by Eric Shoars
She gives me a bonafide rock and roll badass glare. “Damn straight.” She smiles and smacks me on the shoulder like an old friend.
Ellen approaches us applauding. “Embrace the good!” she exclaims. The audience – the entire audience – echoes Ellen’s exclamation. I shoot a glance at Lori. Her mouth is agape. Well, that was eight shades of freaking awesome.
Ellen bounces over our way looking more like a pogo stick than a talk show host. “That was fantastic! Great television,” she tells us. “Joan, Sheila, Onions, thanks so much for coming on the show and playing. This is my highlight of the season.”
Yup, should have gotten the Depends sponsorship, I think to myself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wild Scallions
August 25, 2018
“I’m going to quit if this doesn’t stop.”
All eyes divert themselves to Faith as her fingers dash over the keyboard of her Mac. “Seriously, you guys, this is redonkulous. Hope, Nicole, Ashley, and I could work this full time and never keep up.”
It’s easy to believe that. Visits to our website, activity on our social media, incoming emails, and media interview requests now number in the absurd. Our daughters are struggling to keep their heads above the tidal wave.
Julie says from her post in the corner, “Come on, ladies, it’s a lot of work but it’s not forever. Do the best you can. We all are.”
The point is not lost on the daughters of the Onions. They know how overwhelmed Julie has been after stepping in for Laurel and keeping a handle on our finances especially as money is cascading into our coffers.
It is a fact that everyone’s job has gotten bigger since Onions At A Crime Scene officially became a thing following our performances at First Avenue and on Ellen.
Faith’s outburst came just as we finished our practice for the St. Louis show next weekend. Practices are aces because they are truly about fine tuning and not hoping we make the cut.
While we let the girls handle the social media Laurel, Lorelei, Todd, and I believe we should answer emails personally. Answering fan’s emails is the item currently on the Onions’ post-practice agenda.
Our emails are not about the usual groupie or fan asking for something. The majority of our emails are actually thank you emails. Young adults – the children of our peers – are saying thanks for either inspiring them to pursue a dream they thought, or were told, wasn’t realistic. Some thank us because one or both of their parents shared with them an unfulfilled dream they now decided they were going to give a try.
Other emails are from our peers who are grateful for what we’re doing because it caused them to stop making excuses why it was too late to do that which was left undone.
Emails we have received from our next two venues present the band with an interesting dilemma. The booking agents at the Atomic Cowboy in St. Louis and Bottom Lounge in Chicago informed us that not only are our shows already sold out but there is a waiting list. Both booking agents are asking us to add shows at their venues.
“Do you think we should add shows to St. Louis and Chicago?” I ask my bandmates.
The other three sigh. “I’m not so sure,” Laurel says, adjusting her leather wristbands. “Listen, I’m having fun but we’re not a full-time touring band and we’re trying to balance life with all this insanity. I’d prefer to stick with the three.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lorelei counters. “If we added afternoon shows at each venue, would that work? I mean, we’re not adding any dates. We’ll already be there.”
Todd grunts in a way that conveys Lori has thought of something he hadn’t. “Well, when you put it like that, maybe we should add shows. Big difference between shows and dates.” He throws a thumb my way and says, “You’re the one that started all this. What do you say?”
My shoulders slump slightly at the great burden Todd has just tossed upon them. I consider the words of my friends and put them against the requests from our venues. Moments of silence pass as I ponder. Todd starts fidgeting with impatience. He thinks it’s an easier question to answer than it is. After a few more moments of contemplation, I am ready to share my thought.
“When we gathered together at Applebee’s and I pitched the reunion tour idea I promised you three shows. If this tour, if our getting back together, was about fame or money then I would say let’s add the shows. But this is about us and the promise I made if you’d take this journey with me. I’d like to keep that promise to you.”
Now the silence that hangs in the room is from the other three. Our daughters’ fingers continue to fly across physical and virtual keyboards. They’ve tuned us out for the moment, focused on the issue at hand not whether or not the world gets more Onions At A Crime Scene. I look down at my shoes almost shy about looking at Todd, Laurel, and Lorelei while they ponder.
I have to look up finally because it’s so quiet I question whether they’ve left me in the garage. A fly buzzes past my head and I flail at it wildly. The intruder settles on my lap long enough for me to slap my hand on it, smooshing the fly in-between. The loud crack startles my friends from their silent consideration. My cheeks get red at the accidental commotion.
Lorelei sweeps a rogue strand of hair from her face. She collects herself and says, “We’re in agreement. Three shows it is.”
“What is it you’ve said, Eric?” Laurel chimes in. “Always leave them wanting more.”
“How sad is it that I was the one who almost took your head off and didn’t want to do this and I’m sort of disappointed we’re not doing more shows,” Todd shakes his head at himself. “But I agree. Let’s keep it as is.”
A quiet settles over the four of us. The only sound is a tappity-tappity-tappity tap of the keyboard as Faith and Ashley are busy posting pictures from our just-completed practice. We are content to let the computer keyboards be our soundtrack for the moment.
