Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(48)

“All right, truce,” Matt says. “For now.”

Sean pulls open the door and we enter.

It smells like a mix between a urine-hosed back alley and mothballs in here.

But it’s the perfect place to find some awesome retro gear for our band attire.

We cruise the clothing aisles searching for hidden treasure.

“Now just think about the image we want to portray.” I pick up a plaid sports jacket on a hanger. “Right here. Maybe we should go old school and wear something like this with a Gatsby hat.”

“Yeah. All you’d need is a colostomy bag and you’d be set.” Matt laughs.

“It’s called uncool-cool, douche wipe.”

“I still don’t understand,” Sean says, unenthusiastically flipping through the clothes on the rack, “why we have to wear costumes. What are we trying to prove?”

“We’re trying to entertain,” I say. “That’s why they call it show business. You’re putting on a show. And don’t think of it as a costume. Think of it more as a persona.”

Matt grabs a long white lab coat from the rack and laughs. “Okay. Here’s mine.”

“A lab coat?” Sean asks dubiously.

“That’s right.” Matt threads his arms into the sleeves and bobs his head. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”

I glare at him. “You look like a doink.”

“No way. I’m uncool-cool, man.” He smiles big, playing air guitar and doing a skip-kick. “You can call me The Doctor.”

“Dr. Doink.” Sean laughs. “That could be your stage name. Like The Edge or Sting.”

“Okay. Hold on a second,” I say. “I like the idea of stage names, but we’re not all going to wear lab coats.”

“Who said anything about you guys wearing them?” Matt struts off toward the mirror. “I’ve gotta see how I look in this.”

Sean shakes his head. “I’m not going on stage dressed as a doctor.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t. But at least Matt’s getting into the spirit. We have to think about what’s gonna make us stand out.”

Sean glances despondently at the clothes on the rack. “I still think costumes — I mean personas — are a bad idea.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” I say. “It’ll totally work. But only if we present something cohesive. And really sell it. If you’re all shy about it, then yeah, you’ll look like a dumbass. But if you’re like ‘Yeah, that’s right, I’m The Doctor,’ or whatever we decide to be, everyone’ll have fun with it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. Think about the Beatles when they all wore black turtlenecks. Or suits and ties. Or on the cover of Sergeant Pepper.” I pull a faux-fur coat from the rack. “Here. Try this on.”

He recoils. “No way.”

“Come on. We can be pimp daddies. We’ll get some big rings, sunglasses. Maybe some hats. It’ll be sweet.”

Matt comes back grinning, his hair disheveled, the collar of the lab coat upturned, and a stethoscope around his neck. “Hey, look what I found.” He waggles the stethoscope. “Isn’t this cool. You know what? I think I can actually pull this off. I’m gonna do it. I’m going to be The Doctor. And it’s perfect, because Valerie wants to be a doctor, so it’ll be like a dedication to her. I think with a little gel I can get my hair to —”

“Sure, Matt. That’s a thought,” I say, though I’ll never let it happen. “We’ll keep it on the back burner. Sean and I were thinking maybe we should be pimp daddies.”

“That was your idea,” Sean says.

Matt shrugs. “You guys can be whatever you want. But I’m The Doctor.”

I scowl at him. “We can’t be different things. We don’t have to dress exactly alike but we have to pick a theme.”

“Why?” Matt asks.

“Because otherwise we’ll look like a bunch of numbwads.” I hold the fur coat out to Sean. “Come on. Try this on.” I stare at him and grit my teeth. “It’s better than being doctors.”

Sean sighs. “This is so stupid.” He stands there as I drape the coat over his shoulders.

“Look at you,” I say. “You’re pimped out, dude.”

“No.” Sean shrugs the coat off. “It smells like a wet hamster cage. I can’t do it.”

I pick the fur off the floor, shake it out, and slip it on. Hold my arms out to the sides, admiring myself. “Come on. You have to admit I look dope. Think about it. We could dye our hair green. Maybe get some ink on our skin. A few dozen gold chains. Look out, Snoop Dogg, there’s a new pimp in town. Coop Daddy.”

“No. No, no, no.” Sean shakes his head. “The Doctor and Coop Daddy? It sounds like a bad seventies sitcom. I can’t be a part of this.”

“Matt’s not going to be The Doctor,” I say. “We’re all gonna be pimp daddies.”

Matt crosses his arms. “I’m going to be The Doctor or I’m not going to play.”

“The whole thing is just so stu —” Sean’s eyes suddenly light on something across the store. His face brightens as he makes a beeline for the hat section. “Okay, well,” he calls over his shoulder, “if Matt gets to be The Doctor, then I’m having my own persona.”