“Everyone please motivate and treat (F/N) with care this week! She’s our nomination for Rising Actress this year!” Mrs. Moffey announces and everyone claps! For you! You felt a grin coming. “Competitions are next week after all!”
You gulp. You’ve been busting your booty for this competition, sometimes leader. You’ve been spending lots of extra time afterschool with your teachers and even the choir and several dance teachers.
“I feel really bad for you.” Natalia comments, and then suddenly widens her eyes when she realizes everyone’s shooting daggers at her. “No! I don’t mean because you’re going to competition! I just mean, it’s the week before competition! You’ll have to deal with many male advances…”
“Male advances? What? Am I supposed to get laid before the competition?”
Mrs. Moffey shakes her head. “Heavens to Betsey, no. What Natalia was referring to is that you’ll have to have an escort to the event. You don’t have to hanky-panky. You don’t even have to do anything romantic. But, you will have to a duet of your choice together. That’s why; you’ll have to pick the man with the talents that compliment yours.”
“But, how do I choose?”
“It used to be that you just chose, because we sing and dance all the time, anyway.” Elizaveta laughs. “But, the boys like to have fun with and…serenade you. Sometimes romantically. Sometimes insulting another rival. Sometimes just saying, look how goddamn spiffy I am.”
“Awesome!” You chirp. “Who’s going first?”
“No one’s going to perform right now silly!” Katayusha giggles, slapping your back.
“They’ll do it by surprise. When you least expect it.” Lili whispers, widening her eyes like she’s letting you on to life’s biggest secret.
“If they start crawling in your bedroom window at night,” Mrs. Moffey chucks you a silver whistle. “Blow this whistle!”
“It’s the sacred rape whistle,” Gilbert states, trying to keep his face straight, but he ends up snorting loudly.
You facepalm, not removing your hand from your face. Natalia was right. You even feel pity for yourself.
“Ughhhhh,” You groan. “I don’t want to go to lunch Elizaveta! All they’re going to do is SING and I just want to eat for once.”
She suddenly snatches your hand and makes a break for it with you, heading the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” You question, gasping for air.
“Let’s just sneak out and get lunch! No one will follow us there!”
You nod. “Great idea!”
You almost collide with the door as she barely shoves them open in time and you immediately let go of her hand as she dashes towards the gate. She was so going to jump over the fence.
She leaps over and sticks her landing perfectly.
“ Boooooooooooring!” She whines as you close the gate door behind you.
“Sorry I don’t want to break a bone before my nearby competition.”
She rolls her eyes as you dig in your school bag for your keys.
“Uh, (F/N)?” She mutters, poking your shoulder.
“One second…this bag is harder to find stuff in than Mary Poppin’s is!”
“I don’t think we’ll be leaving soon…look what’s on your car.”
You peer up and gasp. Feliciano and Lovino are standing back-to-back, arms crossed- on top of your car!
“Why this car is automatic-“ Lovino retorts, looking back at Feliciano. “-it's systematic!”
“It’s hyyyyyyyyyydroooomaaatic!” Feliciano stretches out.
“Why, it's grease lightning!” Lovino shouts, slipping his leather jacket off his shoulders. Wow! He has such tawny, glowing, not to mention soft skin! It compliments his olive eyes perfectly. Something in you almost wishes he wasn’t gay with Antonio…well, they aren’t technically a thing.
“Grease lightning!” Feliciano echoes, fumbling to get the heavy jacket off his shoulders.
“We'll get some overhead lifters and some four barrel quads!” Lovino belts, whipping his jacket behind him and lifting his arms over his head, shaking his torso. “OH yeah!”
“Keep talking; WHOAH keep talking!” Feliciano drops his outerwear, letting it slide down your car and he shakes his torso too, only, his arms are flapping like bird’s wings.
“A fuel injection cutoff and chrome plated rods! OH yeah!”
“I'll get the money! I'll kill to get the money!!!”
“With a four speed on the floor, they'll be waiting at the door!” He thrusts his hips forward with Feliciano. “You know that ain't no shit! We'll be getting lots of tit in Grease Lightning!!!”
“Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go!!!” Elizaveta cheers with the boys and you punch her stomach. So much for trying to avoid the situation.
Lovino and Feliciano slide down the roof of your car like children at a playground, landing on the feet, though Feliciano stumbles a bit.
“Go grease lightning you're burning up the quarter mile!” They point forward, moving their arms slowly from the left to the right. They then swiftly jut their arm up, to the left, and up again. “Go grease lightning you're coasting through the heat lap trial!”
