The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney

by Richard Dorrance

  “Evidently, though that’s not something we talk about. Anthony Quinn the actor produced a child when he was eighty-one. You remember him, the wild man in Zorba the Greek. I guess he was a wild man in real life, too. So I guess they want it right up to the end.”

  Anna said, “Eight-one. Wow. No rest for us weary women, I guess. Good to know what I have to look forward to. Not sure if that’s good or bad. How old is she?”

  “Renee’s fifty-four.”

  “How’d you like to have a little half brother or sister?”

  “Not likely, which is too bad. But they still can have some fun together.”

  “I guess.”

  Stella said, “We’ll know later today. After they get off the cloud they’re on in there, either she’s going to ask where she’s sleeping, or she won’t.”

  “If she asks, it’s going to be too late for Jools to bring in another bed. Then what?”

  “Then it’s girl's dorm style. Either she gets one queen and we’re in the other, or we push the two beds together, and we each get a third.”

  Anna said, “Either way, that sounds interesting.”

  Chapter 65 – More Planning

  Normally, someone seeing three guys chained together and entering a building might ask questions, but when the thirty-something couple walking down John Street looked down the alley and saw the NNs going up the stage door entrance steps to The Hall, they just thought, cool, we’ll have to watch for the announcement of this play, whatever it is. The entire team followed Jinny and the NNs up the steps and onto the stage, with everyone happy except the NNs and Stirg. Even Nev thought Gwen had made the right call in not putting them in the ground back at the hut. Jinny took the boys down to the seating level and locked the end of the chain around one of the front row seats, saying, “Sit there and learn something, you idiots. If you don’t, you heard what Ms. Gwen said. She’ll give you up to Mr. Stirg, and you know what that means.”

  When everyone except Stirg was sitting in a circle on the luxury rolling chairs, Slev said, “Thank god that’s over. Two kidnappings solved, and one to go. This calls for dinner from McCradys and some good wine. Ok? Gale and Richard are the guests of honor tonight, so they get to do the ordering.” She dialed McCradys and handed Gale her phone. Stirg had rolled his chair over to the edge of the stage, and was staring down at the NNs, which was not an environment conducive to their learning the basics of producing a world class opera performance. Even a rock opera. At least they once again were dressed all in black, even the NSSMIBC. Being almost as much of a fashionista as Stella, Gale had refused to allow him to put on his white sneakers as they left the quonset hut site. She told Jinny to dump them into the fifty-five gallon drum in which the quonset hut owner burned his trash. The NSSMIBC made the trip into town in his black socks, dirty as they were. If Gale had been at the quonset hut site later that day when the owner returned, hoping to get a piece of the Gale and Richard action, whatever that was, she would have seen this guy look around inside, then come outside and look around, then look into the drum, take the ugly white sneakers out, and put them on. She would have heard him say, “Hot damn.”

  The picnic style (though still gourmet) dinner arrived an hour later, and an hour after that everyone either was still sipping wine or had shifted to coffee. The NNs had shared the food but not the wine. The MSMIBC said, “Rather had a triple Quarterpounder.”

  Gwen stood in the middle of the circle, swirling her glass of fifteen year old Bordeaux. “Like Slev said, ‘thank god that’s over’. Now we have to gear up for the production. We have five weeks until opening night, and a hell of a lot of work to do. We’re going to have to assume the music is going to be here in time. How we do set design without the music I’m not sure, but we’ll figure something out. The other assumption is that Stella will be able to do the costumes based on what is going on in the bunker.”

  Constantine interrupted, “What’s a bunker? Where’d that come from?”

  “On one of our phone calls with Jools he let that word slip. And then he almost said it a second time. We have World War II bunkers and other bunkers built about 1900 over on Sullivan’s Island. I think that’s where they’re holding Paul and Anna and Stella. If I thought they were in danger, we’d go hunting for them there, but I think they are ok. A bunker is a huge concrete structure built by the army.” Constantine nodded. “I hope Paul and Stella start sending us songs and costume designs so we can build the production around them. But we have lots of things we can do, and have to do: a PR campaign, utilities, stage hands, a website, ticket sales. That’s what we hit hard starting tomorrow. It’s going to be seven days a week from here on out, twelve hour days. Everyone on board with that?” Everyone nodded, yes.

