“My lip is as stiff as a board,” he said to Frank, and Frank burst out laughing, even though there was nothing whatever to laugh at. Frank kept pounding away at the snare, his eyes bright, and Andy watched him for a few moments and then tried to warm up again, amused by the awkwardness of his fingers on the valve buttons.
“Okay!” Tony yelled from the floor. “That’s enough. Let’s tune up now and get started.” He began walking back toward the stage, spotting Andy. “Hi!” he called, waving, and Andy impishly tilted his horn a little and blew a short note which sounded something like “Hi!” drawing a laugh from Tony. Bud climbed the steps to the stage, rubbing his hands together briskly.
“Welcome to the Arctic Circle,” he said, and Andy appreciated the humorous comment immeasurably. He sought in his mind for a witty comeback, but when none presented itself, he simply asked, “Are we really going to try to rehearse here?”
“Sure,” Tony said. “Why not? This cold is invigorating.”
“In other words, you pulled a boner,” Andy said, smiling.
“Take a few laps,” Tony said, smiling back. “You’ll see how fast you warm up.”
Andy shook his head sadly. “Boner Banner,” he repeated wonderingly, and Bud exploded in a laugh, and Tony — exhilarated by his run — laughed too. The boys clambered up to the stage and crowded around the piano, taking their A from Bud and then going to their places behind the metal stands. Bud gave Andy the A, and Andy blew a corresponding B on his B-flat horn, and Bud said, “You’re flat.”
“Like a sewer lid,” Andy replied, getting another laugh from Bud. God, he was witty today. Today he was the wittiest. And tomorrow, tomorrow he’d see Carol again. He pulled in his slide a little and blew again.
“You’re still Bat,” Bud said.
“I’m not warmed up yet,” Andy said. “This isn’t going to do any good.”
“You’ll be okay,” Tony said happily.
Bud kept striking the A, and Andy kept hitting his B until they struck some sort of compromise. The other boys kept blowing heartily, moistening their reeds, keeping their fingers active so that the cold would not attack them again.
“Okay,” Tony said jovially, “let’s take ‘Elk’s Parade’ for a warm-up.”
“Now there’s a surprise,” Andy said, and Bud and Frank laughed, and the other boys plowed through their music, putting “Elk’s Parade” on top of the other sheets, ready to start playing.
“Ah-one,” Tony said, “ah-two, ah-three, ah- four. Ah-one, two, three, four,” and the boys began playing.
They’d have sounded bad in any case, considering the cold and considering the breaths they’d just exhausted in running around the gym. They sounded worse because the acoustics were terrible, and every note they blew ricocheted and then re-ricocheted. Andy didn’t help the situation at all. There was a lot of trumpet work in “Elk’s Parade” and a lot of tricky syncopation with drum and trumpet, and Andy’s lip was still stiff. He blew halfheartedly, the collar of his coat pulled high on the back of his neck, the horn huddled close to his chest. He could not help being amused. There was something terribly ludicrous about the whole situation. In his own mind he could not convince himself that they were seriously rehearsing — not bundled up this way like Eskimos. No, this was too much. This was some kind of a burlesque routine.
When they finished the number, Tony cheerily said, “Well, that was lousy,” and the boys agreed, their voices scattering around the gym and charging back at them like a Mongolian horde on horseback. Even the acoustics amused Andy. He listened to the echoing voices, shivered against the cold, and said, “Why don’t we give it up?”
“You should take a few laps,” Tony said.
“The only lap I want right now is Carol’s,” Andy answered. The boys all laughed, and Andy felt again this pleasurable feeling of belonging. Simply having a girl had done that for him, simply getting a date with a girl. He could now joke with the boys on that level, too, and the knowledge that he could do that was gratifying indeed.
“No, really,” Tony said. “Go ahead, we’ll run through a sax chorus meanwhile.”
“No, thanks,” Andy said. “Thanks a lot, but no, thanks.”
“Okay, suit yourself. Let’s take a slow one, yes? ‘It Can’t Be Wrong’ looks good. Number seventeen.”
“Do you know what George Washington said to the Indian when he was crossing the Delaware?” Andy asked.
“What?” Bud supplied, knowing the punch line.
“Far-may noo gatz-iddo freedo,” Andy answered, butchering the Italian.
Frank laughed idiotically, and Bud leaped in with, “Do you know what the Indian answered?”
“No, what?” Andy said.
“Tu anche sei ’taliano?” Bud said, laughing.
“I don’t get it,” Mike Daley said blankly.
“Wait till you’re sixty-five,” Frank said, remembering the Social Security gag, but not realizing it didn’t fit here. “You’ll get it then.”
“Tony’s used to all this cold,” Andy said, ignoring Frank. “I think he was born at the North Pole.” He did not remember that Reen had originated this particular gag only a week before.
“He’s a real Eskimo,” Bud said, still laughing.
“Mukluk Banner,” Andy said, always surprised and delighted by the infinite variety of first names which sounded good with Tony’s surname.
“Come on,” Tony said, still cheerily, “let’s rehearse.”
They took the number, and Andy felt his lip loosening a bit, but he could still not take this mock rehearsal seriously. He blew with half his normal power, knowing he sounded better than Vic Andrada would have sounded, but knowing too that he wasn’t playing for all he was worth. When they’d finished the tune, Tony turned and asked, “What’s the matter, Andy?”
“What’s the matter what?” Andy said.
“You’re not blowing, boy.”
“I’m blowing.”
“Well, try to give it a little more, will you?” Tony said pleasantly.
“I’m freezing to death here,” Andy said, “and he wants me to give it a little more.”
“We’re all freezing to death,” Ox said, annoyed by all this delay.
“Except Tony,” Andy said. “He’s an Eskimo. Look at his complexion, there’s the tip-off. Black Banner.”
“Ha-ha,” Tony said mirthlessly. “Come on, let’s take ‘I Dreamt I Dwelt.’”