Weekend at Prism

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “Bring up Ultra to 25.”

  “Hang on a moment.” A few later he added, “It’s there.”

  Spotswood saw through the glass wall a barely visible wash of electronic fuzz seemingly surrounding the entire area at the edges and extending all the way to the top of the amphitheater. Polata sat up a bit for a better view of the entire stage. “See that guy on the right-center of the main platform?”

  “The one in the red shirt?” Carmen asked.

  “That’s him.” He paused while activating one of the monitoring screens and adjusting a few dials, the stage now clearly outlined in bright green lines. “Put the Decoy on him.”

  “Coming up.”

  In a few seconds…Poof. Spotswood saw the man in the red shirt disappear. Completely. “Shit! How’d you do that? Where’d he go?”

  Polata gestured to the monitor which now displayed a small red, three dimensional rectangle encapsulating what looked to be a person slowly moving toward the back. “He’s still there. Just temporarily invisible.”

  “C’mon! Where’d he really go?”

  “Carmen? Exit Decoy.”

  Poof. Red Shirt was back, leaning down to tie a stray shoelace.

  “Cherry, huh?” Polata asked.

  “Geno, this is…this is really gonna be something to see. How…does it just work on people?”

  “Nah. Long as we’ve got the sensors focused, we can bury maybe a dozen performers or objects, long as they’re smaller than your average adult elephant.” He grinned. “Make sure you’re paying attention tomorrow night at the top of the second verse of the first song.”

  Spotswood thought a moment. “Who’s first song?”

  “The gang’s.”

  “Alliance? There’s a 50/50 chance, depending on the flip, who’ll lead off.”

  Polata leaned back in his chair, a knowing look coming to his face.

  “Trust me.” He grinned again. “Take it to the bank.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Richie, if I didn’t know better, and believe me I do, because I’ve got a contract coming up, I’d have to say that Mr. Schaffer and the boys back at HQ scripted the first round of this phenomenal tournament. I think we got our money’s worth.”

  “Phil, I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “This had to be the tightest match since these contestants started climbing the long, steep hill to this precipice here in Las Vegas. You could not ask for a more well-played game. They were unbelievable. Let me use that worn-out, arcane phrase we seem to use so frequently. But this time I mean it. This is world-class play.”

  “They came to play. And they played.”

  “One of the things I love about this game, and we’ve had this discussion before, is the way the fortunes, the strengths, can change so quickly. It takes just one smart move, one cozy bid, and the whole picture changes. But they all held their ground this afternoon, nobody flinched, and we are going to move into the second round tomorrow afternoon with virtually nothing separating these four extraordinary players.”

  “Phil, I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “Why don’t you recap this amazing first match.”

  “It looked like Kerensky had it wrapped after the first three contacts. He came out with those AK-47s blasting, and I thought he was going to conquer all of us, beat the boys in the Kremlin to the punch. He knocked off those first three contracts like it was the tanks moving into Berlin, and I thought it was all over. But American ingenuity knocked him back. Let’s hear it for our boys in uniform.”

  “And girls.”

  “And girls, Phil. Easton came back in the fifth contract, Lascaux in the sixth, and we went into the break with an even-up match.”

  “That’s when the Russian’s problems started.”

  “I’d say so. When Lascaux came back with that amazing eight Gold bid, wasting those three Wild tiles, I think he set the tone for the rest of the game.”

  “How do you see that bid in retrospect?”

  “I see it as the Booray player that he is. He stuck it to all of them. They had no idea where he was coming from. Jumping from the four Blue bid of Chang to the eight Gold was a masterpiece. You don’t see that type of play in your family room. This gambler from Louisiana showed his stuff. He’s tough. I don’t care what the bettor’s say. He definitely has the edge going into tomorrow’s matches.”

  “Here on Fox.”

  “Easton played it perfectly in contract eight, going with the strength we knew she had in Green though she was definitely going out on a dangerously slender limb with that jump-shift she dazzled them into challenging. Kerensky recovered with his seat-of-the pants ten Red bid...”