“Grease lighting! Go grease lightning!” You lightly mouth the second time with them.
“You are supreme! The chicks'll scream for grease lightning!!!” They throw their arms up and rotate them as they shake what their mama gave them
They both hop up and then Lovino approaches you.
“We'll get some purple French tail lights and thirty inch fins! Oh yeah!” Lovino dances, pointing his hands from side to side. “A Palomino dashboard and duel muffler twins! Oh yeah!”
“With new pistons, plugs, and shocks I can get off my rocks!” Feliciano grabs his crotch and throws his arm up, grinning. “You know that I ain't bragging! She's a real pussy wagon!”
“Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go!” They yell, running a circle around your car and then returning to their spot, presenting the chorus’s dance. “Go grease lightning you're burning up the quarter mile! Go grease lighting you're coasting through the heat lane trial!”
“You are supreme! The chicks'll cream for grease lightning!” Lovino runs his hands down his body and moans. “Go grease lightning you're burning up the quarter mile!”
“Grease lightning! Go grease lightning!” Elizaveta and you sing, joining in the chorus dance with them.
“Go grease lighting you're coasting through the heat lap trial!” Feliciano struts forward and then hops backwards. “Grease lightning! Go grease lightning!”
Feliciano falls to his bottom and Lovino stands right behind his, shaking his crotch rear to his head.
“You are supreme! The chicks'll cream! For grease lightning!” They belt, there arms slowly rising up and their fingers wiggling.
“Vote for us!” They smack your shoulder as they skip off.
“That was great!” Elizaveta claps her hands, and then murmurs in your ear. “I’m not sure how the judge’s would have liked all their sexy dancing though.”
You laugh. “I was almost ready to blow my whistle for a minute.”
“I’ve always loved (flavor) milkshakes!” You hastily take another sip. “This is so much more fun than school lunch!”
Elizaveta drove you to a 40’s style diner. The flooring is checkered and worn and the walls are a baby pink, neon signs all around illuminating them. The waitresses wear old fashioned waitress costumes and get around the room on roller skates. Grease and salt fills your nostrils and Frank Sinatra’s ‘You Make Me Feel So Young’ fills your ears.
“See? Aren’t I a walking mass of good ideas?” She plops a curly fry in her mouth.
The bell tied to the knob of the front door dings and everyone investigates who it is. Since it’s such a small town, anyone has a high chance of knowing who it is.
Turns out it’s Arthur, who notices you and half waves. You return his gesture, only because you’re not a totally bitch. He’s about to come over, but three other beings enter and pressure him away as they confidently march over.
It’s Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, all dressed in suits. Francis is wearing a solid blue suit, with white polka dots and a matching bow tie, He’s also equipped with blue-lensed aviators. Antonio and Gilbert wear similar outfits, only Antonio’s in green and Gilbert’s in red.
“Salut chéri!” Francis greets you and places his hands on the table, looking down on you. “How are you doing on this fine day?”
“I’ve been better.” You snap and place a fry on your tongue, chewing it following after. “Why are ya all fancy looking?”
He chuckles. “I could just say ‘I always look this good’, cause I do, but that sounds selfish and shallow. So, the most prominent reason I look like this is because I think I should be your escort.”
Arthur scoffs in the backround, now sitting in a booth and observing.
You rest your head on your hand. “Sorry snuggly-wuggly-huggly bear; I’m not interested.”
He lets his glasses fall down slightly, his baby blue gems wide with disbelief. “Why won’t you even give me a chance?”
You gape away, towards Elizveta. “Do you hear something?”
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t.”
You smile. “It must be my imagination.”
“THIS IS NOT KINDERGARTEN! I know you can hear me!”
You plug your ears, repeating, “LALALALALALALALALA!!!”
He pulls your fingers out of your ears. “If you can't hear what I'm trying to say. If you can't read from the same page-"
“Maybe I'm going deaf. Maybe I'm going blind.” You plug one ear and conceal your eyes with your hands. You then stand up, walking straight towards Francis, who struts backwards and eventually press him to the rose walls. “Maybe I'm out of my mind!!!”
“EVERYBODY GET UP!!!” Gilbert shouts.
He bites his lip and pushes his chest even closer. “OK, now he was close. Tried to domesticate you! But you're an animal! Baby, it's in your nature! Just let me liberate you!!!”
“Hey, hey, hey!”Gilbert adds.
“You don't need no papers,” He crumples up a napkin and perfectly lands in a waste bin.
