YA Fiction - Serial Novels - The Sunshine Time
The Sunshine Time Season 1 Episode 6
The lights had been dimmed further and the audience was in muted mode. Except for a few discreet coughs here, a few whispers there, and the flashes of cameras, all attention was on the stage. Moon-Web was deep in the middle of the brooding, poetic ‘Purple of the Last Night Sky’.
And there he was, Guy Caraindon, fidgeting back and forth in front of the others, a very mesmerizing figure in the spotlight, his face in mysterious shadows, the thick, shaggy hair gleaming gold every time he moved his head, dressed in a short, long-sleeved, bright, multicolored, patterned kurta and white pajamas, his feet bare. He raised the violin, tucking it under his chin and bringing up the bow in an arc, his eyes closing.
The murmurs died down in the darkened club and a rash of goose-pimples went up my whole body. I had heard the song before, but not this musical section. It was a new addition; he had mentioned that they had ‘spruced up the songs a bit’. And what a sprucing it was too.
It was like the wind coming down from the mountains and bending the grass, sending a cloud of butterflies up in the air, and it shook me too, the look on his face, a highly charged, exalted look. He was no longer aware of anyone or anything around him. He was on some elevated plateau out of mortal reach. He was scaling the heights and reaching for some faraway star. He was dazzling. And then, almost on a brink, the music hovered and held. He opened his eyes, grinned widely, and swung into a mad dervish fiddling dance as the band stepped up the tempo, and the crowd erupted into claps and huge cheers...
I had not expected to be this enthralled when they had come on stage. They had followed three singing acts that had not been particularly spectacular, to put it generously, and their arrival had been greeted with a halfhearted clapping that was mainly instigated by the cheers and shouts and whistles coming from our table under the leadership of the Proud Mama, as Tamir Larkin termed Diana Van Heusen, and the Proud Papa, as Diana Van Heusen dubbed him back. I would have cringed if Mum and Daddy had stood up like these two did and demanded that people applaud ‘my kid, the genius’ and ‘our prize, our one and only talented darling’. I even cringed on Guy’s and Conor’s behalf, but it was unnecessary. Their parents weren’t off the mark and they themselves were wired to match such over the top behavior.
Conor Larkin, the very tall, very weird-looking, and very blue-orange-and-pink-haired guitarist, conspicuous in a red, green, and purple kilt and a glittering blue and gold jacket over a yellow singlet, grinned broadly and blew extravagant kisses at the parents and the audience, making encouraging gestures for them to make more noise. Except for the height, I wouldn’t have recognized him from our meeting at the train-station. Jason Ambershan, the rumored fire-eater of the Caraindon-Ambershan clan, looked like a clean-scrubbed choir boy beside him, with neat auburn hair and a conservative dress sense; dark trousers, white shirt, nothing to draw notice. He was the only one that seemed to have a problem with the gaga conduct. He wore a buttoned-up expression, kept his entire attention on his mandolin, and did not crack so much as a smile the entire time he was on stage.
Guy Caraindon followed them, becoming instantly the cynosure of all eyes, the whistles and screams going up. I was nearly deafened by his mother on one side and his girlfriends, Angela and Mindy, on the other. He laughed and, like Conor, blew out kisses. He pointed at his mother and his girlfriends and then appeared to notice me and widened his eyes in a dramatic expression of amazement, extending both arms, palms upended, at me, before winking and grinning and twiddling his fingers.
I froze, not having expected such a public acknowledgment and not knowing how to react to it. I was half-flattered, half-embarrassed, and I didn’t really realize what I was doing until Billy smacked down my half-raised hand. Then I stopped twiddling my fingers back at Guy and closed my half-open mouth and put my hand back in my lap. Diana Van Heusen smiled and pinched my cheek and said, “There, what did I tell you? My little Pumpkins is so happy to see you.”
She stopped tugging at my cheek to lean and smack Billy’s knee for snorting rudely. I caught Mindy’s happy grin in my direction and Angela’s head-shaking glance up at the ceiling. With a dismissive twitch of her eyebrows, she shifted in the other direction in her seat and crossed her legs. Guy, smiling, had turned away to the microphone. If he had ever been nervous, as Ricky had mentioned earlier, there was no trace of it. He rubbed a spot over his right eyebrow and surveyed the rest of the crowd with a calm amusement, like he was privy to a fine joke and couldn’t wait to share it with everyone.
“Ah, me darlings,” he said, in that beautifully modulated voice. “And there I was, terrified, that you wouldn’t show up.”
The band was depleted by two members, he informed the audience. One had just eloped, he said, and the other was soon going to wish he had too. This was greeted with laughter, followed by more cheers as he introduced the stand-ins, Psyche Maimon on the keyboards and Makem Eacharn on the drums.
“Bear with us,” Guy said. “We will try to play the same song at the same time.”
And then, his face still alight with the beatific smile, he put his violin under his chin and launched into their first song ‘Seeking The Icebird’.