Life: The Musical

Mr. Dunwoody’s hands started to move so Paige knew he was about to talk. He always talked with his hands, even while holding a large mug of hot coffee.

“You see, Paige, we are a public relations firm”

She did see. Oh, not that though. She saw the grandeur of Central Park through the high rise plate glass behind him, the prefect backdrop for a scene, almost any scene……the arrival, the discovery, even the breakup scene. It was perfect, especially in autumn, as it was.

“’Public relations’ Do you know what that means?”
Mr. Dunwoody spoke in a gentle, grandfatherly voice.

He answered before she could, even though she was not going to because she was thinking about the layout of his office. It was functional enough, she sighed, for a commercial endeavor, making money and all of that, but was definitely lacking for a musical number.

There was too much stuff on the desk, making it almost impossible to jump on and dance or slide across in a playful fashion. Flinging everything off was an eye-catching option often used but could distract from the music or dance.

“It means people are depending on this firm to take care of things so they don’t have to worry about messing up. We are there to say the right thing the right way”

“Yes, sir,” Paige adlibbed, wondering how he would feel about wearing a bow tie for this scene. She feared he’d say it wasn’t his style but somehow it just seemed to fit.

“And that means not just when we speak on behalf of them. It includes any form of written communication. We are a public relations firm. The ‘l’ is very important”

“The ‘l’, sir?”

“The ‘l’. We are not a pubic relations firm”
The audience would love that line, Paige thought. Defintely keep it.

“Pubic?”

“Yes, even though we have macros that will print our firm name and all contact information with the touch of a button, you insist on trying to type it manually and labeling us a pubic relations firm”

“Oh,” said Paige, “that’s not good”

“No, indeed” Mr. Dunwoody took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. He sighed again and it didn’t sound like a good one.

A piece of paper to his left he picked up and began reading from it.

“When Brooke Danforth was arrested for drunk driving, you told the media her plans were to drink more at home”

“Well I wanted to say she was gong to rehab, but she refused to go so I really didn’t have much choice…..”

“Lie, Paige, lie. It’s what we do. Brad Garaway, our biggest client by the way, had his regularly scheduled tirade of intolerance on the set of his new movie, this time against gays, you reassured America by telling them ‘Brad has nothing personal against homosexuals. He hates a lot of other groups as well’”

“Should I have…….”

“Lied?. Yes. Our job is to make our clients look good even when we know they don’t and especially when we know they can’t”

Public relations, Paige thought. It was an odd kind of business but it was still business, and there was so much you could do with an office in a musical context. An office was just so much of everyday life, something everyone could relate to.

The keyboards, almost musical by their very nature.

The uptight boss with disdain for all things theatrical in the hallowed environment of the office who almost unwittingly ends up singing and doing a little soft shoe himself.

The young idealistic woman, new to the office, whose dream is to change the world or set it on fire. Most likely both.

The friend, experienced, almost jaded, who takes her under her wing, seeing everything in her that she once was herself.

“I see,” said Paige.

“You see what?” Dunwoody answered.

Was it that obvious she had been working out blocking in her mind? After all they both couldn’t just stay seated during the entire scene.

She said nothing this time. She would just let him speak.

He sighed, just like the uptight boss, but Mr. Dunwoody did not fit the profile. He had high expectations but a gentle spirit. When she looked at him, she could almost literally see numbers swirling around in his head, a definite plus for believability in the role.

“You can go now,” he said.

“Oh, okay”

Paige looked behind her when she opened the door to leave his office.

“Do you want the door open or closed?”

“Closed”
They always wanted it closed, Paige thought, but that questions always seemed to be in the script so…..

Eyes looked up at her as they always did when someone left Dunwoody’s office, searching for signs on her face of what might have transpired behind closed doors.

She flashed them a grin, leaving them disappointed. What was the point of having no cubicle walls if there was never anything juicy to see.

They all went back to their work, their press releases, their phone calls, their lies.

Paige looked at the configuration of desks, row after row, in perfect alignment, in perfect symmetry. Suddenly, all her co-workers looked the same. The women, all with their hair pulled back, wearing a a red blazer with navy skirt of length that pushed itself just beyond the line of professionalism. The men, all wearing pin-striped blue suits and black glasses. How had she never noticed that before?