  “Seems appropriate...”

  “And then that quiet man, the merchant from San Francisco, stunned everyone, including me, with that marvelous 13 Black bid to wrap it up. He must be consulting some tea leaves, Phil. This guy has got the sixth sense.”

  “So what are the totals?”

  “Kerensky, with that big early cushion, is our leader as we hit the quarter mile pole, ahead with forty-six points, but that’s the consolation prize. He might be ahead, but he’s got to be kicking himself right now. That lead won’t mean a thing tomorrow.

  “He had his chance.”

  “Chang is nipping at his heels at 42, and Easton and Lascaux are tied for third with 34 points. It’s up for grabs, Phil.”

  “A great deal of thought, consideration, is going to go on before they sit down tomorrow, behind that Wall of Sleep, to continue this extraordinary match. Any final thoughts, Richie?”

  “That dozing Kerensky started, after Lascaux slammed him on that seventh contract, I think that may set the tone for tomorrow.”

  “Dozing?”

  “When he started riding Lascaux about the arrowhead, talking about his lady friend Michelle. That’s what we were expecting but I think the Russian went too far.”

  “Dozing?”

  “When I was in high school, back in Westchester, Illinois, and this is going back farther than I want to remember, we used to play basketball on Thursday nights over in Maywood, and there was a sign on the wall at the court we played at, and it said ‘No spitting, no smoking, no dozing.’”

  “No dozing?”

  “That was talking about someone’s mama, about their sister, about their girlfriend. That was dozing. And we didn’t allow it then, and I don’t think they should allow it now.”

  “The rules say otherwise. Table talk is all part of it.”

  “Well, I think there should be a no dozing rule, but Kerensky will learn that by himself. They don’t play a lot of hoops over in the former Soviet Unicorn.”

  “We’ll have to find out the answer to that one tomorrow, Richie, as Fox presents the second and third rounds of this one hundred million dollar World Standoff! Tournament. Coming up, a show that’s been the talk of this town, a rival to the one we’ve just witnessed, the opening concert in the Oasis Theater headlining Linda Bowen and Angie Caulfield covered by our good friends Jip Spotswood and Connie Scanlan. And after some messages from our sponsors, we can sit back and enjoy the interview Connie had with the two women behind the phenomenal success of Pandora’s Obsession, one of the competitors in tomorrow night’s already legendary Battle of the Bands. Stay tuned.”

  ***

  In Luxury Suite three, slowly revolving to stay in synch with the front of the stage, Bernardini turned to St. Honore. “I’d like to thank you again for your generosity in having me as a guest for dinner with you, Claudette and the very interesting group who joined us.”

  “Which would you say was better, Charles? The food or the companionship?”

  “Ah. Perhaps you could inquire as whom between Da Vinci and Michelangelo was the more accomplished.”

  St. Honore smiled then nodded. “I was told you had very refined political skills, and I see those reports were correct.”

  “Grazie, grazie.” He paused. “And though it would be an additionally great pleasure to
watch the rest of the concert with you, I’m afraid that…”

  “Business calls?”

  “Si. Yes. Thank you for your…we are simpatico.”

  “I do not know this word.”

  Bernardini made a noise. “It means we are…of like minds. Compatible.” He thought a moment. “And again, please accept my apologies for mistaking Claudette for Gabrielle.”

  “Others have made that mistake. They are both beauties, eh?”

  “Indeed. But...”

  “So if business calls, then I’ll say adieu for tonight. But we will speak... the next time we speak, it will be confidential.”

  “All of our conversations are.”

  St. Honore shook his head. “No, no. What I mean is... is that henceforth we will not be seen together.”

  “Might I ask why?”

  “Up until this moment, it would appear you are simply a social acquaintance, oui? With all of my responsibilities in the coming hours, were we to be... how do you say?... too involved with each other, others could conclude our relationship is professional in nature, an impression I am sure you would agree could play against our interests.”

