And His Hair Was Perfect - B. Nonymous and Herm-own-ninny
And His Hair Was Perfect
The story Warren Zevon tells about a certain song is that he wrote it
in 1975 with the help of two co-writers and inspiration from Phil Everly (of
the Everly brothers). We're not convinced he remembers it as well as he
thinks he does - after all, the song in question did not appear on his
1976 self-titled album, but instead appeared two years later on his second
album. Here's what really happened. (Thanks, as always, to
beta-reader extraordinaire, Night Zephyr.)
August, 1977
The songwriter sat down at the bar of Trader Vic's - Beverly Hills, and
ordered a Mai Tai. He had been trying all day to fit some words into an
infectious piano ditty that he and his producer had come up with over the
weekend. So far, the only lyrics he was satisfied with were:
And that was mostly due to the take-out he'd been wolfing down since that
Saturday.
He picked up his drink and gazed around the bar. His eyes fell on a
handsome, impeccably groomed young man sitting alone at a table for four. He
wasn't American -- that much the songwriter could tell with a glance. His
clothing had an international flavor -- trousers, not jeans; handsome Italian
leather loafers, not sneakers; and a dark, snug-fitting shirt. In spite of
the oppressive summer heat, the young man's clothing was clean and crisp.
The young man watched the door as he absentmindedly played with the paper
umbrella in his Piña Colada. Suddenly, the door burst open and two
men entered, silhouetted against the bright sunlight. The door closed again
and the men searched the room. One man elbowed his companion and pointed at
the international customer.
"Padfoot, mate, there he is."
The young man stood up and beckoned the newcomers, who wasted no time in
dashing across the crowded room. He grinned and, hugging the pair, began
howling. "Aawwoooooooooooo! Aawwoooooooooo!"
The man who had not pointed then joined in the howling, "Aawwoooooooooo!"
"Padfoot! Please! You're in the middle of a Muggle pub."
Padfoot? Odd name . . . this is getting seriously weird, thought the
songwriter. He then remembered something from Hunter Thompson (another good
subject for a song)
But when the going gets weird, the weird turn
pro.
The songwriter tried very hard to listen as he kept sipping his Mai Tai. He
pulled out a small spiral notebook and began jotting down words and phrases.
The well-dressed man replied, "James, this is Los Angeles. Nobody will
notice -- and even if they do, it won't matter. Trust me."
"Yeah Prongs, quit acting like Moody! If the werewolf says nobody will
notice, nobody will notice," said the other howling man.
The songwriter remembered a double-feature he saw on TV earlier. Both were
werewolf movies, the older of the two was called,
Werewolf of London.
The men in question were from England; their accents gave it away easily.
And is one of them a werewolf? He looked at his nearly-empty Mai Tai and
signaled the bartender for a refill.
"Have they arrested anyone yet?" asked the well-dressed one.
"All but one, Moony. We just found out a little old lady got mutilated late
last night. They arrested her attacker, which leaves only one to catch,"
answered the one who was called James.
Nothing rhymes with 'James',
thought the songwriter.
Now 'Jim' rhymes.
"We think the last one is the same werewolf who terrorized those Muggle-borns
in Kent," piped in Padfoot.
"But they've overheard him in Mayfair recently, so it's only a matter of
time."
Moony was silent for a moment, and sipped his Piña Colada. A waiter
stopped at their table and James and Padfoot placed their orders. As the
waiter moved on, Moony spoke.
"I appreciate your funding this . . . trip, James. I know the Order can't
spare the money. But does Dumbledore have any idea when I can come back?
It's been almost six weeks."
James squirmed a little in his seat. "Yeah, Moony . . . about that. Well,
until the Order catches the last of the werewolves in league with Voldemort,
it's just not safe for you at home. It'll be soon, though."
James leaned closer to Moony. "Where
did you go last full moon,
mate?"
Moony grunted. "It wasn't too bad, actually. It wasn't like I ran rampant,
howling around people's kitchen doors." They all grinned, as Moony
continued. "I drove out to the Mojave and hiked away from the road. Spent
the night near a small outcropping of rock. I just set up a fire and hid
some spare clothing and a canteen nearby. I got a few scrapes, but nothing
deep enough to even draw blood. You know, I seem to remember hooking up with
a few coyotes . . . "
"And did you invite them back with you? Maybe you could take them through
Soho, or we could all meet up and get some Chinese food!" suggested
Padfoot.
The songwriter scribbled notes, grinning to himself. It always worked --
when he got stuck with a song, the best remedy was to remove himself to a bar
and just relax. Inevitably, the song wrote itself.
"Speaking of
all of us, where's Wormtail?" asked Moony.
"Working again!" grumbled James as he rolled his eyes. "I swear, the
Ministry has him mapping out EVERYTHING."
Padfoot shook his head. "I'm worried about him, actually. He's in such a
precarious position. I wish Dumbledore hadn't pushed him to apply for that
promotion. I know we need access to that information, but Ministry employees
on his level are disappearing faster than Chudley Cannons fans."
"Aww, Padfoot. Wormtail's just fine," James countered. "He's got it where
it counts, mate. You know what worries
me ? Dumbledore is talking
about letting
Snape into the Order."
Moony, who was sipping his drink, stopped and stared. "WHAT?? Is he crazy?
Is he under Imperius?"
James and Padfoot turned on Moony at once. "That is NOT a JOKE! Dumbledore is
in full control of his faculties!"
Moony squinted. "I'm serious, you two. Inducting Snape into the Order makes
me nervous. You'd better not let him in -- it's like," he paused, searching
for words. "It's like taking Divination seriously. All I can say is that
you two had better stay away from him."
"No offense, Moony, but it's not like Snivellus will rip out anyone's lungs.
We gotta trust Dumbledore, he knows what he's doing."
"Enough about that. We're here to take you home. It shouldn't be more than
a week, and we're in contact with Dumbledore daily. If it's longer? Hey,
you can show us the Mojave."
The three laughed and polished off their drinks. James tossed a twenty on
the table, and they all rose. "We're off, mate. Show us the town, huh?" He
clapped a hand on Moony's shoulder and winked. "I'd really like to meet
your tailor."
The songwriter finished his Mai Tai and shook his head in amusement,
pocketing his notebook. He paid his bill and headed out, behind the three
Englishmen, turning the opposite direction.
Werewolves? From London?
He thought, as he ambled along.
Nah, couldn't be. Not that guy -- his
hair was perfect.
See this
link for Mr. Zevon's results. Keep those comments coming! And yes,
we're mapping out Charlie Weasley and the Four Points.
