"Have you ever been to a live concert? Did you like it?"
"Don't spoil the day, Arse. Of course, I've been to concerts. I've been in VIP rooms and backstage at concerts. You don't impress me with a kitchen chair in the first row of some Flamenco act in a dark café."
"Don't underestimate me, Chelsea. You know I can do better than that. I was talking about a concert in the Plaza de Toros, in front of 50.000 people, all crazy to see Spain's biggest star."
"Who's that? Julio Iglesias?"
"I was thinking about someone more your age. We're going to a concert by Abraham Mateo."
"Duh. Who's he?"
"Check him on your phone."
Abraham Mateo needs no introduction. He sings, he dances, and he's cute. Almost every teenage girl in Spain likes Abraham Mateo. Even I like Abraham Mateo. I can't imagine Chelsea not liking him.
"He's cute. His music is nice too. I like this song, «Señorita». It's «Miss» in Mexican, right? Okay, watching him on stage seems like a nice end to a nice day."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Señorita, but we're talking about my mission here. Nice endings aren't in my script. I like awesome endings. What do they say in your country? It ain't over until the fat lady sings? We have one last little detail waiting for us, for you: you'll have to sing. We're going backstage, and you're going to be part of the backing vocals during the last three songs. You have… twenty minutes to learn the music. During the singing, you can hide your phone in the palm of your hand so you can keep up with the lyrics and your part in them. Do you think that's too much to ask from a talented girl like you?"
"I'm going to sing?"
"Yes."
"On stage?"
"Yes."
"In front of 50.000 people?"
"In front of 50.000 crazy fans, most of them teenage girls like you, who will be yellowish jealous and green with envy because you'll be there on stage, singing the backing vocals with THE coolest hottest artist of Spain and Latin America. I'm surprised you've never heard of Abraham Mateo."
Suddenly, we are in a hurry. Chelsea has only twenty minutes to learn those three songs. She wants to take this seriously. You can't be on stage in front of 50.000 crazy teenage fans without knowing your lines.
Can you?
* * *
I've seen this show before, in Barcelona, early April this year. Chelsea didn't, but she has studied the videos like mad. With her microphone somewhat lower in the mixing, she doesn't disturb the party. So far…
She sings like a chainsaw, but at a live concert, nobody cares about the quality of the music. Finally, the last song starts, «Sexy señorita». Chelsea's part is over. The backing vocals leave the stage. Abraham moves towards the audience and does some amazing acrobatic dancing while he sings: "Ven hacia mi, se mi mamasita. Need a big girl, not a chiquitita…"
That other show was different from this one.
That other show didn't have Chelsea in the backing vocals.
Chelsea doesn't leave the stage with the other girls.
Chelsea is a big girl, not a chiquitita like the other singers, and Abraham just asked her to come to him.
How can she resist?
Chelsea walks towards the band… oh, no… she talks with the guitarist… he says no… she takes off her shoe and hits him on the head… he says yes now… oh, no… he hangs this guitar around her neck… she asks him something, he puts her left hand on the shaft, places her fingers, moves them a bit, now it's okay… he gives her his plectrum…
I don't want to see this.
I don't have to see this. My mobile phone and my belly-button camera record everything; I can see the disaster again and again and again in super HD…
I have to see this. I have to watch. I'm a spy. It's my job to see what happens, especially when it's part of my mission. Imagine my conversation with #1, The Boss: "Please, explain this to me, #5. When the last song was over, she took the guitar?" — "Yes, Sir." — "And then what?" — "I don't know, Sir. I closed my eyes." — "So you didn't see how she caused a short circuit and left the better half of Andalucía without electricity for almost a week?" — "No, Sir." — "And you have no idea how she managed to let those heavy lights fall on the stage, causing a fire?" — "No, Sir." — "And you didn't see how the roof got on fire and fell on top of 50.000 screaming teenage girls?" — "Only after I felt that roof on my head, Sir. But I didn't see it, and when I opened my eyes again, it was pitch dark and it didn't make much difference."
There is no roof here.
This is a bullfight arena.
Nothing can go wrong…
Chelsea steps forward, her left hand cramped on the shaft of the guitar, afraid she'll play a false note when she changes the setting, her right hand with the plectrum high in the sky.
Chelsea has fulfilled all her dreams today, except… being a musician, playing the guitar on stage.
Abraham looks at the audience and sings: "Sexy señorita, won't ya come play ah."
He doesn't know what's behind him.
The audience goes bananas.
They don't know what's coming.
TWAAAIIINNN
Now they know.
Abraham Mateo didn't expect Chelsea's electroshock therapy to hit him so hard. He shakes and shivers like a convicted murderer in the electric chair, but without the chair. I fear he drops dead on the spot, but he's young and fit, and he can handle a little electric boogie. Surprised, he turns around, afraid now, terrified when he sees Chelsea lift her plectrum again, gesturing: "No, please, no…", but it's useless.
TWAAAIIINNN
The involuntary contractions of his muscles make him topple backwards. He lands on his head and makes three turns with his arms and legs sticking out like a pylon under high voltage. The 50.000-volt electric charge hits the 50.000 screaming girls in the audience: hair stands out, eyes sparkle, and pairs of glasses shatter everywhere. Abraham stands up, shakes the tension away, and gives Chelsea a smile and a gesture: do it again, this is fun.
Chelsea doesn't need more: TWAAAIIINNN
TWAAIIINNN
TWAAAIIINNN-TWAAAIIINNN-TWAAAIIINNN
I can't believe this.
Everybody loves it.
I'm the only one here who thinks it's a disaster; all the others think it's electrifying.
