she was always designated to play paul mccartney; her brother always got top-billing as john lennon, since his real name was john. she considered it being the runner-up to miss america, but she would still dutifully take up the wooden slazenger racket and "play" it as a left-handed bass guitar.

today wasn't the day for "penny lane," though. they were in contemporary mode. "tainted love" had just come on the radio and brother and sister had decided it was time to leave the tennis rackets behind and lip-sync earnestly into their older brother's old spice deodorant stick.

as they jumped around on their twin beds, they choreographed movements that accentuated the sounds from the synth-pop drama song that had lyrics they were too young to truly understand. they didn't understand heartache, and hopefully would never have to experience it the way it was played out in the song's lyrics. had soft cell's other song, "sex dwarf" been playing on the air, hopefully they would never understand what it would mean to lure disco dollies to a life of vice, either.

and they sang, sharing the stick of deodorant as true rock stage players would: looking at each other from opposite sides of the microphone and then, looking to their adulating fans. all the time singing. all the time dancing. they were stars until--

big brother began to pound on the bedroom window from outside. he was laughing like a hellish heckler. what asses, he called them. soft cell continued on the radio, but the two siblings had already dropped the old man's antiperspirant and had run out of the room burning with humiliation. the show was over.