Kielle takes the stage

“Tell us a little bit about yourself and what you do, Kielle,” he said.

I’m a writer, not a talker, and I hate the sound of my own voice on tape or amplified through speakers. Bill’s position on my Christmas card list was falling fast. Still, he was the boss. I took a deep breath and put my high school public speaking classes to use.

“Hi, my name is Kielle Hughes, and I’m pleased to be the newest member of the PC crew.” There was light applause, just enough to qualify as a smattering. “I’m from Minneapolis, Minnesota,” I went on. “Mostly I took this job because it’s a lot warmer in the south this time of year.” Laughter. Yeah, jokes about Minnesota being cold are always good for a couple yuks. I took a step away from Bill and turned to address another section of the stadium.

“I’m the Caravan’s new web master. Next Monday, you’ll want to come to our web site to see the new design and some new features we’re adding to make it more user-friendly and more fun. Does everybody know where to find us on the web?” Rumblegrumble. They hadn’t known there would be a pop quiz. “Get out your pens. I’m going to spell the web site address for you. Ready?” I recited the URL twice, slowly, and added that people could Google us if they weren’t sure.

“Now, about those new features. First of all, you’re going to be seeing a lot more pictures.” I hefted the camera hanging around my neck. “I’ll be posting photos not only of every show, but also of sound checks, backstage, and even on the bus.” I snuck a peek at the performers, whose mutters to one another suggested they hadn’t been informed of the full extent of my photographing duties.

“I’m also going to blog the tour. You know what a blog is? It’s a web log — like the Captain’s log from Star Trek. I’ll post a new diary entry each day telling you where we are, where we’re going, and how we’re amusing ourselves along the way.” Interested murmurs from the crowd. I made another quarter turn.

“You like these folks, right?” I gestured widely to take in the whole stage. Big cheer. “Would you like to get to know them a little better?” Bigger cheer. Fans always want to know their idols better. “Well, now you can. I’m going to be conducting behind-the-scene interviews with each and every member of the Praise Caravan company and posting them on the web site. — What’s that address again?” Thousands of voices chanted the URL back to me in schoolroom singsong.

Turning back to Williams, I said, “I like these fans, Bill. Can I throw in a little something extra for them?” Geez, when did I become a used car salesman?

He leaned in to share the mike. “Don’t you think you’d better clear it with the boss first?” he asked pointedly.

I made an “oops!” face for the cameras and tucked the mike behind my back to whisper in his ear. We weren’t acting; I’d hoped to meet with him that afternoon to talk about my ideas for the web site, but the travel delays had prevented it. I wondered belatedly how much he minded me springing this on him unscripted. Well, turn about is fair play, right?

Bill nodded at what I said to him, so I announced that I would launch a Caravan Q&A feature. Fans could e-mail questions to be answered personally by members of the company. When I said “personally” I meant “by a person,” and that person would be me; it was my job, not the performers’ or the crew’s, to answer the mail. But the answers would come from authentic sources, and that was all the audience needed to know.

Time to quit while I was ahead. I promised more goodies to come, shoved the mike back at Bill, did a four-corner wave, and hustled off the stage. My sendoff ovation was a good deal warmer than the greeting had been. I took that as a good sign.

The concert was over before I knew it and we were all back in the green room, high on a show buzz. The ravenous singers descended on the sideboard like a swarm of locusts. They had about 15 minutes to chow down and freshen up before going back out to appear at their merchandise tables, where they would press the flesh and sign autographs.

Bill cornered me on his way out the door.

“Nice job on your intro, Kielle. Do it the same tomorrow night. Comb your hair and put on a little mascara. But don’t put me on the spot like that again. Circle with me on the bus in the morning to go over the web site design.”

Well, there’s one question answered. But what exactly did “circle” mean? In my vocabulary, circling is what fighters do before they start throwing punches, or what sharks and birds of prey do before they swoop in for the kill. And did he just order me to wear mascara?

While I pondered that, Nancy Wainwright paused to inform me that I would not be photographing her on the bus, nor was I to even think about it. I could see that she’d look significantly different without the hair and makeup. I wondered if she’d behave differently, too.

Camera in hand, I followed my new colleagues to the meet and greet.