Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [60]
“So much for waiting a while longer before using up your final session,” said Baz.
“They’re ready for this. Trust me.”
“Uh-huh. So who are they today? The Beatles? Barney and Friends?”
“No. We’re Dumb. And we’re going to stay Dumb from now on.”
Baz shook his head in disbelief. “Well, you won’t get any argument from me. Are we plugging in the eye candy’s microphone this time?”
I clenched my fists. “Her name is Kallie.”
“Oh, so now she has a name and someone to support her. Where was that last time?”
“I was wrong.”
“Sure. Well, let’s get on with it. You’ve got three hours to immortalize Dumb’s greatness.”
Even though Baz was being sarcastic, I didn’t rise to the bait. I knew there was a side of Dumb he hadn’t yet witnessed, and I wanted to enjoy his surprised reaction when he found out. But that would have to wait until Josh and Kallie joined the others. Where were they, anyway?
I peered through the window in the control room door and caught sight of Josh’s face in a wall-mounted mirror. He looked animated, almost imploring as he dominated a conversation with, I guessed, Kallie. And it wasn’t exactly hard to imagine what they were discussing.
He ran a hand through his blond curls, his eyes crying out for a little understanding. Even I’d have hugged him, but when he stepped forward, anticipating Kallie’s embrace, it was clear she wasn’t playing along. Suddenly he slapped the concrete cinder block with the palm of his hand, and I gripped the door handle in case things were about to turn ugly.
Josh was talking again now, but he was angry, not pleading. I figured his voice must be loud, but Baz was nearby and seemed completely oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the door. I tried to lip-read, but it was hopeless with Josh in profile, so I just watched to make sure Kallie was safe, and let him vent. Sure enough, he slapped the wall again a few seconds later, then waltzed into the control room and on to the studio like nothing had happened.
Kallie didn’t immediately follow him, so I opened the door and stood beside her as she fought back tears.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “I guess there was some kind of misunderstanding about me joining the band.”
“You mean it came with strings attached?”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize, and now . . . now I just wish he’d get it, you know?”
“But he’s not getting it. So you need to spell it out for him.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? He’s being an asshole.”
“No.” She bowed her head. “It’ll ruin everything.”
I was sympathetic, I really was, but her stubbornness was infuriating. “You can’t just let him walk all over you, Kallie.”
“Yes, I can. Sometimes it’s better that way. Anyway, I’ll be okay.” And with that she took a deep breath and rejoined her bandmates, her insecurity and anguish bottled up inside where no one else would see.
Five minutes later, Ed had Dumb running through the band’s original three covers, exactly as I’d instructed him to do. Through my daily dose of web-based research, I’d discovered that while we’d never be able to sell copies of the songs without paying the copyright holders, it was unlikely that anyone would try to sue us for including them in promotional materials. Just as important, it meant that only twenty minutes into the three hours, Baz already had good recordings of all three songs, and Dumb’s confidence was high.
The next songs slowed Dumb down, but everyone soldiered on together, and with an hour to go, another three songs had been recorded for posterity. Baz glanced at the clock as if to reassure himself he hadn’t lost track of time. I felt vindicated.
I’d only anticipated getting recordings of those six songs, so I was thrilled when Dumb revamped “Loving Every Part of You” as a punk rock anthem. Then they tried a cover version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana, but Josh was making up new R-rated lyrics as he went along. He was also unusually still, simply blaring into the microphone instead of his usual habit of performing for an imaginary, adoring audience. While Dumb was soaring to new heights as a band,