Chapter 37.5: Dance Dance Retribution  (Patreon)

Chapter 37.5: Dance Dance Retribution 

Jack Black’s Home, Beachwood California. May 2008.

“Sing from your diaphragm, Bas baby. You gotta - waaAAH - let it out!” Jack Black’s backyard was about as open as it gets. Yet somehow, despite that, he belted out his voice loud enough to shake the trees surrounding his property. 

There was even an echo - though that may very well have been the flock of birds he scared away.

“These feathers falling around us aren’t because I have the voice of an angel. The only place I’m carrying a tune is straight to hell.” Unless, of course, I was in the shower. Then I was Michael Jackson - especially the way I touched myself.

“Don’t need you, or anybody else, bringing down our confidence, kid. We’ve got to be a team. This midnight train is gonna go off the rails long before we reach Georgia.” Robert Downey pumped up the morale.

“Then I’d like to get off before that happens.” Ben stiller still protested our agreed upon promotional plan for our movie.

“Just be grateful you’re here at all. Glover would’ve fit better; too bad for him, his schedule has him stuck.” Right between 30 Rock and a hard place. Last time I spoke with him he was also excited about reading for a part in a tv show, but it was early days so who knew if he was going to be part of that community? Except me. I did. He won’t need to run on steam soon.

Whenever it starts production, Jack would probably make a cameo on it this time, too. Nothing stopping me from doing the same.

Donald’s absence was pretty ironic now that I think about it. With Jack we had a black name, with Downey we had a black face, with me we had a Black godfather, but without Donald we were missing the actual guy.

At least Gladys Knight would be there to pick up the slack. And the heaviest load she’d be shouldering was our abysmal acoustics.

“C’mon guys. This is American Idol. It’s the biggest show in the world. It’s the perfect opportunity for our voices to be heeEAARD!” There go the birds again. “And it’s the finale, too. There isn’t gonna be a single set of ears we can’t sell Tropic Thunder tickets to. And maybe, if I’m really lucky, the judges will notice my pipes and vote for me instead.”

“Should pair well with all the eyes we already have on us, eh, mister weekend firefighter? Terrible cover story, by the way. Are you sure your little co-star hadn’t hired you as a themed stripper?” Robert’s elbow gave my ribs a good ribbing.

“You sure are one to talk. Remind me again what you got caught doing? Was it crack, cocaine, or heroine? At least the white stuff I got photographed was ejected instead of injected.” When you’re with the boys, the banter can get brutal.

 “Someone’s forgetting the .357 magnum I had then. Isn’t wise to bring your wooden stick to a gunfight, magic man. Plus, any and all eyes on me these days are for my box office draw. What was it again? Oh, that’s right! Almost a hundred mil opening weekend. Been a year since your last stint on the big screen, hasn’t it, champ? No wonder you’re pulling stunts for attention.” 

“Do you hear that?” My hand cupped my ear. “What’s that buzzing? Sounds like bees to me. We can play the numbers game. Come at me when your movie hits that big billion B.” Strap on your gloves if you wanna box office.

“Rad, man! Totally loving this fuckin’ energy. Woo! Let’s take this spice and use it to make some sweet sweet dance moves. Jump on it fellas, choreography time. C’mon Ben, these two are switched on. Your turn, move those feet and hit the beat.”

“The only thing I’m hitting is your bar.” 

“You’re no rhythm all blues, Stiller. Gladys Knight is gonna weep when she sees you’re one of her backup dancers.” If only Ben could turn on his heel that well while actively dancing rather than escaping into Jack’s house for a drink break.

Downey and I both stopped playfully butting heads and watched Ben run his ass away. “For someone who worked us to the bone in the planet’s most famous holiday spot, that guy sure takes a lot of breaks when it’s his turn to grind.” 

Flashbacks of defending against mosquitoes, buffalos, and complaints from the resort for tracking mud into the resort while vacationers stuffed themselves with coconuts and crispy porn flitted through my mind. “Kinda puts you in the mood for mischief.”

Jack’s decibels dropped for the first time since we arrived at his home. “Leave the planning up to me.” 

As the three of us stewed up a scheme, we returned to rehearsing ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’ under the California noon sun.

–

Nokia Theater, Hollywood. May 2008.

And then the evening of American Idol’s season seven finale arrived.

Bright colours, bell bottoms, ruffled shirts, and flashy fabrics. Seventies style suited me surpassingly well. I liked it. I liked it a lot. Definitely gonna have to find some way to fit myself into more of these threads this year. I was lookin’ fly and wasn’t just because my lapels were wide enough to carry me like wings. 

No reason why my Saturday night fever needed to be limited to this Tuesday alone.

Jack Black, Robert Downey Jr., and Ben Stiller stood from left to right in that order in our matching outfits as the Pips to a much more glamorously dressed Gladys Knight. “Ready, boys? The show’s about to start. Don’t embarrass me out there!” That voice of hers was smooth as honey.

But butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. “Mrs Knight, I promise that we’ll only embarrass ourselves.” 

“Oh!” she giggled. Good sign.

