Cover-Up Story by Marian Babson Read Free Book Online Page B

audience, softly playing the harmonica to himself. For a moment, all you got was the feeling: the isolation, the longing, the haunting distant something. Then I recognized the melody, it was the old Spiritual ‘Lonesome Valley’, but Uncle No’ccount’s harmonica gave it an extra dimension.
    I noticed the telltale flash from one side of the stage and winced inwardly. Gerry was taking his directions too literally. The Client wasn’t going to be happy about flashbulbs being wasted on anyone but himself.
    Thoughtfully, Uncle No’ccount wiped the harmonica on the seat of his trousers, ignoring the applause, and looked off into the distance. He could have taken an encore, but he didn’t. I wondered when that battle had been lost and won.
    Then the Cousins tumbled onstage, rowdy and rollicking, breaking the mood, but not quite setting up a mood of their own to replace it. Their routine leaned heavily on the ‘We-uns is jes’ plain folks’ routine – in fact, they said it several times. The ‘Jes’ Plain Folks’ attitude is the American equivalent of the British ‘Working Class and Proud of it’. In both cases, it means that they expect you to despise them, so they’re going to take the offensive by despising you first. It comes off better on the stage than face-to-face.
    Things improved when the Cousins began to sing. Their voices were raucous, but adequate. They did better on instrumentals, but then, their orchestrations were very good. I wondered how much it had cost Sam and Nate.
    Then it was Lou-Ann’s turn. The way she stumbled across the stage and took her first pratfall did get a laugh. There was the sheet-lightning effect of flashbulbs off in the wings again – at least it would keep Maw Cooney happy, even if The Client went wild.
    Helped too vigorously to her feet by Cousin Zeke, she fell off into the wings, then bounced back for another pratfall. The laughs kept coming, but she worked too hard for them, they cost too much. And she violated the cardinal rule of comedy : Never cross your eyes more than three times in any one minute.
    The dialogue took a turn for the worse.
    â€˜I know a sad song, and a sad story to go with it. A sad, true story,’ Lou-Ann said. ‘Y’all wanna hear it, don’t you?’
    There was a frozen silence, then an embarrassed sprinkling of applause from the audience at thus being appealed to directly. Perhaps we’re growing into a nation of voyeurs, thanks to films and television, but audiences prefer to think that they’re invisible from the stage. It jars them to find that those strange characters acting out a charade for their amusement can actually see them, too. Nothing is more inconvenient than a one-way street when you find traffic coming the other way.
    â€˜There now, I jes’ knew you were all my friends!’ She spoiled the effect by turning and sticking her tongue out at the Cousins.
    â€˜Well, now, this here is a song written by a young fella back near the turn of the century. Him and his gal had been apart for a long while, but he was happy now because she was on a train comin’ to marry him. An’ while he was waitin’ for the train to bring her to him, he wrote this song for her. But he didn’t know that she was never goin’ to hear it, ’cause even while he was writing it, the train had crashed and his sweetheart lay dying in the wreckage . . .’
    It was bathos, but the house had hushed. Lou-Ann threw back her head and began to sing in a clear, sweet voice.
    In the background, Cousin Homer took the bandana from Uncle No’ccount’s pocket, shook the teeth out of it and handed them back to Uncle No’ccount, and caricatured wiping his eyes on the bandana. The other Cousins began making those gestures toward Lou-Ann.
    There was a nasty, low-throated rumble from the audience. The Cousins looked startled.
    Then the spotlight blacked out for a