“Hey, hey, hey!”
“That man is not your maker!” Francis points directly at Arthur.
“And that's why I'm gon' take a good girl!” You sashay backwards as he belts and reaches for you. He gestures to come towards him. “I know you want it.”
“I know you want it!” You mimic in a shrill sarcastic voice.
“I know you want it!” He heads over to you, clasping your hips. “You're a good girl!”
“Can't let it get past me!” You were going to regret this, but you started to grind your booty on…yeah, Francis. It was like trying to enter a building wrapped fully in yellow caution tape; a stupid idea! But, overly-sexual, club songs were just meant for some thrill.
“You're far from plastic!”
You shove him away with your butt. “Talk about GETTING BLASTED!”
You rotate on your heels and both of you meet eyes and belt “I hate these blurred lines!”
“I know you want it!”
“I know you want it!” You tease, wiggling your butt as you sashay off.
“I know you want it! But you're a good girl! The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty!”
“Go ahead, get at me!” You peek back at him, batting your eyelashes and licking your lip.
Gilbert and Antonio walk by, both of them holding signs. Antonio’s says ‘#BONERFOY’ and Gilbert’s says ‘francis lieks beeg deek’.
Francis stops dancing and glares at them. “That is NOT what you were supposed to put on the signs.”
They both snicker.
“OUT!” Francis points to the door. Gilbert quickly pecks a kiss on Elizaveta’s lips and the two hooligans exit and their roaring laughter can be heard for a while.
He peeks down at you, a flush on his cheeks. “Well, that foiled everything.”
“What do they make dreams for?” You grasp his thighs, stroking down. “When you got them jeans on! What do we need steam for?”
He blinks, a bit taken at first, but then he grins mischievously and blurts out, “YOU THE HOTTEST BITCH IN THIS PLACE!”
“I feel so lucky.” You purr.
“You wanna hug me,” His arms hold your hips again, but on cue with the next line, his hands adventure down and squeeze your bottom. He winks at you. “What rhymes with hug me?”
“OK now he was close,” You begin.
“Tried to-“ Suddenly, Elizaveta pops up from behind him and smashes a frying pan over his head.
“You’re welcome.” She says to you. “Should we go?”
You lean over and assist Francis in getting up. You gently massage the spot he’s covering with his hands. “Are you okay Francis?”
He leans his head on your shoulder. “No.”
“Don’t fall for it! Let’s just go!!!!” Elizaveta begs.
He looks you in the eyes and you giggle.
“What?” He instantly questions.
“You look like a big, sad puppy.”
“Woof.” He chokes out.
You chortle again and he joins in this time.
“Are you going to be okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry for acting like such an idiot…”
You shake your head. “ No! I had fun!”
His fingers gently lift your chin up. “Me too.”
“Me three!” The only British accent you’ve heard in this town pipes in.
Francis’s hands leap off your face and into his pockets. “H-hi Arthur.”
“Hello Francis! Hello (F/N)!” Arthur sneers. He’s wearing a navy blue sailor uniform – minus the sleeves – and his cap is tipped. Adorning his feet are white tap shoes. Behind him, are a group of male and female dancers from the school; the males wearing white long sleeved sailor uniforms and the females wearing belly baring versions of the males, with knee length, swishy skirts. They face their backs to you two, forming a half circle around Arthur by height. “Sorry to interrupt your raging PDA.”
Francis squints. “No you’re not. You’re here to perform, aren’t you?”
“I am here to perform,” Arthur stomps his tap shoe. “Better than you Francis!”
Arthur rotates on his heel, facing the opposite way.
“Times have changed!” He turns his hands on hips and he crosses his legs, stepping over on every other offbeat, his heels clicking. “And we've often rewound the clock! Since the Puritans got a shock! When they landed on Plymouth Rock!”
He heads over to Francis, pressing his back on Francis’s chest as he leans his head back and belts. He looks back at Francis and winks. “Any shock they should try to stem! Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock!!! Plymouth Rock, would land on them!”
The girl dancers rotate to the beat, their hands pressing their hips. They bite their cherry red lips, and gradually lift their skirts up, revealing the top of their stockings. Arthur gazes back at them, his hand going to his lips as he gasps and gestures his other hand at them. “In, olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking!”
Arthur crosses his arms and glares at Francis. “But, now God knows! Anything goes!”
“Good authors too, who once knew better words now only use four letter words! Writing prose! Anything Goes!!!” He rolls his shoulders and moves his arms like ocean waves lightly tapping his feet.
