Victoria Cat and the Pop Star



  VICTORIA, CAT

  AND

  THE POP STAR

  David Elvar

  Copyright 2010 David Elvar

  ~oOo~

  ‘I hear with my little ear something beginning with…G!’ Victoria looked down expectantly at Cat. ‘There you are, something beginning with G.’

  ‘I don’t want to play this game any more,’ Cat said miserably. ‘You always win.’

  ‘That’s only because you don’t try hard enough. It’s easy! All you have to do is listen for the sound of something that begins with the letter I give you. What could be simpler than that?’

  ‘All right, all right! Something beginning with G. Er…grass?’

  ‘I hardly think so,’ said Victoria. ‘Since when could anyone hear grass?’

  ‘Er…’Cat glanced round hopefully. ‘…Giraffes?’

  ‘Giraffes,’ Victoria repeated slowly. ‘Around here?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Cat. ‘For all you know, there might be a whole herd of them stampeding towards us even as we speak.’

  ‘There might,’ Victoria agreed wearily, ‘but there isn’t. Try again.’

  Cat tried again. But try again as he might, he couldn’t seem to hear or think of anything else that began with a G.

  ‘I give up,’ he said. ‘You win. Again.’

  ‘Grumbling,’ said Victoria. ‘The answer is grumbling.’

  ‘Grumbling,’ Cat repeated, puzzled. ‘I don’t hear any.’

  ‘I do. From you.’

  ‘Me! I never grumble. I’m just a little outspoken, that’s all.’

  ‘Is that what you call it? Your turn.’

  Cat thought for a moment. He’d already tried the trees rustling and the birds singing (both of which Victoria had managed to guess, and quite easily) so he was really running out of ideas. He wanted to play this game even less now—

  TWANG!

  —and it must be getting near teatime, anyway. Now there’s an idea! If he could just—

  TWANG!

  —make his tummy rumble—

  TWANG!

  He stopped grumbling to himself. What is that noise? He looked up. They both looked up. Someone was strolling along close by, someone who’d suddenly given Cat a brilliant idea.

  ‘I hear with my little ear,’ he said eagerly, ‘something beginning with—’

  ‘—another G,’ said Victoria, interrupting him. ‘Yes, I know. And the answer is guitar.’

  ‘You spoil all my fun,’ said Cat. ‘I might have won that one.’

  ‘Never mind that. Who is he?’

  Cat didn’t know. Neither of them knew. He was young and looked sort of strange. He was wearing shiny black trousers and a shiny black shirt that seemed to have been sprinkled with sparkly silver dust. His hair was gelled into spikes and he wore very dark sunglasses. He looked as though he was trying to be famous. He also looked as though he wasn’t succeeding very well.

  ‘Can we help you?’ Victoria called out. He stopped and seemed to notice them for the first time, then walked towards them, clutching his guitar sheepishly as though he’d just done something wrong.

  ‘Could be,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost the gig, man.’

  ‘You’ve lost the gig!’ said Cat. ‘How can anyone lose a gig?’

  ‘I think I turned left out of the dressing-room instead of right. I’m not good with things like left and right. They make me have to, like, think. And these shades don’t help any,’ he added, pointing to his sunglasses.

  ‘Take them off, then,’ said Cat.

  ‘Hey, you want me to lose my cool?’

  ‘Why not? You’ve already lost the gig, you might as well go for the whole set.’

  ‘Hey, bad vibes from the fur ball. Uncool, man.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’ said Victoria, interrupting before Cat could start another argument.

  ‘Oh, yeah. It’s, like, Pop Star.’

  ‘Pop Star,’ Victoria repeated. ‘That’s not your real name, surely.’

  ‘No way! My real name is Archibald Higginbottom. But I’m not allowed to tell you that. They say it’s not good for my image.’

  ‘Perhaps you better hadn’t tell us, then,’ Cat said dryly.

  ‘All right, I won’t. But anyway, they didn’t like it, said I had to change it to Pop Star. So I did.’

