2005-06-17 - 10:44 a.m.
Early May 2005. Eeyore was in a very gloomy place. Clay’s tour dates were being announced and I was most unhappy, even though I had an epiphany that gave me a few moments laughter (you can read about that here). I was seriously considering the intensity of my fandom, when Clay showed up unexpectedly on American Idol. *sigh* He is just so purdy. And if he had just used the word "epiphany" I would have known he loved me above all others, and all would be forgiven. But he didn’t, because he doesn’t, and that’s really okay. Did I mention he’s just so purdy?
Anyway, I was still a little irritated in spite of the purdiness, and that shows a little in this skit, which I started writing on that Wednesday. Yes, Black Wednesday. Constantine was SENT HOME for no good reason, and I was depressed. Seriously depressed. Well, ding dang it, my life just sucked all of a sudden. Screw American Idol. Screw Clay Aiken. Screw this whole thing. So I stopped writing my skit and basically acted like a big old baby, renouncing my fandom and everything.
But I’m honestly not a gloomy person. A little sarcastic and cynical, yes. But also very fangirlie. It’s a fangirlieness that’s hard to contain sometimes, so I have no idea how I misplaced it. And then Clay went and sang as purdy as he looked on the Oprah show. *sigh* He makes me so happy. I just love him. I was back to participating in the fandom that I love nearly as much as the man, and today, I finally finished that skit. Enjoy.
Nick and Clay Visit the Idols. But Not to Watch the Show or Anything
Clay is frantically throwing stuff out of his dresser drawers in his bedroom, and screaming for his assistant. Nick finally bounds up the stairs and comes in.
Nick: What is it?
Clay: Nick!! Where are my socks? I can’t find a single pair of white socks!
Nick: Dude. Calm down. Don’t you remember you gave them all away, along with your stash of white t-shirts, when we were in Banda Aceh? And then you only had that one pair of socks for the entire trip?
Clay: *clears throat* First, don’t call me "Dude" when we’re talking official business. Second, I’m sure I still had dozens of other white socks and t-shirts back here in L.A. But I can’t find any! So I’m napping all over the country without any socks, and wearing blue and yellow t-shirts instead of my trademark white.
Nick: You did send a handful of dirty socks to Kelly to wish her luck on her tour. Mr. Aiken.
Clay: HAHA! That’s right. But how come no one’s washed all the other ones? Where’s Fran?
Nick: Don’t you remember? You told her to hang every single picture that any fan has ever given you in the five guest bedrooms in the outer west wing? Brilliant move.
Clay: I know it keeps her happy. But doesn’t she have time to throw in a load of whites once in awhile?
Nick: Well, since you told her you didn’t want her using a hammer on your new walls, she’s been pounding all the nails in with her thumbs. She said something about not wanting to get her blood all over your lily whites….and that made her think of your lily white skin, which made me think I’d better run down the hall to throw up. And du..., Mr. Aiken, I don’t think her blood was red.
Clay: *sighs but completely ignores the negative comments about Fran* Then I guess I’ll be going out without any socks or underwear again. I’m sure no one will notice. (pause) Jerome and Mary should be out front. Call Quiana and let’s go. I don’t wanna be late.
Nick: Where are we going again?
Clay: It’s a surprise. (he grabs a sparkly vest from the pile on the floor and shoves it into his pocket)
Nick: As long as it’s not Nebraska again...
The fivesome pile into the SUV and drive to the CBS studios where American Idol is taped. Clay pulls into the parking spot with Ryan Seacrest’s name on it.
Quiana: Oooh! Are we going to a taping of American Idol?
Jerome: That’s what it looks like.
Mary: But, Clay, I thought you didn’t watch that show? (checks her notes)
Clay: I don’t. (He strides purposefully toward the grinning valet)
Nick: (twirls his index finger next to his head in the universal sign for "he’s nuts" and mouths to Mary) I’ll explain later.
Valet: Mr. Aiken, Mr. Aiken. So good to see you again, Sir.
Clay: Thank you, Charles. I hope Ryan doesn’t mind me using his parking spot again.
Valet: Ha ha! Of course not, Sir. Mr. Seacrest has given strict orders to do whatever it takes to accommodate you.
Clay: (to his posse) I’ve got some people to see on my rounds. I’ll see you all inside later. (two production assistants escort him down the hall where his first stop is with the show’s seamstress, who just happens to be taking in the inseam of some pin-striped suit pants) Whose pants are those?
Seamstress: I believe they belong to Master Federov, Mr. Aiken.