Stopping at her desk, Paige looked at herself in the mirror on the wall, which she had also never noticed. She was the only one dressed uniquely. Had the firm gone to some kind of standardized dress without her realizing it? Maybe that was the reason Mr. Dunwoody had called her into his office.

The sound of live music suddenly filled the air, a fast paced piano rhythm coming from a baby grand in the corner. The piano player gave her a wink. All of her co-workers got up from their desks and began moving about the room, their steps in time with the music.

Before she could blink, they were paired off in man-woman couples….though how was that even possible since there were four times as many women in the office as men…..and they began to dance the same tightly choreographed routine.

Perhaps they had brought in temps…..but temp dancers?
Paige couldn’t understand the lyrics they sang but they seemed particularly upbeat as did the entire number. She watched in fascination as the couples danced both together and separately. Top hats and canes flew through the air toward the men, each catching them in the middle of a well calculated spin.

They danced briefly around the women who stayed stationary and then, flinging the hats and canes away, twirled then flipped their female partners in the air. Even Rosalie….who was…..well…..had a thyroid condition and was a bit…..overweight. It was all done so precisely not a single skirt, not even Rosalie’s, was besieged by gravity.

Just as words were about to find her tongue, she felt her feet rise off the floor. Herb the maintenance man and the new guy
from marketing raised her by her arms to the top of her desk.

She stood there a moment then felt herself fall back into the arms of more dancers, then found herself in a rolling chair being pushed beneath an archway of raised arms, moving into place just seconds ahead of her….all the time, the music growing faster and louder.

The mixture of male and female voices sang out….”She’s down but she’s not out…..and she will rise again”

Caught up in the moment, Paige rose from the chair and,was immediately hoisted onto the shoulders of the two interns from accounting as she belted out the final line herself.

“Yes, I…..will…..rise…..aaaaa-ggggainnnnnnnn”

The big ending came in a fury of light and sound.

She tumbled from atop their shoulders yet knew they would catch her as the music reached its dramatic end and suddenly found a cardboard box in her hands.

She glanced down at it but the lingering quiet brought her head back up to see everyone sitting at their desks in their regular office attire., all of them staring at her.

“What’s up with her,” she heard one of them.

“She just got fired,” came the whispered response.
Paige looked at the box in her hands.

“I did?”

The college set up date...

by Kevin Collins

“You want a date, I can getchew a date,” he said with full confidence, a sure sign he did not know who he was dealing with.

“Whachew want….blonde?…..redhead?……female body builder?”

You mean I could actually choose?

“…….cat-woman?…..flower child?……. debutante?…… trucker chick?……wiley wench?”

“Wiley wench,” Dudley answered, then looked at me and gave a nod as if it was the obvious choice for me.
Mr. Willie, the only name I knew him as since he was an acquaintance of Dudley’s, not mine, took off his purple hat and pulled a small notebook out of it.

He flipped through the pages before coming to rest on the page that read ‘Wiley Wenches’ at the top. Despite the studious nature with which he examined the page, he did not blend in well with the crowd in the library….at least not on this night. Maybe it was his five gold chains or his black shirt, which had more buttons unbuttoned than buttoned, or his six inch heel shoes or the jambox he had on his shoulder pumping out ‘Ladies Night’ by Kool & the Gang..

It finally hit me that there were like twenty names on the ‘Wiley Wench’ page alone. Imagine, this guy knew twenty Wiley Wenches!! I didn’t know a single one much less one that would go out with me. Of course, I didn’t even know what a ‘wiley wench’ was.

He examined each name carefully, stopping occasionally to look up at me, sometimes more than once on a given name.

“Excuse me, sir, but you are going to have to either turn that off or leave the library immediately,” the librarian known as By-The-Book Brashear laid down the law, reaching over to turn the jambox off.

“Now, now, now, sweet thang……you can’t turn down Aretha….she’s da Queen of Soul,” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this is a place of learning and knowledge…..not a discotheque,” she apologized half-heartedly.

“Well, you know, some things you can’t learn……like soul…..you either gots it or you donts,” he said putting his hand on hers which was still on the volume knob.

He smiled, the brightness of his teeth and the contrast with his dark skin downing small planes flying nearby.
She stared at him, but did not move her hand.