“The world has gone mad today! And good's bad today! And black's white today! And day's night today!” Arthur sashays from side-to-side each time he croons ‘today’. On his next lines, he captures your eyes and holds his arm towards Francis, bouncing on his left leg. “When most guys today that women prize today are just silly gigolos!“
Two girls tap on over and link arms with Arthur, doing simple rapping with their clicking heels. All the other girls in the background have their hands on their hips, lightly bouncing them. The male dancers hold their hips and just grin. “And though I'm not a great romancer! I know that I'm bound to answer when you propose, Anything goes!”
They unlink and all tap dance forward, and then swing their arms to the right, light on their toes as they click right and extend their arms out like their clawing gracefully at something and same to the right. As soon as they find their place again, they hold their arms towards Arthur.
“When grandmama whose age is eighty in night clubs is getting matey with gigolo's!!!” He winks and blows two kisses with each of hands. “Anything goes!”
“When mothers pack and leave poor father because they decide they'd rather be tennis pros! Anything Goes!” He smacks an imaginary tennis racket forward right on the loud percussion beat.
“If driving fast cars you like! If low bars you like! If old hymns you like! If bare limbs you like! If Mae West you like!” Arthur strikes a pose each time he says ‘like’. On his upcoming line, he waggles his eyebrows at you. “If me undressed you like! Why, nobody will oppose!”
“When every night, the set that's smart is intruding in nudist parties in studios! Anything Goes!!!” Two female dancers grab his bottom, crescent kicking their leg around.
The other dancers clog dance a circle around Arthur and sing “The world has gone mad today! And good's bad today! And black's white today! And day's night today! When most guys today that women prize today are just silly gigolos!”
“And though I'm not a great romancer! I know that I'm bound to answer!” Arthur dancers over to you, grabbing your hands and twirling you. “When you propose! Anything goes!!!”
You applaud him. “Wow! That was awesome Arthur! I never knew you could tap dance!”
He chuckles. “It’s really nothing.”
“No! It was spectacular! You should teach me how to do that!”
He slides his arm around your shoulder. “Shall we?”
“Hey guys.” Francis swallows. “Don’t forget about me….”
“We shall!” You respond and the two of you skip out of the diner. Elizaveta probably left early, so your departure is excused.
Francis sighs and places his hand on the shoulder of one of the dancers. “Am I really a gigolo?”
She pauses, thinking about it. “Francis Bonnefoy right?”
She crinkles her nose. “Yup; most definitely a gigolo.”
The other dances shriek with laughter and exit the restaurant, their clicking march sounding like an army. Francis sulks his head down. Why does this always happen to him?
“Why do all of my friends here-” You begin. “-come from somewhere else in the world?”
“Let me rephrase that: how racially diverse was your last school?” Ludwig quizzes.
“Not at all!”
“Then, all the foreigners are here!” Feliciano exclaims.
“Foreigners are better anyway,” Gilbert sticks his pointer finger up. “We have charming accents and when we swim, you know whether we have a good package because we wear a teeny-weeny-yellow-polka dot-Speedo.”
“Hey! Foreigners aren’t always better!” Alfred pouts.
You snort. “You guys really wear Speedo’s?”
“Pssssh, no.” Lovino responds.
“Let me see if I can guess where you’re from!” You clap your hands together. “It’ll be a fun game!”
“Go for it.” Arthur smirks. “I’m sure it’s pretty obvious that I’m Ethiopian.”
“I was going for the UK region….” You poke your tongue out. “Like, Britain? You’re British!”
“Lucky guess.” He overexaggerates his British accent.
You point towards Francis. “And, you’re French!”
“Oui oui.” He answers blankly, wearing no expression on his face.
“Feliciano and Lovino are Italian!” You grin. “Gilbert and Ludwig-sorry-LOODVIG, are German!”
“What am I?” Elizaveta demands.
“You’re…Hungarian! You told me this.” You remind her. “Alfred isn’t any bit foreign and Matthew’s from slightly above…Canada.”
“And Antonio, you’re from-“
“I'm just a Spanish tamale according to (F/N)!” Antonio states, rising up. “Right off the boat from the tropics far far away! Which is kind of funny! Since where I come from really is Spain!”
“You’re from Spain! You’re-“
“SPANISH!” He exclaims, swiping a red scarf of a passing by student and whips it up. His emerald eyes are huge with exhilaration! He rolls his tongue obnoxiously on all R’s. “Ok, (F/N) I'll be Spanish! Right after I've married Alberrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrta!”
