Upstaged

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “We will, Joe. We’re going to head in now, it’s freezing out here.” I shouted against the windy gale.

  “We’ll be in soon. Just wanted to see who’s arriving and let them see us.” Joe gave us a mock salute. “See you inside.”

  Siegfried pulled up in Harold’s Jeep and parked near the building. After the show, Camille and I planned to make a short appearance at the cast party. Siegfried had decided not to go—mostly based on his shy nature—so he drove separate from us in the vehicle that he’d basically inherited from Freddie’s murderous ex-husband. Together, we hurried toward the building, heading for the stage door instead of the lobby so we could get inside faster.

  We scuffled with the metal door, fighting the wind. Finally, we entered, secured the door, and turned on the lights. Frank and Jonesy appeared minutes later, mops in hand.

  “All cleaned up and ready to go?” Camille asked .

  Frank bowed with pride. “Yes, Miss Coté. The lobby floor is sparklin’. You could eat off that floor.”

  Jonesy snickered beside him, apparently taking great pleasure in his cohort’s joke.

  Within fifteen minutes, the entire cast and crew had assembled in the chorus room filled with tables, chairs, wigs, costumes, and makeup kits. The air felt electrified. Jittery students began to apply makeup and comb their hair into sixties-style hairdos, laughing and chatting with each step.

  I wandered out to the lobby just in time to see two more uniformed officers arrive.

  Joe briefed the men gathered around him. “Marvin? You cover the back entrance. Peter? Front entrance and lobby. Gus, stage front. Back stage and cat walks, Adam and Siegfried. I’m going to wander between all of your stations and make the rounds up and down the corridors, okay?”

  We all agreed. I fingered the radiophone Joe had handed me. Press to talk. Release to listen.

  My cell vibrated. I slid it out of my jeans pocket and checked the display. My heart sank. It was home.

  I excused myself and swiped the screen. “Hello?”

  Mrs. Pierce sounded tense when she answered, “Oh, Gus. I'm so glad you answered.”

  “Adelaide, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you. The horses are running all over the yard. The fence is down near the barn. I’m afraid they’re going to run down to the road and cause an accident. Freddie is bathing the babies upstairs and can’t leave them. And I don’t trust myself with two little ones in the tub and Johnny running—”

  “Don’t worry about it, Adelaide. I’ll send Siegfried straight home. We have almost two hours until show time. He’ll round them up and lock them in the barn.”

  “Oh my goodness! The brown one just ran into the path by the woods. I hope she stops before she gets to the road! ”

  “Don’t worry.” I was equally worried about Maggie galloping down the trail and colliding with a truck on the other end. “Siegfried’s on his way. Just stay inside with Johnny, okay?”

  Siegfried had already come to my side.

  “Professor? Was ist los ?” His brow knotted and his eyes danced with worry.

  “The horses are out. Can you run home and catch them, Sig? Just lock them in their stalls until tomorrow. We’ll figure out how they got out later.”

  “Ja. I’m going. I’ll be back soon.”

  When I turned back to the group of officers, Joe’s radio buzzed.

  He walked away from the noise to answer the call. His face darkened.

  Adam’s radio went off at the same time. Joe exchanged a worried look with Adam, who began talking into his mike. When he signed off, his face drained of color. He and Joe spoke urgently for a minute.

  “Walk with me,” Joe barked and gestured toward me, striding toward the lobby.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Bomb scare at the nursing home. Gotta evacuate over one hundred elderly folks in this bitter cold. They need every available hand.”

  Adam looked shocked. “Nursing home? I just got a report that there’s been a bomb threat at the police station, Joe. They’ve called in an explosives expert to examine an apparent bomb that’s been placed at the back door of the station. They said it looks like enough TNT to blow the whole building up.”

  “What the...” Joe stuttered for a moment, unable to comprehend two such heinous events occurring in his peaceful town. He looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Gus. We have to go. Keep your eyes open, my friend. The whole town’s gone nuts.”

