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"I Want To Break Free" - Queen |
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Chapter Nine: One Little Wrinkle
Henrietta pulled at her temples. After staying up all night, she was just getting the final line up together. The tribute concert was going on the next day and she was still tying up loose ends. Going over the list in her head, she called George to finalize everything.
"George," she said into her phone, not waiting for a reply, "We have about twenty bands performing, but here are the ones I think people will really want to see. David Bowie is performing 'Under Pressure' and 'I Want To Break Free', The Cure will be doing their rendition of 'Save Me', Marilyn Manson is doing a medley including 'We Will Rock You', 'We Are The Champions', and 'Killer Queen'. U2 will be singing 'A Kind of Magic' and 'Another One Bites the Dust'. Nine Inch Nails will be performing 'Get Down Make Love'…uhm…Billy Corgan will be singing 'Bicycle Race' and Elton John will be singing the finale of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' with the help of everyone else."
"Sounds good," George said. "What about Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon?"
"They'll be appearing in the finale, playing all the instruments. We don't want the audience to know that they're even there until the end." Henrietta said.
"Well, then you've already got a winkle in your flawless plan," George said, sounding annoyed. "Didn't you hear that it's out about Brian May? He's here and there isn't a newspaper that doesn't know about it."
"WHAT?! Oh that stupid, frizzy haired fuckup!" Henrietta screamed. "I've got to go George. I'll call you back." Hanging up the phone, Henrietta immediately dialed Brian's number at the hotel. After about seven rings, just when she was about to hang up, a tired voice picked up on the other end.
"Hello?" Brian said, sounding as if all the feeling had been drained from him.
"Brian?" Henrietta snapped. "This is Henrietta Riley."
"Oh, hi Henrietta." Brian said, sounding a bit better. "How are you?"
"Not good," she said. "And this isn't a courtesy call, so get that idea out of your frizzy deranged head." She heard something that sounded like a sharp breath on the other line.
"W-w-what do you want?" Brian asked, swallowing hard.
"I've just been informed of your million dollar slip up," she hissed, cool as ice. Henrietta waited for Brian to say something, but when he didn't she continued.
"I won't stand for this," she said, clicking her fingernails on the counter top. "I will not have my show fucked up just because you're too stupid wear a disguise…or a wig…or, or something!"
Brian took a deep breath. "I didn't expect anyone to notice me," he said in a small voice. Or to care, he thought to himself. Henrietta scoffed.
"Apparently thinking isn't your strong suit," she continued, staring out the window. "So I've got an idea."
"What is it?" Brian asked, sighing.
"Since you've already made your appearance known, we'll just add you to the show bill, like we were planning your stage presence all along. You can do a few Queen songs and the crowd will love it," she concluded.
"No," Brian said, surprising himself. "I-I-I can't do that," he said. "I'm, uh, not really up to singing tomorrow. Besides, nobody from Queen can really do Freddie's parts like he could; I'd sound cheap in comparison."
"Well," Henrietta said, sounding sweeter than honey. "Look at it this way. You don't have a choice in the matter, so if I were you I'd be getting used to the idea. Bye!" and she hung up.
Chapter Ten
Brian stared at the phone in his hand. Feeling tears welling up in his already sad eyes, he slowly hung the phone up and stared hard at the wall.
"Great," he said, beginning to sob. "Now I've pissed off the producer and I can kiss any hope I had of renewing my career goodbye."
Remembering the tentative plans he had made with Roger and John, he wondered if should call them to confirm them. Just as he was thinking this, the phone rang, scaring him so much he jumped off the bed and screamed. Feeling foolish after realizing what it was, he wiped his eyes, took a sip of his tea, and answered it.
"Hey bloke!" It was John. Brian tried to sound cheerful.
"Hi, John. All right?" he asked.
"Doing fine," John replied. "I've already called Roger. What do you say we'll be there quarter of the next hour?" Brian looked at the clock. A little over an hour.
"Sure," he said, forcing himself to sound excited. "Have we decided what we'll be doing yet?"
"Yeah, actually, Roger has," John answered. "Remember Whose Line Is It Anyway?, used to play back in England a few years ago?"
"Sounds vaguely familiar," Brian said, thinking back.
"Well, they're doing a special here…not of the yank version, either. It's completely British. Roger has three tickets, so he thought we could go to that. Sound good?"
"Yeah, um, fine," Brian said. "But aren't we trying to keep our presence here in L.A. a secret?" he asked, a bit confused and also wondering if John and Roger knew that he'd blown his cover.
"Well, figure the press already know you're here, so what difference does it make? We don't care if they know we're all here, it was only that one bitch who really cared."
Brian's mood suddenly lifted.
"Ok, then!" he said, excitedly. "I'll see you in a bit!" and they hung up. This day was getting better every minute.
