Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Forty-two

We followed Hobgood backstage. It was very lively—people milling about everywhere. I started to feel a part of the show even though I had no idea what the show was about. I looked for a sign or some banner announcing the telethon, but I saw nothing. What I did see, though, was a "big band," complete with a piano player.

"There's the main band. The Lee Grove Big Band. Those boys sure can rock. Anyhow, your piano is over here."Hobgood lead us stage left to where a black, upright Yamaha piano sat, waiting for some poor soul to keep it company. I was still stumped as to what my role would be for the next four hours, especially after seeing the Lee Grove Big Band in place. It was either my imagination, or Max's message had led me to believe that I would be an integral player in today's event. I knew about the accompaniments, but what else was I going to do?

"Excuse me, Hobgood. If the big band is the main band, and they've already got a piano player, what the hell am I here for?"

"I'm sorry kid. The big band already has a piano player. I think you're just here to play a couple tunes with Jerry and the girl."

At least he answered my question. I wasn't sure how to react. But I certainly wasn't going to take it out on poor Hobgood and Miss Illinois.

In the back of my mind, I had hoped the piano seat would've been one of those big, cushy, padded ones ... but, no luck. The piano seat sat in front of me, taunted me with its rock-hard, black-lacquered oak properties. Come to think of it, it might be a blessing that I don't have to spend all day sitting on a piano seat. But on the other hand, an inflammation is an inflammation, so why take chances?

"Excuse me, Hobgood. Do you think you might be able to find me a cushion, or a blanket of some sort?" Both Miss Illinois and Hobgood looked at me curiously.

"What, are ya plannin' on takin' a nap, or somethin'?" Hobgood said.

It figures, the one thing Hobgood understands, he gives me shit about.

"No, I won't take a nap, I promise. I just need a little padding on the piano seat ..."

I could tell by his raised eyebrow and smirk that he at least understood my request ... But not the reason why. Whether he'd comply or not was another thing.

"Listen, piano man. I got no business asking what's up with your ass and this piano seat, so I'll just ask the shift captain about your little request. That's just what I gotta do ..."

I assumed she got a kick out of Hobgood using the word "ass," because Miss Illinois let out a big giggle.

And what's with this shift captain? Who the fuck is the mysterious shift captain? Whoever it is, he seems to have a ton of responsibility.

Miss Illinois and I watched Hobgood as he shuffled off behind a velvet curtain to the side of us.

"He smells yucky," Miss Illinois added quite eloquently.

"All right. Since I have no idea what I'm doing, or when I'm doing it, why don't we try to go through your song."

"You know, I have more to do than just a song today."

I really wasn't in a chatty mood, but she was young, and proud, and needed to be indulged. So I indulged her.

"Really, what are your other obligations?"

"Well, besides singing, I'll be introducing an act. I'm just not sure which one yet. I'll be talking to Mr. Springer, live on TV, about my experiences so far of being Miss Illinois, and then, if there's time, Mr. Springer said I'd be able to recite some of my original poetry ... at least that's what we were discussing right before we bumped into you." She smirked and rolled her eyes with a sense of embarrassment.