Clay: Well, make ‘em as tight as you possibly can. I want these guys to look as ridiculous as I did on Disco Night two years ago.
Seamstress: (blushing) Mr. Aiken, I hardly think you looked ridiculous.
Clay: I was the laughing stock of the internet for weeks! In fact, some people are still talking about those pants two years later! Did you realize that some of my fans laugh so hard that they stop breathing and actually faint? So let’s give them somebody else’s pants to talk and joke about.
Seamstress: I’m doing what I can, Mr. Aiken. And I do believe that many of the female viewers have noticed how tight the men are wearing their pants this year.
Clay: Good. When you finish with that, I was hoping you could help me with a little project, since none of my poss..., er, coworkers seems to be able to sew.
Seamstress: Anything for you, Mr. Aiken. Would you like me to take in your in-seam as well? (she eyes the length of his legs)
Clay: That won’t be necessary. (takes showchoir vest out of his pocket) I was hoping you could make a scarf for Carrie. Or even a belt, if you have her hip measurements....
Seamstress: Oh, I have all her measurements. I can whip that off for you in five minutes.
Clay: (who just happens to eye Simon going into the men’s room down the hall) Okay. I’ll be back. (he dashes off and nearly runs Nick over)
Nick: Hey! Why are you in such a hurry?
Clay: I have to catch Simon before he finishes.
Nick: Why don’t you just meet him out here after?
Clay: That man needs an occasional reminder. (he goes in and then comes out a couple of minutes later with a satisfied smile on his face. Simon sheepishly exits shortly after.)
Clay quickly stops to pick up his belt from the seamstress, then comes to Carrie’s dressing room door, which he recognizes instantly by the pictures of fish, bunnies, and rainbows adorning it. He knocks.
Clay: Are you decent?
Carrie: Who is it? And what do you mean by that? I’m always decent. (she opens the door)
Clay: Well, I didn’t want to barge in if you were half dressed or *whispers* naked or something.
Carrie: Oh. It’s you again. But you don’t have to worry. Hee! I’m never naked.
Clay: Well, I try not to make a habit of it myself, but I do like to shower two or three times a day.
Carrie: Oh, I don’t shower.
Clay: So you’re a "bath" person?
Carrie: (leads Clay into the room where she sits to brush her hair) No.
Clay: Well, you have to be one or the other.
Carrie: Mmm. No.
Clay: (having an aha! moment) Ohhhh. I always suspected it before, but now I know you’re putting me on.
Carrie: No. I don’t take baths or showers.
Clay: Why? Have you been spending too much time with Constantine? I think he’s been a bad influence.
Carrie: What does this have to do with Constantine? No, silly. It’s because of electrical circuits and water not being able to mix safely or something. I don’t really understand it, but they tell me I don’t have to. (shrugs)
Clay: (confused but forging on anyway) I brought you a present.
Carrie: Another one?
Clay: I suppose you could say I’m one of your most supportive and enthusiastic fans.
Carrie: Ooooh. It’s pretty.
Clay: I thought you could wear it tonight.
Carrie: (holding it up) I don’t know if it matches my outfit.
Clay: Oh, Carrie. You and I both know that sequins and plaid go with everything. It’s just one of the many things I’m sure we have in common.
Carrie: (looping the belt through her jeans) Well, thanks. Y’know, I’ve still got that thong you gave me in my cowboy boot. It got wedged in there somehow.
Clay: (under his breath) That’s not where it’s supposed to get wedged. (aloud) Well, I hope the thong and belt bring you luck with your performance tonight.
Carrie: I’m sure they will. I haven’t been in the bottom three yet.
Clay: Me neither. (looks at her longingly then realizes she’s just staring back vacantly) You can start with the second verse any time.
Carrie: What?
Clay: The second verse. (singing softly) Was I lost in you and me. To the point I couldn’t see. C’mon, Carrie, you know the words.
Carrie: Oh, goodness. I don’t know the words. And I got a new chip and everything. (starts to get a little panicky as she realizes she forgot her lyrics again. Thankfully Nick just happens to be eavesdropping behind the door and comes in to rescue the pair)
Nick: Clay. (snaps hands in front of Clay’s face) Dude. Why are you trying to sing Without You?
Carrie: Huh? How can someone sing without himself?
Nick: No. The song is called Without You. He sang it on his tour with a different girl every night.
Carrie: What’s a tour?
Nick: You know. When you travel around with your band and play music on stage for people who’ve paid money to see it?
