When we drive off towards Cádiz, three beeps of my spiPhone indicate the arrival of an urgent message. I ignore it. I'm driving. You shouldn't play with your phone while you're driving. The phone beeps again, a little louder this time. That's the problem with urgent messages: they keep annoying you until you respond.
"Didn't your phone beep three times?", Chelsea asks, curiously. Her phone gets more attention than a crying baby in Central Park on a sunny summer Sunday.
"It did. There it is again. It repeats the signal until I respond."
"So…? What does it mean?"
"Three beeps indicate an urgent, urgent, urgent message."
"Why don't you pick it up and read what's so urgent, urgent, urgent?"
"Because I'm driving a car on a mountain road with lots of hooks and angles. All sorts of other traffic want to kill me or push me over the side, into that deep, deep, deep ravine on our left. Paying attention to the traffic is always more urgent than urgent, urgent, urgent messages."
Chelsea refuses to give up: "Duh! What if that urgent, urgent, urgent message orders you to go back to where you came from? If your destiny is behind you, you're wasting your time, driving ahead."
I keep quiet for almost ten seconds, glad, glad, glad for Chelsea's perfect cross-pass, which allows me to score an unexpected point with an easy header, admitting I admire her intelligence: "You're right. That was superb thinking. You outsmarted me 10 to 1. Spies dedicate their life to gathering information, and I'm ignoring the signals. Didn't I say I admire you? This is why: your sharp mind is always one step ahead of everyone else's."
Chelsea flashes a proud smile. My own sharp mind reminds me of a tiny gadget in the left pocket of my grey trousers. I fumble the earplug out of my pocket and into my ear, while overtaking a lorry with a trailer, before a bend to the left curls into a turn to the right, while I tell my spiPhone: "Lovely Sweet Dear. Activate earplug. Aloud message." I listen to what the phone tells me, nod, and flash an optimistic, mysterious smile.
It works better than I hoped. Chelsea's curiosity kills the street cat that crosses the road (the cat is lucky I'm a cat person; my quick reflexes and the superb brakes of the Ferrari save nine lives).
"What is it about? Is it top secret? Do we need to complete a dangerous mission? Did they just order you to save the world and you'll need my help? We're a team, right?"
I speed up, overtake a small car, dive into a dark tunnel, and when we see the light again, I explain: "Saving the world is nothing urgent; we can leave that for tomorrow. This is a whole lot more pressing: it's a one hour drive, and we have twenty minutes to get there. But you were right with the other thing you said: it can't be done without your help. I don't have the qualities they need for this rescue mission. But we're a team… You might save the day… Can you sing? Can you dance?"
"Duh. Do you think I'm simple, or what? Of course, I can sing and dance. Every girl can sing and dance."
"Well, I can do a lot of things, but I sing like a whale, and I absolutely can't dance. What I should have asked was: can you sing like a black woman?"
"What for?"
"I just got a message from The Nerd: Venus is lost."
"WOW! An invasion from Martians? And now we have to save the Earth?"
"I'm not talking about John Grey's science fiction novel «Men from Mars and Women from Venus». I'm talking about real-life Venus, the woman. She boarded the wrong private plane and ended up at the Australian Open instead of the sunny south of Spain…
» I'm sorry. This must all sound strange to you, not being a spy. I'll brief you first. Imagine there was a real threat to the world, like an invasion from Mars. Humanity would immediately forget all their insignificant problems and join forces, to defend our planet against the destructive danger, right? You didn't even hesitate for one second, but immediately volunteered to save our planet."
Chelsea nods. She's interested. I have her attention. We're making progress. Now I have to be careful. Don't spoil this.
"Our planet is in danger. Humanity faces its extinction, not because of an attack from too many Martian fellows, but because of a heart attack from too many marshmallows. The former generations of Humanity created a mess: global warming, wars for oil, pollution, poverty, overweight, overpopulation… We can't deny we don't know. It's on the TV news every day. But… Our biggest problem is also the only thing that unites humanity: all we do is watch TV. Every request for help and action drowns in a tsunami of commercial messages to eat more and do less."
"Duh… What's wrong with that? I like to eat chips and watch TV."
Oops. I'm blowing my chance. I tried to get Chelsea's interest by mentioning a noble cause. For her, doing something for others is something others do. For her, it's a noble cause to sit in front of the TV, eating crisps. She wants to be entertained. Don't panic. I can still fix this. But I have to be fast…
"What I try to say is: watching TV is even more important than saving the world. And have I got news for you. You better listen and get ready, girl. We might get you in front of the cameras of the best-watched show ever on Spanish TV. How much impact would that have on your Facebook account? Venus is lost; they need someone to take her place. You can sing and you can dance, but… can you sing and dance like a black woman?"
