The night of BD’s class reunion came.
The girls set up at the country club about an hour before the guests arrived.
“Swanky digs,” Robbie said.
“Haven’t you been here before?” Tig asked. Lots of people had wedding receptions at the country club. Tig’s parents had dragged her to a few of them.
“Yeah,” said Robbie. “But playing here feels different than showing up for a holiday party some professor friend of my parents is hosting. Performing here feels way cool.”
“Performing anywhere feels pretty exciting to me,” said Paris.
“Oh yeah!” said Tig. “I almost forgot that this is Paris’s first gig!”
“I hope I don’t mess y’all up,” Paris said.
“Don’t even worry about that,” said Tig. “This is our first gig with an actual set list. Up until now, we’ve played one song and that’s it. We did that video last year for the university’s advertising students, and then we played a song at my aunt Kate’s surprise party.”
“And half a song at my birthday party,” said Kyra.
“That doesn’t count!” said Tig. “If we could all just stop talking about that, maybe I could forget it ever happened!”
The girls laughed.
“If we ever become famous, you know that video is going to go viral,” said Robbie. “I’m so glad I wasn’t there.”
“If you had been, it wouldn’t have gone down that way,” Tig said. “But hey, water under the bridge, ladies. Water. Under. The. Bridge.”
“Tig’s right,” said Olivia. “We don’t need to be thinking about our past disaster. We need to have our minds on tonight and blowing the crowd away!”
“Yes,” said Robbie. “By all means, let’s blow away a bunch of octogenarians.”
“They’re not in their eighties yet,” Tig said.
“Close enough,” said Robbie.
“I’m just glad to have an audience at all,” said Claire.
“Look at Shy Girl over here,” said Robbie. “Life outside the shell kind of rocks, huh?”
Claire blushed. “What can I say? I’m loosening up.”
“You got that right,” said Tig. She surveyed their stage outfits. She wore shorts and an eyelet top with wedges, but she had to make sure the heels weren’t so high that she couldn’t work the hi-hat and bass pedals. Claire wore a simple, long, black dress with white sneakers. Olivia had chosen a demure pink top with a lace collar and little bow but paired it with a sequined skirt. Robbie’s emerald-green silk jacket was paired with large dangling leather-and-metal earrings. Paris kept her clothes simple with a white, sleeveless shirt and jeans, keeping the focus on her high, tight ponytail and bright purple and blue eye shadow. Kyra, apparently deciding to make her last time onstage memorable, wore an embroidered strapless dress.
“Y’all, this is going to be a great night. Claire’s over her stage fright, Olivia’s got great keyboard arrangements, Robbie’s . . . well, still Robbie . . . and Paris, I’ve got to hand it to you, you are solid on the bass. “You’ve worked really hard, and it’s paid off. We are a pretty decent band, if I do say so myself.”
“Don’t forget our fearless leader and kick-butt drummer,” said Robbie.
Tig smiled and took a bow. Kyra cleared her throat.
“Oh, and let’s not forget our special guest performer,” Tig said. “Kyra . . . way to play ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’”
Kyra laughed. “Hey, it’s only taken me over a year to get it down.” Then she got serious. “But thanks for letting me play tonight. I know you kind of had no choice, but after the way I acted, I’m lucky y’all are even speaking to me. I want you all to know I realize now that I’m not a good bass player, and you were right to have Paris replace me.”
Tig suddenly felt guilty. “Kyra,” she said, “there’s something we should tell you.”
“What?” asked Kyra.
“I know you’re only fine with this because Regan told you to be,” Tig said. “But you should know that Regan talked to you about it because she was trying to do me a favor.”
“I know that,” said Kyra.
“You do?” asked Tig.
“Yeah,” said Kyra. “Trust me: I felt like an idiot for the way I’d acted before Regan said a word to me. I would’ve apologized anyway . . . eventually.”
“There’s one other thing,” said Tig.
“If it’s about Milo, I know about that, too,” said Kyra.
“You do?” said Paris.
“Of course,” said Kyra. “Right after I act like a jerk at band practice, you introduce me to this totally hot guy? I knew you were trying to get my mind off my parents’ divorce . . . and the band.”
“And you’re not mad?” asked Claire.
“Mad?” said Kyra. “If I’d known that all I had to do to be set up with a guy like Milo was be a brat, I’d have done it a long time ago! I should be a brat more often!”