  Roger asked, “Who’s going to play the music? When we did the ballet, we had the one guy play the entire score on synthe. He's a master musician, and pulled that off. We don’t have him, so who plays Paul’s songs?”

  Gwen looked around, and her gaze fell on Richard. He said, “When Anna and I were working on our ballet score, she played piano and I play synthe. That’s different than what we need now. Like Roger said, the ballet music was played on synthe by a musical genius, which I am not. Anna’s good on piano, but not at the level we need. We know Paul will sing, and we can assume he will play some of the music. But that still leaves a huge hole in instrumentation. Either we need an orchestra, or a great rock band, or a master synthe person.”

  Gwen said, “Ok, that’s a fundamental question, and the only person who can answer it is Paul. That will be the first thing we ask him next time we talk. What we can do is start on the things I mentioned. Here's the division of labor. Anyone who has a problem, speak up. Utilities, including sound and lighting, Constantine. Hire anyone you need to. PR, Gale. You have the biggest mouth.” She looked at Gale fondly, and Gale knew she was kidding. “Website and tickets, Slev. Stage hands and extras, Roger. Hire everyone you need. Richard, you will manage the musicians and the music, when Paul tells us how that is going to work. That’s the basics. Everyone ok?”

  “What about me?” Jinny asked.

  “You babysit the idiots. Raise their consciousness. Make them better people. Protect them from Stirg. Make them do odd jobs.”

  Stirg said, “That don’t work out for you, Jinny, you can turn them over to me.” Looking at Gwen he said, “How long do I have to wait for them? Leopards don’t change their spots. I want to take them out in the harbor.”

  “Give them a chance. It’s up to them. If they don’t cooperate, then out to the harbor they go. Ok, so that’s the plan. Everyone here tomorrow morning at 8am. First thing we do is call Jools and talk to Paul and Anna.”

  Jinny said, “Where the idiots gonna sleep?”

  “If you don’t want them in your guest bedroom at home, it’ll have to be here. Figure out something. Maybe Nev will stay with them overnight, keep them quiet.”

  Nev looked at Stirg and said, “I’ll keep ‘em quiet, all right.”

  Chapter 66 – Sleeping Arrangements

  Everyone had left The Hall except Jinny, Nev, and the nitwits from Idaho, who still were chained to the front row of seats. Jinny and Nev had rolled their upholstered chairs up to the edge of the stage, and were staring down at them. Nev said, “Did Gwen really fire her gun up at the ceiling?”

  Jinny nodded. “She was trying to make a point about security. It worked.”

  “She’s something, huh?”

  “Tops.”

  “Maybe we can fire our guns in here too? Use them as targets? Just their legs?”

  Jinny shook his head. “No killing them without her orders. She said we had to try to elevate their sense of decorum and overall emotional intelligence. If they don’t cooperate or don’t make any progress, then we can kill them.”

  “Who’s to judge if they make progress?”

  “Me, I guess.”

 
“They seem intractable to me. Lack all capability for self-improvement. Can’t you just judge them to be failures now? I’d get big points with my boss if I told him they were down on the bottom of the harbor out past Fort Sumter. I’ll buy you a dinner at the restaurant of your choice, no price limit.”

  As the NNs sat listening to this conversation, they started sweating again, but less so that back at the hut when they were staring at that shovel with their names on it. Jinny played it out, hesitating before answering Nev, making them squirm a little. “It’s been a long day. I’ll wait till tomorrow, let you know then. In the meantime, what do we do with them overnight?”

  “Leave ‘em with me. I’ll watch over them.”

  “You always this blood-thirsty after eating a gourmet meal from McCradys, served with an aged bordeaux?”

  “The boss hasn’t been all that pleased with my performance lately. I’m kinda looking to redeem myself.”

