Carmelo Moustachio in The Importance of Straight Talk
“Are you quite certain that I must star alongside these simpletons?”
“Now you watch that mouth of yours, my good sir!”
“I will have you know that we have spearheaded more business ventures than the thread count on that shirt of yours.”
“And that proves you to be a liar, and both of you to be exceptionally poor businessponies.”
“Uh… excuse me…”
“Au contraire, my finest gentlepony, we do not measure our success by your narrow standards. My brother and I, we are entrepreneurs; brave explorers of uncharted markets; Pioneers! Innovators.”
“Mapmakers!”
“Game changers!”
“Movers and shakers!”
“Phlogistonators!”
“Excuse me,” Coco Pommel said, a little louder than before. “Can you please read your lines? We’re behind schedule.”
The rebuilt stage still reeked of paint and sawdust, but it certainly looked good. The roof was curved and painted blue like the waves in Horseshoe Bay, and the hardwood floor would not have been out of place in the finest ballet studio. The props were equally impressive. Asides from the plywood walls and cheap drapery, every piece of elegant furniture was exactly what it appeared to be. Every gold candle stand, every elegant piece of painted china… even the upright piano. And it was all thanks to generous donations from the purple-moustached yellow stallion currently breaking his neck to turn his nose ever higher to the two other stallions sharing the stage.
“Pah! These two are not actors,” he said. “They are con-ponies! Criminals! To put them on stage with me! It’s an outrage!”
“Actually, they are actors,” Coco said.
“Miss Pommel there is absolutely right,” Flim said. “Haven’t you heard, old bean? Since that fiasco in Ponyville, we aren’t allowed to run another business for five more years.”
“But luckily we’re multi-talented, adaptable and charming fellows,” Flam said. “We auditioned with the East Manehattan Theatre Group, and here we are! Now I think you’re the one who doesn’t belong. Aren’t you Carmelo Moustachio, owner of that hay shipping company?”
“Mr Moustachio is our major financial supporter,” Coco explained. “He’s a very good actor himself, and your director was kind enough to grant him and a few of his friends auditions for this year’s Midsummer Theatre Revival.”
“Indeed, I was once a promising student at the prestigious Canterlot Actor’s Academy, before my father’s unfortunate death. Left all alone in the world, with a company to my name, I was forced to abandon my life’s passion in order to keep up the family business.”
“That’s… very sad, Mr Moustachio,” Coco said, pushing down Carmelo’s dramatically-pointing hoof. “But we’re really behind schedule. Ponies are coming to finish the set in half an hour.”
“Right! Of course! My deepest apologies, Miss Pommel!” Carmelo tugged his collar and straightened his tie. When he opened his mouth again his soft, polite voice had transformed into a crisp, powerful baritone. He sounded a little winded but completely and honestly cheerful. “Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else should bring one anywhere? Eating as usual, I see, Algae!”
Caught off guard, Flam and Coco had to retreat off the stage hurriedly as Flim stuffed a sandwich in his mouth and raised his nose at the comment.
“I believe it is customary in good society to take some slight refreshment at five o’clock.” He paused and pretended to brush a crumb off his collar. “Where have you been since last Thursday?”
“I bet they’ll run off with all the props as soon as the curtain falls tonight!”
“The nerve of some ponies,” Silver Platter agreed, violently snapping his neck back to mirror his master’s mood. “Sir, I do not simply do not understand why you would invite these ponies to your pre-show dinner.”
“It would be very rude to exclude just two troublesome ponies in an otherwise respectable troop,” Carmelo said, sighing heavily as he lifted the purple drapery to check one of the large windows of his study. “The alternative is to not have dinner at all, and that simply will not do.”
“Very wise, Sir,” Silver Platter said. He adjusted his black silk bowtie and looked over to the giant standing clock in the corner of the room as it chimed five.
“They’re here!” Carmelo said suddenly, turning on the spot. The curtains swirled around him. He threw them aside in a huff and reached for his dark purple evening jacket draped over the back of a well-cushioned chair.
“Shall I let them in, sir?”
“At once!” Carmelo said without looking up from checking his mane in the reflecting on a brass telescope. “Bring out the champagne! The hors d’oeuvres!”
The bell rang as he spoke. Silver Platter opened the double doors and bowed deeply, and Carmelo finished his final preparations just in time. The ponies flooded in, casting their harlequin jackets and tall hats upon the ageing and balding butler.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Carmelo announced over the din. “You have worked very hard these past weeks! I’m sure you will perform very well tonight! Thanks to Stage Light for indulging my caprices, and the rest of you for tolerating an old buffoon like myself…”
Everypony laughed at this. Carmelo rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
“This is a night for you,” he continued. “I have prepared the finest food, and you are already the finest entertainment.”
As he spoke he eyed the two tall, lanky stallions milling about at the back of the group. They stood out like giraffes on a mowed lawn.