Carrie: Ohhhhh. You mean farming.
Nick: (turning his attention back to Clay) Clay. This isn’t Mary from Cary. It’s just plain Carrie from American Idol. They’re not the same person. (under breath) I don’t think.
Clay: (coming out of his stupor) Carrie. Carrie under my wood. Riiiight.
Nick: C’mon. The show’s about to start. We’d better get to our seats.
Clay: Okay. Well, I would tell you to break a leg, Carrie, but after my last visit to Seattle, I’m afraid to. So, um, just, um, use your voice.
Nick hustles Clay to the auditorium and into his seat in the front row. Clay does himself and all the tv viewers a favor when he promises Paula a "special surprise" after the show if she makes him a promise to stay in her seat the entire time. He takes his place next to Mary while Quiana hands him a stick of gum from the second row.
Host Ryan Seacrest takes the stage and laments the loss of Anwar the previous week, making sure to mention the middle school teacher’s smooth chest and "impossibly tight pants."
Clay whispers to Nick: HA! Even Ryan noticed. Just how tight do a man’s pants have to be for another man to notice them?
Nick rolls his eyes. Carrie is ready to take the stage first, but not before they show her "Back Home" clip on the jumbotrons. Clay leans forward eagerly in his seat.
Clay: All her profiles just highlight her bubbly personality, don’t they? Not that I've watched the show or anything. *sigh* I don’t know what I like best about her, her intelligence or her sense of humor.
Nick: (under breath) Sure, if those are the new code words for T and A.
Clay watches dreamily but shudders when he sees Carrie sing to the cows, and nearly jumps out of his chair when he sees her cuddling her ginormous cat.
Nick (laughing): I guess there are a few things you don’t have in common.
Clay: It’s okay, it’s okay. Kitty can just stay in the dungeon with Quiana’s cat.
Quiana: (gasps) Oh no! I think that Fran was still in the dungeon when I locked my cat in for the evening!
Clay: No big deal, I’m sure she’ll be fine until Friday anyway.
Quiana: Clay! (she slaps the back of his head) I’m unlocking my cat tonight!
Clay: Oh. I was talking about Fran. What was she doing down there anyway? Not laundry.
Quiana: She sometimes goes in to use the scratching post.
Clay: Shhhh. Carrie’s singing. She’s singing to meeeeeee!
Clay fixates on his gift of a sparkly belt as Carrie’s hips begin to sway, not with the fluid motion of a pendulum, but rather with the tick-tick-tick of a metronome. The combination is positively hypnotizing. A production assistant and cameraman swing by to get a shot of their famous audience member, but speaking of members, Nick motions to them that now is probably not a good time. Mary and Jerome sit shaking their heads.
After the commercial break, things seem to have, um, calmed down sufficiently in Clay’s jeans, so Ryan introduces Clay to the crowd. Clay mentions his nervousness at being back, which Ryan exacerbates when he notices Clay’s lack of socks. If he also notices the lack of underwear, he doesn’t say so on camera.
Nick: (whispering in a mocking tone, over Mary who sits between them): Hey, weren’t you supposed to say "epiphany" as a shoutout to your bestest broad?
Clay: I meant to, but it’s a hard word to say with gum in your mouth. Besides that, Ryan got me all flustered, and you know I can never remember the words when I’m flustered.
Nick: I don’t know why you insist on giving her so many shout-outs anyway. If you like her that much, why don’t you just announce a concert close to where she lives?
Clay: First of all, you know she lives in a dangerous area. After my last concert there, she herself pointed out that I’d likely either lose a limb or need an organ transplant if I ever came back. (whispers even more conspiratorially) I think I know which limb she’s talking about, and I don’t put it past her to be the one to take it. Second, every time I sing for her, she gets all gushy and fangirly and stops writing her clever skits. So sue me if I like knowing what you’re thinking. Heck! Or knowing what I’m thinking sometimes.
Nick: (not completely sure how to respond) Um, whatever. Look, you’ve been talking so long we missed Bo’s back home clip.
Clay: (watching Bo perform on stage) Now how’s he supposed to work the camera with those sunglasses? Oh my goodness! Look what he’s doing!
Nick: What?
Clay: To that poor mic stand! MY old mic stand!
Nick: Ha! It looks like he’s dragging her down the aisle!
Clay: Like a caveman! Good lord, man, you don’t bully your micstand into submission. You need to gently caress her. Just use the tips of your fingers, ever so lightly, and believe me, she’ll respond. Lord and Taylor, now he's twirling her! Poor thing must be getting dizzy! Nick. I can’t look. Tell me when it’s over.
