When the woman called to arrange my performance at her lakeside wedding reception, she made me promise not to tell her future husband how much she was paying me. (For 2 musicians, traveling 100 miles, the fee was considerable!)
Imagine my surprise when Marc, my percussionist, and I arrived and were confronted in the parking lot by a tall, slightly intoxicated man who bellowed, “How much is she paying you?”
As Marc and I carried our gear to the beach, the man followed and continued to pester us for an answer. I continued to insist that the guests might become impatient unless we got right to work. (We had arrived somewhat late, owing partially to this being my 3rd gig of the day).
Arriving at the water’s edge, Marc and I set up and began to play the most cheerful songs to be found on the setlist. Spread out before us was an assemblage of slow-moving guests holding plastic cups. The many kegs here and there confirmed that the crowd was well-lubricated. At length the bride approached, explaining that this was the 3rd and final day of the reception, and that her guests had been staying in cabins around the lake.
I assured her that her “compensation secret” was still safe.
After about 40 minutes of music, Marc and I sat down at a picnic table for a break. One of the guests leaned over and asked “How well do you know the groom?” I answered that we had just met. “Oh, well, he is a hunter and has a lot of guns.” I raised my eyebrows and nodded with a faint smile. “He likes to shoot people.” I responded “That’s interesting. Marc, isn’t that interesting?”
Back at the beach, we played a few more sets and looked for places to hide in case things turned any stranger.
When we were done, we headed back to the parking lot at a trot, relieved and glad to be alive.
But in the back of our minds we distinctly heard the opening strains of “Dueling Banjos.”
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