Well, You Gotta Be Sincere
We arrive at the courthouse in an absolute mob, all swarming eagerly about the front steps, where Conrad stands posily and the Mayor takes center stage. He loves having his fifteen minutes of fame. Next to me on one side are the overly enthused MacAfees, minus Kim, who's off placating Hugo, and on the other side are the happy stepsisters Ursula and Deborah Sue, gossiping gleefully. I stand with my hip cocked out and my chest thrust out the tiniest bit. After Helen's calling me bad, I'm beginning to embrace it. Bad Girl Suzie Sinclair, Beatnik Poet on the Rise. No – Bad Girl Ava Sinclair, Beatnik Poet on the Rise. I like it.
Deborah Sue waves Ursula off to remove their embarrassing mother and then turns to me for a silent screaming session. So much for Bad Girl Ava Sinclair – it's back to Sweet Apple Suzie for now. "Mother, I'm going to take you home. It's too crowded here," Ursula says, trying to pull her mom away. Mrs. Merkle, for her part, resists, and pulls out of her daughter's grasp.
"You'll have to drag me out the hair," Mrs. Merkle replies, waving Ursula away. "Now go over there!" Ursula re-joins Deborah Sue and I. The Mayor clears his throat and we all turn to him, pretending as if we're listening to the pretentious nonsense that he spouts off. I, like the other teenage girls, am paying very little attention, and am instead focusing my attention on Conrad, though probably for different reasons. While the other girls are thinking, Sigh, Conrad is so dreamy, I'm thinking, Wow, Conrad's pants are shiny. It's true – they're a bright silver color that's putting me in the mind of the Tin Man.
"AAAAHHH!" Ursula squeals suddenly, interrupting my shiny-pants revelation. "He said it! He said the name! AAAAHHH!" More girls, including myself, join in her second squeal.
"What is it?" asks the Mayor, startled. "All I said was Conrad Birdie."
"AAAAAAAHHHH!" we all shriek. Deborah Sue grabs my wrists and we scream in each other's faces. I notice that Alice and Freddie snuck in late. I hope he didn't try anything. Alice is one of the most innocent of all of us, and her innocence is better off preserved than harmed by Freddie the playboy. Whatever the case may be, she's joined the shrieking too, and I can see Miss Alvarez looking amusedly over our hysteria.
"Now, if you girls don't stop that, I can't finish my speech!" says the Mayor.
"Who cares about your speech? We want to hear from Conrad!" Ursula shouts, garnering approval from the rest of the teenagers. Dutifully, we nod feverishly: Yes, Conrad! "Speak to us, oh beautiful one! Tell us how you make that glorious sound that even now, in anticipation of it, has reduced me to a snarling, raging, panting jungle beast!" As she goes down on bended knee, I see Miss Alvarez give Conrad a Go-with-it look. Getting into Performance Mode as we all sigh, Conrad takes Ursula's hand and a guitar chord strums.
You gotta be sincere.
"Edna! What's the matter?" the Mayor shouts. It seems as if his wife has passed out from the excitement. Ignoring the Mayor, Conrad continues, extending his other hand to a starstruck Daisy Doe. Bridget looks furious- after all, she's the queen bee. Daisy Doe's just her sidekick, her follower. Things like this aren't supposed to happen to Daisy Doe.
You gotta be sincere.
"Mr. Birdie! What are you doing?" asks the Mayor, tending to his wife.
You gotta feel it here, cause if you feel it here, then you're gonna be honestly sincere.
On "here", he rotates his silver pelvis just so and the entire crowd gasps, their eyes going wide. How obscene, the adults whisper. How exciting! the teens counter. How mind-numbingly... absolutely... shinily... sexy, I think. The hand Deborah Sue isn't clutching flies up to my hair and smoothes my skirt, my tongue runs over my lips, and I shake my torso. Real Suzie is on the rampage. As Conrad drops Ursula and Daisy Doe and prances in front of my half of the crowd, I push past the MacAfees and lean into Conrad, with Helen, Charity, and – most interestingly – Mrs. MacAfee following my example. I never thought I'd find Conrad sexy, I mean, his pictures don't do it for me or anything, but... oh my.
If what you feel is true (really feel it)
You make them feel it too (write this down now)
You gotta be sincere, honestly sincere,
Man you've gotta be sincere!
When he looks into my eyes, unlike the others, I don't blush or turn away or giggle foolishly. I stare him head-on and nod ardently behind my cat-eyed glasses. Who cares what he's saying. I tried not to think about it before, but I admit that Conrad is very, very fun to look at, so long as you tune out the inane words coming from his mouth. Maybe I just had to see him in person.
If you're really sincere, if you're really sincere.
If you feel it in here, then it's gotta be right –
Oh baby! Oh honey!
Hug me! Suffer!
