Weekend at Prism

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “I’ve seen seven so far, but none possessing the secret message beneath the leather.”

  “Which is?”

  “If I revealed that secret I’d guess a dozen would show up tomorrow.”

  “I’ve seen the wanted posters. Where’s the reward stand now?”

  “For the safe return of Fendie, first of all, no questions will be asked. Second, I will pay the returner the sum of 50…75 thousand dollars plus all travel and or shipping expenses. And in addition, I’ll pop for a two bedroom suite here at Prism for three nights and toss in four tickets to the concert in our box along with backstage passes.”

  “That’s quite a package.”

  “Fendie is quite a guitar.”

  “But this interview won’t air until…”

  “It was posted on Pinkiefinger yesterday.”

  “Returning to my previous, and less important line of thought Laura, many have applauded you for the comfort you display with your bisexuality…”

  “Who said I was comfortable with it?”

  They all laugh.

  “You’ve often, I’d say, made reference to it in some decidedly cleverly ambiguous or roll-changing ways. Will that pattern be carried over into your set?”

  The women look to each other, smile, but neither responds.

  “Pam? C’mon. You owe me one.”

  She eyes him playfully then glances to Loveland who nods. “We could have one, a new one that might make the list.”

  “Word has it that there may be a few special guests dropping in to perform a tune or two.”

  “I’ve heard that too,” Loveland says. “But we’re on double secret probation orders not to divulge the identities of who might be joining us.”

  “Any names our viewers would recognize?”

  She looks to Watts. “Pamela received a positive RSVP yesterday.”

  “Pam?”

  She sighs contentedly. “There is one guy I’ve always craved playing with, and seems my personal genie has come through.”

  “Having read Jip’s Inside The Box, I recall a story you related similar to Laura’s involving your decision to take up the bass guitar.”

  “Wait wait!” Loveland interjects. “Allow me.” She closes her eyes a moment then opens them dreamily, mimicking her partner’s voice. “He massaged that instrument like it was his lover, and sang in the sweetest angel voice I’d ever heard.”

  Watts gives her a look, then chuckles, “You got the quote right but came up a little short on the emotion.”

  They all laugh then Scanlan asks, “So might there be an individual who…goes by a name which includes his middle initial be appearing?”

  The look on Watts’ face says that’s probably true but she responds, “Like Laura said. Double secret probation.” Then she winks.

  “Any changes in your modus operandi we might see?”

  The women look to each other then Watts says, “Laura might move out front from behind her keyboards a bit more than usual.”

  “Solo vocals, vocals with guitar? Vocals with concertina?”

  Loveland grins. “Lots of possibilities. But as I’m a mere pawn in Pam’s chess game...”

  “Here comes the drama queen.”

  “Drama queen? Maybe you ought to step into the ladies’ room and take a look at the woman in the mirror.”

  “Most I’d see’d be a baroness. You’ve got the queen’s throne in your boudoir.”

  “Don’t make me cry.”

  “C’mon! Teardrops’d start flowing if you thought about a basket of St. Bernard puppies!”

  “Depends on whose puppies they are.”

  They all laugh.

  “Just three more questions for each of you. Pam? Who wins?”

  “I’d say whichever band happens to stumble upon that illusive lightning in a bottle.”

  “Laura?”

  “Hopefully the audience.”

  “After the final chord sounds, and you have to wait those ten minutes for the final votes to be tabulated, what do you imagine you’ll be thinking?”

  “What we could have done better,” Watts replies.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Loveland adds.

  “Finally, ten years from now, in one sentence or phrase, how do you hope the Concert at Prism will be described? Laura?”

  “It just seemed like one of the bands won.”

  “Pam?”

  “Both bands came, they both played, and they kicked ass.”

  “Ladies, thank you again. See you on New Year’s Eve.”