  ‘Obviously,’ said Victoria. ‘So how did you become a pop star, Mr. er…Pop Star?’

  ‘It was no big deal. I won this competition thing on the telly.’

  ‘You must be good at singing, then.’

  ‘Oh no, I can’t sing. I just won this competition thing on the telly.’

  ‘We heard you playing your guitar,’ said Victoria. ‘You must be good at playing.’

  ‘Oh no, I can’t play. I just won this competition thing on the telly.’

  ‘How do you manage to sing at your gigs, then?’ said Cat.

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Pop Star. ‘Someone else does it for me. I just stand there miming and looking cool.’

  ‘Dare we ask,’ said Cat, looking at his guitar, ‘how you manage to…?’

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Pop Star. ‘Someone else does it for me. I just stand there miming and looking cool.’

  ‘So all you do,’ said Victoria, ‘all you really do, is just—’

  ‘—stand there miming and looking cool,’ Pop Star finished for her. ‘Yeah, that’s about the measure of it.’

  ‘Isn’t that cheating just a little?’

  ‘Hey, someone’s got to do it. We can’t all be uncool like your furry friend here.’

  ‘I may be uncool,’ muttered Cat, ‘but at least I don’t go around losing gigs.’

  ‘Hush!’ said Victoria. ‘Don’t be so rude.’

  ‘I’m never rude, just a little outspoken. And anyway, he’s not the only star around here. I’ve, er…I’ve done some performing in my time.’

  ‘Did you? You never told me.’

  ‘Well, I did,’ said Cat. ‘I used to sit on a wall at night and sing.’

  ‘You did a gig on a wall?’ said Pop Star. ‘Hey, far out, man!’

  ‘It was nothing,’ said Cat modestly. ‘All cats do it. It’s where the word “caterwaul” comes from, I believe.’

  ‘I believe it isn’t,’ said Victoria. ‘But that apart, did anyone hear you?’

  ‘I’ll say they did! And they must have liked what I was doing because they kept throwing me presents.’

  ‘What kind of presents?’

  ‘Well,’ said Cat, ‘there was one lady who liked my singing so much, she threw me her shoe. Almost hit me on the head with it, too.’

  ‘Did she, now?’

  ‘Yes but I didn’t wear it. It was the wrong size and she’d only thrown the one. But it’s the thought that counts.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Victoria agreed uncertainly. ‘You know, I’ve never heard you sing. Perhaps you’d like to now.’

  ‘Even better,’ said Pop Star, ‘how about a jam session? You and me.’

  ‘Jam!’ said Cat, licking his lips. ‘I’m rather partial to raspberry if you have any.’

  ‘I think he means another kind of jam,’ said Victoria.

  ‘Oh, right. I’ll have marmalade, then.’

  ‘No. I—’

  ‘Okay, honey if you must.’

  ‘If you’d just—’

  ‘I’ll settle for treacle.’

  ‘For goodness sake, will you listen to me?’ Victoria said crossly. ‘When he says “jam session”, he means that he plays his guitar while you sing.’

  ‘I thought he said he couldn’t play it,’ said Cat.

  ‘Hey, shouldn’t be too much of a drag to learn,’ said Pop Star, holding up his guitar and exam
ining it like he was seeing it for the first time. ‘There’s only six strings and I’ve got five fingers. I’ll just leave one string out. Shouldn’t make much difference to the sound.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Victoria. ‘I’m sure you’ll go very well together.’

  ‘But before we start,’ said Pop Star, ‘you have to put these on.’

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of very dark sunglasses just like the ones he was wearing.

  ‘Er…why do I have to put these on?’ said Cat.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ said Pop Star. ‘But they say I have to wear them every time I do a gig so I guess you have to, too. It’s probably something to do with looking cool.’

  ‘Oh, well, if they say…’ said Cat, and he let Pop Star slip them over his whiskers and onto his face. ‘I can’t see a thing in these,’ he grumbled. ‘No wonder you lost the gig.’

  ‘Yeah but you look good. Are you ready?’