“Like you, I can tell you gots it…….you be a very soulful lady.”

“Well, I like to think I am,” she laughed self-consciously.

“You be the kind of woman that make da world rotate ‘round her……dat make the stars peek out from behind da clouds on a rainy night……..da kind of woman that make a big man cry like a baby,”

By The Book Brashear, the librarian that freaked out if you didn’t push the card catalog drawer all the way back in, touched her hair with her hand in awkward embarrassment.

“A woman with soul be very hard to find……a woman like chew and Aretha”

With his hand still on hers he turned the jambox back up to a volume that was even louder than before.

“Oh, I’m nothing like her,” she insisted, smiling and hoping he would say otherwise.

“You is but you ain’t….you both gots soul but you gots you own thang going, you own vibe,” his voice got quieter and he made a movement with his hands that looked like something whitie would see on ‘Soul Train’ and try to imitate.

Seconds later, to our amazement, she floated back to the check-out desk humming ‘Respect’ as he turned up the bass-boost. He was the quintessential smooth operator. He was silk….just like the white scarf draped around his neck.

He went back to looking at the list.

“You into bitin’?” he asked rubbing his thin mustache.

“Sure,” came back the excited answer.

We both looked at Dudley.

“Well, I’m assuming you are, I mean who wouldn’t?” Dudley tried to recover.

Mr. Willie redirected the question to me with a tilt of his eyebrow.

“Me biting or someone biting me?” for some odd reason I sought clarification.

It was a safe bet though that it was a bad omen if you had to ask.

“Maybe a Wiley Wench is not for me,” I conceded, fighting off

Dudley’s ‘shut up’ arm wave, “what else do you have?”

“You wanna hoochie mama…..I can getchew a hoochie mama.”
Somehow it didn’t sound like someone who should be sitting at the same table with my mother.

“Carny?……..vixen?……coal miner?..…mime?……I can getchew a mime.”

Dudley shouted out ‘yes’ after each one, including the mime.

Somehow being able to pick out a girl to go out with you made it too complex. Finally I just had to ask.

“Mr. Willie, what makes you so these girls will want to go on a date with me?”

“Name’s Hocat Willie, but you can call me Hocat,” he took off his hat and flashed a big smile, “well, now Hocat knows da ladies and da ladies knows Hocat.”

Sounded somewhat plausible, but…..

“Now I know it gots to be hod for you to decides…..hell, I got two pages of jungle women alone in heah……Hocat can step aside a minute and letchew discuss it with yo’ friend….dat’s cool.”

He went over to one of the tables and started talking to a guy reading The Iliad, though most of his energy seemed to be used up in just trying to stay awake.

“Whatchew readiin’ dair…..Homer?” Hocat Wille asked, then started showing him pages from his book of women.

“How long have you known this guy, Dudley?” I whispered even though the jambox guaranteed we would not be heard.

“A while”

“Well, why is he so willing to help me find a date?”

“He’s just a nice guy, I guess……and the finder’s fee,” replied Dudley.

“Finder’s fee?”
“Yeah, it’s a fifty dollar finder’s fee”

Suddenly, it hit me, like a slap from Hocat Willie’s pearl-handled cane. This guy was a pimp.

Dudley finding my theory laughable, I laid it all out for him…..the clothes….the huge list of women….the name.

“That’s just his name…..Hocat…..a lot of African Americans have unusual names,” protested the Dud, “it’s no big deal.”

“Hocat?…Dudley, who has the name ‘Ho-cat’?” I asked.

“I think I saw a guy one time on the news named Hocat,” he said as if that were strong enough to end the debate.

"Look at the way he’s dressed,” I subtly pointed toward him with my eyes.

"Yeah, it’s cool,” he sparkled, wondering if there was some department in Sears he had somehow missed.

I was getting nowhere with that so I asked Dudley where he had met him.

“Here in the library, I guess he comes here a lot to study”

He didn’t have a backpack as most pimps do not and he probably studied as much while at the library as Dudley himself.

“What’s his major?” I asked.

“I think he said ‘Sensuality’,”

Dudley noticed the look on my face and had to add….”that’s legitimate, I’ve heard of that, I think its medical related.”