“You’re sure you’re not mad?” Tig asked.
“No way!” said Kyra. “And Milo’s been great for me. He understood how I felt about not being good at music because he got cut from the football team. But look how amazing he is at so many other things! He kind of made me realize that not being talented at one thing doesn’t mean I’m worthless. And seriously, I have been so happy not having to think about the bass! I don’t know how y’all do it. Playing music is hard. You all seem to enjoy it so much, but I’m just not cut out for it. It felt like brain surgery. All those different notes and keys and chords . . . ugh! You can have it!”
“The band’s not the same without you, though,” Robbie said. Everyone stared at her in disbelief. “It’s way better now.” Robbie burst out laughing, and Kyra joined her.
“Shut up!” Kyra said, still laughing.
Soon the guests began to arrive, and before the girls knew it, BD was at Claire’s mic, introducing them. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Pandora’s Box!” The crowd responded with applause and cheers as the girls launched into “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.”
It was adorable, really, watching all those old people try to dance. Tig kept waiting for one of them to twist wrong and then scream out, Ahhh! My lumbago!, and for the paramedics to have to be called, but it never happened. Tig wasn’t really sure what lumbago actually was, but she’d heard the word in commercials for old people’s medicines, and figured it had something to do with aging.
One of the couples really knew how to cut a rug. Tig wasn’t sure what their dances were called, but the couple knew all the steps and put on a real show, especially on “Twist and Shout.” They did the sort of dance moves that had long since fallen out of fashion, with the partners matching each other step for step and the man twirling the lady every so often. Tig sort of wished she could dance like that; it looked fun.
When they got to “Sweet Home Alabama” and Kyra subbed in for Paris, Norman Allen shouted, “That’s my girl!” That song, along with all the others, was flawless. The girls kept getting more and more relaxed and playing even better with each song until before they knew it, their hour was up.
After their set was over, the girls hung around and had a glass of punch while taking in the scene. Old records played over the sound system, and the reunion crowd continued to dance. BD and Mimi sat at the table with Tig and the girls. There was a bar, and some of the old people were getting a little tipsy. It was kind of hilarious. One of the old men was making the rounds with the ladies, asking them to dance and putting his arm around them.
“Who’s that old guy who keeps macking on the women?” Tig asked her grandparents.
After Tig had defined the word macking, BD replied, “Oh, that’s Wayne Collins. He’s a widower. He’s been chasing the widows around all weekend. He hasn’t changed a bit. Girl crazy in high school, too.”
Tig wondered if people really stayed the same when they got older. She tried to picture herself and her friends. Would Robbie have a purple streak in her gray hair? Would Kyra still be following Regan and the Bots around? Would the Pandora’s Box girls still play together in a band?
As Tig was trying to picture herself on the drums as an old lady, Norman Allen approached their table. “Why, young’un, you’ve grown like a weed since I last saw you!” he said to Tig. Tig smiled politely as he told her what height she had been at their last encounter a few years ago. “Good thing you look like your grandmother instead of this old guy,” he said. BD laughed good-naturedly and agreed with him, but Tig thought it was kind of rude.
“I bet you didn’t know that your grandmother and I were sweethearts back in high school,” Mr. Allen said.
Tig pretended to be surprised. “Can’t say that I did.”
“Yes,” he said. He got closer, and Tig could smell that he had taken advantage of the bar. “She was pretty crazy about me, but so was this other one.” He squared his shoulders proudly and gestured toward the area where his wife was sitting. “Had to cut one of ’em loose. Ain’t that right, Donna?” he said to Tig’s grandmother.
“Of course, Norman,” she said. She and Tig’s grandfather looked at each other and grinned.
Mr. Allen laughed, slapped BD on the back, and stumbled back over to his wife, who, in Tig’s mind, seemed way too good for him.
“Why’d you let him do that, Mimi?” Tig asked. “That’s not how it happened at all! You dumped him!”
Mimi waved her hand. “For heaven’s sake, that was fifty-something years ago. What difference does it make?”
“But it’s not true!” Tig said.
“Oh, honey, if Norman needs to believe all that to keep his dignity, who am I to take that away from him?”
Tig let her grandmother’s words sink in. Was that what it was like to be old? To not care anymore about what other people thought and said? To have the confidence to live your own life without feeling the need to change other people or set them straight?
Tig decided that, gray hair and wrinkles and lumbago aside, getting old must not be all that bad.