Ashley logs on to Instagram and it’s a sea of Onions selfies from last night. I actually recognize faces. Hashtags and Insta-stories all over the place. I pinch myself as inconspicuously as is possible. Nope, not dreaming.
“Uh, guys,” Todd inquires, “have you seen this?”
Lost in the commotion, Todd broke away from the group and picked up the complimentary copy of the Star Tribune newspaper in front of the room’s door. He discarded everything from the Sunday edition except for the Entertainment section. He holds up the front page of the section. The headline reads: “First Avenue Finds Onions Appealing”. Under it is a giant photo of the four of us on stage last night.
Todd turns to the page the review is featured and reads it aloud. “An unlikely grouping leads to an uncommon performance of uncompromising fun. Last night four childhood friends embarked on a reunion tour for a band that never existed until a few months ago. Onions At A Crime Scene is a combination of nostalgia, wonder, joy, and authenticity that gives voice to their generation’s life experiences. It is not a voice of resentment or regret but one of celebration.” Todd takes a big breath and then continues.
“The chemistry of these former grade school buddies belies the fact most of them hadn’t seen each other in decades and only practiced their songs a handful of times before last night’s performance. If you didn’t see this musical triumph, you’d better plan on making the road trip to their upcoming shows in St. Louis and Chicago.”
Todd lowers the paper. “What the hell is happening? What the hell?” He stumbles backward to one of the chairs at the room’s kitchen table. “They like us. They genuinely like us.” He mumbles in shock.
“Can I see it?” Laurel asks extending her hand. Todd hands it over still shell-shocked.
“Ohhh!” Faith exclaims. “The Onion’s account shows 35,000 downloads of your guys’ songs. You’re zooming up the sales chart.”
A loud gasp explodes from Ashley as she propels herself away from the desk before we can react to the download news. Hope and Nicole dart over to her and peer over each shoulder. Ashley points to the screen at what has alarmed her. “Eep,” is the only thing that will come out.
“What is it?” Lori asks. “What?”
The three stammer until Nicole finally gets verbal traction and understandable words come out. “Ashley opened up the Onions email account. The booking agent for Ellen wants you to appear on the show.”
“Ellen who?” Todd asks. Now all eyes are on him as we wonder what cave he’s been living in.
“Are you serious?” Hope replies. “Hello? Ellen DeGeneres. Like the most popular daytime talk show since Oprah. That Ellen. This is big time television. This is national exposure. National. This is huge.”
“Oh, yeah, well, sure. That Ellen,” Todd says.
The room becomes more humid and my legs get rubbery. “You okay, babe?” Julie asks taking my right arm and helping to lower me to the couch.
“Ellen,” I mutter.
“Hold up,” Seth stops us. “The honest to goodness Ellen show wants the Onions to be her guests?”
Ashley, finally able to compose herself, says, “No, the honest to goodness Ellen show wants the Onions to perform on her show.”
A collective gasp fills the room. My body becomes the world’s largest goose bump.
“Let me see that,” Laurel requests. Ashley hands the Mac over to her. The rest of us just look at Laurel as she scans the screen. Turning to Hope she requests, “Google her. Google the sender of that email. Please.” Hope taps on the screen a couple times and turns the screen to Laurel. “Whoa. It’s legit,” Laurel says. “We’re going to be on Ellen.”
“We are NOT going to be on Ellen,” I state emphatically.
Every head in the room spins in my direction; mouths are hanging open in shock. “We’re not going to be on Ellen?” Lorelei challenges. “Are you kidding me?” her voice rising and punching each word.
My face is without expression for as long as I can hold it, which isn’t long. A giant smile takes over my face. “Of course I’m kidding. We’re going to be on Ellen!”
Jubilation fills the space. Who would have ever seen this coming? Not anyone in this room. It’s wild to think what the Internet can do to take four individuals like us and instantaneously share our story all over the country.
