Chapter 42 – Fallout From the Press Conference, and Back to Work
Later that evening Roger suggested giving the team the following day off, as a gesture acknowledging the success of the big national press conference. Gwen said, “Huh? Day off? You know what it’s going to be like tomorrow? Phone calls, emails, requests for interviews, ticket requests, third-rate dancers wanting tryouts. That’s all we’re going to do tomorrow, you, me, the woman, Helstof. Field all that stuff; sort through it all and reply. Day off? Sorry, dear. See you at The Hall, 7am.”
Roger said, “Oh,” and turned on the TV. They scanned through the local news channels and saw full coverage of the press conference on all of them. Later they tried the national shows, and saw at least blurbs on CNN, the Atlanta channel, and Entertainment Tonight. At her house, Gale crawled through websites, finding footage on all the entities that had sent crews and reporters. The New York Times, The Times of London, and the San Francisco paper had short stories that said they would have full coverage in their Sunday arts sections. She called up Gwen and reported. After Gale hung up, the phone rang again. It was a reporter from Le Monde, asking for Catherine.
Gwen covered the phone and asked Catherine, “How did they get our number? It’s unlisted.”
Catherine motioned for the phone, said, “Yes, darling,” and talked for thirty minutes. After she disconnected she said, “They’re going to do a story of yesterday and today, Ballet Russes in Paris in the 1920s, and Ballet Charleston, today. I told them to call you at The Hall tomorrow. By the way, what’s the name of your company?”
Roger said, “We have a company?”
Catherine looked at Gwen like she was married to an idiot. “Your dance company. What’s the name? They want to know how to bill you in their story.”
Gwen was just as idiotic as Roger about the name of their outfit, but she didn’t let it show, like he did. She said, “The Charleston Ballet Guild.”
“And the name of the production?”
“Stravinsky’s Lost Ballet.”
“Oh, Gwen, they’re lovely, both names.” And she gave Gwen a kiss. Roger liked the names, too, but felt piqued that he hadn’t thought faster, and thus earned a kiss from The Deneuve. Roger would give many, many things for a kiss from her.
At the same time the Ps also were watching the tube, switching channels to see how many places were carrying blurbs or substantial stories about the show. They watched footage on one of the local channels that showed Townshend playing the synthe. Then the camera panned to show the Mayor and the Senator’s wife, who could be seen staring at Bart’s crotch as he and Selgey led the counterclockwise procession. The camera was positioned at the perimeter of the park, where it could follow the circular and swirling mass of people. It panned from the Mayor to Bart to people in the crowd. The Ps could see the back of their heads, then Catherine’s back at the front of the podium, and then the iron fence separating the park from Broad Street. Pater grabbed Peter’s arm, and said, “Look, there, at the fence. Look!”
“What?”
“The two guys. The two guys outside the fence, looking through the bars.”
Peter strained forward towards the TV. The camera was panning slowly, but by now it had passed the iron fence, and was completing its 360 degree visual of the park, the crowd, and the procession. Pater looked at Peter, who looked back. He said, “Was that who I think it was?”
“Who was it?”
“Who do you think it was?”
“I think it was who you think it was.”
“Who’s that?”
“Well….”
“Well, who?”
“You know who.”
“But I’m not sure.”
“Yes you are.”
“How do you know?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because you know it was. You saw them.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you’re just scared to admit it.”
“So what. You’re scared too.”
“So. Ok, I’m scared.”
“So who did you see?”
The Ps looked at each other, then at the TV, which now was back to showing The Whosey playing again.
“Shall we call Gwen, tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
“Tell her we saw them, at the park.”
“Saw who?”
They didn’t call Gwen. Instead, Peter got up, went into their bedroom, and came back with their guns and the gun cleaning kit.
After an early breakfast the next morning at the June's house with Catherine, Helstof, and Townshend, they all drove Catherine to the airport where she boarded the Gulfstream for Paris. Catherine kissed each of them goodbye, saving The Whosey for last. She said, “Pete, darling, I wish I had more time here. It's so nice to see you again after all these years. You know now how close I am to Gwenny and Roger. Your show is going to be a smash, a wonderful success. You have a great team and truly great material to work with. I know you’ll do well. I’ll be coming back for the premiere, and I’ll spend some extra days here, afterwards. We’ll see each other again, then. I want that. I really do.”
And she kissed him. Before she let go, she whispered something in his ear, and he nodded. Then she was gone.