  ***

  “Connie, we were expecting Angelique Caulfield to take the stage after those wonderful songs just delivered by Linda Bowen, but Kevin Sultan just announced that due to one of those pesky mechanical difficulties beyond our control we’re going to have to hit the concert pause button for…apparently 15 minutes or so.”

  “That being the case, we’re going to cut away to some words from our sponsors. Then coming up after those messages, we’re going to open the vault to show you an interview Jip conducted last year with two of the performers we’re all looking forward to seeing tomorrow night, Christie Cramer and Billy Blair. Stay tuned.”

  ***

  “I’m sitting here on a lovely day in Marco Island, Florida on a lovely terrace perched high above the crystal blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico,” Spotswood begins, “with two performers who’ll embark next week on their sold-out Switchblade Tour, Christie Cramer and Billy Blair. Good morning to both of you and thanks for fitting me into what must be a hectic schedule.”

  “Anything for you, Jonathan,” Cramer says.

  “Great to see you again, Jip,” Blair adds. “Last time we spoke I think I was fronting for a different band.”

  “It was, so let’s start at the beginning. Why did Resistors break up?”

  Blair slowly strokes his goatee a few times then shrugs. “I guess it was just a matter of…tell you the truth, I think we were all just exhausted.”

  “With the relentless touring or with each other?”

  Blair chuckles. “I guess a little bit of both, but there were other issues.”

  “Bob Pancic’s been quoted as comparing you to Stillwater, the fictional band in the movie Almost Famous, where the guitarist starts stealing the spotlight from the lead singer because the guitarist’s better looking.”

  “Bobby said that? C’mon. He’s a good looking guy.”

  “Not as handsome as you, babe,” Cramer puts in as she takes his hand.

  The couple laughs as Spotswood looks away with a frown then continues, “He’s also said that you’d gotten too big for any band. That you needed to, wanted to go solo.”

  Blair glances about, bemused. “Guess that didn’t work out.”

  Now they all laugh.

  “So you’re out of work…”

  “I’m out of work, no plans or for that matter any desires except to chill for awhile. Catch up on my reading, philosophies I’m pursuing.”

  “And then the phone rings?”

  “Yup. Jeremy. Says that Andy and Dave wanted to talk. Asks when I could come meet them at Andy’s place.”

  “And?”

  “And I say I could probably be there in…I’d leave as soon as I packed.” He strokes his goatee again. “I mean…Lera-Polanski? Shit, man. We’re talkin’ pop rock royalty. Second Chance’s ’bout as good as it gets.”

  “I did like some of the vocals on that album,” Cramer grins.

  “But you were hanging it up?” Spotswood says whimsically.

  “I was, I was.” She pauses a few beats. “Not because I was unhappy with all that fame and fortune stuff. It was simply a matter of circumstances.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  She gives him a look but doesn’t reply.

  “So Billy. You get the offer to front for The Alliance. What was your reaction?”

  “I was stunned. Couldn’t believe my (bleep) ears. Literally had one of those out-of-body experiences, like I was floating above m
yself and watching things transpire.”

  “Jonathan, you have to hear Dave’s description of that moment. It’s hilarious.”

  He nods then continues to Blair, “So what happened next?”

  Blair rubs Cramer’s shoulder. “Came back a week later for some rehearsing, you know, pick up some tips from Chris before she splits.”

  “Christie?”

  She blushes. “I walked into…they’re all there at Andy’s house jamming…I walk in, Billy steps over to greet me, gives me that smile and it was game over.”

  “Love at first sight?”

  She looks to Blair. “I’d say so. What’cha think, babe?”

  “Me? I was already in love with you.”

  They share a kiss. Spotswood looks away again then asks, “So eventually you tell Andy and Dave that it’s now an all or nothing proposition?”

  The couple look to each other, then Blair motions for her to answer.

  “We never stated that as an ultimatum, but the writing was sort of on the wall. Them and Mick went on holiday to think things through and when they came back…”

  “Christie Cramer, Billy Blair and The Alliance was born,” Blair finishes.