“I take it I’m ordering room service for us?” Julie asks.
***
Ellen’s booking agent is legit. I know this because it’s Thursday and we’re off stage waiting for Ellen DeGeneres to announce us and welcome us on set. Thankfully we all were able to take some vacation days from our jobs to make this appearance happen.
Life is a blur with interview requests from every type of media, local or national. The web is all about the Onions. Downloads, social media posts, emails flooding our inbox...you name it, everyone is riding the bandwagon and we’re happy to have them. We were just hoping to have people show up at our concerts; this is beyond anything we could have thought possible.
Our sponsorship rep at Centrum Silver called me Monday afternoon to inform me how happy they are with their sponsorship. It is money well spent. She’s even happier to hear that we’re donating profits to fight human trafficking.
“Ow!” I yelp at the sharp pain in my forearm that pulls me from my thoughts. Looking over to see what bit me, I see Lori with a devilish grin on her face. The what was that for look is unmistakable.
“Oh, you don’t think anyone notices you pinching yourself all the time,” Lorelei says in response to my expression. “I just saved you the trouble. This is clearly happening. You’re welcome.”
A deep breath in precedes a response which never comes to pass because we hear Ellen shout, “Please welcome Onions At A Crime Scene!” Exuberant clapping follows Ellen’s introduction. The four of us make our way from behind the curtain and onto the set. Julie and Seth are watching from the green room.
The four of us are dressed in our blue polo shirts and black jeans. The ladies are wearing black ankle boots, Todd has a black pair of cowboy boots, and I’m wearing a pair of black dress shoes. Ellen comes out around the furniture to greet each of us, hugging us all starting with the ladies. She guides us to the white couch opposite her white arm chair.
Ellen is wearing a cream-colored collared shirt with a white jacket and blue jeans plus her trademark high top sneakers. On TV she looks like a pixie. Ellen looks no less the part in person. What I didn’t imagine is that she is an unrelenting force of positivity that is almost tangible.
We sit down in the order of Laurel, Lorelei, Todd, and me. Laurel is closest to the giant television that is the backdrop while I am closest to the audience. We recognize the crowd is still clapping. We scan the audience and wave. The difference between a national talk show like this and a local talk show is quickly apparent. No need for tight camera shots or other trickery to make the crowd seem bigger than it is. Easily 400 people are in the gallery and they are excited to be here and see
us.
“Wow! Wow!” Ellen exclaims. “That’s what I call a welcome!”
Our attention turns back to the host. She is beaming, not just because she’s that friendly – she is – but because of the audience’s reaction. Ellen is in the entertainment business, yes, but she is also in the interesting business. If the audience isn’t interested – if we’re not interesting – it could be a short segment. Their welcome has gotten the interview off to a terrific start before the first question can be asked.
“Onions At A Crime Scene, welcome. Great to have you here,” Ellen begins. “Have you gotten used to this yet?”
The four of us vigorously shake our heads. “No way,” Laurel says. “We have to pinch ourselves to make sure this isn’t some shared hallucination.”
“It’s true,” I confirm. “Lorelei pinched me just before we came out here.” I extend my left arm to show the red spot. It’s proof my story is true.
Chuckles from the crowd.
“That’s great,” Ellen adds turning to address the crowd. “How many of you have downloaded an Onions song?” Half the crowd claps in response.
“Unreal,” Lorelei speaks for all of us. “Thank you!” she exclaims. “You are totally rad.”
“I have to say,” Ellen continues, “when my talent booker and producer tried to tell me about the Onions, I thought they were talking about that parody newspaper.” We chuckle and nod our heads. “But when they showed me the video from your Minneapolis show, the social media posts, the reviews, I was like ‘whoa, we need them on the show’. That’s when they told me they’d already booked you guys. I love what you do on stage. Big fan here.”
It’s like getting the seal of approval from one of the most popular people on the planet. I’ve never been one of the cool kids but I feel like one now.