I say a little prayer when the sparkle is back in Chelsea's eyes: "Of course, I can sing like a black woman. Why?"
"The number one TV show in Spain is called «Tu Cara Me Suena». Roughly translated, it means «Your Face Sounds Familiar». It's a music show and a singing contest. The nine participants are singers, actors, or TV personalities. Every week, they transform into somebody else, with make-up, clothes, wigs, and tricks, imitating the original artist while singing one of their songs. It's not playback but real singing and acting. The entire country watches it and loves it. If you want to win the show, you have to be outstanding. The jury gives points to the best imitation, and the other half of the points come from the live audience in the studio. After the nine acts, and before announcing the winner of the night, there is always one special act by an invited star. Today, in about twenty minutes, they start shooting this week's special act: Serena and Venus Williams as The Weather Girls, doing the song «It's Raining Men». The problem is… Venus couldn't make it. They urgently need a replacement to take her place, so my question is: can you sing like a black woman? If you can, we'll have to hurry to get you into the show."
"Serena Williams? Like in «Grand Slam Serena Williams»? Like in «The Number One of the World Tennis Player Serena Williams»? That Serena Williams?"
"Is there another one? She's the sister of Venus. But Venus is lost. She took the wrong plane. So they urgently, urgently, urgently need a famous person who can sing like a black woman. I thought of you. But if you don't want to…"
"No, no. I want to. Sing and dance with Serena Williams? On TV? The best-watched program ever? I can't believe it."
"Do you know the song? It's Raining Men… Hallelujah…"
"Cut the crap, Arse. You don't have to prove you can't sing. The song goes like this:"
Chelsea starts to sing. She has a remarkable voice. «Thrilling» comes close, but it's not the word I'm looking for. Her voice shakes your spine and rattles your bones until your kidneys end up inside your stomach.
"The words and the rhythm are okay, but… you have to imitate the original voice. Wait. I'll let you hear the original song. Lovely Sweet Dear. Start song. «It's Raining Men» by The Weather Girls…"
The phone is linked to the hidden stereo set in the car. I pump up the volume.
After listening for five seconds, Chelsea already has found something to whine about: "What's that line? Humidity is rising? … I'm gonna get absolutely soaking wet? That's sexist language. I'm not going to sing that! I'm underage!"
"It's not you-Chelsea, but you-the-Weather-Girl who's going to sing it. It's an act. The song is about rain, water, walking outside without an umbrella. If you want to give every decent word a naughty meaning, it says nothing about the song, but everything about your naughty mind. But I don't want to tell you what to do. You can decide for yourself. You can sing «humidity is rising» or you can sing «humanity is rising». It's your song, it's your message, and you're the one who gets more or less «likes» after the show."
We listen to the text again, from the start. Chelsea nods and says: "Humanity is rising. That's what I will sing. I'll give an important message to the world. Millions of Spanish people will watch me and notice I've changed the text, giving attention to all the women in the world for not being just sex slaves and lust objects, but real human beings with feelings and rights. Humanity is rising. Do you like my idea, Arse?"
"I love your idea, Chelsea."
Chelsea joins the singing, but I make her shut up and listen first, instructing her to imitate, to copy the original, not to screech like a crow on a graveyard.
"When you sing, you don't hear your voice like others hear it. Did you ever listen to a recording of your own voice? It sounds… weird, like it's not you. Let's do an exercise. Imagine how someone slips an ice cube in the back of your neck, it enters your shirt, cold and wet, and it finds its way down along your spine."
"Uh."
"Colder. It's freezing. If you can't imagine, we can stop at a gas station and practice with genuine ice cubes."
"UUUHHH! HHUUUUGGGHHH"
"That's it. Now, imagine a dark night. You walk through a forest, all alone… and suddenly… a cold hand grabs your neck!"
"IIIHHHH!"
"That's it. That's acting. Do you see you have it in you? Let it out. It comes from the stomach, from deep down. It's not singing at the top of your voice, but it's singing with every cell of your lungs, and with your guts too. Try that ice cube again."
Chelsea shouts her heart out and… she likes it.
"Now, hold the volume this high, but lower the tone… That's it. Up. Down. Up. Down. Keep that sound while you sing the song."
