The warmth that greeted Aster as she made her way into the lobby of Cherryaire Radio could as well have been the harshest winter gale, for it gave her no comfort all the same. Over a rhythmic cadence of wet shoes kicking loose snow, her vision tunneled past the station's droll secretary and down a long, exceptionally lit hall beyond her in which a framed gold record was hung at the end, signifying where the hall met Willie Cooper's studio.
Aster looked upon this gold disc with envious eyes, for a moment forgetting the interview and its accompanying worries as its yellow glow played teasingly in her sight. As if moved by a promise of greater things so indicative in its splendor, and feeling as if it could bring her nearer to it, she held tight against her person a curious package she had hidden underneath her ill-fitting hand-me-down coat— a reel of tape on which was printed the contents of Johnny Vallerie's phone call.
She moved awkwardly, overtly aware of her movements and how they influenced the protrusion the reel caused her coat to form, the stress of which trumped and buried even the immense anxiety of appearing on Cherryaire's largest radio show, which had been the focus of her terror just up until their departure.
The chief worry of it all was also the primary failing of her plan— she had only thought as far as to bring the reel to Cherryaire Radio, but not exactly how she would deliver it, nor to whom. To deliver it directly to Willie Cooper, and thus bring into question how she could have ever constructed the train of thought and intuition necessary to figure to record Johnny Vallerie's phone call, was completely out of the question.
Furthermore, a greater threat to her plan than she had envisioned was stationed far closer to her than she had planned— Sylvia, in exceptionally good mood following the return of Floyd and Cecil, and who in general always found some sort of fun to have whenever Aster wore her over-sized coat, proceeded to poke and jab at its large folds of cloth, drawing from Aster a flustered expression of complete terror and the ire of Cecil, who had taken the mindset of a schoolmaster minding his children.
“Sylvia, I swear to God,” he grumbled.
Sylvia smiled warmly and shot back a teasing expression, radiating in the irony of finding herself happy to be scolded by Cecil. She herself had one goal, beside the general success of their interview, and that was to cast such an aura of happiness over the group that should any fractures even begin to form they would at once be filled up with her exuberance.
Cecil on the other hand, had already grown anxious at the first sign of Sylvia's rebellion. This being the tenth time in as many minutes, he was now positively beside himself with nerves.
“Sylvia, what's gotten into you?”
“I told you, Cecil!” she exclaimed, waving her stubby arms. “This is the perfect chance for me to get signed as the spokeswoman for Cherry-O's! I have to be on my A-game!”
She cast another toothy grin at Cecil, who returned an irritated glance before turning away and falling into a contemplative look. The truth was, while genuinely attempting to boost the others' morale, excessive hyperness also functioned as a defense for Sylvia in times of great nervousness. She could never show it, and so would try to remove the possibility of it in anyone's mind by way of her unbearably bright attitude.
“We're about to be heard by thousands and you want to talk about cereal,” interjected Marion.
Aster grew pale at the mention of 'thousands'.
Floyd sat beside her, fumbling with his handkerchief.
“Yes Sylvia, please listen to them. I know you are very aware of how important this is to us,” he pleaded, trailing off in a broken whisper.
What Floyd spoke of was an understanding that had formed between the Love You Forevers following Cecil's return, and which Sylvia, despite all her outward rambunctiousness, respected with the greatest seriousness. It was a realization that had formed between them that the very future of the band rested on the success of this show. They, like scolded children walking the line of their mother's good graces until they could be assured free from trouble, had with the utmost effort attempted to maintain good behavior in the lead-up to it, aware that the slightest deviation could spell the final end of the group.
With the cautious yet optimistic attitude this new understanding had brought about, they had attempted several practice sessions which delivered good results, and the shop, once again under Floyd's management, had quickly returned to its former efficiency. Gradually, the memory of the disaster at the ball became willfully pushed away to the furthest recesses of their minds as they regrouped and aimed their sights toward this very moment, the ultimate test of the strength of their reunion.