“That is all I have to say,” he said. “Have a wonderful afternoon, and I will see you on stage!”
The ponies stomped politely. The younger actors were already stuffing their faces with imported hay and fried dumplings. Meanwhile Silver Platter struggled in a corner of the room to stack two dozen hats into a tower in order to carry them to some unseen closet.
Carmelo took a glass of champagne off a trolley and squeezed through the party to join Flim and Flam. Flim wore a smart black suit, while Flam wore the khakis of a gentlepony of leisure. They both noticed the host’s approach, and quickly exchanged worried looks.
“What brings you here, my good sir?” Flim asked.
“Why, this is my home,” Carmelo replied, gesturing at the room with his champagne glass.
“But why are you here?” Flam said. “I got the impression that you don’t appreciate our company.”
“Which is precisely why I am here,” Carmelo said. “I know trouble when I see it.”
“And we are troublesome?” Flam said incredulously. “Are you calling us thieves? Sir, I am most offended!”
“When I see a spade, I call it a spade,” Carmelo replied, shrugging.
“Very well then,” Flim said, putting a hoof over Carmelo’s shoulder (and lifting an elegant gold watch out of his breast pocket). “But we have a right to ‘enjoy ourselves’, as you said, do we not? At least you won’t take that from us two poor orphan boys, would you?”
The two stallions knelt down in front of Carmello, one beside the other, and looked up at him with bright eyes bulging out of their heads.
“Enjoy yourself within reason,” Carmelo said. “But if I catch you doing anything unsavory…”
“What, am I one of these things?” Flim interrupted, holding up a slice of avocado on a cracker. “Why, you sound like that grumpy old unicorn from the Baltimare Orphanage.”
“Don’t remind me, brother!” Flam cut in. “She was stifling! Unreasonable! Lacking even a shred of imagination!”
“Baltimare, you say?” Carmelo said, taking a sip of champagne.
“Baltimare indeed,” Flim said. “Our woes began on a rainy night in a thatch basket, with a single blanket for two tiny foals.”
Carmelo paused and frowned into his glass.
“But enough about us,” Flam said. “What about you? You said you were nearly a great actor. Was there no one at all who could have taken the family business? No brothers or sisters?”
“None,” Carmelo said stiffly. “My father… he was old fashioned. A very smart pony, yes, but rigid. He disapproved of pegasi and unicorns, and shunned a considerable portion of his extended family. Why, he had a brother who was a pegasus, and for the longest time refused to share his inheritance. That brother did okay on his own, in any case. He went up north, and I believe he has a granddaughter in Ponyville.”
“Well this father of yours sounds like an awful fellow,” Flim said. He placed a hoof on Carmelo’s shoulder and let it slide casually down his chest. There was a gold-framed monocle in an inside pocket of Carmelo’s jacket, revealed by a golden chain linked to a clip on his lapel.
“I suppose,” Carmelo said. “But he was a good businesspony. He set up the company very well, and I have had little trouble in the years since his departure.”
Presently Silver Platter returned with big candle stands. The night was wearing on. Soon they would have to leave.
“Pickle Jar,” Carmelo said, putting out a hoof as the butler passed. “You are from Baltimare, are you not?”
“Yes sir,” he replied, setting the candle stand down. He eyed Flim and Flam and sniffed in disapproval. “I worked for your uncle for years before you summoned me last winter.”
“Well, these two gentleponies say that they are from the orphanage there.”
“Is that so?” Silver Platter squinted at the twins. “They do have that thin, stretched-out look to them, don’t they?”
“Well, your master looks quite the same,” Flam snapped. “We are self-made ponies, my brother and I. I say that is worth your respect.”
“But a pony doesn’t get far without relations,” Silver Platter said. “I suppose you never found your parents?”
“We have searched far and wide,” Flim said rather defensively. “Ever we traveled, and ever we were alert. But alas, they are lost.”
“Well, you will not have much success in the long run, I’m afraid,” Silver Platter said. “To lose one parent is tragic. Losing both sounds like carelessness.”
Flim looked away, his lip quivering. From his breast pocket he produced half an embroidered red handkerchief.
Silver Platter did a double take.
“What is that, if you do not mind my asking?” He said, getting impolitely close to the much taller pony.
“It’s an heirloom of sorts,” Flam answered. “It is the only significant item in that basket in which we had been abandoned.”
“But half a handkerchief is most unusual,” Silver Platter said, trying to get as close to the item in question as possible. “Surely there was more?”
“More there was,” Flim said. “My brother and I split our inheritance, as per tradition, when we came of age.”
Flam reached into his breast pocket and produced a roll of red and gold fabric. It had a frayed edge where it had been cut. Silver Platter pursed his lips, and then looked at the twins. Then he looked to his master.
“One last detail, or perhaps not such a final detail. Excuse me for my rudeness. This is a matter of some importance. How old are you, if you do not mind my asking?”