  Before I could voice my deep misgivings, every police officer on watch vanished into the snowy night.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  I walked back to the chorus room, wondering how in just five minutes our powerful security team had been reduced to one man: me. On top of the loss of manpower, I had no weapon.

  Shaking my head in disbelief, I skirted around Jonesy and sat down at the piano to process the information.

  The nursing home. The police station. Whoever he was, how had he done it?

  Molly Frost joined me on the bench, tapping my shoulder. “Professor LeGarde? Could we please run ‘Woodstock’ a few more times? The girls are a little nervous about that middle section.”

  I dragged myself from my dark thoughts and turned to her. “Sure, Molly.” Her arm cast was gone. She wore patched, faded bellbottoms, an embroidered blouse, and a white suede, long-fringed vest. When she moved, the beads that Agnes Bigelow had sewn onto the fringe glistened and clattered.

  Orange granny glasses had been fitted with her own prescription and her hair was permed to fluff it up in cascades of wild curls down her back, parted on the side. She wore a silver locket shaped like a half moon, with small red rubies and pearls encrusted along the edge of the crescent. Reportedly, it was her mother’s when she was a young girl in the late sixties. Sterling silver rings of various designs graced her fingers and on top of the vest, she wore five strings of crystal beads. A strange thrill trickled through me as I was momentarily transported to my own youth. The outfit reminded me of those that Elsbeth had worn after we “adopted” our own flower child in the sixties. It was pleasantly eerie.

  “Professor? Should I call the other girls over?”

  “Sure thing. Let’s do this. ”

  Unbidden, worry clenched my stomach. I glanced around uneasily, shuffling through the sheet music.

  Is he watching? Is he waiting in the wings? Will he do something to disrupt the show? What if he’s hidden a bomb under the stage? Or plans to start a fire? God forbid...

  I set aside my fears for the moment and realized, for the time being, I was probably best able to protect the group from within the room where they were all gathered.

  Molly motioned to Lisa and Candy. They both trotted to the piano, ducking under the ladder Jonesy had dragged into the middle of the room.

  At the top, he unscrewed a burned out bulb. “Watch out there, girls. It's bad luck to walk under a ladder,” he said with a chuckle.

  The girls looked up at him and shrugged, evidently unconcerned about such superstitions.

  I glanced up, surprised to hear him say anything. Jonesy normally was pretty quiet.

  He casually screwed in a fresh light bulb and slowly climbed down the ladder, collapsing it and dragging it toward the back storage area.

  Candy Price wore a bright red-and-green plaid jumper with white knee socks and sensible brown shoes. Her character, Minnie Shaw, begrudgingly wears her Catholic school outfit during the day, but secretly longs to escape to Woodstock for an idealized Bohemian life. There wasn’t much Camille could do to change her short, red curly hair, so rather than put a wig on her, Camille had pinned little bows into her hair. She also wore heavy, black-rimmed glasses.

  Lisa, in her role as waitress/Broadway wannabe, Rikki Mudd, was dressed in a pink uniform with white shoes and short, white socks over nylons. She wore a marvelous pair of heavy, red plastic glasses sparkling with mini-rhinestones. The frames turned up into garish cat-eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a hair net that formed a ball at th
e back of her neck.

  I played the introduction, and Molly began to sing .

  “It’s calling my name,

  Woodstock…

  It drives me insane

  Woodstock…

  We’ll build an empire

  In Woodstock…

  Released from this mire

  Please, Woodstock…

  Lisa and Candy joined in, singing the refrain that featured the troublesome harmony.

  And there ain’t no Establishment in Woodstock.

  No, there ain’t no Establishment in Woodstock.

  Lisa took over and sang her stanza.

  We’ll set our roots down

  In Woodstock…

  In the magical town

  Of Woodstock…

  We’ll know only love

  In Woodstock…

  And worship the dove

  In Woodstock…

  The girls joined in again.

  And there ain’t no Establishment in Woodstock.

  No, there ain’t no Establishment in Woodstock.