  “Yes. I see your point.”

  “Tres bien. Now, you have my private number so if the need arises for us to speak together, call it and something will be arranged.”

  “I understand.”

  “But only if absolutely required.”

  “Of course.” Bernardini made a noise. “Grazie.”

  ***

  “I’m here in the great room, and it is quite a great room, of a suite here at Prism visiting with its current occupants, Laura Loveland and Pamela Watts, co-founders of pop group extraordinaire Pandora’s Obsession. Good afternoon ladies, and thank you for setting aside time for our conversation.”

  “Glad to be here,” Loveland replies.

  “Nice to see you again, Connie,” Watts adds.

  “Eleven days from now, I’m told, you’re going to be engaged in what you, Laura, referred to in a now-legendary web posting this past October as a friendly dustup. Have the intervening two months changed that assessment, at least as to the casualness of it all?”

  “Oh, has it.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Here’s the thing. When Mr. Potcheck first broached the idea…let me back up a moment. When he first approached us about possibly performing in any capacity during the World Tournament weekend, I…we went completely over the rainbow. Right past the Emerald City and into a whole different county in the Land of Oz. Pandora’s Obsession has had a few successes along the way since we started out, but the estimates of the potential viewership back then were already past the two billion mark. Now that’s what I’d call a pretty serioso audience. And then when he floated the possibility of not only a battle of the bands but also us going head-to-head with The Alliance, I was…”

  “Essentially catatonic,” Watts puts in.

  They all laugh.

  “I was beyond…I mean, just the idea of sharing a stage with Andy and Dave and the rest of that band, a band I’ve been a diehard fan of for so long…it was like a dream.” She pauses. “So now that I’ve had time to mull it over as the date approaches I’d have to say ‘Yes, it’s certainly taken on quite a life of its own.’”

  “Pam?”

  “I was stunned at first, and delighted beyond words, but pretty soon I segued into the logistics zone with our set list the top priority.”

  “In Jip Spotswood’s interview with Andy Polanski and Dave Lera, I think they said they started off with four possibilities and quickly got those reduced to one. How about you?”

  “I’d guess we started out with…not so much entire lists, more of a collection of say, including the 1964’s and possible covers, about a hundred tunes. Then we considered the acoustic angle and if we wanted to bring on those three side players. Whether to do a medley. Then I asked everyone to give me three possible set lists and crosschecked their suggestions to see if there were patterns among them.”

  “So where are you in the process?”

  She looks to Loveland who says, “We’ve cut the choices down to about a hundred tunes.”

  They all laugh.

  “You must have made more progress than that, Laura.”

  “Well, perhaps as to the slots…”

  “Which has been slots of fun…” Watts adds.

  “But we ought to be ready to go at least thirty minutes before the show starts!”

  They all laugh.

  “Laura? Pandora’s Obsession has been on quite a run the past few years. Knocking off Billboard benchmarks on a regular basis. Halftime stints at two of the last four Super Bowls. You’d need a small warehouse to store all of the various awards and trophies, including that recent Academy Award you and Pam received for best song. Would you agree Obsession has the momentum going into the Battle?”

  She cocks her head. “I’m sorry. Did they change who we were facing off against?”

  “Not to the best of my knowledge.”

  “Then if it’s still The Alliance, I don’t think any manner of momentum comes into play.”

  “Pam?”

  “No question we’ve been rolling sevens for a nice stretch. And I’d say the band is currently running like the well-oiled machine we strive to make it. But The Alliance has been doing that for decades so…apples and oranges.”

  “I note that both of you refer to the competition as The Alliance, not CCBBA. Could you tell me why?”

  The women look to each other, then Watts motions for Loveland to answer.

  “I think…look. Over the years they’ve had a number of lead vocalists, female lead vocalists, who’ve come and gone. Now they’ve got a relatively new girl and a new guy singing so…they’ll always be The Alliance, at least to me.”

