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Rainbowland
A fantasy that takes place somewhere over the rainbow, in one of many possible realities involving Katharine McPhee, her McPhamily, McPhriends and McPhans
“Okay, quiet everybody!” I said, trying to sound simultaneously important and humble. After all, I wasn’t the star of this show. Writer, producer and director, perhaps, but that was as far as it went. I looked around to make sure everyone was in place: grandpa manning the vidcam, grandma waiting expectantly in her favorite chair, and Mom yawning, trying valiantly to stay awake after a day of last minute sessions with dance coaches. “Are you recording?” Grandpa nodded, trying to hold the camera steady.
“Okay,” I continued, taking a deep breath. I was more nervous than the star at this point but tried to do my best Ryan Seacrest imitation and be a proper host. “Ladies and gentlemen, McPhans, and viewing audience everywhere, whoever you happen to be, Mc&Mc Productions is proud to present Miss Kaycee McDonald, in her first live performance of The No-No Song. You have to understand, when you’re two, ‘no’ is a very important word, which is probably why she loves this song so much. Plus, it’s her very favorite one of Mommy’s American Idol performances. So—here she is! Kaycee McDonald!”
That was the cue. Our budding star was supposed to march out, toy microphone in hand, and start singing. For some reason everyone seemed to be staring at me. “What’s the matter, is she holding out for a bigger salary or something?” Katharine said with a sly grin.
“Don’t ask me.”
“Well, you’re the producer. Who else should we ask?”
“I’m going to go find her. Then you can ask her,” I said. “Dan, hold it, I’ll be right back.”
A quick check of the surroundings turned up the missing star fast asleep with her head on Lily, an aging black Lab with the kind of disposition that put up with such things with no protest whatsoever. Her silky dark hair blended into Lily’s shoulder to the point that it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other started. “Katharine Christine McDonald,” I said, “you get your little butt out there right now!” I said. Her eyelids fluttered and she struggled into consciousness.
“My conthert!” she said, horrified that she might have missed a chance to play her favorite game.
“We’re holding the curtain for you. What does grandma always tell you?”
“Show muth go on,” she said solemnly.
“You’re on,” I repeated. “Give me a minute to get back in the other room.” I started off, then turned around. “You know all the words, right?”
“Wight.”
“You know how we practiced the end, right?”
“Juth like Mommy doth it.”
We tried it again. This time Kaycee was One Take Jake, starting from a very loud “Two, free, four!” through a couple of mixed up lines with words missing but obviously involving horses and trees, lots of enthusiastic Woo-hoos, then sailing right on into a chorus of “No, no, no, no-no-no, I said no, no, you not the one fo’ me!” Then she executed a remarkably good move involving bringing up one knee, arching her back, and flinging her head back. She probably should have watched the video of Mommy’s rendition of Hound Dog, from which we stole the move, a little more carefully, because she lost her balance and wound up flat on the floor, howling.
“Keep filming!” I yelled, scooping her up in my arms to check for damage. “You’re fine. Now gimme a kiss.” She planted a wet toddler kiss right on my lips. “That was a good one,” I said. “You kiss almost as good as Mommy.”
“Christopher, you’re being recorded!” Katharine said, somewhere between giggly and horrified.
I set Kaycee down on the floor and told her to take a bow. “Right toward the camera,” I said. “Bow toward grandpa.”
She managed that without incident. “A star is born!” he said, and I had a feeling we were both going to be, as he always said, a mess before long. I could feel the tears welling up already.
“Well, P,” I said, “you know what you’ll be doing in another couple of years.”
Grandma nodded and gave a mock sigh. “Yep. Training another one.”
We were strangely silent as we drove home. We usually chattered