  “So tell us about the upcoming tour.”

  “Think it’s gonna be…for our fans, especially those of long standing,” Cramer says, “it’s gonna be something. DJ and Harry back on board, which alone is worth the price of admission. We’ll be dipping deep into the Alliance catalogue…”

  “Talk about a greatest hits set list,” Blair interrupts.

  “Plus…”

  Blair snapped his head toward the Gulf and shouted, “I told you not now!” Spotswood looks to Cramer who says, “He’s been, uh, messing with those seagulls since yesterday.”

  “So you were saying about the tour?”

  “Oh, yeah. Dave’s worked up some really cool new arrangements for some of the older songs, one in particular that’s definitely a keeper. Plus we’ll be doing some from Switchblade. Maybe one new one that has four of us handling the leads.” She smiles. “And I understand a certain writer of my acquaintance will be joining us for a couple of the legs. Hear he’s finally gonna write a whole book.”

  Spotswood smiles back. “Probably just a rumor.”

  “Got a title for it yet, Jip?” Blair asks.

  “On Tour With Billy Blair And Friends?”

  They all laugh.

  Then Spotswood and Scanlan returned to the screen.

  “Jip, the spanner has been removed from the works, looks like the backing band is in position so coming up with no further adieu, Ladies and Gentlemen, Angelique Caulfield.”

  ***

  The standing ovation was closing in on a minute when the two singers joined hands, took a final joint bow then made their way off the stage, arms locked tightly.

  “Connie? I think our viewers got their money’s worth and then some. What a spectacular performance to open the Oasis Theater.”

  “I’ve got to admit that I was just a tiny bit skeptical that this pair of relative newcomers would be able to wow the crowd, but to trot out a worn-out saw, by that final number they had the audience in the palms of their four hands.”

  “Along with a little help from some friends.”

  “Seeing that Linda Bowen’s eponymous album included a number written by team Watts-Loveland, I figured she’d perform it somewhere though maybe later in the show, but when the two of them stepped out after she opened with her scorching version of Find Another Fool, Laura with her antique concertina…quite a booster shot.”

  Spotswood checks his legal pad notes. “Not sure she picked the best order for her first five songs. Find Another Fool is a superbly powerful number but a tough one to follow to keep up the momentum. Linda going right to a ballad then a mid-temp then another mid-temp? I’d say she started losing…the audience just didn’t seem to stay engaged, Pam and Laura notwithstanding.”

  Scanlan thinks a beat. “And I especially liked the fact that they both stuck around to sit in with Angie Caulfield. I’m sure neither of them will ever forget that. Pretty sure they were so caught up in the whole nine yards that they might have to see the game films to remember everything.”

  “Speaking of skepticism, when Linda handed off the spotlight to Ms. Caulfield I wasn’t expecting the polish, the confidence with which she delivered her solo set.”

  “And the audience… there was a slight lull as she went into what I thought was an unusual choice for her opener.”

  Spotswood scans his notes again. “I wouldn’t have chosen Everything Changes Everything either, though that up-tempo twist she added after the second chorus was a great touch. Gave it a whole different feel.” He paused. “Then bang, bang, bang, bang. Sitting At The Crossroads melding perfectly into Toy Chest…”

  “Which I believe she altered from a PG-13 into a soft R rating…”

  They both laughed.

  “Uh…” Spotswood smiled as he nodded, “that final verse did move into previously uncharted topics only hinted at in the version I’m familiar with.”

  “Maybe we would have flashed a parental warning if we knew it was coming.”

  They both laughed again.

  “And Connie, when she…after the biggest applause of the evening…”

  “Along with, there were some come-on-over-to-my-house whistles in there…”

  “Well I’m sure that’s not the first time she’s been whistled at. She’s a very, very attractive woman. And her next song, Cherry Bomb, solidified her exit from contemporary Christian pop into the mainstream. Like Toy Chest, not a tune that’s going to get a lot of play at Sunday church socials.”