  Cat was ready. Victoria settled herself on the grass for a free concert. She was actually looking forward to it, but even as they started, she clapped both hands over her ears and tried very hard not to hear them. It was not difficult to understand why…

  ‘MRROWW—MRROWW—MRROWW’…TWANG! TWANG!…‘MRROW—WOWW—MRROWW’…TWANG! TWANG!…‘MRROWW—WO-O-O-OW’…TWANG! TWANG! TWANG!…‘MRROWW.’

  They finished. Victoria stopped plugging her ears. Cat looked expectantly at her.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Rather good, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s certainly…interesting,’ Victoria said tactfully. ‘But perhaps you could do with a little more rehearsal…?’

  ‘Rehearsal?’ said Pop Star. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Take no notice of her,’ said Cat. ‘Ready for the second verse?’

  They started the second verse, Victoria managing to cover her ears only just in time. If anything, it sounded even worse than the first, so much so that she found herself wishing they would hurry up and finish. She really didn’t think her ears could take much more of this.

  ‘MRROWW—MRROWW—MRROWW’…TWANG! TWANG! TWANG!…‘MRROW—WOWW’…TWANG! TWANG! TWANG!…‘MRRO-O-O-OW’…TWANG!…‘MRROWW?’

  They finished the second verse. At last. Victoria uncovered her ears again. Pop Star looked down delightedly at his guitar.

  ‘Man, I really can play this thing!’ he said.

  ‘Er…I rather think you can’t,’ said Victoria.

  ‘And my voice has never sounded better!’ said Cat.

  ‘Er…I rather think it has,’ said Victoria. ‘Maybe you should let someone else do the singing for you, like Pop Star here does.’

  ‘And deny everyone the pleasure of my voice!’ Cat protested. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it!’

  ‘I thought you sounded good,’ said Pop Star. ‘In fact, I thought you sounded great!’

  ‘Really?’ said Cat. ‘Well, since you think so, maybe we should do a gig together. You know, you on guitar and me singing.’

  ‘Hot dog! The fur ball’s right!’

  ‘Kindly refrain from mentioning dogs in my presence,’ said Cat, ‘hot or otherwise.’

  ‘Sorry. But yeah, with your voice and my cool, we could go far.’

  ‘To the very top of the pops, in fact,’ said Cat, and his eyes seemed to widen behind his very dark sunglasses.

  ‘I hate to interrupt you while you’re dreaming of fame and fortune,’ said Victoria, ‘but don’t you think you need just a little bit more in the way of talent? Both of you?’

  ‘Who needs talent when there are competitions on television to be won?’ said Cat.

  ‘Right on!’ said Pop Star. ‘Come on, let’s you and me go find this gig.’

  ‘I’m with you…er…man,’ said Cat. They started off, back the way that Pop Star had come, Cat looking up at him as he went. ‘Do I really look cool in these sunglasses?’ he asked.

  ‘As ice, man!’

  ‘I’ll have to change my name, of course,’ said Cat. ‘How about Pop Cat?’

  ‘Sounds good. You’ll have to learn to play guitar, too. Like I just did.’

  ‘With these paws? Could be a little tricky.’

  ‘Yeah? Oh well, you could always get someone else to do it for you…’

  ‘…while I just stand there miming and looking cool,’ said Cat. ‘Sounds easy.’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ said Pop Star. ‘Believe me, it is…’

  Victoria watched them go. She wasn’t worried about Cat going off like this. He would be back. People who looked cool but couldn’t actually sing or play never lasted long. In the meantime, she had a game to finish. She lay back on the grass and closed her eyes.

  ‘I hear,’ she said, ‘with my little ear something beginning with…S.’

  She listened hard but she couldn’t hear anything, no birds singing in the trees, no leaves rustling in the breeze. And especially no Cat and Pop Star. It sounded good. If fact, it sounded better than good.

  ‘Silence,’ she said to no one in particular, ‘the answer is silence. Sometimes, the sweetest music of all…’

  ~oOo~