Days Behind - Chapter 01
The lights dimmed in the arena and a hush settled over the crowd before the searchlights began to roam the audience. Four figures stood in their places on the stage, striking their now-iconic poses as the smoke machine filled the air with glorified condensation.
On the drum count of three, separate lights illuminated the four singers and they burst into song.
“Welcome to Sassafras Junction!” Pericles Lion strutted into his usual spot, his T-bone steak guitar slung into place as he began to play along.
“It’s not like anywhere you’ve ever been before…” Chip the Monkey took his place behind the microphone stand and belted it all out.
“Let me tell you why…” Francis Zebra took his place on the other side of Chip and slung his own steak-guitar into place, though it wasn’t needed for this song.
“Lions ROAR, Monkeys OO-OO-OO, Zebras RUN, and Flamingoes FLAH-MING!” The four men on the stage chanted to the room before they began their carefully choreographed dance.
“Now, wait a minute, Joe,” Chip called out to the flamingo who was making his way to his part of the stage. “What exactly does that mean?” The monkey shrugged his shoulders comically, his tail going into a question mark shape.
A wide smile broke out under his beak as Joe went to the front of the stage. “Let me show you guys!”
There was a loud roar as the kids (and some parents) leapt to their feet to join in. It was their signature song, the one that got them where they were today - four grown men in full animal make-up.
And that was just the beginning; wave after wave of loud cheers rose to meet them as they ran through all their classics, making the audience laugh and dance and generally have a good time. By the time they had gotten to the end, confetti cannons had gone off twice and the stage was littered with ducks.
Thankfully, it was their final song, the closer, the one that really brought the house down. The lights dimmed and the backdrop began swirling soft colors mimicking patterns found in the night sky. Pericles and Francis put their guitars on their stands and joined the other two men already sitting at the front of the stage, their feet dangling over the edge.
“Wash your face and brush your teeth…” The accompanying dance left nothing to chance.
“Hug your mom and dad.” An air hug was offered forth.
“Run to bed…” Arms worked as if the men were actually running.
“And turn out the lights!” Quick downward swiping motion was made by four right arms.
“GOOD NIGHT, SLEEPYHEAD!” Kisses were thrown out to the audience and the lights cut swiftly to a wave of clapping and shouting.
“SASS-UH-FRASS! SASS-UH-FRASS!”
The men bowed, even in the darkness and left the stage, utterly exhausted.
Christian walked in the green room and took off the black vest he was wearing before he began loosening the buttons on his shirt. “Please say that was the last show.”
“That was the last show.” Jensen announced, following Christian through the door, sequined banana microphone still in hand.
“Really?” The hope in the other man’s voice was more than evident. “Have all my prayers finally been answered?”
Jensen shook his head as he wiped the light brown makeup off his face.
“Dude, not cool. Don’t play with my emotions like that.” The zebra-striped shirt hit the couch and Christian was tugging at the button on his similarly striped slacks.
Steve came out of the En suite bathroom, face now bare, but hair still in his trademark ‘mane’. “Aww, what’s wrong? Millions of adoring fans getting to you, Chris?”
“You know, maybe if it were scantily clad women of the right age it would be something.”
Jensen couldn’t resist. “There’s always the mothers…”
Christian shrugged, finally free of the pants and standing in the room in only his underwear. “Damaged goods.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? And can you please put some clothes on?” Jensen pulled his ears off and all but flung them across the room.
Christian ignored him and batted at the ridiculous tail on Jensen’s costume as he walked by. Jensen felt the pull on it and turned to glare at the other man.
The obvious thickness in the air was cut by Misha running in, his contagious smile filling the whole of the room. “That was amazing!”
Christian growled, wiping harder at his face. “Whatever, Collins. Imma be over…there…doing anything but listening to your…gushing.”
“Wow, what crawled up his butt and died?” He cocked his head to the side in contemplation.
Jensen just glared at him, wordless for a moment. “Really, man? Before you even take off your makeup?”
“What? What did I say?” Misha looked around, genuinely confused about what had just happened.
Steve shook his head. “If you don’t know, then…” He cut himself off. Misha wasn’t doing anything wrong. “Look, we’re all a little tired.”
Misha went to the mirror and started to carefully remove the beak appliance before wiping the lines off his Pepto-Bismol colored face. “So, no IHOP after?”
“Hell yes, IHOP.” Christian was back as if nothing had happened earlier, beside Misha in the mirror as he worked on his own stripes. “Shit, what am I going to do with my hair?” He tried to run a brush through it, but it stuck in the heavily sprayed cascade of black and white that ran down his neck. “Do I have time to wash it out?”
“If you hurry.” Jensen was carefully packing up his monkey costume, being careful not to catch the mechanical tail in the hard case’s latch again. “How about you, Steve, you want to ‘de-lion’ a bit more?”
“Nah. Not really that different than my normal hair anyway - now that the makeup is gone, I’m golden.” Steve shrugged into his jacket and patted the pockets to check for his wallet. “Though Collins seems to be ACTUALLY preening over there.”
Misha halted in his wash down to smile broadly in the mirror. Without the flamingo beak, he looked very different than his alter ego in Sassafras Junction. “I’ve got no problem waiting. Go on, get pretty, Francis.” He patted Christian on the butt as he moved to get his street clothes on.
“You wanna keep that hand, Toucan Sam?”
“It’s Flamingo Joe…”
“Whatever. Shut your beak.”
“That’s nice. You run with your herd with that attitude?”
“What the hell does that even mean, Collins?”
Steve and Jensen saw where this was going and quickly stepped between their fellow band members before it happened.
“Kane. Hair. Food. In that order,” Steve pushed Christian gently towards the bathroom even as Jensen was distracting Misha with talk of writing a new song for their ever-expanding set.
“Okay, but it’s not over, Collins.” Christian muttered even as he was letting himself be pushed.
An hour later, all four men were seated at their usual booth, no traces of their alter egos anywhere.
“I say we take a trip to Vegas, just the four of us,” Christian was waving a pancake covered fork around, the syrup coming dangerously close to dripping off.
“We can’t,” Misha dodged a drip and promptly wiped it off the table.
“Okay, why don’t you tell me why we can’t.” Christian popped the forkful into his mouth and chewed slowly.
Misha looked a bit heartbroken that the other man wouldn’t know the groups schedule. “Because we start filming the show in two days.”
“Fucking show.” Christian mumbled around a mouthful.
“Hey! That show makes sure you have food and clothes!” Misha put on his best ‘offended face’ and refused to break eye contact with his target.
Christian couldn’t resist riling up their gentle band mate further. “And money for strippers and booze. Thank you, Sassafras Junction.”
“You are so crass, Christian.”
“It’s Chris. And how about you shut it?”
Steve looked up from where he had been uncomfortably staring into his coffee. “Whoa. We’re supposed to be having fun here.”
Christian broke the stare and looked back at his plate, deadpanning, “Weee. Fun.”
“Chris…”
“Fuck this. I’m outta here. And I got the check.”
Before anyone could even try to stop him, he’d made the statement true.
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