“I'll be the toast of chi-chi Costanango and all day long my castanets will click!” He folds the scarf into a triangle and fans himself off. “I'll hide behind my fan and do the tango! I'll be so Spanish it'll make you sick!”
“I'll eat the churros and the paella!” He grabs someone cup and dumps it down his throat. “I'll drink Tequila till I feel no pain!”
“The only song I'll sing will be "Granada"! I'll be more "Español" than Abbe Lane!”
He hops onto the table, spinning the ribbon around his body. He halts and cries out a like dying ostrich. “COO COO COO! La cuc.........racha! Ssssso-“
“Call me the wild Spanish rose! The craziest flower that grows! I'll kick up my heels and see!” He holds the red ribbon straight above his head, kicking up. “How it feels! To be sultry Spanish rose! OLÉ!”
“Behind my mantilla I will pose! The beauty that nobody knows!” He forms the scarf into a triangle again, hiding his face behind it. He slides it down and completes a full circle, bringing it sharp to the right. “So regal and cool, exciting and cruel! That's me! Spanish rose!”
Antonio taps you with the fan. You bring your attention to him. Wow! He’s good-looking! He has a bronze tan, which is radiant and his white grinning teeth practically glow, along with his dancing eyes. “My llamo Antonio Carriedo! You'll buy my paella Yo te gusto, ¿no? No? Maybe? Eeyuckh!”
He unfurls the cloth and holds it behind his back, like he’s a matador. He sweeps it quickly forward and back, like a bulls actually dancing with him. “With Alberta I will dance to the bolero! We'll cha cha in the nicest honky tonks! She’ll wear a little red dress and her hair done up! My gorgeous Latin lover from the Bronx!”
“So now that you've met Spanish rose! Never forget Spanish rose! He’ll taunt you!” He belts. “He’ll tame you, but what girl can blame you for worshiping Spanish rose?”
“Not the Danish!” Antonio points the red cloth at Magnus, who shrugs.
“Not British!” He brings it towards Arthur and then Berwald. “Not Swedish! Not Yiddish!”
He spins the ribbon around, starting from his toes and ending up being twirled above his head. He rotates with it, like a top as he belts, “But Span…………ish Rosa!”
He falls right on his rump. “Wow! I’m so dizzy right now!”
You pat his shoulder. “All that spinning, huh?”
He nods. “But, it will be all worth it you pick me as your escort!”
“You did make my choices very difficult…”
“I thought you liked ours!” Feliciano and Lovino snap.
“No! She had me teach her tap dancing from my song!” Arthur brags.
“I don’t see why you guys are fighting. That won’t make her pick you.” Alfred points out.
“I’m pretty sure she already is positive on who she’s picking.” Feliciano points to himself.
“Well, she hasn’t seen my performance or anyone else’s. So don’t assume yours is the best when you haven’t even seen them all.”
You facepalm and groan. This is totally World War Three and you almost wish you can just go all Switzerland and retreat to home base and watch Disney movies while sipping hot coco.
Three periods in the next day and no singing! Whew!
“They make it so hard to pick anyone Ludwig! I mean, everyone here is talented in their own different ways!” You complain.
“Well, you have to pick the person you can mirror the most. Someone that won’t outshine you dancing, but that be completely crushed by you.” He advises.
“Well…I liked Arthur’s performance most, but I can’t tap dance like him! And, Antonio has amazing Latin flair…and ribbon spinning skills! And, picking between Feliciano and Lovino would be wrong. Because, if I pick Feliciano, Lovino gets hurt and if I pick Lovino, Feliciano will be upset.” You list, and then cease. “What about Francis?”
Ludwig shakes his head. “Not because Francis isn’t talented. It’s because you guys look too good on stage together.”
You bring your lip to the side. Is Ludwig….jealous? “Why is looking good on stage bad?”
“It’s not, however, the girl you’re competing with, Jasmina, has been madly in love with Francis since we’ve been doing competitions in middle school. Francis sometimes hooks up with her…but he doesn’t have any feelings towards her.”
“So, he’s leading her on?”
“He doesn’t realize he is. He thinks her idea of them together is just for meaningless hookups. But, don’t go with Francis. Because, it’ll blow Jasmina’s top off.”
“True.” You mutter, now realizing you still don’t have an escort chosen. “Though…I don’t know who I’m going to choose.”
Ludwig shrugs. “You still have until advisory tomorrow. Never know who will try out.”
An idea pops into your head and you tug his sleeve. “Why don’t you try out?”