The contemplation of all this fell upon each member of the group as they settled into their anxious, quiet wait in the lobby. Each had brought with them their own peculiar anxieties and plans for insulating the group against disintegration, and as they mentally assured themselves of these plans and their success, fell into an uneasy quiet, only periodically broken by an outburst of Sylvia who wished to fend off the silence.
Aster continued to fidget while holding the tape, having to shift position periodically as it grew uncomfortable to hold in one place for long. Her gaze was all the while fixed upon Floyd, appearing in particular discomfort with his nervous, watchful eyes looking in horror at Sylvia, who almost seemed to be vibrating with zeal.
Across the lobby sat the receptionist, watching the group with an annoyed expression. She looked with particular scrutiny upon Aster, whose awkward shuffling of her coat was so frequent it soon became the only thing the secretary could notice.
“Floyd,” she suddenly announced, wishing to be free of it.
Floyd, happy to escape Sylvia's sphere of vivaciousness, hurried on crutch to the receptionist's window.
“Visitor ID,” she asked bluntly.
Floyd complied with a smug smile, sliding his ID through the small opening.
The rest of the band hesitantly rose and moved to join him, but were stopped in their tracks by a loud voice which echoed down the hall.
“There they are!” cried Willie Cooper, approaching the group. The station which had been up until then so silent and still lit up when filled with his voice, and as if to intensify this bloom of life, scattered various interns and employees from out of various rooms as they moved to get ready for that night's biggest program.
Willie Cooper grasped Floyd's hand without hesitation and eagerly shook it, then repeated this action another four times as he made acquaintance of all the band's members. “I can't tell you how excited I am for this!” he began to exclaim, stopping last to hold Aster's handshake firm. “And I mean it honestly, your ballroom show had to have been the most fun I've had in years! The audience is going to love you!”
They did not share in this fond remembrance. Even Sylvia herself reacted instead with a look of bashful annoyance, characteristic of those rare moments in which she found herself unable to put on a front of genuine happiness.
“I'm glad you enjoyed it, sir,” Floyd gave stiffly. Willie Cooper smiled deeply and took Floyd under his arm, embracing him.
“And you were the best of all!” he said, leaning into Floyd's ear with a grin. “You crazy motherfucker, you!”
He begin to laugh heartily, providing Floyd with the chance to escape from his embrace where he moved promptly away, readjusting his collar. He smiled politely as Willie Cooper continued to bellow, gripping his cane until his pink knuckles went white.
After this round of introductions in which Aster said not a single word he led the group down the hallway, taking time to give them a tour of the various studios as they passed them.
As they reached the end of the hall he leaned in to Floyd, who was shimmering with perspiration under the intense lights.
“You're not nervous are you? Don't be. Despite all the accolades and titles we get at the end of the day we're all really just shooting the shit, right?” he joked, opening the door to his studio.
Aster paused at the end of the hall, her gaze once again transfixed upon the gold record. Up close, each individual groove was apparent in perfect detail, running centrifuge upon the disc in infinite bounds. Viewed at this angle the intense spotlight which rained down upon it seemed to shine ever more brilliantly, giving such an intense aura that she was nearly moved to tears right there.
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“Aster!” squeaked Sylvia, waving her into the room.
“Caught your eye, huh?” Willie Cooper remarked as she entered, noticing her curiosity. “That was for Johnny Vallerie's first record, which I premiered here,” he added with a self-satisfied air. Aster grimaced, and suddenly the luster of the golden disc diminished greatly.
As she took her seat she noticed Sylvia staring at her, curious. Aster looked back in confusion.
“What?”
“Aren't you going to take off your coat, silly?” she asked.
Aster went red and began to panic.
“No, I'm chilly,” she sputtered, turning away from Sylvia.
Sylvia raised one of her little eyebrows in perplexment, but seemed to accept the answer. “Man, I'm dying in here though!” she cried, removing her own coat.