  A chill ran down my spine. Their young voices intertwined in gorgeous harmony. They’d mastered it, and I smiled at each in turn. “Excellent job, ladies. That was perfect.”

  They beamed at each other, their eyes shining in pre-show excitement. They floated back to their makeup stations .

  Nelson Santos had donned a long blonde wig and wrapped a paisley shawl around his waist like a skirt. He moved from actor to actor, spoof-singing and prancing around the room.

  Spirit me away

  Take me in your arms

  Keep me safe from harm

  Spirit me away

  Show me how to love you

  He grabbed Randy, pretended to examine him from head to toe, tossed him aside, and started on Maurice.

  You look through me

  As if I weren't here

  Invisible always

  No one sees my tears

  I've just wanted you

  To look behind the mask

  To see the love that shines

  You only have to ask

  He rejected Maurice, sighed loudly, and moved onto the next victim, continuing his song.

  The cast laughed uncontrollably with tears running down their faces.

  Nelson minced from group to group, singing in his falsetto voice, pretending to search for the perfect, elusive boy to “spirit him away.” Apparently finding none, he removed the wig and handed the shawl back to Takeema with a huge sigh.

  She leaned over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Nelson. One of these days, you’ll find your dream boy.”

  “Promises, promises,” said Nelson, skipping over to Molly’s side .

  Jonesy muttered to himself and began to re-mop the entrance to the chorus room.

  I wondered about his obsession for cleanliness and noticed he’d placed orange cones in the hallway to discourage people from walking on the slippery floor. Does he have some form of pre-show jitters like the students? Does he deal with his nerves by cleaning and re-cleaning the floors? It was entirely possible.

  Agnes Bigelow perched on a stool, applying the final touches to Lisa’s makeup. She looked unusually peaceful. I wondered if she had experienced another pharmaceutical adjustment.

  Randy Sherman held up his black leather jumpsuit and frowned. “Holy shnykees! There’s a rip in my costume. My butt’s gonna hang out all over the stage. Who can fix this?”

  Agnes looked up and meekly raised her hand. “I can help you, son,” she said. “Bring it over here.”

  Camille smiled at Agnes, thanked her, and raised a can of hair spray to Maurice’s head. “Now sit still and cover your eyes, Porter. Hold your breath.” She sprayed the cloud of noxious fumes around Maurice’s hair until she was satisfied that it would hold. Gagging and coughing, Maurice pretended to fall down from the chemical assault. He lay still for a minute and then popped his head up. “I’m dying here. Doesn’t anybody care?”

  One of his cohorts walked over and pretended to kick him. “Yup, he’s dead. Hey Miss C., I’ll take his part. I know all of his songs.”

  I checked my watch as the students continued to joke with each other. Twenty past six.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jonesy return from the back corridor where he had stowed the mop and pail. He moved more swiftly than usual with a purposeful look in his eyes. Swiveling around, he closed the doors to the backstage area, placing a steel bar through the door handles .

  I wondered if he was trying to keep non-production folks out of the area before the show began.

  As if galvanized to action, he raced to the front door and did the same thing.

  Both sets of doors were now barred from the inside.

  Before I could raise my voice above the din of student's voices to ask what he was doing, he reached under the music cabinet and drew out a long, sniper rifle.

  I froze for a millisecond, and my brain finally connected the dots.

  Jonesy.

  No longer paralyzed, I lunged toward him. I was nearly upon him when he twisted around and shoved the muzzle into my chest.

  “Back off!” he howled. Raising the rifle to the catwalk, he fired once.

  The cast screamed.

  He fired again, then turned and aimed the gun at Camille. “Shut the hell up, you morons! One more sound from you, and I’ll blow your director to pieces.”

  He turned to me, shouting directions. “Open the cabinet and take out the duct tape. Now!”

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  T he guy was serious. I saw his finger twitch on the trigger. He was nuts. Clearly nuts. And he had the gun aimed at Camille.

  I glanced at her terror-stricken face. She motioned for me to follow his directions, and although I wasn’t sure it was the right move, I had no idea how to disarm a madman.