We’ve only played one show but based on that, our appearance on Ellen, and viral nature of our journey, the Onions are beginning to feel like a household name which itself is bizarre. I was hoping venues wouldn’t be empty and we just finished deciding we weren’t going to add shows. I never envisioned this.
Ashley breaks the silence. “Dad?”
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“I respect what you just said but I think Lorelei is right. If you did two additional shows wouldn’t that be more money to donate to fight human trafficking?” she asks and then looks at me.
The question smacks me like a frying pan in the face. It was an angle missed upon focusing only on a promise made to friends. When eye contact with Ash is broken it is quickly apparent that all eyes in the room are on me. My bandmates are looking at me with folded arms and heads cocked to the left silently saying to me, Yeah, what about that?
“Well, when you put it that way,” I respond sardonically “maybe we want to do a couple more shows.”
“Uh-huh,” the other Onions agree in unison. And on key.
“Nice catch,” Nicole says to her sister punctuating with a fist bump.
“Julie,” my thought being directed to my wife sitting in the corner, “please let the folks at Atomic Cowboy and Bottom Lounge know that they can add second shows. With the night shows starting at 7:30, let’s see if we can do something early afternoon.”
“Can do,” Julie replies with a nod. “I’ll reach out to Something Resembling Responsible as well to make sure a second show works for them.”
“Settled. Two shows,” Lori confirms brushing that rogue strand of hair away from her face once more.
The vibe of the room changes instantly. Minutes ago there was a sense of disappointment about turning down the additional shows. The body language across the board has changed. There is almost a bounce in the step of people who are standing still. No comment is needed to convey the Onions are happy to carry on, even if it’s not more dates but more people to pla
y in front of in our remaining cities. Now it’s my turn to silently celebrate. It was a lot less difficult to add two shows than it was to convince them to do shows in the first place. A guffaw nearly escapes me as the thought crosses my mind.
“Holy crap!” Hope blurts out. “Our song downloads are cray-cray.”
“Our downloads?” Lorelei questions with more than a hint of teasing in her voice.
“Hey, you may be part of the hottest band in the known universe, Mom,” Faith jumps in to defend her twin, “but we’re managing and automating downloads and social media for the hottest band in the known universe.” Faith and Hope stick their tongues out at their mother and say together, “So there.”
They go back to typing and compiling. Ashley picks up their point. “Ninety four thousand downloads a week. The special mix of the song you did on Ellen has ex-PUH-loded. Have you checked the PayPal balance lately? Buttloads of money.”
Joan Jett and Sheila E gave us permission to release the live version of our performance on Ellen on our streaming platforms, especially when they learned we are donating all our proceeds to fight human trafficking.
“You know, people are walking in my business asking if I have CDs they can buy,” Todd snorts like an angry bull. “I’m an implement dealer not a Sam Goody, for cryin’ out loud. My employees ask me if I’m planning on selling the business to tour full-time now that I’m a rock and roll star.” He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “We’ve played one freaking show!”
“Oh, calm down, Todd,” Laurel lightly chides. “This is a lot better than if we got ignored and were begging for people to notice us.” She pauses to take a sip of her iced tea. “Yeah, it’s weird having co-workers, friends, and strangers ask for autographs or make comments but what we’re doing is resonating with people.”
Todd’s head does this sort of head shake/bob where his right ear dips toward his shoulder as his left eyebrow raises slightly as a signal to concede the point.
“We are resonating, we are making a difference,” Lorelei adds almost pleading for us to believe her.
It’s my turn to cock my head sideways; not to concede a point but to ask for elaboration. “Care to expand on that thought?”
Lorelei looks a bit embarrassed, her statement a bit more urgent than she meant it to be. Lorelei comes out from behind her keyboard to get closer to us before sharing. She takes a slow, deep breath. “Well...I got a letter the other day.” Lori looks down at the ground and then looks back up at us. “It was a letter from Unity Health Center in Des Moines. Someone in the grief support services department is a fan and saw an article in the Des Moines Register a couple weeks ago. Y’know, local woman does something out of the ordinary.” Lori brushes the stubborn strand away from her face again.
“Anyway, the article mentioned my husband dying and the song my situation inspired. The person showed it around the department and the staff agreed that I’d be someone who’d fit in well with helping people to pick up the pieces after losing a spouse.”
Laurel puts up her hand, palm to Lori, evidently directing verbal traffic. “Hang on. Are you saying they offered you a job?”
“Yes!” Lori answers. “Can you believe it?” She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m going to accept it, guys.”
“Oh my gosh,” Laurel responds her hands coming up to her cheeks. “That’s excellent! Oh I’m so happy for you!”
“That is stupendous,” Todd nods. “You’ll be great.”
“When do you start?” I inquire.
“Not till November,” Lori says. “Too much going on plus I wanted to give my current employer time to hire my replacement. Didn’t want to leave them in a bind.”
“You nervous?” Todd asks.
“Not yet. I probably will be when I start. The tour and our experience so far has made me realize that life is still somewhat in a holding pattern. If a change is going to be made, now’s the time to do it.” She removes a hair band from around her wrist and pulls her hair back into a pony taking care of the rogue strands.