The majority is always right. I'm the one who's wrong here. I always say that music is humanity's best invention ever. Music is beauty, created by musicians who study for many hours, every day, for many years, to dominate their instrument. Music is art, and art is hard work. I've been so wrong for all those years. Music is entertainment. There's no need to be born with the crystal voice of a Mockingjay: you can rap and become a star too. There's no need to compose like Beethoven or play like the Beatles: all you need is one A-chord and a plectrum, something you can learn in five seconds. Music is entertainment; I see the living proof live in front of me: 50.000 crazy fans going bananas about Chelsea and Abraham, doing an electric el-act-trick here that they've invented on the spot.
Abraham sings: "Sexy señorita won't ya come play ah.", Chelsea TWAAAIIINNNs and 50.000 fans go "Woah oh oh oh." Nobody wants it to stop, but when Chelsea's final TWAAAIIINNN breaks all the strings of her guitar, the show is over.
No fire, no short circuits, no helicopters with SWAT teams falling out of the sky… Everything went perfectly, just like I planned. How could anything go wrong? I've trained Chelsea for a complete day. There's nothing to worry about. The world is saved and everybody is happy. Best-day-ever. Mission impossible accomplished. I'm good at this game…
Abraham Mateo shows why he's Spain's number one artist. He shares the standing ovation with Chelsea, points at her, shows his fans two thumbs up, walks towards her and shouts into his microphone: "What's your name?"
"It's Chelsea.", Chelsea shouts back.
Abraham makes a deep bow, kisses her hand, faces his audience with one arm pointing at the shining star of the show, and shouts her name: "Chelsea, boys and girls. Remember her name. It's Chelsea." Abraham takes Chelsea's right hand in his left, lifting them both. One a final bow, and then they leave the stage.
Chelsea runs to me, the guitar still on her neck: "OH ARSE! DID YOU SEE THAT! THAT WAS AWESOME! That was really the best concert ever. And did you see Abraham? He's awesome! He sings awesome, he dances awesome… And he's cute too. Cute? Did I say cute? He's Gorgeous, STUNning, IRRESISTIBLE! HE'S AWESOME!"
Awesome Abraham comes towards us, a broad smile on his cute awesome irresistible stunning gorgeous face. We shake hands and he says to me: "Hi. I'm Abraham. Is she your girlfriend? She's awesome, you know. You must be very proud of her." and then he turns to Chelsea: "You were awesome. That riff with the guitar went really well, don't you think? The public liked it a lot. I want to keep it in the show; it's a great final, nobody's ever done anything like it. You play the guitar really well."
Chelsea explains it to me: "You see? That guitar teacher in Boston was, like, the worst ever. That Spanish guy over there taught me how to play in… What was it? Five seconds? Duh!"
"I told you the best guitar teachers are Spanish, didn't I?"
But Chelsea doesn't listen to me. She's all eyes and ears for Abraham now: "You are awesome. And Arse… I mean Arsenal here… It isn't like he's my boyfriend or whatever. He's my driver… and… okay, he's also my friend, but not my boyfriend or so, just best friends, like… I don't have a boyfriend. I mean, I had one, but I dumped him…"
Abraham doesn't waste time: "Well, in that case… Here, I give you my card. Perhaps we can meet again, to talk about the show, I mean. Not like… You know… I'm not that kind of boy, you know. I admire you as an artist, and you're fun to be with too, but… you know… I hoped perhaps we can have lunch someday… I mean, I'd like to hear if you have some more ideas for the show… perhaps you can join our team for the next concert too. In three weeks' time, we play in Bilbao and—"
"Oh, I can't. I'm only here for one week. I'm from Boston, you know, like, on a vacation, with my father. We stay in the hotel La Estrella de Marbella. Next Wednesday, we're going home again…"
Abraham quotes his last song: "You're my cenicienta, my Cinderella. Pronto acaba la fiesta. At midnight, next Wednesday, the party is over… And if you don't want to give me your phone number… At least, give me your shoe… Well, I mean, if you're not too busy, and if you don't mind, I can come to your hotel tomorrow, and we can have lunch, and we can invite your father too… He must be so proud of you… Or another day, if that's better for you…"
Chelsea looks at the card, thinks deep, and answers: "The day after tomorrow will be fine, I guess. I'll give you a call. Okay? But now we really have to go because it's almost midnight, and when the clock strikes twelve, you know, this fairy tale will be over, and my Ferrari will become a pumpkin again, and then we'll have to walk all the way back to Marbella. I'll call you. Okay?"
Abraham gives Chelsea two kisses on the cheeks. Chelsea returns the guitar, turns, thinks, turns again, and gives Abraham a quick kiss on the lips. (Not with the tongue, of course. Cows kiss with the tongue.)
And then we're off.
Ten minutes later, we walk through the cool night of Sevilla, cooling down after this hot, hot, hot concert. Chelsea can't cool down. She still can't believe what a wonderful day she's had: "That! Was! AWESOME!"
I'm glad she learnt at least something today; she added a new word to her vocabulary: awesome.
They say it ain't over until the fat lady sings. When the fat lady on my arm checks her Facebook page, she doesn't believe her eyes, checks it again and then she sings: "ARSE! I have 50.000.000 followers on my Facebook! Fif. Ty. Million. Followers on my Facebook. Do you believe that? This was really really really the best-day-ever!"
It's a terrible day when your life becomes the news and the news becomes your life. I'm glad Chelsea doesn't feel that way. Not sharing the same opinion here might make my mission a success.
But it isn't over yet.
We have to get home first.
Before the clock strikes twelve.
Or the Ferrari will become a pumpkin again, and we'll have to walk.