  I raced to the cabinet. Jerking open the door, I found three rolls of duct tape on top of the music scores. I grabbed one and walked stiffly toward Jonesy.

  “Hurry up!” he shouted. “Don’t waste time, Professor. The game’s about to begin.”

  His eyes were alight with maniacal fire, and his words—especially when he addressed me by my title—dripped with venom.

  Is he on something?

  Like a stage curtain slowly revealing the set, his face twisted from eager anticipation to loathing. He glared at me and grumbled something unintelligible, motioning toward the students with his rifle. “Tape their hands together. Start with the boys. If one person gets loose, LeGarde, they’ll be the first to die. Got it?”

  Camille lost it. She screamed and ran toward him. “Why are you doing this? They’re just kids, for God’s sake!”

  “Just kids? Well, that’s too bad.” He shoved her sideways, viciously twisting her arm. “I’ll deal with you in a minute, my lovely.”

  Without thinking, I launched myself at him, dragging him away from Camille. The gun went off, and a bullet embedded in the wall.

  Somehow, he twisted deftly out of my grip and faced me once again with the gun barrel inches from my face. “Back off, hero. Over there, finish the job I gave you. ”

  My stomach twisted. What the hell does he want?

  Reluctantly, I began to tape Randy’s wrists together, hoping Jonesy wouldn’t catch on that I’d taped them in front so he’d have a better chance of escaping.

  With frequent prodding from the tip of Jonesy’s rifle, I worked on securing the boys’ hands. He walked around the room, swinging his weapon from side to side, pointing it at each student as if trying to decide which one to shoot first.

  When he got to Lisa, Agnes Bigelow emitted a thin howl and shrieked, pushing her daughter behind her. “What do you want? These kids haven’t hurt you! Why are you doing this?”

  Jonesy shot a steely glance at her. He slowly raised the rifle to her face, sneering at her from behind the scope. “You!” He sneered at her. “You, I’d like to do first. One more word out of you and I’ll shoot your snotty kid.”
>
  Lisa squealed, hanging onto her mother. Agnes’ face drained of color but she didn’t back down. She stretched out her arms with palms facing backward as if to protect her daughter.

  Jonesy ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll in my hand, grinned wickedly, and plastered the tape over Agnes’ mouth. Her wild eyes rolled and she backed away from him, pushing Lisa toward the wall.

  “Good,” Jonesy said. “Now, any more troublemakers wanna challenge me?”

  I wanted to bash his head in with the butt of his rifle, but I needed to wait for the right moment. If an ill-timed move on my part got one of the kids killed, I’d never forgive myself. I watched and waited.

  Molly and Takeema whimpered and held each other. The boys stood together in an uncertain cluster beside them, their hands taped in front of them. Fear etched their faces, eerily emphasized by the theatrical makeup. Their eyes widened and color bled from their complexions. A few shot menacing glances toward Jonesy, but I warned them with my eyes. They could be the first to be killed if the lunatic felt threatened .

  I finished taping the boys’ hands and turned to Jonesy. “The girls won’t give you any trouble. Can’t they just sit down quietly over here against the wall?”

  “Already trying to negotiate, huh?” He sneered at me, and his glance traveled over each of the quaking young women, apparently inspecting them for signs of courage. He tapped his finger against his chin, searching their faces. His snake-like eyes moved swiftly back and forth under half-closed lids.

  Without warning, he ran at the girls huddled in a group by the piano, pointing the gun at them. “Move!”

  They scuttled toward the wall and collapsed onto the floor with the other girls. The older students pushed the seventh graders behind them, shuddering and weeping while Jonesy waved the rifle in the air.

  “If one of you moves, I’ll shoot the girl next to you. Got it?” He smiled at the trembling group.

  They whimpered quietly, their eyes filled with fear.

  “Got it?” he screamed again, placing the rifle against Takeema’s temple.

  The girls screamed “yes” and madly bobbed their heads. He turned and marched to the front of the room. Takeema’s legs buckled and she slumped against Molly.