We both looked back behind us where Hocat Willie was now talking to a poor guy struggling to find some modern-day relevance within the pages of The Old Man and the Sea…..and failing miserably at it.

Meanwhile, Iliad Guy was leaving with a blonde who appeared from nowhere from the periodicals section.

Hocat soon had Iliad guy on his way as well, being escorted out by a girl in the shortest dress I had ever seen.

Perhaps, she was listed on the ‘brainiac’ page and just happened to be lingering around the Encyclopedia of Literary Review.

Hocat closed the Old Man and the Sea and put it back on the shelf, exactly where it belonged, so it could easily be found by the next student coming along.

Hemingway would have been impressed. Hocat Willie walked back toward us with a smile and an explanation.

“I likes my customers to be able to find Hemingway, he brings in a lot of business,” he said.

Hemingway would have been ticked.

“So, what’s it gonna be, my man? You wanna female rodeo star. I can getchew dat. Ain’t no thang,” and he cocked his head in a way that told you he could getchew dat without you even having to leave the library.

“Now, my man Marvin says dat you needs a girl to go out wicha on a double date with yo’ parents”

Great, even Marvin (whoever that was) knew all about it.

“I can take car of dat for you like dat….”

He snapped his fingers and a girl in half of a cranberry dress appeared as if by magic. No wonder grades at Trudeau were so low….it was sort of hard to do a paper on Jean Paul Sarte when there was a girl lurking in the S’s wearing fish-net stockings.

Sarte was furious. I could just see him trying to shoo her over to the H’s while Hawthorne was driving a girl who was dressed like she just got out of the shower into the D’s. He always hated Dickens, anyway..

“This is Chanice”

I had seen enough “Baretta” to know that that was not her real name.

She put her hand under my chin and spoke to me with only inches separating our lips.

“I would love to go out with you,” she whispered.

I lost feeling in most of my body. Fog rolled in around our feet and I could feel time slowing to a crawl. She smiled in slow motion.

Meanwhile, Sarte tried to lure me back to the S’s with frantic arm waving and quotations he believed to be really impressive….no doubt, his own.

In my dream-like state, words bounced all around me like thousands of ping pong balls. I reached for them here and there, dropping one with each one I grabbed.

It was all surreal. Suddenly nothing mattered. Sarte’s claim that he invented the word ‘surreal’. The ‘finder’s fee’.
The fact that this girl’s name appeared on the ‘Political Career Wrecker’ page.

I garbled out something about a double date with my parents…..and for some reason included the words ‘illicit’ and ‘walrus’…..hopefully not very close together.

Her gaze burrowing deep into my eyes, she said without even moving her lips, “Whatever gets you through the night.”

Her long eyelashes rubbed against my face while I danced dangerously close to pulling out my wallet and then borrowing forty-seven dollars from Dudley.

Though it was a quick and easy fix, I guess I knew deep down it would never work. So in the end, I had to say, ‘No’…..although it may have sounded sort of like ‘breast’……but she knew what I was trying to say.

Though I turned down his help, Hocat Willie wasn’t mad at all and even told me if I ever had a big research paper to do, to look him up.

Across the way, a guy picked up Hamlet and started reading.

Appearing suddenly near the technical journals, Shakespeare was glowing, no doubt thinking, “After all these years, I still got it”. He turned to give someone a high-five but the only one standing there was Chaucer….and neither one of them really knew what one was.

His enthusiasm was quickly sucked out of him. He saw someone even more excited at the sight of someone reading Hamlet than he was.

Chanice.

Another Shakespearean tragedy.

The fourth one of the night.

He tried to accept it bravely, like one of his characters. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not this time.

He ran over and tried to make a convincing argument, elucidating on Hamlet’s use of symbolism, and its themes of human frailty and the evil that lurks within.

He tried to speak in terms that young people today would understand.

“It has been a cinematic production many, many times”

"It is a cornerstone of fine literature….”

He pronounced it ‘litera-tour’. He was losing the guy.
He shouted at the two of them as they went through the revolving door…..”It has sold more than eighty million Clff Notes!!!”

That had to meet the definition of success in anyone’s book.

“Looks like eighty million and one,” chuckled Chacuer.

Until he heard a voice seeping through from another row…..

“Whachew readin’ dair?.....Chaucer?”