Bossed Stan

By William Easley

(July 9, 2012)

"OK," Mabel said, chewing on her pencil and re-reading the page she had written, with many erasures, cross-outs and rewrites. "How's this?" She read aloud:

My name's Stan, and I was wrong,

So now I gotta sing this song!

I shouldn't have taken that chance,

And here's my remorseful dance.

Dipper closed his eyes and started to hum. Then he opened them. "It'd be easier to get music if it was 'I'm Stan,' instead of 'My name's Stan.'"

Soos, noodled around on the keyboard. "So, um, sort of like da-DUM, da da da DUM?"

"Yeah," Mabel said. "I like that."

"Hey, dudes," Wendy said with a grin, "How's about this for a title? 'The Stan Wrong Song?'"

Mabel beamed at her. "I love it!"

Laughing, Dipper said, "So make the second line, let's see, 'I gotta sing the Stan Wrong'—no, no, 'So I'm singing the Stan Wrong Song!'"

Wendy hummed the first two lines, and Soos said, "Wait, wait, gotta find the right notes. Do it again, dude."

They edited and tweaked a little more. Then Soos played through the melody and adjusted that a little. "What key?" he asked.

"I don't know," Mabel said. "Is Grunkle Stan a baritone?"

"More a bass?" Wendy asked.

"Sort of in-between," Dipper added. He gruffed up his voice: "I'm Grunkle Stan. Ahem. I'm Grunkle Stan. Not even close, huh?"

Soos fiddled around with the keyboard. "How about the key of G major? It's, like, the people's key, dudes! Lotsa great songs are, like, in that key. 'Brown-Eyed Girl!' 'Come as You Are!' 'We Didn't Start the Fire!'"

"Yeah, that's good," Wendy said.

"Play it and I'll sing it," Mabel said.

They went through it, though it took three runs for Mabel to get through without breaking herself up. "That's great!" she said. "Now for the choreography. Dipper, you be Stan and I'll talk you through the moves."

"Mabel," Dipper complained, "you know I can't dance."

"Dipper," Wendy said, "you mean you won't dance. I know you can! There was the Lam—um, the cute dance that time in the convenience store. And we danced together last month during the after party."

"I was faking it," Dipper admitted. It hadn't been much of a dance. Stan's big party had ended, Dipper's clones had all been dissolved—except two who had escaped on a dirt bike—and he had gone into the Shack, his carefully-prepared plan torn up and discarded, and, well—he and Wendy had shared one short dance when Soos obligingly played a song she liked.

"Dipper," Mabel said in her most wheedling tone.

"Dude," Wendy said, putting her hand against his cheek, "do it for me. Please?"

"OK," he said with a sigh. "Where do you want me?"

Mabel pointed. "Right over there. Soos, play the song. Dipper, watch me."

Soos began the tune on the keyboard.

Mabel stopped him: "Wait, wait, how about a little vampy intro? Like dah-dah di-dah di-DAH?"

"Gotcha, Hambone. Like this."

"Perfect!" Mabel said. "OK, Dipper watch me do it once, and then we'll practice it together until you get the moves down."

She went through some steps once, twice, Dipper tried, she simplified the moves, and they were starting to get it when Stan came out on the porch and stood with his hands on his hips, glaring. "Sheesh! If you guys'd put half the effort into doin' your jobs as you do into screwin' around, this place would him like a top!"

"Nuh-uh!" Mabel said in a stern tone. 'you can't see this, Grunkle Stan! I'll need you at ten for a costume fitting—"

"Huh? Costume? Look, Pumpkin, this ain't worth it—"

"The talent doesn't direct!" Mabel snapped. "Go watch a movie on TV or something!"

Stan rolled his eyes but went away.

And finally Mabel was satisfied with the minimal choreography, "As long as he does the kicks right at the end!" she said. "OK, everybody, take one hour while I get Stan into his jumpsuit."

"I wanna see that jumpsuit!" Wendy said with a wall-to-wall grin.

"Not until I get it perfect!" Mabel shot back. "But you'll see it at the one o'clock rehearsal! Soos, make sure the camera's ready! And record that soundtrack, 'cause you'll be the camera operator. Dipper, find the clapboard."