When they arrived at The Hall, they faced low-grade pandemonium. The woman, the Ps, and Selgey all rushed at Gwen, trying to speak to her first. Gwen’s sharp eye immediately noticed the bulges in the front of the Ps pants, and knew they weren’t from their natural adornments. She glanced at Roger, which instantly put him on alert.
“What’s wrong?”
Pater said, “They were there. Yesterday.”
“Who?”
Pater looked at Peter. “Stirg. Stirg and Nev. They were at the press conference.”
“How do you know?”
“We saw them on TV. Outside the fence, looking in.”
Peter looked at Pater, said, “We did? We saw them?”
Gwen didn’t have time for any nonsense, with the woman jumping up and down with her news. If the Ps were packing, that meant they were scared. She said, “So what if they were there?”
Pater said, “It looked like Stirg was trying to bend the bars of the fence with his hands. Either there was steam coming out of his ears, or out of the heating system grate in the sidewalk behind him.”
Peter looked at his friend, at the same time admiring the dramatic picture Pater was painting for Gwen, and wondering at Pater’s new found penchant for exaggeration. He hadn’t seen any steam coming from anywhere in the TV footage. Gwen looked at Roger and said, “Please take over here, dear,” and she turned to the woman.
“I’ve been here since 5:30am. The phone voice mail is full, twenty-five messages. I tried listening to them all but gave up. I have forty emails about the production, and you have thirty or so. There were six students from the College of Charleston dance class waiting outside the door when I got here, wanting parts. I gave them each five dollars for coffee and bagels and told them to come back tomorrow.”
“That was kind of you.”
“I told them to come and see you, tomorrow.”
Gwen smiled. “Well, we knew this was coming. We’ll deal with it. We have Roger to help us. He can answer the phone.” She smile over at her husband, who had made the Ps show him their guns, and was checking and reviewing safety with them. He wondered how they could walk around with them in the front of their pants like that. He certainly would have found it uncomfortable. “If we need more help dealing with all the attention, we can use Helstof and Gale. They have a package of costume sample fabrics and cuts ready for us to look at. We need to schedule a time for that.”Now it was Selgey who was jumping up and down, needing attention, though she was doing it with inherent grace, unlike the woman. “Yes, dear?”
Selgey said, “Late yesterday we got an email from Stephan and Ingrid. You remem
ber them?”
“Yes, dear, the Paris Opera Ballet people.”
“Right. They saw the press release on the Le Monde website, and it blew their minds. They asked if they can come over right away and meet with us about the production.”
“Ok with me.” Gwen looked at the woman.
“Crazy is as crazy does. That’s all it’s going to be from here on out. Let them come.”
Selgey said, “Ok, so then I thought, maybe, if the Gulfstream is coming back here after dropping off Catherine, maybe they can come on it?”
Gwen looked at Helstof.
“I don’t know where it’s supposed to go. I’ll check.” She picked up her phone and dialed a number. She spoke Russian for a few seconds, then waited for a minute, then listened for a few seconds. “It’s not booked for later today. If you want it back here, it can come.”
Gwen looked at the woman, who she knew was approaching overload, to confirm. The woman nodded yes. Gwen then nodded yes to Selgey, who went to Helstof to work out the flight and hotel details. She looked over at Roger, who was trying to convince the Ps to carry their guns just behind their right hip, like normal people, but they wanted them in the front of their pants, god knows why. Maybe it’s that artistic temperament thing.
Ok, the emergencies were taken care of, now on to dealing with the voice mails and emails. And that is what the team did for the rest of the day, except The Whosey, Bart, and Selgey, who willingly got back to their music and choreography. Gwen broke up the Ps, assigning Peter to run the recording computer for Townshend, and Pater to act as her personal gopher. She scheduled a team review of the costume package for 9am the day after tomorrow. Gale said, “Day after tomorrow? 9am? That’s Saturday.” She looked at Helstof. “But we were going out to lunch today. The new place on King Street. French. Dying to try it. Dying. Aren’t we?” Helstof remained noncommittal. Gwen did not.
“9am, Saturday. Full review of your ideas for materials, colors, shapes, and how they will convey the characters of the dancers. You can do it in sketches, in PowerPoint, or bring in the actual materials for us to see. I don’t care. Just so it shows us where you stand, what you’ve done.”
Gale said something under her breadth, something like, “There goes trying the Beaujolais Nouveau today,” which Gwen heard but pretended not to. She and Helstof went over to their set of tables at stage right, and started pawing through mounds of photos and magazines and scrapes of material.
The whole team was back at work.
The Lost Ballet Page 42