Chapter Eleven
Andy fidgeted during the entire ten hour taping session of Beat The Geek. Losing his medal twice and winning the final round once, he thought his performance was more than satisfactory.
"So you got plans now?" Marc asked him as they walked to their dressing rooms.
"Well, Michelle's already got the tickets, so, no, I don't have plans." Andy answered, stepping out of his robe and into his dressing room.
"Well, do you want to go out for a bit to eat or something?" Marc asked, desperately trying to make a friend out of Andy.
"Actually, my wife's making dinner for me tonight," Andy said. "I don't want her to make me this wonderful steak dinner only to find out I've just eaten at Hoagie Oagie."
"Maybe some other time?" Marc asked, quickly.
"Sure, some other time," Andy said, hurriedly and disappeared into his dressing room.
"Great," Marc muttered. "Way to make friends." Suddenly someone stepped up behind him. It was Tiffany.
"Hi, Marc!" she said, smiling. "You were great today. I would have never been able name all the directors for the Friday The 13th movies."
"Yeah, I remember seeing all those when I was a teenager. I love all those 80's horror movies," Marc said, smiling shyly.
"Well," Tiffany began, shifting her weight from her left foot to her right one, "I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to get some food or something. There's a Hoagie Oagie a few blocks from here." She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "If you want to, I mean."
Marc felt his face getting hot.
"I'd, uh, I'd love to," he said, pleased she had asked him. "I just got to get changed, then we can go. Sound good?" Tiffany nodded.
"Great," she said, grinning broadly. "I'll see you in a few." Tiffany disappeared behind her own dressing room door.
Watching her vanish, Marc nodded to himself, smiling like an idiot.
"Way to go, slick," he said, patting himself on the back. "I think she likes you!"
Chapter Twelve
Tony stepped into their studio for the first time. Seeing the familiar stage set up, except there were ten chairs as opposed to the usual four, he felt a wave of nostalgia. Richard was sitting behind his piano, playing scales. Clive was testing out all the sound effects buttons over at his desk. The other contestants were milling around, waiting for the rehearsal to start. Dan Patterson was running around with a clipboard, chatting with light and camera technicians, as well as various crew members. Slowly the seats for the studio audience began filling up.
"Ok, everyone," Dan said, coming up on stage. He quickly went through the introduction then turned the show over to Clive. Clive, taking a hint from Drew's old method, asked if there were any questions for any of the performers. The audience went wild, asking all sorts of things from "Will there be a new season of Whose Line?" to "Will you marry me, Brad?" It was going to be a very lively taping session.
Tony, Greg, Josie, Chip, and Stephen were the first performers of the evening. After they were finished improvising at the game "Authors", all five received a standing ovation. Clive joked that they'd better save some of that for the next few hours of improvisation.
Stepping back to his seat, Tony felt a rush of excitement. It had been awhile since he had performed anywhere, except for The Comedy Store Players. It was nice to be back on the Whose Line stage.
Chapter Thirteen: Kinky!
"So where are you from?" Tiffany asked Marc, as they sat down to begin eating their hoagies.
"Mmm…Cincinnati, Ohio," Marc answered, in between bites. Tiffany had talked extensively about herself and her life on the way to the restaurant. Marc was very at ease with her, almost like he already knew her.
"And you've always loved movies?" she asked, sipping her iced tea.
"I've been movie obsessed since about fourth grade," Marc said, with a guilty smile. "I've written nine scripts since college, I have a degree in film, and I still have my rejection letter from Paramount."
Tiffany laughed.
"Sounds like you really are obsessed," she replied, lightly nudging him. "So you think you're good?" she asked, a devilish grin on her angelic face.
"What do you mean?" Marc asked, unsure of where she was going with her question.
"About movies," Tiffany explained. "You think you can answer any movie question I have?"
"I will do my best," Marc responded.
"You, uh, willing to make a little wager?" Tiffany asked, grinning and raising her eyebrows. Marc, always ready to accept a challenge, put down his hoagie.
"Sure," he said. "Name it."
"I'll bet you can't name all seven directors in The Howling series." Tiffany
said, with a smug smile. Marc laughed.
"Is that all? Oh come on, you can do better than that," he said. "What do I get if I
win?" he asked.
"Tell you what. You win, I will go see any movie with you, your choice. I won't
protest or anything," Tiffany said.
"Sounds good to me. What about if I lose?" Marc asked, wondering what kind of
hideous tortures she might have in mind.
"You have to wear red fishnets and high heels for one day," Tiffany said, with a
broad smile. Marc made a face, yet held out his hand, accepting the bet and the consequences.
"Ok, let's see…" Marc furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. Tiffany sat with a smile on her face, expectant to if we would be able to pull it off or not. Unfortunately for Marc, he gave up after four.
"I knew it!" Tiffany said, happily. Marc pouted into his hoagie. "Tomorrow you get robed up in my dressing room!"
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