'Hi there,' crooned little Tommy, raising skeletal hands.
The audience cheered and those amongst them possessed of hands clapped these wildly together.
'Thank you, thank you, thank you.' Little Tommy beamed all around and about. He exchanged air kisses with Little Miss Muffett and bowed several times to the audience. He stepped up to a microphone before the clockwork orchestra. 'I'd like to sing a song that I know will be very lucky for me,' he said into it. 'Another chart topper.'
Further wild applause issued from the audience.
'Is he really that good?’ Jack shouted into Eddie's ear.
'No, he's rubbish, and there's no need to shout. We bears are greatly admired for our aural capacities.'
'LJrgh,' went Jack.
Eddie rolled his button eyes. 'Aural,' he said. 'Oh, never mind.'
'This song,' continued Little Tommy, 'is dedicated to a very dear friend of mine. I cannot speak his name aloud, but He knows who He is. The song is called "You're a God to me, buddy". It goes something like this.' Little Tommy beamed over his slender shoulder towards the clockwork orchestra. 'Gentlemen, please, if you will.'
The clockwork conductor one two three'd it with his baton; the orchestra launched into the number.
Jack's head ducked this way and that, but the cameramen obscured his view. He could however hear the song. And as Jack listened to it, his jaw dropped low once more.
It was...
'Awful,' whispered Jack to Eddie. 'The song's awful and he can't even sing.'
'It is my belief,' Eddie whispered back, 'that when Wheatley Porterman penned the original nursery rhyme that made Little Tommy famous, it was intended as a satire upon the poor quality of Toy City nightclub entertainers, Little Tommy in particular: that all his singing was worth was some brown bread and butter. Ironic the way things turned out, eh?'
Jack nodded thoughtfully, curled his lip, screwed up his eyes and thrust his hands over his ears. 'Tell me when he's finished,' he said to Eddie.
Eddie did not reply to this. His paws were already over his ears.
It did have to be said that even if Little Tommy wasn't much of a singer, which indeed he was not, he did put his heart and indeed his very soul into his performance. Veins stood out upon his scrawny neck and upon his ample forehead. Tears sprang into his eyes. His spindly arms crooked themselves into all manner of unlikely positions; his long fingers snatched at the air as if clawing at the very ether. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face, joining his tears to stripe his studio tan.
The song itself was of the ballad persuasion, which, given Little Tommy's rendition in the manner that made it all his own, had about it a quality which raised excruciation to an art form. Little Tommy trembled on his toes. At every high note, his lips quivered and his mouth became so wide that those in the upper seats who had particularly good eyesight were afforded a clear view right down his scrawny throat to see what he'd had for breakfast.
The deafening applause that greeted the song's conclusion was sufficient to arouse Jack and Eddie from the foetal positions they had adopted. Eddie put his paws together. 'Bravo,' he called.
'Irony?’ Jack asked.
'Absolutely,' said Eddie.
'Bravo,' called Jack, clapping too. 'More. More.'
'Let's not overdo it.'
'Quite so.’ Jack ceased his clapping.
'What can I say?' Little Miss Muffett rose from her central tuffet, clapping lightly and professionally. 'One of the greats. If not the great. Join me up here, Little Tommy, come and sit with me please.'
Little Tommy took another bow and joined Miss Muffett.
'Thank you, Missy,' he said, seating himself down upon the vacant tuffet next to Missy.
Jack's empty stomach made terrible grumbling sounds. 'I really have had enough,' he whispered to Eddie.
'We might as well stick it out to the end,' said the bear. 'You never know, it might get really interesting.'
'Yeah, right,' said Jack. 'They're just going to luvvy each other.'
And that, of course, was exactly what Miss Muffett and Little Tommy were going to do: luwy each other big time.
'Little Tommy,' husked the Missy, 'beautiful song, beautiful lyrics, beautiful rendition.'
'I just love your dress,' crooned Little Tommy.
'And you're looking so well.'
'And you so young.'
'It's wonderful to have you here.'
'It's wonderful to be here on your wonderful show.'
'Wonderful,' husked Missy. 'But tell me, Little Tommy, I know you make very very few public appearances.'
'Very few,' Tommy agreed.
'But why this?'
'Well, Missy,' said Little Tommy, crossing his spindly legs, 'I just don't have the time. The way I see it, it is the duty of a superstar such as myself to maintain the appropriate lifestyle: a lifestyle to which the less fortunate amongst us, your audience for instance, can only aspire to in their most exalted, and dare I say, perverted dreams.'
'You might certainly dare,' said Missy. 'In fact you have.'
'Take it to excess,' said Little Tommy. 'Such is expected of someone like myself. It is my duty.'
'And you certainly have taken it to excess.' Miss Muffett smiled big smiles upon Little Tommy. 'Your squanderings and indulgences are of legend.'
'Well, thank you very much.'
'And you've just come out of detox, I understand.'
'Detox, rehab, it's a •weekly thing with me. They say, "If you've got it, flaunt it." I say, "If you've got it, use it up, wear it out, get it flushed and start again on Monday." '
'What a thoroughly unpleasant individual,' said Jack.
'Everyone misbehaves,' said Eddie. 'That's nature. Everyone gets away with as much as they can get away with. And the more they can get away with, the more they will.'
'That's a somewhat cynical view of life.'
'You know that I'm telling the truth.'
'That doesn't mean that I want to admit it.'
Eddie grinned. 'You're a good lad, Jack,' said he.
'But he isn't.'
'No, he's an absolute stinker.'
'Drugs?' said Little Tommy, in an answer to a question from Miss Muffett that Jack and Eddie hadn't heard. 'Well, yes, all right, I must admit that I am no stranger to drugs. Not that I'm advocating them to others, don't get me wrong, I'm not. Only for me. To me, an unhealthy cocktail of alcohol and narcotics spices things up for a bit of hot groupie action.'
'There have been reports in the Toy City Press regarding the, how shall I put it, tender ages of some of your groupies.'
'If they're old enough to walk on their own,' said Little Tommy, 'then they're up for it.'
'What?' went Jack.
Miss Muffett tittered. 'You're a very naughty boy,' she said.
'I know,' said Little Tommy. 'But you can't help liking me, can you?'
'I hate him,' said Jack. 'Hate her, hate him. I'm exhibiting no preferences, you notice.'
'Very democratic,' said Eddie. 'He needs a smack,' said Jack. 'So does she.’
‘Well,' said Little Miss Muffett, 'it's been an absolute pleasure to have you here on the show, Little Tommy. I think the audience would agree with me on this.' Missy smiled towards the audience. The audience gave out with further wild applause. 'So I think we should finish this interview on a high note. Would you honour us, Little Tommy, by giving us another of your marvellous high notes one more time?'