The other cars on the road make way and let us pass. I wave friendly at all those surprised faces. After hearing the siren, they expected to see an ambulance, but it's Chelsea, singing «It's Raining Men». All those people watch how Daniel Craig enjoys himself on the big screen, but they have no idea of the sufferings of an authentic spy.
The song ends. Chelsea looks at me like she expects me to be that four-people jury who will judge her act: "You're getting there. We can practise some more on the way. What do you think? Do we go for it? It's the most popular TV show in the country, you know. If you're afraid to embarrass yourself… (or to embarrass Serena…)"
"No, I'll be fine. I can do this. You watch me. You'll be surprised what I can do when the cameras are running."
"Okay. Lovely Sweet Dear. Message to #2, the Nerd. Start recording. Confirm to «Tu Cara Me Suena»: Chelsea is on her way. Please, prepare the dress. We'll be there in about 20 minutes. Make that 15 minutes. Please, ask Serena Williams to call me. She knows me as Don Wimble. Stop recording. Send message.
» Before we continue the practice, we need to do one more thing. During the show, they play two teaser videos, to warm up the audience for the special guest. Serena will handle the first teaser, but you must do the second one. Can you do that?"
"Duh."
I tell my phone to select the app for the video recording: "Imagine the first teaser. Manel Fuentes, the host of the show, welcomes Serena and asks for Venus. Serena panics; her sister missed her flight. The audience will be on the edge of their seats, biting their nails. What happens next? Manel ends the teaser, telling Serena she shouldn't worry, he'll find a solution, there still is time. An hour later, Serena starts the second teaser. She asks Manel if he's found a solution. Manel says he's found Chelsea, and she's on her way, but… Will she make it in time? And then he switches cameras. There are you, sitting in a red Ferrari, racing this snaky mountain road at maximum speed while you talk to the phone and tell Manel not to worry, everything is under control, we're getting there as fast as we can, and to show how fast is «as fast as we can», we switch to the phone camera at the dashboard, so everyone sees how I break every traffic law in Europe to get you there in time, making the most spectacular entrance ever. Do you like it?"
Chelsea likes it. I start the recording. She looks at the camera on the dashboard and chats: "Hi, Manel. Don't worry. We're on our way. Tell Serena she's awesome. Bye…"
I stop the car.
"What are you doing, Arse? We're getting late. Didn't you say we only have 15 minutes to get there? You better start driving."
"I said «Tu Cara Me Suena» is singing and acting. Was this your best acting? Was this how you show urgency? It looks like you're on a holiday, going to a picnic. If we get there an hour later, it's fine too. No, dear. Acting is a profession. Be the character. Feel the pressure, the speed, the time bomb with the ticking clock in your hand. Act like we are doing the impossible to get there in time, like there's nothing more important in the world. Act like this is our last chance, with confidence, like it's impossible to fail. To add a bit more urgent reality for your second attempt, I'm doing my best, getting late…"
Chelsea is losing her patience: "Come on, Arse. Serena is waiting. The live audience is sitting on the edge of their seats by now, biting their nails. This is important to me, you know. I don't want to be late. Come on. After everything we did to get on the show… Now we'll miss everything because you make us arrive late… Come on. Why don't you listen to me? Why don't you do what I tell you? Start the car. Let's go…"
"You forget one thing."
"One thing? What?"
"There's one magic word I like to hear from you."
"A magic word? Open Sesame or something like that? Don't play games, Arse. Hurry. The show must go on. For the first time in history, it's raining men, and I want to be there."
"The magic word?"
Acting is a profession. Be the character. Feel the urgency, the pressure, the speed. Forget about who you are. Become someone else, someone who's not as arrogant as you, someone who knows how to deal with other people, not by giving orders, but by asking, by using the magic word…
Chelsea is getting it: "Arse? Can you start the car? Please…"
That's the magic word. I push the button and let the engine roar. After this short break, the road ahead is empty as a shopping mall on boxing day.
"Lovely Sweet Dear. Record video message. You have to do this by yourself, Chelsea. I can't help you because I need to concentrate on driving. We don't want to be late…"
"HUH! Manel! Don't worry! AAAAYYY! We're… Holy Christmas! Keep that car on the road, Arse. Hallelujah! Manel, are you there? We're on our way. HUUUUUYYY. Watch out for that tree! No! ARSE!"
"I do the driving, Chelsea. You talk to Manel."
"Manel. We're on our waaaAAAYYY. Don't w-w-w-w-w-w-worry. We'll be there in ten minutes… or we'll be DEAD! Hold on! Arse!!! You're killing us! We're on our way, Manel. We can do this! MANEL!"