Willie Cooper, who had been continuing to badger Floyd with small talk, took his place at the end of a long, oak table at which the rest of the group were now seated. Before each of them was placed a large microphone, whose scuffed chrome finish gleamed under the studio lights. As she did with most everything in this world Aster marveled at it, struck with great interest that there was ever a time where you couldn't record your voice without needing a specific device for it.
As she was studying the microphone the sound of a click caught her attention, and she turned to see that the on-air sign was now live, at which point her heart plummeted. From four speakers placed in each corner of the room followed the pre-show adverts— a jingle for Cherry-O's which elicited a cry of excitement from Sylvia, and then the lead-in— a snippet of Johnny Vallerie's single. The entire group glowered upon hearing it, though Willie Cooper, busy with introductions, did not take notice.
“What a song, folks! At the top of the chart for two months now, and it still doesn't seem to be slowing down! Even Godiva is struggling to top it, can you believe it? To think people called him washed up before this. Anyways, I have for you here tonight a group of very special guests who you may have not heard, but you have definitely heard of. Does the incident at Savoy Ballroom ring a bell? Yes? Well you are correct! I have with me that very same band, The Love You Forevers!”
It seemed unreal to Aster to hear the name of their band float through the room of the esteemed looking studio. Through the glass windows of the control room sat several engineers who monitored the show, and above hung a mist of cigarette smoke billowing up from Willie Cooper's ashtray. If Aster stayed still enough, she could feel her heart gallop within her chest, pulsating to such a degree it could shake the reel of tape she had pressed against it. She still did not know where she would deliver it— the engineers were always watching. What if she failed to deliver it? She banished the thought out of her mind quickly. She would not allow herself to fail.
“So,” Willie Cooper began, smiling at the group. “Who's the brains behind all this? Probably you, right? You look like a particularly crafty young man,” he said, referring to Cecil.
Aster sneered, but stopped at the sight of the microphone before her.
Cecil, though pleasantly surprised to hear the compliment, was caught off-guard and attempted to deflect. “No, I just play the keys, it's all really—”
“Then this rugged man right here?” Willie Cooper continued with a bantering tone, grinning at Marion. Marion shot back a toothy grin of his own, but then was taken by a similar awkwardness to Cecil's as he felt Aster's intense look of anger turn towards him.
“I am the bad boy of the group,” he began, chuckling, “But no, it's actually—”
“So, is it the both of you then? A March and Arthur sorta duo? Or perhaps Floyd over here?”
Sylvia leaned deeply into her microphone, looking around.
“It's Aster, idiot.”
The room fell silent.
Had Aster heard her correctly? Did her anxiety perhaps cause her to hallucinate Sylvia's outburst? She looked around, and noticing the same look of horror written across the faces of everyone, realized she had indeed said it.
Aster, while grateful for Sylvia's defense, could not help but feel the bottom to the world was in the process of falling out— in one fell swoop, her closest friend had sent all her orchestration of success and fantasy tumbling into some dark, never again to be seen reaches far below.
Cecil's eyes went wide, and his jaw slack, trembling in search of the words that could somehow put to sense what seemed so nonsensical. He turned to Sylvia, and looked upon her in a mixture of total disbelief and horror. His eyes went wider still, suddenly seeing this moment as undeniable proof that he truly was cursed, and began to disassociate from the room.
Marion watched the rest of the group in dismay, unsure of how to react. This dismay quickly turned into full-on panic as Floyd fainted, drawing the attendance and urgency of himself, Sylvia, and the studio's staff.
“Don't you dare leave us!” screamed Sylvia, propping up Floyd's body.
With this, finally, Willie Cooper began to laugh.
The band at once raised their eyes towards him, mortified and unwilling to believe that their certain disaster had once again somehow been avoided. However, his hearty chuckles were soon followed by a series of belly jostling guffaws, turning their looks of horror into expressions of total confusion.
“That's it! That's what I'm talking about folks! You're never boring!” he exclaimed, now in an uproar of laughter.