  “Not so fast. Then when she launched into her up-until-now signature song Moving From Heaven to Earth, which I believe is now the biggest selling single in the Contemp Chris catalogue… so perhaps she’s trying to keep a presence with her earlier fan base and simply expanding her purview.” He paused. “But I’ve gotta be wondering if Linda Bowen’s reexamining her decision to invite Angelique to share the stage.”

  Spotswood held up a palm toward his partner. “Maybe we should move on.”

  Scanlan nodded. “Please do.”

  “Mick Stanton dropping by was quite a surprise. Talk about the right guy to put them at ease. Although he’s used congas on a few Alliance recordings, I can’t recall him ever playing one live, much less a set of four.”

  “My favorite guest appearance was from another of tomorrow night’s battle of the bands performers, Dave Lera, taking over the backing band’s synth to play a really blistering break for Angelique on Cherry Bomb, which he co-wrote with Andy Polanski for her, then switching to piano for the rest of the show. That was perfection.”

  “Must have been his paternal instincts kicking in. The rooster making sure the pair of young chicks stayed in line.”

  “And they certainly did, culminating with their encore…is there a word for what they put together?”

  Spotswood thought a beat. “Uh, medley isn’t right. More of a…it all just flowed like a short story written as tributes to each other and the stars who’ll be on that stage tomorrow night.”

  “I caught, I think, lines from two Pandora’s Obsession songs along with a few from the CCBBA catalogue. But I’ll yield to your expertise on that count.”

  Spotswood checked his notes. “I might have to see those game films myself, but I’d guess samples from at least three Obsession tunes along with three, maybe four courtesy of The Alliance.”

  “All layered over a new melody and a hook-loaded chorus about kids on a playground, ending with that precious reference to a friendly dustup, which in turn segued into one of the best covers of This Will Be you’re ever going to hear.”

  “Natalie Cole, I’m sure, would agree.”

  “And speaking of agreements, I trust all of our viewers will agree to join us tomorrow for our coverage of that big surprise Ben Walbee is planning to reveal, followed by the second and third rounds of the World Standoff
! Tournament, and of course the Battle of the Bands featuring Pandora’s Obsession versus Christie Cramer, Billy Blair and The Alliance.”

  “Not to mention performances by a few special guests, Connie.”

  “Am I correct in assuming there might be at least... a dozen?”

  “At least a dozen? Technically.”

  “Are you saying there might be more?”

  “I’m saying we’ll all have to tune in for an accurate body count, but I can say no more because I don’t know any more than you because we’ve both been cut out of that particular loop.”

  “Coming up, stay tuned to Fox for replays of today’s first round of the World Standoff! Tournament, tonight’s concert and, I’ve just been told, due to popular demand, in some of the 24 time zones, a second chance to view a couple of interviews conducted by a couple of guys with a couple of couples behind a couple of bands you’ll be seeing tomorrow night.”

  “How long’d it take you to write that tease?”

  “A couple minutes.”

  “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

  “From the Oasis Theater here at Prism, I’m Connie Scanlan.”

  “And I’m Jip Spotswood. Have a good evening and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Ten

  Saturday, December 31st

  After Spotswood finished drying himself off following a long, steaming hot shower, he rubbed down part of the wall-to-ceiling mirror in the master bath then stepped back to give himself a look. Something in the reflection appeared different so he moved in for a closer look, slicking back his hair. His facial features seemed more symmetrical and refined and he didn’t recall his muscle tone looking so chiseled. But there was something else he couldn’t pin down, something in his eyes that was… deep wasn’t the word. Piercing wasn’t either.

  Commanding?

  Knock knock. “Jip?” Denny asked. “RD is here and would like to have a word with you?”

  “I’m naked in here.”

  “That’s fine with me if it’s okay with you.”

  “It is not.”

  The handle clicked and the door slowly opened, pushed by the business end of Reynold’s walking stick. Spotswood quickly wrapped a towel around his waist.