“Looks good, Boys.” Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM—thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye’s Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely—although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
“Glad you like it, Daddy.” Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
“So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?” said Billy-Eye.
“Sure,” said Lenny with a na�ve smile.
“Hopefully,” said Craig. “They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I’m sure the kids have heard our radio ad.”
“Maybe we should have made the games free too,” said Lenny.
“Hey, we can’t give everything away,” said Billy-Eye. “We’re only charging a quarter for the games as it is.” He walked back out into the main hall. “Is the refrigerator all stocked up?”
“Yes, Sir,” said Craig. “It’s loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we’ve got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy.”
“And the soda fountains?”
“Ready to go.”
“And I see you got the ice machine set up.” Billy-Eye smiled. “Great. I’m proud of you boys.”
At 5:50, two of their female employees unlocked the main door and walked out. There was a line of about 150 kids waiting to get in. The two girls each had a bag full of red plastic cups, printed with the Billy-Eye’s Arcade and Dance Barn logo.
“What’s your name?”
“Cassandra Smith,” said the first girl in line.
The employee wrote the girl’s name on a cup with a magic marker, and handed it to her. “Hang onto your cup if you want free soft drinks. If you lose it, you’ll have to pay a dollar to get a new one.”
Cassandra looked at the cup. With the cool logo, it was a free soft drink cup and a souvenir. “Okay, thanks. Are y’all about to open the doors?”
“In about ten minutes.”
*
“Hey, where are you guys going?” Craig rushed around to the front of the group of fifteen or so kids who were heading for the door.
“We’re tired of listening to bands,” said one girl.
“Yeah, it’s getting boring, Man,” said one of the boys.
Even Craig had to admit that the current band, The Orange Peelers, was not that good. But Cindy and her band was up next. They would be the last band of the night. He needed all the kids to stay so they could cheer loudly and persuade Billy-Eye to hire her band.
Just as the kids reached the door, it opened, and four dazzling young women walked in. Each one was wearing a black, tight stretchy T-shirt and shorts, partially covered by a bright orange long-tailed tuxedo coat. The women stood five inches taller than usual in their black and orange high-heeled boots.
Without even speaking to each other, all of the would-be defectors changed their minds and turned to follow the women.
The Orange Peelers finished their last song, and began to pack up their equipment and carry it off the stage.
Craig walked over to where Billy-Eye was standing.
“So, this must be Cindy’s band,” said Billy-Eye.
“Yeah. Well, it’s not really her band. But she’s the drummer.”
“They look hot. I’ll give you that. What do they call themselves?”
Craig was about to answer when he saw Sondra take a king size bed sheet out of a bag, and drape it over the blackboard. The bold, orange lettering read Orange Puke. There were splatters of orange and green paint around the edges that were apparently supposed to be vomit. “There you go.” Craig pointed to the sheet.
“That’s the funniest name I’ve seen all night.” Billy-Eye laughed. But they’d better be awfully good if they expect to win. Because I really liked Chemical Rose.”
There’s a long road on the outskirts of Orange that’s lined with petroleum plants. It’s known as Chemical Row. If you’re visiting the city, you might want to hold your nose when you drive down it. Orangites are used to the stink. So, one of the bands thought it would be funny to name themselves Chemical Rose. When Sondra had heard the name, she wished she had thought of it herself.
Craig watched to see how the crowd was responding. By the end of their first song, the kids had gathered near the bandstand for a close look at the flashy girls on stage. Their music was somewhat better than that of the other bands, but Craig was not at all certain that Billy-Eye was being swayed. Sondra had told him that the special song she wrote would be last. She had assured him that it would give them the edge over the other bands.
Cindy went into a drum solo as the other three women took off their guitars and set them in their stands. They walked around behind the blackboard.
“What are they doing?” said Billy-Eye.
“I don’t know,” said Craig. But he hoped it worked.
When they walked out, they looked no different. They picked up their guitars and strapped them on as Cindy continued to go crazy on the drums. Boomer was the first to join in. Her five-string bass rattled everything that wasn’t tied down. The standard bass guitar comes with four strings: E-A-D-G. But her bass had a fifth string—the B below the E. Her lowest notes could be felt more than heard.
Next, Sondra joined in on rhythm guitar. Finally, E. Z. came in with a screeching lead guitar lick.
All this was a dramatic lead-in to Sondra’s song, Puking My Guts Out (All Over You). It was in E Minor, with a driving beat. Sondra sang lead, with the other three singing backup on the choruses.
Yapping with a babe in the parking lot,
You had a tight butt and a really hot car.
I took you for a ride and blew your mind.
But you burned my tires, threw me into the fire.
I try to pretend you didn’t hurt me.
Nobody hurts me.
But then I get this raunchy feeling way down inside.
And I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out
All over you,
All over you.
(E. Z.‘s guitar solo)
Stomped me flat without a sound.
You buried my soul in the deep, deep ground.
I’m blacker than black, cold as stone.
I’m dead to the world since you left me alone.
I try to pretend you didn’t hurt me.
Nobody hurts me.
But then I get this raunchy feeling way down inside.
And I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out
All over you.
All over you,
All over you,
All over you,
All over you!
For the last all over you, Sondra, E. Z., and Boomer slung their guitars to their backs and stepped to the edge of the stage. They sang the last line a capella, and then, in unison, threw their heads back. Then they barfed into the crowd. And it wasn’t a tiny spew. They blew out a couple of quarts each.
The kids screamed and tried to get away from the chunky orange goo.
Billy-Eye yelled at Craig. “What is this?”
Craig was as confused and upset as his father. “I don’t know.”
“Well they just lost!”
Craig couldn’t argue. It was no use. As badly as he wanted to please Cindy, he couldn’t justify this kind of behavior. Kids might not ever come back after this.
The three women stepped back from the edge of the stage, and Cindy stood up at her drums. Then Orange Puke took a slow, dignified bow—as though they had just performed Mozart for the Queen of England.
They’ve got a lot of nerve, thought Craig.
Then the screaming died down. Some kids were beginning to laugh.
One boy yelled, “Taste it!”
“Gross!”
“No, really.”
“He’s right! It tastes like orange juice!”
“But what are these chunks?”
A boy licked his arm. “I think it’s oatmeal.”
More and more of the kids began to realize that they hadn’t really been sprayed with barf. It was just a gimmick. A cool gimmick. The coolest gimmick ever!
Orange Puke had been disgusting only five minutes earlier. Now they were the hottest thing in town.
Billy-Eye had seen and heard enough. He grabbed Craig by the shoulders. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go tell them they got the job!”