9ddba8405c712dc705f6095a3ea49417

We walked out of the dressing room into the corridor and padded towards the stage. Watching on from the wings, I saw that the ballroom was gradually filling up. I could see the Mayor and his wife, and I could see Dan Goory, Odelia’s editor, who was also a guest. He was there along with his wife, who looked resplendent in a shimmering evening gown. In fact I saw pretty much everyone who was someone in Hampton Cove, as well as plenty of the town’s nobodies. I also recognized Laron Weskit and his wife, whose pictures Odelia had shown us. They were seated at the Mayor’s table—guests of honor.

If we’d wanted to, we could have snuck up to their room right then. But we’d already decided to wait and see the show first. It wasn’t something I was prepared to miss.

And yet for a moment it looked as if that was exactly what was going to happen, when a man dressed like a bellhop grabbed us both by the necks and growled angrily,“How did you two hairy pests get in here?” and started dragging us away!

Lucky for us Odelia was also keeping an eye on the proceedings, and quickly negotiated our release. She then bent down, and placed a nice ribbon around my neck, a small card dangling from it, and repeated the procedure on Dooley.

“There,” she said. “Now no one can accuse you of being interlopers. This makes it clear you’re part of the evening’s entertainment. Oh, and those badges will also grant you access to certain rooms,” she added with a wink. “Don’t lose them, you guys.”

“We sure won’t,” I said, happy we were in the clear.

And then it was time for the show to begin. The lights in the ballroom were dimmed, and with stragglers still filing in, the curtains swung open, and Tex appeared on stage.

“Look, it’s Tex!” Dooley whispered excitedly.

“I know!” I whispered back, equally excited.

Next thing we knew, the band launched into a jazzy rendition ofMy Bonnie Lies over the Ocean, Denby crooning, Tex slapping a drum kit, and Cary plucking at a guitar.

They didn’t even sound half bad. Dr. Denby, apart from looking like George Clooney in hisER heyday, has one of those rich, deep baritones, and a smile that lights up a room. He did so now, and at the end of the song women clapped excitedly, the husbands less so.

“That wasn’t so bad,” said Dooley as he put his paws together.

“Not bad at all,” I agreed, following suit. It’s a pity our paws are outfitted with soft pink pads. It hampers our ability to applaud, but we still gave it our best shot for Tex.

Next up were Gran and her six Dapper Dans. She’d draped herself across a piano for some reason, and huskily began to singLike a Virgin. She sounded as if she had a frog in her throat, but maybe that was the style she was going for. The only role the men played was to sing backing vocals (like a vi-i-i-ir-gin) and from time to time lift her off the piano and then to put her back. There was also music playing, probably produced by a tape.

“What is she doing?” asked Dooley after a while.

“I have no idea,” I said.

“And why is she dressed in her underwear?”

“Maybe she forgot to bring her clothes?”

When we’d seen her backstage in her underwear, I’d figured she would put on her dress at the last minute, but now it turned out this was it—this was her stage costume.

The men now placed her back on top of the piano, where she began writhing about, trying to look sexy. Then the men picked her up again and deposited her on the floor, where she proceeded to teeter from the left side of the stage to the right on her high heels, all the while moaning her way through the song, the men darting around her.

“I think it’s supposed to be sexy,” I finally said.

The men had picked Gran up again and tried to heave her onto the piano. Clearly they were all starting to feel the strain, for they ended up dropping her to the floor. So Gran decided to remain where she was while throatily pushing out those final few notes.

There wasn’t even a hint of applause this time. A lot of stunned people sat staring, waiters had stopped waiting, and smartphones were out, filming the weird spectacle.

And they’d seen nothing yet, for as Gran got up and cleared the stage, Harriet and Brutus walked on. Harriet took a slight bow and, much to the consternation of those present, started yowling. I think she was going forLike a Prayer, in line with Gran’s performance, but unfortunately stress must have affected her vocal cords, for all that came out were a series of disjointed notes. Brutus, meanwhile, tried to act like a beatbox, but messed up when he ended up blowing a series of extended raspberries instead.

“I don’t recognize this song,” said Dooley.

“I think it’s Madonna’sLike a Prayer,” I said.

“Oh, right,” said Dooley.

We both winced as Harriet launched into the chorus, and people started pressing their hands against their ears. Never a good sign for a debut artist’s first live show.