Dave had said yes to the gig simply because it would be a story to tell the grandkids about. Don't get him wrong, the money is good, but the way he'd tell it will go down for the ages.
He never hears from Carol, but at his weekly gig in the Regent's lobby where he plays elevator music, she sidled up to him on his piano bench. Dave knew he was the type of client who paid for a cup of coffee for the likes of her. She had top 100 musicians on her list. Some were bona fide B-list celebrities, if the wind was blowing in the right direction.
She sidled up to him and said she had a gig. It was his for the taking. A once-in-a-lifetime gig. She actually used those words. Once-in-a-lifetime. All Dave had said in reply was 'oh yeah' during the bridge of whatever song he was strangling.
'An outside gig', she'd said.
'What, like a wedding?' Weddings paid well. And free food thrown in for free. Not like at the Regent, where during his fifteen minute breaks he needed to rush out the back to the staff toilet and then across the road to McDonalds for a quick bite.
'Kind of,' she said, smiling. Her dimples stressed the celluloid around her cheeks.
'What do you mean, kind of?' he asked.
'It'll be recorded. Put on YouTube.'
'Are weddings put on YouTube?' Dave asked.
'No. Well, I don't know. I'm sure some are. But the fucking bit. That's what is similar.'
'Jesus, Carol. Not a porno.'
The whites of her eyes flashed for a moment, and then she laughed.
People turned at the high-pitched squeal, and Dave switched keys to harmonise.
'No, you duffer. Never mind. It's for a charity to save some monkeys. You'll be playing romantic songs to get the monkeys in the mood.'
Carol cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, as if that was the mood.
Dave scrunched his eyebrows.
She then closed her forefinger and thumb together before inserting her other forefinger.
'A monkey porno?'