Action: Crowd laughs. Rick turns to the orchestra to get the beat, then turns, and sings.
I croaked out the first couple of words and waved the orchestra to stop.
“Let’s try it again,” I said.
Inside, I was about to die. That was as bad as it could have gone. Laurent had a huge smile on his face, and the cameras were still rolling. When they showed the outtakes later, you could see the fear in my eyes. None of that was acting. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pointed to the band to begin again.
My baritone version of the song was deeper than the original. The conductor had suggested that we slow it down and make it more of a song you could slow-dance to. He also wanted to give it a 1960s treatment called ‘The Spector Sound,’ developed by Phil Spector of Gold Star Studios. It was more commonly called ‘The Wall of Sound.’ The intention was to create a dense aesthetic that came across well on AM radio and jukeboxes popular in the era. The conductor explained that he was looking for a sound so strong that if my singing wasn’t the greatest, the music would carry the soundtrack.
At least the band had my back. It had a ‘Righteous Brothers’ vibe from their song You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling. When they showed it on playback, it didn’t even sound like the quirky pop song that Rock and Roll Cowboy was. With ‘The Wall of Sound’ behind me, it was surprisingly okay.
I think everyone in the cast was hoping to see an epic fail. Instead, when the song ended, they gave me a standing ovation. For Laurent’s plans, that was the exact opposite of what he wanted to have happen. I was no longer scared of how bad it might go, and the subsequent takes were much better.
For Laurent’s part, he didn’t make an ass out of himself in front of everyone just to torment me. I wondered what his next scheme to afflict me would be. It felt good to overcome my fear of singing and to give a credible account of myself. I would never be a singer, but I could play one in a movie.
When they showed the playback later, it was confirmed: I wasn’t a singer. Though I did look like one on film, my untrained voice wasn’t cut out to sing. I hoped they would do a voice-over for my performance. While I had to admit Lord Jackson did a better job than I did, I wouldn’t call him good by any stretch of the imagination.
◊◊◊
“You’ve been slacking off. Get your ass off the couch and come with me,” Cassidy announced when she came into my room.
All my security staff had key cards. The rest of the team at least had the courtesy to knock first.
“I had a long day, and just want to relax.”
“Don’t make me drag you out of this room,” she said in her best ‘mom’ voice.
“Don’t make me drag you out of this room,” I mimicked.
Cassidy took a half step towards me, and I bailed over the back of the couch and ran to my bedroom to change. She had her baseball duffle bag, so I put on my baseball gear. She made me carry her duffle because I’d been a ‘pain in the ass.’
There was a baseball field five blocks from the hotel. A group of younger kids was playing around in the infield, so we set up in the outfield. Moose had taught her the outfield drills. I was thankful he didn’t show her the ‘extreme concentration’ version of the drill. I didn’t need Cassidy throwing baseballs at my crotch. The kids drifted out to watch me go through my workout.
We then moved to the infield so I could pitch. To warm up, I let the kids each take a turn batting while their friends shagged balls for us. It was funny to watch them choke up on the bat because it was too big. I quickly found out that one semester of Spanish didn’t make me fluent. We were able to communicate with a combination of their broken English and my lackluster Spanish.
When it was time for me to get serious, I asked them to step back. I didn’t want to hurt any of them. After I threw a few balls, a couple of the kids ran off. I figured they had to go home.
About ten minutes later, a car pulled up, and several teen boys and an older man got out with the two younger boys who’d disappeared. The older man looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. They watched me pitch for a few minutes, then the older man walked out to the mound.
“My name is Mario Conde. I coach a local baseball team,” he said in perfect English.
“I’m David, and this is Cassidy,” I said as an introduction.
“Do you mind if some of my players take an at-bat?” he asked.
Just throwing to Cassidy wasn’t going to get me better against live batters, so I welcomed the challenge. Mario indicated a large kid should go first. I could tell he was their power hitter, so I grooved a three-quarter speed fastball to see what he could do. He didn’t disappoint me as he drove it out of the park.
He made a smart comment to his friends; I could tell by the tone of voice and that they all laughed. Their coach wasn’t amused. My next pitch was a full-speed curveball at his head. It looked like my last fastball, and he dove to the dirt as the ball broke for a strike.
His coach barked orders at him, and he was suddenly much more focused when he stepped into the batter’s box. My next pitch was a full-speed fastball he was late on. I then broke out the slider. I will give the kid credit, he was hacking away at everything I threw at him, but I had him guessing. After about ten more pitches, he guessed right on a changeup and whacked a solid base hit.
Their coach then sent up another one of his players. This guy had more patience, but I would have struck him out looking a couple of times before he swung at a pitch. My arm was starting to tire, so I stopped. They all watched as Cassidy did her level best to kill me with sixty minutes of hell.
After we were done, Coach Conde came to talk to me.
“We’re getting ready to play some summer ball. Would you be interested in practicing with us?” he asked.
“Are you a professional team?”
“Why?”
“I have to be careful with my amateur status if I want to play ball in college,” I explained.
“You should be fine. I think I could help you with your pitching,” he offered.
“I’m not always free, but I can try to make it to a few practices.”
“Good. Come by whenever you can,” Coach Conde said and gave me a sheet of paper that listed their practice schedule.
◊◊◊
Cassidy and I returned to the hotel to shower and eat dinner. I’d begged off on having a party in my room every night. It wasn’t like people got crazy, but I didn’t want to get a reputation, either. They did borrow a couple of DVDs, the player, and the monitor. Tonight, everyone was going to hang out in Kitty’s suite.
I wanted to stay in and make some calls. The one I’d been dreading was to Beth. She’d dropped her bomb about her feelings for me and then left in the middle of the night. We hadn’t had a chance to talk since then. I considered calling home first, but if Beth told Mrs. A, my mom would know and want details. I needed to speak with Beth, or I’d have to call my mom twice.
“David,” was the enthusiastic answer.
“Hey, Beth.”
“How’s Cuba?”
Okay, this wasn’t awkward.
“Good. How’ve you been?”
“About the other night …” she broached.
“Um, yeah … that was … nice.”
“It was, wasn’t it,” she said and then seemed to hesitate. “Could we maybe put my little declaration under the 24-hour rule?”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. The 24-hour rule said that if you said you loved someone within a day of having sex with them, it didn’t count; it was just the sex talking.
“Can I admit something?” I asked.
“You were worried you would have to go out with me!?”
“Quit teasing me,” I chastised her.
I admit it, I sounded like a girl, but Beth was one of my best friends and understood.