Dipper gave her a pleading glance, and Mabel softened a bit. "Wendy, help Dipper! And then you two go into town and get burgers for everybody at Yumberjacks. Soos will drive you after he records the soundtrack. Clear?"

"Yes, Boss!" Soos said, saluting her.

"Thanks," Dipper said.

"Cool," Wendy said, making Dipper grin, too.

At one PM, they met outside the Shack, with Grunkle Stan looking miserable in a pumpkin-orange jumpsuit, made of stretchy material made stiff because Mabel had painted it with glue and had applied about a pound of glitter. He also wore his fez, brown bedroom slippers, and a grimly resigned expression.

"Do I really gotta?" he begged.

"Are you a wagering man?" Mabel snapped. She had donned a beret and held a perfectly unnecessary megaphone.

Stan heaved a great sigh. "Yeah."

"Then it's time to pay off! Soos, run the music. Dipper, show him the steps."

That took about thirty seconds. As he finished the last of the kicks, Dipper dropped to one knee and spread his arms. "Ta-dah!"

"You nailed it, dude!" Wendy said, clapping.

Stan blinked five times in a row. "You're kiddin'."

Through the megaphone, Mabel bawled, "Places! Soos, fix the backdrop!"

"Right away, your directorship!"

When Mabel had decided that shooting the dance on the gift-shop porch made the background look too busy, Soos had hung a tarp, but one of the corners was saggy. He pulled a tack and stretched it tighter. "How's that, Hambone?"

"Better! Now, places! Do it like it's a performance! Energy, people! Let me see the camera view. One step to the left, Grunkle Stan! No, your left! There you go! Dipper, you do it so he can mirror you! Let's go, everybody! Soos, start the music in five, four, three, two, one—now!"

The run-through was a disaster, though Wendy laughed so hard she leaked a few tears. Mabel said, "Stay on the beat, Grunkle Stan! And kick higher! I want it jazzy!"

Three more run-throughs, and Stan said, "Mabel, this ain't what I signed on for—"

"A bet's a bet!" Mabel said. "Clapboard, Dipper! Waddles, you're the executive producer. I'm gonna need your read on this. Got your chalk, Brobro? Take 1! Places! Camera! Stan, listen for the beat! Music, and action!"

Forty-three takes later, Mabel jumped up and danced around, doing air-punches. "Yes! And that's a wrap! Good job, everybody! Grunkle Stan, that was what I was looking for! Perfecto, baby!"

Though he looked drained, Stan managed a weak grin. "Thanks," he said. He grimaced. "Ugh. I can't believe I said that."

Mabel said, "Look at the time! I say Stan should treat us all to dinner at, um—"

"Los Hermanos?" Soos suggested.

"Yeah! That's a fantastic choice!"

Stan threw up both hands in surrender. "OK, OK."

"You want to go right now?" Mabel asked. "Or would you rather change into regular clothes first?"

The grimace came back. Through tightly clenched teeth, Stan said, "I'll change. Please."

As Soos was taking the tarp down, Dipper patted Mabel's shoulder. "By George, my sis, you did it!"

"Stan said both the words," Wendy said. "Oughta mark this day on the calendar!"

"Stan did that dance so many times," Soos added. "Whatever else he is, he's a trouper."

"I sure hope he doesn't hold a grudge against us," Dipper said.

But in his room, Stan peeled off the jumpsuit and decided to take a real quick shower before getting into his street clothes, and in the shower he softly sang the song under his breath. He stepped out of the tub and grabbed his towel. "Huh. Kinda a catchy tune. I never thought I'd lose the bet, but—" He grinned. "At least we kinda bonded, I guess." He stared at his reflection in the mirror and said, "Please. Thank you. Huh, I'm expanding my vocabulary."

Feeling a little better, although wearing a bored scowl—bonding was one thing, but maintaining his image was another—Stan checked his wallet, hoped that Soos's appetite wouldn't break the bank, and went downstairs to take everyone out to dinner, humming very softly to himself.

The End