He instantly shakes his head. “No. You deserve better on stage.”
You frown. “But, besides Francis, you and I have great stage energy!”
“(F/N)! (F/N)!” Feliciano dashes over. “Have you come to your senses and realized that I’m the best choice?”
“No, because she knows I’m a fairer choice.” Arthur interjects.
“I wouldn’t get so sure of yourself Brit.” Antonio snaps.
“I actually want to see Ludwig audition.”
Every single of their mouths gape wide open.
“He’s never even chaperoned anyone to ‘Rising Actress’!” Francis states.
“He’s so awkward! And…he’s such a loner-boner!” Feliciano adds. “He doesn’t really have any talents either…cept he’s really toned and he’s good at singing and his partner dancing is pretty swell!”
Lovino smacks Feliciano’s back. “Still! Why Ludwig? He’s LUDWIG!”
Arthur shakes his head. “He’s just not charming enough, nor fits your style.”
“WOAH WOAH WOAH LUDWIG!!!” Gilbert shouts, jumping in the center of the protestors. He looks Ludwig straight in the yes. “Are you really taking this? You’re so much better than just standing there and letting them criticize you!”
Ludwig cocks his head. “But…what if they’re right?”
Gilbert slaps Ludwig. “Dude, shut up! They are not even right! You’ve gone through so much bullshit and just taken it up the ass like a man and you still walk straight and tall! They’re criticizing you, because they’re scared they’ll lose to you!”
Ludwig blinks. “I suppose. But, I’m still not charming and-“
“WHO CARES!” Gilbert grabs Ludwig by his collar and drags him out to the center of the room. He points at Mrs. Moffey. “Hit it!”
Mrs. Moffey doesn’t resist even the tiniest bit, because this is literally her trillionth time turning off all the lights (besides the spotlight).
Gilbert jogs across the room and opens a broom closet, removing an electric guitar. He plugs it in and throws it over his shoulder. He activates the drum machine and gestures Elizaveta over. Elizaveta takes her place at the keyboard, her fingers resting on the keys.
“Ladies and gentlemen, whether you like it or not-“ Gilbert exaggerates his German accent and looks down. The second he screams the next line, he props his head up and holds his arms out towards Ludwig. “LUDWIG!”
“Don't you know me? I'm the new Berlin Wall baby.” Ludwig sings, watching his feet. He then grins and gazes straight towards the crowd, whether because he just gained his confidence or because he likes the song; you can't read minds. “TRY AND TEAR ME DOWN!”
“I was born on the other side of a town ripped in two!” Ludwig points to his left with his right arm, slowly bringing his arm to the right. He repeats the process with his left arm. He then points at the crowd, sneering. “I made it over the great divide! Now I'm coming for you!”
“Enemies and adversaries; they try and tear me down!” Gilbert and he stroll over to each other, nodding their heads to the drums. “You want me, baby, I dare you! Try and tear me down!”
They chest bump each other, both of them loudly chuckling.
“I rose from off of the doctor's slab like Lazarus from the pit!“ He rises his arms over his head and then brings them down his body, shaking to the drum rhythm. “Now everyone wants to take a stab and decorate me, with blood graffiti and spit!”
“Enemies and adversaries; they try and tear me down!” Ludwig lifts up the mic stand, wobbling it. He soon slams down in front of Gilbert. “You want me, baby, I dare you! Try and tear me down."
“On August 13th, 1961 a wall was erected down the middle of the city of Berlin. The world was divided by a cold war and the Berlin Wall was the most hated symbol of that divid. Reviled. Graffitied. Spit upon. We thought the wall would stand forever and now that it's gone, we don't know who we are anymore. Ladies and Gentlemen, Ludwig is like that wall standing before you in the divide between East and West; Slavery and Freedom; Man and Woman;Top and Bottom.” Gilbert states. “And you can try to tear him down. But before you do you must remember one thing.”
“Hey! There ain't much of a difference between a bridge and a wall! Without me right in the middle, babe you would be nothing at all!” Ludwig dances over towards Elizaveta as they both scream the next lines.
“Enemies and adversaries; they try and tear me down!” Gilbert joins in with them, shredding down on his guitar and Elizaveta bangs down on her keys. Ludwig dances against Gilberts back, headbanging to the beat. He spins the microphone and ruffles his own hair. “You want me, baby, I dare you! Try and tear me down!”