“I can’t think of a better person to do this than you,” Laurel encourages.
“Going through the loss of Dominic was a huge factor in accepting the offer. Not the loss itself but wishing I had someone to help walk me through the grieving process. No one is to blame. I had so much to figure out on my own. I want to help others to not feel that way from someone who has been on that path is walking along with them on theirs.”
“Mom is the bomb,” Faith states proudly.
“Oh, gawd,” Nicole rolls her eyes, “how ‘90s of you. I used to think my parents were the lamest people here.”
“Oh, no you didn’t!” Faith protests. “Don’t even go there! Don’t even.”
“And tomorrow, everyone, complete sentences,” I board the mocking train.
“Why are they yelling at each other?” Todd joins in. “Don’t these kids just argue via text and blast one another on social media? I didn’t know they actually talk.”
I snort with surprise at Todd’s piling on. Laurel and Lorelei delight in Todd’s unexpected sarcasm.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Hope scolds Nicole. “Now the old people are mocking us. Lovely.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ashley reassures looking down at her cell phone. “It’s getting late in the afternoon. Won’t be long now till nap time for them.”
“Woah!” The other three young women exclaim. “Burn!”
I look at my bandmates and say, “I guess that would have been funny if we had our hearing aids on.” A sliver of silence before the Onions plus Julie start laughing.
“They do get that we’re making fun of them, don’t they?” Faith puts out there.
Ashley rolls her eyes at us. “Yes. Dad poking fun at them is his way of defusing our burn while at the same time boomeranging the teasing back at us. Classic Dad move.”
“Did you hear that?” I exclaim in over the top wonderment. “My daughter just said I’m a classic!”
“Turn up the hearing aid, old man,” Nicole stands up for her sister. “She’s just diagramming the lame.”
“Diagramming the lame?” I parry. “Sure, it’s no Embrace the Good but I’m sure it would be fitting on a millennial t-shirt.”
“Now we’ve come full circle,” Laurel shakes her head in amusement.
“I’m dizzy,” Lori holds her head. “Too many zingers swirling around. Can we change the subject?”
“Ooh! Pick me!” I jump up and down.
“Wait,” Laurel says in the voice of a press secretary answering questions from the media, pointing at me. “It seems Eric might have something for us.” She nods. “Go ahead and share.”
“Thinking back on the First Avenue show,” I begin, “the word ‘community’ crossed my mind.” I pause to take a drink from my water bottle. “When we’re on stage and the lights are on us we can only see about – what – maybe ten rows deep of people? Got me thinking about my girl Taylor Swift…”
“No!” four young women turn and yell at me.
“Eww,” Hope recoils. “That’s just gross.”
“Yeah, creeper,” Faith echoes.
“Girls,” Lori chides her daughters, “some respect, please.”
“Just because you’ve been to one Taylor Swift concert doesn’t suddenly make her ‘your girl’,” goes Ashley’s mini-lecture. “I’ve been a fan since her first song.” She waggles a finger at me. “No bandwagon jumping.”
“Have you actually been to a Taylor Swift concert?” Laurel wonders not knowing if this is real or not.
“Yes,” Julie confirms. “Eric got us tickets to one of her stadium shows and we went as a family. She was terrific. I only knew a couple of songs but, wow, can that woman put on a show.”
Todd shakes his head in disdain. “Hand it over, dude,” he demands extending his right hand
toward me.
“Hand what over?” I ask.
“Your guy card,” Todd says pushing his hand closer to me. “You go see Taylor Swift, you lose your card.”
Making the motion of putting my hand in my back pocket I seemingly remove an invisible guy card, halfway extending it toward my friend before yanking my hand back.
“Psych!” I taunt. “I’ll have you know, just before the show started Joan Jett’s ‘Bad Reputation’ blared from the speakers so I get instant cool cred.”
“Is that true?” Todd asks looking over at my Taylor superfan daughter.
“That ‘Bad Reputation’ played just before Taylor came out, yes. That my dad has any cool cred, not a chance,” Ashley replies with a punctuating eye roll.
“Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate,” is my response with a disappointed head shake.
“No!” four young women protest once more.
“Isn’t this where we started?” Lorelei asks rhetorically.
“Anyway,” Laurel tries to get us back on track, “what is it you learned from Taylor Swift?”
“When we went to the Taylor Swift concert we were given electronic wristbands that lit up. The LED wristbands were controlled by a computer program to change color to match the mood of the song,” I explain.
“Isn’t that a bit fancy for us?” Todd scoffs.
“Hang on, there’s a point,” Julie jumps in. “He’s just taking his time getting there.”
“My stories don’t get as long if people don’t interrupt,” comes from me as a melody.
Laurel makes a rolling motion with her hand. “Keep it moving.”
“Certainly. At one point during the show, Taylor was on stage alone behind her piano. She referenced the wristbands and mentioned that in a large stadium with the lighting as it is she has trouble seeing her fans. But if everyone holds up their wristbands she can see us just as we can see her,” I finish.