Nick: Okay. It’s over.
Clay: Argh! Nick!
Nick: Psych out!
Clay: Jot down a note that I’m going to have to send her a get-well present. And see if there’s a spot for her on my next tour. Which is not actually a tour, but a series of Midwestern and Eastern concerts announced in a completely random fashion. And which I’m conducting either before, during, or after the time I record my second CD.
Nick: You are such a dork. You do know I know that stuff, don’t you? I mean, it’s written on the calendar in the kitchen.
Clay: Well who’s the dork who forgot to flip that calendar from January to February, causing me to sleep in an extra month and my fans to become even more amazing and enthusiastic than necessary?
Nick: (looks sheepish then seizes his opportunity) Oh look, Clay! A pretty girl’s up next! And I think her belt also highlights her fine as...er, intelligence.
Clay eagerly soaks in every nuance of Vonzell’s "Back Home" piece on the jumbotron. He watches her competently and happily deliver the mail and remarks to his assistant that "she would probably also get the lei delivered to the right side of the stage." Next he watches her cheerfully break boards in her karate class, so he reaches over to poke Jerome. "I bet she could double as my security and my assistant."
As the beautiful young woman takes the stage before him and sings her Christina Aguilera number, he takes notice of both her soaring voice and her soaring...um, the way she fills out her cream coloured skirt and low-cut top. He twists in his chair so that he can get a glimpse of her, um, rear view. Was she possibly too good to be true?
Clay: I can see she definitely has what it takes to be one of my hare.., um, back-up singers. When’s the next tour Mary? I want to hire her.
Mary: It’s this summer, Clay, remember? Most of the dates are listed on your official fan club site.
Clay: I don’t have an official fan club. That’s just one of those empty promises I utter every once in awhile to appease my fans, like "We’re trying to go to Canada" or "I love you too."
Mary: Well, this one really happened. It’s got the orange font just like you requested, but since you were napping, Fran had to hire the moderators. Anyway, Vonzell won’t be able to go on the road with you this summer, since she’ll be touring with the Idols at the same time.
Quiana: (smacking the back of his head) Besides, you don’t need any more back-up singers! And do you really want to answer to her brothers or her daddy for the type of environment she’d be working in?
Clay: What!? The environment I provide is one hundred percent family friendly!
His friends all stifle their giggles and shake their heads.
Quiana: Should we roll that tape on the jumbotron? You weren’t the only one with a camera last summer. Mr. Aiken.
The group all stand and applaud whenever the production assistant tells them to, but they’ve again missed the back home piece for Anthony, who is now sitting on the stairs directly in front of Clay and the gang.
Clay (whispering): Okay. I guess now I know just how tight a man’s pants have to be for another man to notice them. I can’t look, but Mary, just tell me if he’s wearing the same suit I wore for my first RCA promotional photos.
Mary: (checks her notes) It does seem pretty similar. He’s even in the same position.
Clay: Thank goodness the photograph ended at my, um…y’know, um, that my fans didn’t have to see what I saw just now. And thank the lord and taylor that he decided to stand up to finish the song. Hey. Didn’t Celine Dion write this song?
Mary: It’s not in my notes, but I believe that she did.
Clay: She also co-wrote Don’t Save It All for Christmas Day. HA! I’d like to see this guy sing the glory notes that I do, especially that one where I change keys right in the middle.
Anthony proceeds to do just that and the audience erupts into applause. Clay is astounded. He starts texting something furiously into his cellphone.
Mary: What are you doing?
Clay: Just making sure that young Anthony finds himself in the bottom three this week. Maybe teach him a little lesson.
Nick: Dude, you know that Anthony’s been in the bottom three nearly every week and he still hasn’t learned anything. He’s just getting cockier. He reminds me a lot of Carmen.
Clay: What’s that supposed to mean? You better not be dissing on Carmen when you weren’t even there!
Nick: I was there! They showed me on tv and everything. Man, you really like to rewrite history. But don’t you remember at the halfway home show where Carmen said she could win the whole thing? Wasn’t she really implying that she was a better singer than you were?
Clay: Oh my god. You’re right. Well, them’s fightin’ words. No one’s a better singer than I am.
Quiana: (slapping him yet again) Hey! You said that I was a better singer than you were!
Clay: I did not.
Quiana: Did too. Right in your book you said that Jacob and I were better singers than you.