As soon as the drum hits its last beat, everyone’s head goes down and doesn’t shift
Everyone in the audience is wide eyed and shocked. You are the first one to start the trend of clapping and soon everyone follows, the room shaking with the sound of applause.
“Fantastic job!” You compliment as he returns to his seat. “You rocked that stage!”
He shrugs. “I just hate when people try and tell me I’m not good enough to do something.”
You giggle. “Well; you definitely proved yourself up there! I think I might just pick you…”
Groans can be heard from all around.
Alfred jumps up and races on over, gripping your shirt collar. “You haven’t even seen my performance!”
Ludwig scoffs. “Maybe she doesn’t want to.”
“Ludwig! Don’t say that!” You scold and turn back to Alfred. “I’d love to watch it…”
“Gilbert and I are actually performing it in the theatre,” Alfred informs you. “For the parents, there’s a show tonight with group pieces being performed. It’s mostly dance, choir, and band, but Gilbert and I were asked to perform the opening piece at seven tonight, so drop on by.”
You nod your head and chirp, “Sure! That would be awesome! Can’t wait!”
He skips off and Ludwig seems solemn.
“What? I have to be fair!” You insist, gasping. “Are you, jealous?”
He shakes his head. “No!”
“Then you’ll see it with me tonight.”
“Then why won’t you come with me?”
You grab his hand. “Then, I guess you’re coming!”
“Wow! He reserved a seat for us! Right in the front!” You exclaim, plopping down next to Ludwig.
“Nothing big. We’re at our school, not the Tony Awards.” Ludwig rolls his eyes.
“Cheer Up Charlie. There’s still almost a full house!”
“For the band, dance, and choir; not Alfred.”
You press your knuckle to his cheek. “Stop it with your moody-toody. Just because we’re seeing them perform, doesn’t automatically mean I’m choosing Alfred for my partner.”
Ludwig doesn’t respond.
A brunette girl in a strapless, floor length gown steps out from the curtain, taking the mic. She greets the crowd and enlightens them a bit on what they’ll be witnessing tonight and what all the lovely programs here do.
“Tonight, our drama section won’t be performing any pieces, due to an upcoming competition. However, they will be performing our starting piece! Please welcome, Alfred and Gilbert with Hair!”
She dashes off stage and the blood red curtains gently relocates off stage, revealing Alfred in patched up bellbottoms, with a long, white peasant top. He also wears a wooden, beaded rosary and a brown felt belt, with no shoes. On his head is a dirty blonde, disheveled wig which poofs down to his shoulders and a beaded hippy headband across his forehead.
Behind him stands more than several dozens of people, their backs facing the crowd. They also wear gypsy and flower-child like clothing with floral, tie dyes, denim, tribal wear, floor length skirts, and any other clothing a peace maker would mix and match. Every single one has hair down to their back, whether it curly, blonde, straight, afro-ed, greasy, frizzy, copper, or flat; every single do varied.
A guitar lightly strums.
The spotlight shines down on Alfred, who reaches over and lifts up a girl’s ebony mane, while squeezing the rump of a man behind him. “She asks me why, I'm just a hairy guy. I'm hairy noon and night.”
“Hair that's a fright!” He hisses, throwing his arms up.
“I'm hairy high and low! Don't ask me why!” He belts, petting his hair and then running his arms down his torso, gyrating his lower body round.
“Don't know!” Gilbert pops his head out from one of the girls Persian rug skirts and joins in with Alfred. A wig of white dreadlocks rests on his head and he wears nothing on his chest but a furry buffalo vest, which reveals his toned chest. Alfred slides down to his knees, so he’s right in front of Gilbert. Gilbert pulls himself out from under her skirt and leans in towards Alfred.
“It's not for lack of bread, like the Greatful Dead!” Alfred elongates his body, grinning down at Gilbert, who soon does the same.
“Darlin'…..” They softly croon and Gilbert throws his arm around Alfred and places his hand on his heart, looking like he’s about to go in for a kiss.
The drum beat kicks up and Gilbert and Alfred whip their heads over, so their facing the audience. All the background actors begin to violently thrash their heads, their hair whipping around.
“Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair!!!” They belt together, tapping their toes as they rise up from their knees to their feet. “Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen!”
“Give me down to there, hair! Shoulder length or longer!” Gilbert and Alfred still have their arms around each other’s shoulders as they sweep themselves dramatically across the stage. Gilbert touches his heart and then lifts his above his head like he’s trying to block the sun’s glare as you gaze out. “Here baby, there, momma, everywhere, daddy, daddy!”
“Hair!!!” They belt as they throw their arms out.