  “He’s gonna have to wait. Can we just leave them like they are?”

  “They might tear the row of seats out of the floor. Walk out down the street carrying it.”

  “There’s a big pipe down in the orchestra pit we can chain them to. But how do we keep them from yelling after we leave?”

  Nev said, “Easy, we cut out their tongues.”

  Jinny looked at the boys, said, “I don’t think he’s one of your biggest fans. You guys got any ideas how you want to spend the night?”

  “The NSSMIBC said, “How bout you put us down in the pit, send down some hoes to keep us entertained. That’ll keep us quiet.”

  Jinny looked at the idiot and said, “I don’t think that’s what Gwen had in mind. Ya’ll better get your minds straightened out by tomorrow, cause she’s not kidding when she says she’ll turn you over to him.” He thought a moment and said, “You got two choices: duct tape or I leave him with you. What’ll it be?”

  They looked at each other but very quickly said in unison, “Duct tape.”

  Chapter 67 – Paul and Renee

  When Jools came back into the big house, Scotilly said, “Can you believe it? Paul McCartney and Renee Fleming, in my house. Those gotta be two of the biggest names ever to hit Sullivan’s Island.”

  “You have them locked up in the bunker. You consider that to be VIP hospitality? They’re eating food out of cans, for god’s sake.”

  She ignored him and said, “Why don’t we invite all of them here for dinner. Can you throw something together?”

  “The way they looked at each other when they met, it’s my guess they’re going to be back in Paul’s bedroom before long.”

  “What?”

  “Bedroom. You know, place where two people go in, come out happy.”

  Scotilly looked shocked, then puzzled, then thoughtful. She said, “How long’s it been for you?”

  “For what?”

  “For, you know.”

  “Never you mind.” After a minute he asked, “How long for you?”

  “Not very long.”

  Jools knew that was a lie. “Should I go down and invite them for dinner?” She nodded.

  Down in the bunker he sat with Anna and Stella in the living room. From down the concrete corridor came the echo of angels singing. “Summertime, and the living is easy. The fish are jumping, and the cotton is high.” Jools said, “That song was written over on Folly Island, back in the ‘30s. No wonder they’re singing it. I’d like to hear them do a whole album of Gershwin.” They listened for a few minutes. “Scotilly wants you up in the big house for dinner. She wants to meet Renee.”

  Anna still was feeling superfluous, and she jumped down his throat. “Why doesn’t she come down here for dinner? We can warm up some SpaghettiOs for her, serve it with white bread and margarine.”

  “Down girl,” he said. “I told her I thought Paul and Renee might, you know, want to feel each other out tonight, and that reminded her she hasn’t been getting any lately, and so I think she wants to see what that attraction is like. Maybe she’s forgotten.”

  Anna, the devil, said, aggressively, “What about you, Jools? You getting any lately? Any Sullivan’s Island maid servants?”

  Jools sniffed and pretended to listen to the singing. “Really, Ms. Anna, such crassness. I’m surprised at you.”

  The bottom line was that all four of them were horny, and envious of the newly mated lovebirds. Potentially mated. Make that likely to be mated. The singing down the corridor stopped, and the three of them in the living room wondered if maybe the mating had started. Music making, or sex? Music making, or sex? Which was the stronger force of nature in those two musical artists?

  Anna said, “Tell Scotilly the geniuses are hard at work. Hard at something. Tell her we’ll come up to the house tomorrow for lunch. Think you can fix something to eat that didn’t come out of a can?”

  “Yes, dear. I’ll prepare something special for the geniuses, and both of you of course. See you at 1pm.”

  An hour later Paul and Renee came into the living room, holding hands. Paul said, “Can you both come down to the studio? We’d like to try a first recording of the third song. Renee can do a bass line, and I can do some saxs on the synthe, if you can play a little piano, and you can run the mixing board.” He looked from Anna to Stella.

  Stella said, “You have a third song written? When did that happen?”