 The stage was set, the lights around the arena dimmed, and we stood with our backs turned to the packed audience. “We’re back, live!” Which very much seemed to be Ryan Seacrest’s default setting as he got the stands simmering after a commercial break. “For those of you watching at home, welcome back to the season finale of American Idol! Don’t forget to cast your votes, folks. Please check the bottom of the screens for your local number to text in your ballots. In the meantime, while we have our resident robots tally the score backstage, we have another very special guest performance. Put your hands together for Gladys Knight” A roaring wave of applause erupted from the audience as the spotlight fell on Gladys. “And the Pips!” One by one, the overhead lamp highlighted Robert, who spun to face the crowd, then Jack, then Ben, and finally me.

Their warm tropical welcome turned truly thunderous. The speakers, as Gladys began her soulful serenade into the mic, had to work overtime to surpass the crowd.

 Step to the left, one hop this time. Right foot stomp. Now twist those hips and flick those wrists. Our dancing wasn’t bad, her singing was leagues beyond, especially when our cue came to croon out the first verse “L.A. proved too much for the man.” 

My peripheral vision was more than enough to show me how stiff Ben was. The only thing fluid about him were his eyes as they nervously swam hither and thither. “He said he’s going back to find.”

Being the bookends, Bob and I were both silky with it. We swayed and swung with the song. He rocked with subdued suave where I exuded as much effortless charm as my cheeky grin could manage. “Leavin’!”

Kung-fu panda, Jack, had been by far the most gung-ho about rehearsals, but he was the first to entirely abandon our practice and fully funked out. He twirled, high-kicked, and shimmied with wild gyrations.

 Then came the skit that only Ben didn’t know about. Point and kick, now choo-choo slide back. “Leavin’ on that midnight train to Georgia!”

In the middle of a verse, Robert suddenly disappeared behind the curtains. Jack Black followed suit, leaving the stage in apparent disarray. I stayed glued to the groove, while he could only stay glued to the floor. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked at me. I feigned panic and helplessly raised my shoulders in a shrug. 

As they say in the theater, the show must go on. The people at home and in the audience paid for one, so it was my responsibility to give it to them. 

Switching up my dance moves to be more provocative; I unbuttoned my shirt one button at a time. I elicited gasps and cheers from the crowd, who were eating up the unexpected turn of events. Before I could get too far down, Robert and Jack rushed back on stage, seized me by my arms and feet, lifted me off the ground as I kicked my legs in mock protest. 

Gladys kept the train going, and so did we. In tandem, the three of us flawlessly continued singing our backing, “Woo! Woo!” Even as they chugged me off the other end of the stage.

 Ben, completely blindsided, continued to follow the choreography stiffly, his eyes wide with confusion as he realized he was alone. We let him flail away by himself for an entire stanza until Gladys launched into the last verse and we slid back in as if we’d never gone in the first place. 

In spite of this, we were still more on beat than Ben was.

We fell back into the two-step, our voices blended as harmoniously as our capabilities allowed, and finally brought the song to its triumphant close. Gladys’s powerful voice soared above ours. The audience was on its feet, clapping and cheering as the final note faded.

“Woah! Everyone, give it up for the immortal, Gladys Knight!” Ryan roared as Gladys gracefully glided out. “And let’s also show our appreciation for her… wonderful? backup the Pips. Come forward guys, let’s see what the judges have to say about your performance.”

We, along with the panel, clearly planned this little homage to the audition phase; but their reactions were entirely impromptu. 

Randy Jackson had his head tilted back and his hands joined in prayer, asking the gospel for guidance as he tried to find the right words. “Ben, imma have to tell you straight up; you look lost. It’s a NO from me, dawg.”

Ben snagged the mic in front of him. “I am. I’m so totally lost. Can someone please call me a cab home?”

Paula Abdul was next. High off her ass, her torso splayed out across the judge’s desk, practically face down, ass up for the entire crowd. Fun for everyone in the family. “Randy! There’s no reason to be so rude. I thought you guys were great.” Then she waggled her index and pinky fingers along with her eyebrows at RDJ and I. “Especially you two. Gosh, you’re both so pretty. I just wanna snatch you up, take you home, and frame you on top of my fireplace.” As long as it’s not inside your medicine cabinet.

Downey took the mic from Ben. “You still give me the rush, rush Paula.” Man can flirt better than Keanu Reeves in the music video for that song of hers.

With you-know-who’s turn came the boos. It was time to hear what Simon says. “Right, since we’re on the topic. Bas, I’ll address you first.” Cowell stopped chewing on his pen and started gnawing on me. “You are an animal.”

Like an overconfident but oblivious contestant, I blurted out before he could finish. “Thank you, judge!”

Naturally, it would have been better if I waited, “if that animal was a dying cat. Never has there been a worse waste of facial symmetry than you. Your high notes just about burst my eardrums.”

Belligerence was the only appropriate response. “I learnt them from your mum, judge.” I’m a nice guy, I swear!

“Speaking of lopsided, let’s talk about you, Jack.” 

“Oh, no you don’t! I know how awesome I am.” Anyone who was familiar with Jack knew he’d rather be a musical maestro than a movie star. “There’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. I belong on stage!”

“You belong in a circus.” Said the prick of destiny. “Honestly, horrendous. This is like the worst boy band ever. The pips? You should be the zips because that’s what all your lips should be. Zipped shut!”