The backup singers begin to scream ‘Ba ba, ba ba ba, ba ba ba ba!’ as they look upon the audience, still jerking their heads around, and their hairs practically hitting the ground. Some are on all fours, tossing their bodies around savagely, while some just nod their heads wildly.
“Flow it!” Gilbert lashes his dreads down.
“Show it!” Alfred whisks his knots towards his upward, bent elbow.
They jump on their toes, facing each other. They throws their hands to their head and tangle their fingers into their mops. “Long as God can grow, my hair!”
“Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees!” Alfred sings as he strolls to the side stage, his hands gripping his belt and he’s sticking his hips out. “Give a home to the fleas, in my hair!”
Gilbert leaps off the stage and jobs over to Ludwig. He climbs onto the chair, leaning over his brother. “A home for fleas, a hive for the buzzing bees!”
“A nest for birds, there ain't no words!” Alfred falls to his knees in front of you, his arms pressing up onto your chair and he whips his hair. His left hand then grips your cheek. “For the beauty, splendor, the wonder of my- “
He throws his arm back and belts out the next note. Gilbert balancing on Ludwig’s arm rest, his crotch in a close proximity to poor Luddy’s face. His arms fly up too. “HAAAAIRRRR!!!”
“Flow it, show it!!!” Alfred flashes two peace signs and then brings them back to brush into his hair. “Long as God can grow, my hair!!!”
“I want long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty!!!” They both yell, entering on opposite sides of the stage. The dancers spin around and perform random movements like they’re tripping on too much LSD. “Oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen!!! Knotted, polka dotted, twisted, beaded, braided!!! Powered, flowered and confettied!!! Bangled, tangled, spangled and spaghettied!!!”
As the chorus sings, Gilbert gropes Alfred’s chest, who loudly pants. The secondary actors all place their right hands on their hearts, as they gaze towards the lowering American flag, singing to the rhythm of ‘The Star Spangled Banner’. “Oh say, can you see my eyes if you can, then my hair's too short!!!“
“Down with here, down to there!” Alfred turns and skips towards the stage left.
“Down till there, down to where it's stuck by itself!” Gilbert skips the opposite side, leaping over a man’s head.
They both march towards the edge of the stage and leap off. They then strut down through the lanes.
“They'll be ga-ga at the go-go, when they see me in my toga!!!” Gilbert runs his hands down his bare chest. “My toga made of blond, brilliantine, biblical hair!”
“My hair like Jesus wore it! Hallelujah I adore it!” Alfred rips his rosary off and slaps it down in your hands, as he balances on the chairs, so he forms an arch right above the aisle.
“Hallelujah Mary loved her son, why don't my brother love me?” Gilbert adventures up Ludwig’s seat again, standing on his head rest.
“Hair!!!!” They both belt, waving their arms like lunatics.
“Flow it, show it!!! Long as God can grow my hair, flow it, show it!!!” They sing as almost three fourths of all the backup people exit the stage and dance around the theatre. They pet people’s hair and dance with some of the parents. Some lie themselves across the spectators and some just rave down the aisles, sliding underneath Alfred’s legs. “Long as God can grow my hair, flow it, show it!!! Long as God can grow my hair!!!”
Everyone hits their last note, and pose with their hands tangled in their hair or reaching for the sun.
The theatre explodes with hollers, applauds, whoots, snapping, and whistles.
“Wow! Amazing job done by the drama department!” The announcer breathes out into the microphone, her chocolate eyes shining.
Alfred snatches the microphone and he hops off the stage one more time, beelining straight towards you. “So…did I win?”
Damn. He is good. Not only was his performance the most phenomenally prepared and delivered one, but now he is placing pressure on you in front of a whole audience. There is just no reason for you to deny!
“Yes!” You accept, embracing him and the crowd roars again.
Ludwig gazes away, the emotionless expression returning to his face. He once claimed you as his own, but now, everyone else pecked bits and pieces of you away, leaving him all alone again.
Alfred tugs your collar. “Come on! We have to go start practicing! NOW!!!”
You giggle and follow him along.
“Don’t go blaming anyone but yourself Ludwig. You never confessed to her, so she has no idea.” Gilbert points out. “If you want to win her again, you have a crowd to push past now. Just seize any option you get.”
Ludwig sighs, knowing his brother is right. You have so many fans after you, that little by little, he’s being tugged away and thrown off the red carpet of your heart.
Gilbert notices Ludwig and seats himself besides his brother, resting his elbow on his shoulder.