Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [64]
“The Dixie Chicks have had a pretty tumultuous past, politically speaking,” I hedged.
Selina blinked twice. “And Celine Dion?”
“I was talking about the lyrics,” I explained reasonably, pointing to my hearing aids. “I mean, I could hardly be talking about the music, right?”
She huffed in displeasure, then flounced past me to the edge of the set as Dumb ended the song with a screeching blast of pure distortion. It sounded like an airplane landing just above my head.
I turned back to the monitor and saw Josh staring everyone down, especially Kallie. I wanted to call a time-out, sit the band down with a Sharpie and a clipboard and tell them that it was us against Seattle Today, and we needed to stick together, present a unified front. Only that was out of the question. They were already piling onto a too-short sofa, and Josh didn’t look like he blamed anyone but Kallie.
The camera cut to Donna as she beckoned Kallie over, patting the sofa cushion nearest her. Kallie hesitated, but glided along to her designated spot. With the camera ideally placed to capture the momentous occasion, freaky skeleton lady held out a bony arm and shook Kallie’s hand. I was afraid she might never let go, but then Tash plopped down beside Kallie, and Donna pulled away, leaning back in her giant-sized armchair in an attempt to put a safe distance between herself and Dumb.
“Well,” began Donna, smiling vacantly, “that was . . . such . . . goodness me ...”—I wondered if the stenocaptioner was having technical difficulties, but when I looked at Donna’s face, it was clear the problem was entirely hers—“such . . . I mean to say . . . tell us how the band formed, Kallie.”
Kallie looked like she’d just been asked to explain the theory of relativity. She crossed and uncrossed her boots as her hazel eyes grew large and fearful. Seconds passed like minutes.
“I can answer that, Donna.” The words appeared on the screen, but the source wasn’t apparent until the camera cut to Josh at the far end of the sofa. (Trust Josh to look up the host’s name in advance.) “Dumb was born from the convergence of rock philosophy shared by its original members. Then Ed joined us because we’d cultivated a technique of rhythmic flexibility that some people misinterpreted as, for want of a better phrase, playing out of time. And that leaves Kallie.”
“Indeed,” replied Donna. “Tell us about Kallie.”
“Well, she can’t play guitar for bleep.”
The last word seemed bigger than the others somehow, and I felt my lunch making a bid for freedom. I almost wished the stenocaptioner had just written “shit”—at least I’m used to seeing that word.
“The only reason she’s in the band is to expose media bias,” continued Josh. “Think about it. We’ve added a piece of talent-less eye candy, and watched everyone fawn over her just because she’s hot. It’s a bleep joke. She’s a bleep joke.”
Selina was beside me in a heartbeat, her breath punching the air in angry whispers. I pretended I didn’t know she was there. I didn’t even do it to get even with her. I did it because the camera had pulled back to reveal the rest of the band fidgeting on the sofa, and I could tell they weren’t exactly thrilled with Josh’s word selection either. Actually they looked pretty angry, potentially violent even. It occurred to me that a fight could break out right then and I wouldn’t have been surprised. And I don’t think I was alone. Donna’s face twitched like she was being electrocuted; only her immaculate blond hair remained completely unruffled.
Selina pushed in front of me, waggling her finger and issuing some carefully chosen swear words, which seemed pretty hypocritical, I don’t mind saying. Then she pointed to the monitor, where the closed captioning conveyed Josh’s latest incriminating sound bite: “Do I have issues with Kallie? No. Why would I have issues with such a superficial, vacant, self-absorbed piece of bleep?”