Clay: No I didn’t. I said you were "amazing." Just like I say my fans are amazing.
Quiana: Well. You did say that I’d beat you on American Idol. Which I did, by the way. (she sits back and crosses her arms in front of her chest)
Clay: And we all know that only the best singers win American Idol HAHA! (whispering to Nick and Mary as they watch Constantine’s Backhome clips) Now this guy supposedly has the women going crazy. So, Mary, what do you think?
Mary: Well, my research from some of your biggest fan sites show that your fans are pretty evenly divided in their opinions.
Clay: Mary. Let me handle my fans. I’m asking what YOU think of him. As a woman.
Mary: Oh. (pauses) Oh. I guess I am a woman. Hmmm…well, let’s see. He seems somewhat charming, if a little unkempt. He certainly seems to have long legs.
Clay: Okay, okay, that’s enough. If I have to unbutton a second button, I will. Just make yourself a note to have all the buttons on my shirts placed closer together. Oh my. What’s with that smirk into the camera? Is he trying to….to imitate that special look that someone (glares at Nick) never managed to trademark on my behalf?
Mary: asdflkjaskjglkgd
Clay: Oh my god! He IS doing it. And now what’s he trying to do? Show us all how long his legs are by kicking at the camera? (gasps) And did he just say what I think he said?
Nick: It sounds like he said, “Sleeping with me must have damn near killed you.”
Mary: Tell me about it, Constantine.
Clay (still whispering): Nick! Mary! This is a prime-time show! I can’t believe they let him get away with that.
Constantine finishes his performance with a satisfied smug. Clay tries to rise as directed by the stagehands, but Mary had a death grip on his forearm, so he can only go up halfway [editorial note: add this to the list of phrases I never hope to write again in relation to one Clay Aiken…not the deathgrip on the forearm part, that has some possibilities…] Ryan is overcome by all the testosterone in the air, and mentions how much Constantine’s moves remind him of Clay’s, not realizing that by admitting his secret truth, he’s managed to piss off both men simultaneously.
Clay tries to get home, not so he can watch the show or anything, but just to keep it on in the background and text message a bunch of votes for Carrie. But as the rest of his posse heads to the parking garage, Paula stops him.
Paula: Clay! Clay! Did you see me? I stayed in my seat the whole time! You promised me a present.
Clay: You remembered, er, I did?
Paula: Yes, you did. (she envelops him in a gigantic full-body hug, which is caught on film)
Clay: Here. (takes gum out of his mouth) For you.
Paula (taking the gum and inspecting it dreamily): For me? Really? Oh my goodness, this gum is so, so….heartfelt and beautiful. There’s a magical quality to this gum, and I’m so happy that I’ll be able to share in your magic and spirit by chewing it. (tearily) Thank you, Clay.
Clay: You’re welcome, Paula. Just promise me one more thing.
Paula: Anything.
Clay: I don’t want to see that gum on e-bay.
Paula: Oh, never! After I finish chewing it, I’m going to preserve it and incorporate it into some jewelry. I’ll carry it with me and treasure it always.
Clay: Okay, Paula. You can let go now.
And so Paula disentangles her former dancerly limbs from Clay’s long, lean frame and pops the gum into her mouth. Clay heads back to Ryan’s parking space and joins his friends in the SUV for the drive home, muttering to himself, "So Ryan thinks he can remind the entire world of my hipshake of shame without consequences. Well, guess who’ll be parking in this space again tomorrow night, buddy."
Later that evening, when the voting window has closed and Clay has changed into his pajamas, he stands in front of his full-length mirror and does a few hip ticks for old time’s sake. He smirks a little at what he sees as silliness, then decides to try a karate kick or two. Next, he grabs a can of mousse off his dresser, and holds it to his face like a microphone. EF looking up, EF looking sideways, EF looking down. EF, hip tick, karate kick, repeat! Then he starts singing and talking quietly to himself, "Sleeping with me must have damn near killed you. Hmmm, sleeping with me must have no way near killed you. Nah. Sleeping with me must have WAY near killed you. That’s better. Oh my lord, what am I saying? I can’t say sleeping or touching or even necking...let’s see. Dancing with me must have way near killed you. HA! That’s actually kinda true. Dancing is usually enough to unleash the beast. And the ladies never know what hit them. HAHA!"
And on and on Clay continues to sing and dance into his mirror, just like he does many, many nights. And yes, Nick and Quiana are standing in his shoe closet, quietly giggling and videotaping the whole thing.
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