“We have fifty years between the two of us,” Flam replied. “Fifty years of joint experience, as it is called and as we like to say.”
“Indeed,” Silver Platter said, sounding not too pleased.
“You are nosy tonight,” Carmelo said to the butler. “What has possesses you so? Are you, perhaps, senescing? I will not allow it. Not in my household.”
“I apologize, sir,” Silver Platter said with a polite bow. “Well, perhaps I ought to say this now, when trivial things are said.
“Five and twenty years ago, I was a butler for your uncle Coal Shovel.”
“You lie to me, Pickle Jar,” Carmelo said indignantly, tipping his champagne glass upside down. Fortunately it was empty. “You said you were not senescent, and here you are telling me something which you know that I already know!”
“I apologize once more sir,” Silver Platter replied, bowing again. “But please be patient. I will be brief, for this is but a brief tale, and a respectable pony as myself, accustomed to the busy lives of the wealthy and the famous, will allocate to it only the time that it deserves, and no more.
“As I was saying before you decided to interrupt me, I was a servant to your uncle Coal Shovel, who was and still is the reclusive owner of the shovel factory in Baltimare, and your uncle.
“He shares your father’s ideas, you see, but he is… what do you say… a gentlepony scientist. He is respected as one who puts ideas into practice.
“After a month of my entering his service, his wife gave birth to twins.”
“Yes, of course,” Carmelo said, putting a hoof to his heart. “A tragedy! Straight Talk and Corn Stalk, gone much too soon! And what a waste of a name! Why do you think I call myself Straight Talk when I go to Canterlot? To honor his memory, of course, but it is a nice-sounding name!”
“Ah, but Jackknife Jones is such a powerful name, sir,” Silver Platter said, putting two hooves on his master’s shoulders. “So fitting for an active gentlepony like yourself!”
“Ah, you comfort me, Pickle Jar,” Carmelo said, wiping his eyes with his own red handkerchief. “But why do you bring up such morbid subjects at a gathering such as this? You are quite impolite, my good fellow!”
“That I may be, and I apologize,” Silver Platter said, bowing. “But you see, sir, Straight Talk and Corn Stalk, they did not perish as you may think.”
“Did not perish?” Carmelo repeated. “But there was a funeral! The little caskets! Well! Pardon me! That was improper. And it was your fault, Pickle Jar.”
“I apologize,” Silver Platter said with another bow. “But as I am telling you right now in the most direct fashion, those infants did not expire! You see, Jack, your uncle could not accept these children of his. They were abominations in his eyes.”
“How horrifying!” Flim gasped and put his handkerchief over his mouth.
“Indeed,” Silver Platter said, shaking his head sadly. “They had these growths on their foreheads, very unbecoming of earth ponies. But Coal Shovel was far from a cruel pony. So he contrived to find a good home for these poor infants.”
“But what did he do with them?” Flam asked.
“He entrusted them to me,” Silver Platter said. “For a moment, anyways. I received them in a well-packed basket, with instructions to take them to the only place fitting for such foals in Baltimare.”
“What are you trying to say, good sir?” Flim asked. “You have thoroughly ruined our merry mood, and for what?”
“I apologize.” Silver Platter looked down at his hooves and bowed with genuine chagrin. “And I am sorry to you too, dear master. I am afraid that these ponies who stand before you, this Algae Block and Mount Reef are none other than your long lost cousins, Straight Talk and Corn Stalk.”
“I knew it!” Flam cried, pulling Flim and Carmelo into a tight hug. “I am Straight Talk, and you will call me such from this day forward!”
“Oh, joyous news!” Flim said. “Embrace me, cousin!”
Carmelo did exactly that.
“You must treat me with the utmost respect from now on,” he said with a happy smile on his face.
“When have we not?” Flam said, rustling Carmelo’s oil-slicked mane.
“Master,” Silver Platter said. “I believe you are displaying signs of triviality.”
“On the contrary, my dear servant Pickle Jar, I’ve now realized for the first time in my life the vital importance of straight talk!”
Applause and whistling and laughter filled the small inner city park. There must have been two hundred ponies on the lawn; a big improvement from the first year.
The actors, twenty in total, lined up at the front of the stage and bowed. A few sixth graders from the local school were struggling with a knot. Finally they loosened it, and slowly the curtain fell.
“So do you forgive us, cousin?” Flim asked as he took a sip from his mug of tea.
The parlor was well lit. It was past midnight, and the mood was much mellower than it had been at the dinner. The youngest actors were asleep on couches or big cushions in the ballroom downstairs.
“You seem dedicated to your craft,” Carmelo said. “I had my doubts, but I could see it in the way you performed tonight. The best actors are the most sincere, and sincerity is rare in this day and age.”
“So what do you say? Can your packaging plant use two more ponies?”
“Supervisors, perhaps?”
“Plant managers?”
“Administrators?”
Carmelo chuckled.
“Yes, I can certainly look into it. But don’t you push your luck.”
