Dinner Theatre: David Byrne and Annie Clark

by LE Correia

As we all found out last week and have endlessly fantasized about since, St. Vincent and David Byrne are officially collaborating on an LP, touring together, and ostensibly having conversations with each other.

This, being too magical, was never supposed to happen. But it has. And now, each night, while the rest of us sit around wearing hoodies and gnawing on gristle, Annie Clark and David Byrne dine together in matching Sevile Row suits, reflecting on the fruits of their in-studio labors.

Below is an account of one of their least interesting dinners thus far.

David Byrne: Great stuff today.

Annie Clark: I think so. That final chord appeared to me out of a sonic nowhere, like the call of a whippoorwill who’d just fallen out of love.

DB: Yes. It’s still resonating inside my upper intestine, which is singing a little moonlight ditty to the lower.

Annie laughs and looks nice.

AC: Listen to us. Still talking shop.

David puts up his hands as if to pardon himself, and as if to show us the hands that created Little Creatures.

DB: You’re right, you’re right. Would you pass the — My dear, your chopsticks are floating in front of your wrists again!

AC: Hm? Oh, just a trick of the light.

As she maneuvers the chopsticks into some aioli, her fingers move so rapidly they’re rendered invisible.

AC: (modest shrug) Hollow bones.

DB: Well, I hate that I’ve never seen your fingers. Why don’t you put those down. Stop fluttering for a moment?

AC: No.

They settle into a silence, which David quickly fills with found sounds.

AC: I had that dream again.

DB: That the trillions of microbes living on your eyelashes were all leaving for Alexander McQueen’s funeral?

AC: They did leave. And then I was the first person in all of history to be totally alone.

DB: If I were you, I’d just keep some extra microbes around. If I worried about that sort of thing.

A buzzer sounds.

DB: Your move.

Annie removes a small wooden block from the center of the table and puts it in a pile of identical blocks over to the side. A tall empty box next to the pile is labeled “Reverse Jenga.”

AC: We won.

DB: We knew we would.

They toast.

A lost Midwestern family approaches their table.

Midwestern Family: Excuse me. Which way to the Yankee Cannonball?

DB: Oh, it’s just over there.

David gestures Northeast, to a large wooden rollercoaster. They are in an eerily quiet theme park.

Midwestern Family: Thank you.

DB: My pleasure. G’boy, Joshua.

This to a biblically large tortoise, whose shell has served as their dining table so far.

Joshua: No sweat, maestro. I’m going to go grab a coffee.

Joshua walks away, taking their entire dinner spread along with him.

David Byrne slouches, kind of wanting Joshua to bring back some cake pops if he’s going to Starbucks anyway. But he would never ask a favor from a tortoise on its birthday.

AC: I hope the sea vegetables are still hot when he gets back.

Now David Byrne is grossed out, thinking about cake and sea vegetables simultaneously.

DB: Let’s just call it a night.

He stands, stretches his arms and yawns. Before she can will herself against it, contagion sets in and Annie does the same.

Their yawns crescendo together, happening upon a harmony. The Midwestern Family rushes in and sets up some microphones, because what’s coming out of their mouths sounds exactly like this.

FIN

LE Correia is from Massachusetts, where she grew up and attended Emerson College, in no particular order. She currently lives in Los Angeles, where she writes and works in TV production.