Chelsea holds on with both hands. While I take a sharp curve to the right, I grab my backpack from behind me and put it on her lap: "Much better. You really have a talent for acting, you know. All you need is confidence. Let it out. Success is a choice. Are you a dreamer, or are you an actor? Dreamers dream because they're afraid to fail. Actors act: act like it's impossible to fail. In my backpack, you'll find all the dark make-up your skin needs. You can put it on while we practise the song a few times more. Okay?"
Chelsea is so much into the character that she can't answer. She bounces to all sides while she tries to keep her feet firmly on the ground, holding the five-point safety belt as tight as possible. Meanwhile, I discover that this Ferrari can do curves like this last one at least 10 km/hr faster than I thought, thanks to the traction control; it takes over when all four wheels are spinning…
My spiPhone rings. It's Serena Williams: "Hi, Don. Long time no see. How are you?"
"Hi, dear. Well, what can I say? Trying to keep everything running and enjoying myself when it does. You know what I mean. I'm on my way to you with Chelsea for the shooting of the music video. We'll be there in about five minutes."
* * *
I have about a quarter of an hour to relax and overthink the rest of the day while the make-up and costume artists prepare Chelsea in the dressing room. Finally, she gets out, covered with black make-up, black curls on her head that look like a huge spider is eating her brain, wearing a colourful dress, chatting with Serena as they walk to the swimming pool where the cameras are all set up for the shooting of the video.
The director explains how it's done: "This is live. We only have one shot, so please, concentrate on perfection. Be aware of your microphones. We record with live singing, so don't produce false notes. The first part of the song, we shoot from here and here, while the boys will fall from the sky behind you. At the start of the second part, you dance onto the floating platform, you turn around, and we use those cameras over there, so the boys will fall on all sides of you, left, right, in front, and behind. Don't let a few drops of water disturb your concentration. Under every circumstance: keep smiling! The show must go on. We have only one chance to get it right. Are you ready?"
Serena nods. She's ready. For her, it's like Match Point; she does it all the time. Chelsea still has a few doubts: "The boys will fall on all sides of us?"
"The song is called «It's Raining Men», Miss. We're in a swimming pool, as you see. We have the 125 members of the Cádiz Coast Guard, all in tight and shiny swimsuits, waiting for our signal on the diving boards above your head, ready to fall from the sky when the music starts. The effect of them, falling into the pool, with the splashes, will give a nice sensation of raining men, don't you think? Get ready. Running in ten… nine… eight…"
Chelsea understands the procedure. It was fair she asked. She had to hurry to get here on time, and didn't even get a briefing or a drink. Serena smiles at her, puts her hand on Chelsea's shoulder, and says: "Are you ready, girl? Let's go and break a leg."
I give her a wink and say: "Confidence… For you, it's impossible to fail."
The music starts. During the make-up session, they played the video several times, so both Chelsea and Serena know what each of them should do, but it's exciting to do it for real. I have my doubts, though: the pressure of perfection that the director put on Serena's strong shoulders and Chelsea's young shoulders, it might just be too much. When they start to sing, the models jump into the water. It goes remarkably well. Serena sings the first lines and her confidence gives Chelsea just the support she needs. Both seem to enjoy the song and the acting. Even the singing isn't too bad, in fact much better than I'd expected. They're halfway; it's time to step on the platform and turn around. Now, the boys are raining from all sides. The splashes teardrop on Chelsea's black make-up. Don't touch your face, Chelsea. You'll make it worse. No!… ¡Rostov! Now she has a white spot on her left cheek, and she wipes her wet, black hand on her dress, making a mess of it, and she misses a step in the dance, tries to correct it, but the floor of the platform is slippery from all the splashes of the handsome men, raining from above, and Chelsea is not a bad dancer, but with high heels and a lot of artificial filling under her dress, and a slippery floor that bumps up and down on the wild water, there can only be one conclusion, and I hope they make it to the end of the song, just three lines more, but they don't, and Chelsea slips, grabs Serena's arm to avoid she falls backward, which works, but not exactly as she hoped because now Serena loses her balance too, and they both want to go on and keep singing and keep smiling, but that's hard when you're on a floating platform with water on all sides and, yes, there they go, on the first word of the final line, both women fall headfirst feet-up into the water, which is no problem at all, of course, because there are 125 members of the Cádiz Coast Guard in tight and shiny swimsuits, and all are more than available to help and rescue the Weather Girls from their unexpected bath, so what more can I say: «Tu Cara Me Suena» is the most popular TV show in Spain and now I know why.