We dance and then promptly drop like flies, first Helen, then Mrs. MacAfee, then Charity, and last but not least, moi. Losing consciousness is a marvelous feeling: you simply release everything and collapse. After a few glorious seconds of nothingness, I am revived by Freddie – I'm surprised he doesn't try to wake me with a kiss like Sleeping Beauty – and I rejoin the festivities, standing on tiptoe to watch Conrad spin Nancy around.
In everything I do- my sincerity shows through!
I look you in the eye, don't even have to try-
It's automatic, I'm sincere!
When I sing about a tree- I really feel that tree.
When I sing about a girl, I really feel that girl
I mean I really feel sincere!
Mr. Miller hoists his stepdaughter Ursula onto his shoulders and they, along with Penelope, Mr. Garfein, and Helen, form the "tree" that Conrad sings about, Helen being the part that he "really feels". Kim plays the part of the girl that he really feels, much to Hugo's infuriation. "Oh, I can't believe he's here, Suzie!" Penelope whispers once she abandons tree formation. People who say my name in excess – like Penelope does – often have their names said back to them by me in cheerfully sarcastic tones: "I'm utterly thrilled, Penelope!"
If you're really sincere, if you're really sincere.
If you feel it in here, then it's gotta be right –
Oh baby! Oh honey!
Hug me! Suffer!
As most of the girls break into a perfectly choreographed dance – the same one, in fact, that we performed in our earlier cluster of Conrad-worship – Alice, Deborah Sue and I begin to shimmy our shoulders, very sexy-like. The Mayor and his wife are inconveniently standing behind us, and immediately chastise their daughter Alice. However, Conrad's music must have some sort of telepathic quality that messes up our brains, because Alice just shrugs them off in an uncharacteristically rebellious way and continues shimmying. All of the teen girls excepting the three of us pass out, leaving us three to scream bloody murder. Oh, and scream we do, with no regard for each others' eardrums. Then we hop over the limp bodies and begin dancing again, with the others joining in as they become coherent. My eyes stay focused on Conrad's built, sparkly body – who knew that I would actually find myself attracted to him? I must be going insane.
You gotta be sincere, oh, oh, oh,
You gotta feel it here, oh, oh, oh my baby!
Oh, my baby, oh yeah!
Oh, my baby, oh yeah!
"Harvey Johnson! I want you home this minute, do you hear me?" his mother shouts, over the din of our snapping, skipping crowd. She drags him away by the ear and Helen, who was swing-dancing with him a mere few minutes ago. It's only Harvey, after all.
Well ya gonna be sincere! Well ya gonna be sincere! YEAH!
Well ya gonna be sincere! Well ya gonna be sincere! YEAH!
Well ya gonna be sincere! Well ya gonna be sincere! YEAH!
After we wave our arms around a bit, I grab Penelope's shoulders, Penelope grabs Alice's, and Alice grabs Margie's, and we conga past the courthouse's front steps, passing a mirror-image line of Kim, Nancy, Bridget, and Daisy Doe. Then we wave our arms around again.
Oh, my baby, oh yeah!
Oh, my baby, oh yeah!
Well ya gonna be sincere! Well ya gonna be sincere!
Oh, my baby, oh yeah!
Oh, my baby, oh yeah!
Oh, my baby, oh yeah!
Oh my baby! Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah!
We conga around Conrad, join Kim's line to form a circle, and skip around him like he is our altar and we are worshiping him. I drink in his gyrating hips like I haven't seen a decent man in years – even though I was with one last night. I don't appreciate Conrad as a person, a musician, or an idol – but as a body, my he is attractive. He swings those hips in a slow one-two-three and I vaguely hear Ursula shriek as we melt around him like eight teenybopping Wicked Witches of the West and slide once more into unconsciousness...
We love you Conrad, oh yes we do.
We love you Conrad, and we'll be true.
By 7:30 the next morning, the entire Conrad Birdie Fan Club has long since awoken and set up camp on the MacAfees' front lawn. Ursula is going strong, but the rest of us are on the verge of collapsing once more, not from Conrad's presence but from lack of sleep. I lost count at 4,000 – but we've been singing "We Love You Conrad" since 8:00 last night. I can barely sing, I'm yawning so frequently. Between this and my late night with Smokey, I'm possibly the least coherent of any of us, and it isn't hard to tell. Of course, we're all completely wiped out and full of complaints.
"I'm tired, Ursula!" Margie whines, interrupting our tired chorus.
"We've been here ALL NIGHT," Deborah Sue adds, prompting nods of agreement from all of us.
"We promised to sing the Birdie song 10,000 times, didn't we?" Ursula asks defiantly. "Well, we've got 5,276 to go, so... SING!" She helps us to our feet and we begin again, with more venom than I suspected possible.
We love you Conrad, oh yes we do.
We love you Conrad, and we'll be true.