  “The story’s been told before, but could you tell it again? I mean about a certain concert you attended in your formative years?”

  Loveland relaxes into the couch, smiling. “I was all of 15 years old and my Dad had taken us to New Jersey to spend a week at a beach house a college buddy owned. Down the shore as they like to say. A few days after we arrived he gets a call from the guy saying he’s got a pair of primo tickets he couldn’t use for a concert at…it was the new venue they built next to Borgata… and would he like to go. He says Sure, not knowing that my Mom’d already made plans for the night.”

  “Pretty fortunate turn of events,” Watts says.

  “So Dad tells me I should come with him to see this rock band which I had absolutely zero interest in…everything for me was Taylor and Katy and boys…”

  “And girls,” Watts chuckles.

  “Uh…yeah, maybe not.” She smiles at her partner. “Not sure if I’d entered my L U G stage yet.”

  “L U G?” Scanlan asks.

  “Lesbian Until Graduation.”

  They all laugh.

  “And she’s still waiting for that diploma, Connie.”

  They all laugh again.

  “So I grudgingly drive with him up to Atlantic City figuring ‘Well, I’ve never been to a real concert so why not?’ We take our seats…and they were great, third row off left-center of the stage. And I’m watching the roadies getting everything in order and then one of them brings out…I’ll never forget this…he brings out a silver Strat with a black pick guard with a weird gizmo attached to the neck with blinking lights…this is before Fender started making the PLEs…and sets it on a stand and people start cheering and I can feel the excitement…but because of a guitar?”

  “The gizmo being a DCS?”

  Loveland nods thoughtfully then Watts elaborates, “Not just any DCS, Connie. Musical history was about to be made. This was the first time Andy would employ the technology in a concert setting.” She grunts. “And Miss Beach Baby here is probably thinking about which bikini she’s gonna wear the next day.”

  “Not true, not true. Back then I would’a already had my outfits charted for the next 72 hours.”

&nbs
p; They all laugh, then Loveland repeats, “But because of a guitar?”

  “Some guitars are special,” Watts says.

  “I’ll get to Fendie shortly, Pam,” Scanlan says.

  “You’d better. That’s the main reason I’m here!”

  The women exchange knuckle bumps.

  “So the lights dim and the audience goes nuts and the house announcer says ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome The Alliance!’ And the…five of them, I forget who their chick singer was then, step onto the stage followed by the sixth, this guy wearing these triangular sunglasses and it…it was like he owned the place.”

  “Andy Polanski?”

  “That’s correct.” She pauses. “And before the first song was over I knew he… that was what I wanted to do.”

  “Interesting Freudian slip there girl,” Watts chuckles.

  “Connie, please excuse Pamela. She thinks everything has sexual connotations.”

  “I’ll cop to that because everything does.”

  They all laugh, Loveland the hardest.

  “Speaking of sexual connotations, I was…”

  “Connie?” Watts chides, raising an eyebrow. “You promised.”

  “Yes. As I was about to say, some women desire true love, some diamonds, some a house in Malibu, some simply happiness. But you, Ms. Watts, just want…a baby?”

  She gestures him to continue.

  “More specifically, a 1970 vintage sunburst Fender Precision Bass guitar christened…”

  “Fendiebaby.”

  “Perhaps the most sought after musical instrument in…”

  “The known universe,” Loveland finishes.

  “Pam? An audience of close to three billion souls may be watching this broadcast on the 30th. Give it your best shot.”

  She looks directly into the camera.

  “Many years ago, Fendiebaby went missing in suburban Chicago. She can easily be recognized by her custom cut, dark brown leather backing held in place by a number of igloo-shaped brass tacks. When not being played, she most likely would be found resting in a gray, rectangular hard shell case with a blue felt interior. She’s mine, and I want her back.”

  “Last count there’ve been some pretenders offered?”