WELCOME TO THE TOUR KID
The show is over, and the civic arena is clearing out. Anacani, the show's lovely young Mexican singer and my best friend in the group, comes running towards me with a real look of concern on her face. "Doug," she says in her Sinaloan dialect, "I need you to do me a big favor." "Sure, Connie. Anything."
"Good. Just come with me, and go along with whatever I say, okay?" And with that she takes me by the hand and leads me over towards the stage. Standing there is a man who looks to be about in his mid-twenties, and I can tell from his expression where this scene is going. There's a fine line between being a fan and being obsessed with someone.
"Steven," she says, putting her arm around my waist, "This is Doug, my husband." Before I can react, Connie reaches her other hand around my waist, and rests her head on my shoulder.
If looks can kill, I'm a dead man. "Husband?" The man is actually snarling. "I don't see no ring on either of you."
"Yes, well..."Connie's stammering. She looks to me. I jump in.
"That's because it's a secret marriage. We both feel it's better for Connie's career if the public thinks she's single." I turn to her. "Isn't that right, honey?"
"Absolutely, darling."
I kiss her on the cheek. She's blushing. I'm on a roll and feeling reckless. I turn to Steven and extend my hand to him. "You know how it is, don't you Steven?"
He stares at my hand. "No, I don't know how it is. I don't know how it is at all."
He shoots me a look that makes my blood cold, then turns and walks away. Connie's arms are still around me. I can still feel her shaking. "Sorry to do that to you," she says, regaining her composure. "But I didn't know what else to do."
"Just don't do it again. By the way, you owe me big time."
"You got a kiss," she says, laughing, and heads backstage.
"On the cheek!" I holler after her.
Friday, Midnight, - New Orleans, Louisiana
I'm in a little restaurant off the French Quarter with Anacani, country singer Ava Barber and her husband, drummer Roger Sullivan, bassist Richard Maloof, his wife, singer Mary Lou Metzger, and trumpet players Johnny Zell and Charlie Parlato. We're in a festive mood. The show went well, it's Friday night, we're in New Orleans, and former Lawrence Welk Orchestra member Pete Fountain has invited all of us to his club for a late set. But the first order of business is a Creole supper at a place off the tourist track.
The two specialities of this particular establishment are "Po' Boy" sandwiches and fresh oysters. Not being a seafood lover, I'm having a Po' Boy. Richard, Mary Lou, Ava and Anacani are sharing a combination of a couple of sandwiches and a plate of oysters, as are Johnny and Charlie. Ava's husband, seems to be sucking down oysters by the dozen.
When his third plate of oysters arrive, we wonder aloud where Roger, at 5-foot 7 and 135 pounds dripping wet, is putting them all. At this point, Charlie and Richard start teasing the couple about the "romantic" properties that many people attribute to oysters, but apparently the subtlety is lost on Ava and Roger.
Saturday Morning, 10:30 am. Somewhere in the air above the Southeastern U.S.
Due to our after-hours foray into the French Quarter, we all look pretty much how we feel, but Ava Barber looks worse than most.
"I didn't sleep a wink." She gestures towards her snoring husband and laughs boisterously. "That frisky little rascal kept me up all night!" I make a mental note to try the oysters the next time I'm in New Orleans.
Sunday, 5:15pm, - Lexington, Kentucky
We're on the plane, having played our last stop on the tour, a matinee at the basketball arena on the campus of the University of Kentucky. The last day of the tour is always a matinee, which means no hotel, since we fly home directly afterwards. Prior to the show, performers were backstage at the arena, sleeping on banquet tables, in chairs, or anyplace else they can find.
We're all worn out, and have endured two weeks of being in a different time zone than our luggage, and being force-fed rabbit food daily on the airplane that was old when Elvis was on tour. I take some comfort in the fact that the Beechcraft left Nashville with us this morning, and has all day to get our luggage to Burbank.
There is a commotion up front. It turns out that our in-flight meal, our only meal, is to be tuna salad, grapefruit, and wheat crackers. The natives are restless. Singers Tanya Welk (Lawrence's daughter-in-law) and Tom Netherton have a plan. They spotted a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise just off the airport, and have convinced one of the tower crew to loan us a car. At this point, fried chicken sounds heaven-sent, so I'm in.
