By Julian London
….. the story so far ………
Baggely sidled around the edge of the room to get to the podium, brushing past the great Womble of Warrigal, the most fearsome of all the judges…..
He handed in his completed form; together with his chosen piece on a CD single and explained to Mugla how he intended to use the floor so that they could work in unison, because one of Mugla’s jobs was shining the spotlight where it mattered. Mugla also promised to switch the strobe light on, when Baggely gave him a secret sign, nodding and seeming to say, “Yes, I can do it- I can use the strobe appropriately- I’m up to the task- trust me!” ……..
Baggely returned to the bar for another double tot- but this time reciprocated Vanya’s gaze, with a knowing smirk- revelling in the thought of the sensational impression that he was going to make. She looked puzzled-and he could understand that. They had never spoken- only swapped furtive, flirtatious looks over the last few weeks. But it would be different tonight! And Maybelline had tipped him off in any case, thus ‘marking his card’, as to her fancy.
The large rectangular room was ¾ full now and the atmosphere was humming, like a bee hive, especially as the DJ had turned up the volume to compensate for the acoustical challenge of the crowd.
He was on fifth, which meant that one more snifter was in order. And Maybelline, the barmaid from the bush, duly obliged, flashing her unmodified teeth , and wishing him well, in her irrepressible, quantitative way.
Everything was temporal now. The planning and dreaming was all gone. Now is the hour came into his head. But of course the sentiment was different- he was staying not leaving. The rum was having an effect and he looked around, taking in the multitude, noticing new people- here for the contest, of course. Many of them taking advantage of the $5.00 bar snacks, thoughtfully subsidized by Merv. Stuffing themselves – oblivious to the ‘competition surcharge’, that he had bunged on the liquor prices, in lieu of an entrance fee.
He heard the applause and moved to the edge of the dance floor to watch the end of MJ’s version of MJ’s moonwalk. Baggely had to admit some admiration here, as he was an avid thriller fan- and the site of MJ gliding effortlessly around, acknowledging everyone and being feted, seemed apt for this magnanimous, compassionate, virtuoso.
He swallowed the last of the rum, put the Glass on the small shelf by the mirrored pillar, took off his tie and jacket and undid the top three buttons on his vermillion, Jaggeresque, paisley shirt- to let Johnny out.
He heard Mugla calling him now. Bagglely!..Baggallee…Baagaully Shoreditch please.
He was Johnny now –the dancer — so he quickly moved across to the makeshift stage- and winked at DJ Mugla, hoping for acknowledgement of his flamboyant alter ego. He placed his jacket and tie over the back of the vacant chair and took a deep breath, then turned, to be sure to catch the tom- tom and maracas- as the music started.
Yes, it started and Johnny was shaking his hands now, clutching the two pairs of maracas; just like Brian Jones in the video he had studied, listening for Keith to pluck and Nicky to tinkle, in unison with Charlie’s rimshots and Bill’s solid bass.
Johnny was moving now, keeping with the maracas, concentrating on the deep notes from Keith’s 1957 Les Paul, sadly without the benefit of the original Vox Supreme, but nonetheless; gravelly, strong and soulful. He knew that Johnny danced better with the maracas- so he ignored the singing intro: Upstaging Mick in the process.
“Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste.”
Yes he was…. he twirled so that the crowd could admire his shirt, tucked in, girt by the patent leather belt that came from Paddington Markets.
“I’ve been around for a long, long year, Stole many a man’s soul and fate I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain. I made damn sure that the Pilate washed his hand and sealed his fate.”
Johnny did a pirouette and whirled again, shaking his feet, in a cross between the hokey-cokey and a line dance..He felt exhilarated, sanctified and excited and could see that the crowd was now an audience, with shiny, earnest, faces and swaying torsos. Electrified, he thought!
Johnny moved around the floor trying to emulate MJ,s rapport.
The music got louder. Mugla must have sensed the mood of the venue’s crowd.
Then: Suddenly it started…The backing chorus after “Tell me baby what’s my name. I tell you one time you’re to blame …Ooo who Ooo who.
The strobe came on the music pounded…. Hoo Hoo, Hoo Hoo.
The crowd was singing now Hoo Hoo, Hoo Hoo. Everything seemed frozen in the light of the strobe. Johnny was at one with the music…the crowd. The dance floor was his. Everybody was caught up and the strobe became an opiate, hypnotizing them. A bolero leading to a crescendo, where he could show Johnny off, the Baggely no one knew.
He briefly spied Cobber The Larrikin next to him- which struck him as peculiar- as Cobber was a loner and had always hung back. It was hard in the strobe light to orientate his body and he felt that he was spinning. Cobber seemed to glide into him and they both fell toward the stage.
Hoo Hoo, Hoo Hoo!! ….Everyone was chanting now and throwing their arms about. “Tell me sweetie, what’s my name. ..Hoo Hoo,Hoo hoo”.
Miraculously Merv appeared and leant over to help Johnny up – but he too tripped and knocked over the stand with the strobe, causing Mugla to get on his hands and knees, to look for it.
Well it was pandemonium now, especially as all the houselights had been extinguished to exaggerate the effect of the strobe Hoo Hoo, Hoo Hoo; the chorus was going, echoed by a few stalwarts, chanting at the back of the room, oblivious to the mayhem on the stage and enjoying the darkness, except for the glow from the low voltage downlights, shining on the optics at the back. They all felt Jaggeresque in the dark.
Merv, Mugla, Cobber and Johnny were all tangled in wires now and this pulled the DJ console off the stage, causing the music to stop and sparks to jump around, with the result that some of the Pigs’ patrons fell over. This mass of writhing bodies took on a life of its own now, with everyone looking for the edge of the floor in the dark and not being sure of the direction!
Suddenly the lights came back on! Maybelline of course knew where the switches were and realizing that things had gotten out of hand, enlisted Vanya and Mrs. Brabantia’s help to flick them all and illuminate the room, including the dartboard spotlight and ex- Central Station chandelier.
“Order, order”, Womble yelled, trying to instill some sanity..Hoo Hoo, Hoo Hoo called out The Printer, mimicking the song, in a pansyish parody of Johnny’s Jagger interpretation.” Shut up” the Moderator cried. “ Shutuppa yourself”, shouted a loutish looking Arms regular, with a tattoo on his forearm, which proclaimed, ‘Workers of the world Unite’..And with that he punched the Moderator on the nose, which felled him like a Gunns’s sawn rainforest.
Somehow Baggely untangled himself, feeling distraught that the competition appeared to have ended, without Johnny having a fair go and making his speech! He stood up and heard a loud click and a whistle of feedback from the speakers. Mugla had managed to get the microphone plugged in and the amp switched on.
“Drinks on the house!” He could hear Mugla calling. “Free drinks for all. Share out the liquor! Fair measures all round! Drinks at the bar!”
Well of course everyone thronged toward the bar and that was it!
Poor old Johnny never got a look in after that!
But, Baggely vowed, in his mind; he would be back for the Karaoke, in November.
……………… Jayell