“And you!” he yelled, pointing to barely unconscious Floyd.
“You fainted! That's incredible!”
His feverish glance then quickly moved towards Aster, where he smiled deeply upon seeing her. “So, you're the brains of the operation? Must be keeping them all in those brows, huh?” he said with a chuckle.
A look of fury instantly transformed Aster's panicked features into a deep scowl as he looked down at her, smiling wildly with amusement. She glanced again at the microphone before her, cognizant of the audience, and grew yet angrier at being unable to speak because of them.
Willie Cooper, proud of his joke, was eager to follow it up, unperturbed by Aster's silence. “I guess you could say that ballroom show was a real disaster!”
With this quip Cecil buried his face in his hands, unable to believe that after surviving Sylvia's outburst they were going to be done in by whatever reaction he knew Aster was going to have.
Floyd, coming back to consciousness, was also well aware of the impending doom this spelled, and once again fainted.
Marion, rubbing the back of his neck, leaned anxiously into his microphone, somehow hoping to divert the situation. “Yeah, the uh, ballroom was something. I was almost killed,” he uttered dryly, keeping his gaze all the while fixed upon Aster.
What his eyes set upon was an expression that somehow put every scowl he had ever seen in his days of running with the Aspartame gang to shame. Her burnt orange irises seemed to almost shine as embers in the haze of the fluorescent lights which hung above the table, and then went still, as if her thoughts had temporarily ceased in order to allow her mind its full power to process the rage welling up within her.
Sylvia instinctively leaned over, and cupped Aster's microphone.
Cecil noticed this, and quickly bent forward towards his own.
“Fuck you—”
“—That Cherry-O's advert was seriously something else Willie, did you write that in house?” Cecil said, speaking over Aster.
Willie looked at Aster and then at Cecil in confusion. He hadn't caught what she had said.
“Come again?” he asked Cecil with a chuckle.
“Fuck you—”
“—The Cherry-O's advertisement, imagine if you had someone like Sylvia over here on it.”
Hearing this, Sylvia instantly uncovered Aster's microphone and began to light up.
“You mean it, Cecil?” she exclaimed, looking at him wide-eyed before turning in excitement towards Willie Cooper.
“I can do it! I'll do the best job you've ever seen!” she screamed, leaning forward onto the table.
Willie Cooper now took his turn to adorn a look of complete confusion, alternating between the outbursts of Cecil and Sylvia.
“Well, I, uh, I hadn't really thought about it,”
“Just imagine the ad money she could bring in!” Marion interjected, catching on.
“Yeah, that's, well,” he again sputtered, growing frustrated.
Aster all the while continued to bore into him with her furious gaze, while Willie Cooper tried to regain control of the situation.
“Now why don't you tell me what happened before the ballroom— your little festival. It was a huge mystery for awhile.”
Upon hearing the word festival, Floyd once more returned to life.
“I've told you! I cleared the permits, I paid the fines! There is nothing more to get from me on this topic!” he shrieked, causing the room to look on in concern as he rose, swinging his cane around.
“I've had it with you cops!” he screamed. The veins around his neck protruded and flushed deep shades of red and purple, resembling the unsightly growths which snake around decrepit, old trees.
Fearing for the safety of those around them, Sylvia and Marion quickly moved to subdue the deteriorating Floyd.
Willie Cooper, at first bewildered, began again to smile, and then boil over in cacophonous laughter.
With tears streaming down his face he grabbed his microphone and held it to his face. “This is without a doubt, Cherryaire, the only act that matters!”
In the middle of this, a moment of clarity came to Aster. Without taking the time to specifically formulate her thoughts, as if moved by an invisible hand, she hid behind the curtain of Floyd's screams and Willie Cooper's cackles, and removed the reel of tape from her coat.
She took the reel and dropped it to the floor, sliding it further underneath and out of sight with her foot, and then took the deepest breath she had ever welcomed into her lungs up to that point.
“You're all going to be stars!” Willie Cooper grinned, signaling the commercial break.