  Renee said, “Just now. He told me the idea for the song, and I started singing some odds and ends, and he played piano, and we tossed around some lyrics, and there it was.”

  He said, “It’s just the skeleton. The melody and the words need work, but putting something on tape always moves it forward for me; sort of adds to the form and structure. Then we build on that. Ok?”

  Anna asked, “What’s the idea?”

  “The two protagonists of the opera, the couple that has been together successfully for many years, are watching a daytime TV show, one of those popular ones with a star interviewer, who brings people on the stage and asks them intrusive personal questions about their relationship, and they’re dumb enough to answer them, and all the people talk about their spiritual qualities, and how it’s their inner compatibilities, or lack of them, that dictate their happiness together. The whole rigged discussion is about problems, and the star interviewer pretends to analyze things, and tells them how their inner lives are misaligned, and if they listen to him, he can fix them and make them happy forever and ever. He’s the chiropractor of relationships. And our couple, watching this garbage on TV, looks at each other, knowing that their success comes simply from liking to do the same things together, things outside themselves, that they have done year after year. Things they both love doing, together. And they shut the TV off and go out to the garden to do a little weeding in the beds.”

  Stella looked at Renee and said, “So he’s told you the whole concept for the opera, and you agree with it, and you’ve written a song about it together, in one hour?”

  Renee shook her head. “No. I learned the concept for the opera in the second song you sent me on the CD. I could see the first song was the catchy thing, the hook, to get people in a musical groove. And I could see the second song was where the serious stuff starts. I listened to it a dozen times, and after the second time I understood the concept. I could see that the rest of the opera, the remaining songs, were going to flesh that out. And I believe he’s right about relationships. It’s the stuff outside people that they do or don’t do together, that makes or breaks it. This song about the goofy TV relationship celebrity was fun. I hate those idiots.”

  By 10pm that night they had the third song in the can.

  Chapter 68 - The Final Commitment

  Gwen and Roger found the NNs the next morning when they heard groaning coming from the orchestra pit. Roger cut them loose, noting the generally gray color of their extremities. He said, “What was your other choice?” The BMIBC tried to say, “Nev,” but his mouth woul
dn’t work from having been taped shut for eight hours. To Gwen, Roger said, “We’d better get these guys some coffee if we expect Jinny to work any miracles on them.” He picked up the end of the chain and led them to the bathroom.

  Gwen put the phone on speaker and dialed Anna’s number. “Good morning, Jools here. How may I help you?”

  “How’s Renee, Jools?”

  “Ms. June, lovely to hear the voice that makes the birds sing. She’s fine, I gather. I’ve not been down to the bun….to their quarters yet this morning. We’re having them up to house today for luncheon.”

  “Get your ass down to the bunker now, Jools, and keep the phone connected. We have to talk to Paul right away if we’re going to pull off this production. Hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, Gwenny. Hold the line.” Five minutes later the four kidnappees and Jools were standing at the door of the bunker, blinking in the bright sunlight. The cell phone signal couldn’t penetrate through the eight foot thick concrete walls. “Here’s Mr. McCartney and Ms. Fleming, Gwenny.” Anna and Stella could see they carried little weight, at this point. Anna decided she’d take this slight out on Jools later, at lunch.

  Gwen said, “How are you Renee? How are you, Paul? Is Jools treating you right? He knows the consequences if you say, no.”

  Paul and Renee were holding hands, looking content. Anna and Stella had slept soundly, each with a queen bed all to themselves. Paul said, “All’s well here. Almost like paradise, in a way.”

  The Junies sitting on the stage looked at each other at this statement. Living in a moldy bunker with no windows hardly seemed to fit the description of paradise. Slev, the most intuitive of the group, smiled and said, “Lucky them. That was fast out of the gate.”

  Gwen decided to pass by the paradise thing and get down to business. “Paul, we need to start a daily communication between us. We have five weeks to opening night. We’re going to have a preliminary PR plan done by tomorrow, and we’re going to announce the dates of the performance. This announcement is going out worldwide, over all the media. You ready for that? You going to have the music ready?”