On Tour

ON TOUR (Part 1)

This is the first part of the third story in the WHIRLWIND series. They are unrelated stories with a common theme; each one is based on a short, slightly unusual courtship, with a primary female character who believes that she cannot find love for some reason -- and a primary male character determined to prove her wrong. There is some sex in this part.

Dictionary definition:

MADRIGAL: 1. A part song usually for five or six voices, making abundant use of contrapuntal imitation. 2. A lyric poem suitable for being set to music, usually short and often of amatory (pertaining to love, lovers, love-making) character.

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Lead article, ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT section of the UNION HERALD newspaper:

MADRI-GALS OFF TO A SOLID START DESPITE TECHNICAL PROBLEMS

The Madri-Gals kicked off their 2010 tour at the Aurora Theater last night, and I was pleasantly surprised. The lead singer, Amy Sears, continues to delight audiences, as she sparkles on stage. Her singing is moving and heartfelt, and her two attempts at song-writing, which she performed, form definite connections with the audience, young and old. Leila Enders turned out two credible solos of classic John Denver hits. Kathy Krell, with her long, dark hair matching the sharp, deep, and haunting ballads she cast over the audience, was quite available after the performance for autographs. Marrisa Leffner epitomizes injured innocence, and her laments conjure memories of adolescent wrestling with disappointments, real and imagined.

Christa Mavin, stepping out as boldly as her hair is red, got the audience moving, clapping and stomping. This is the group's fourth tour, and follows the release of the CD of their first three efforts. The disc has done well in local markets, and finds enthusiastic buyers after performances. In my opinion, a DVD would sell better, as it would showcase both the songs and singers to good effect. They aren't stars yet, and only time will tell if they have staying power, but I wish them success. There were some annoying technical glitches which detracted from the performance and were definitely distracting... sound system fading, poor timing and misdirection of lights, even one feedback squeal which put everyone's teeth on edge. I hope these are only teething problems and that they are resolved quickly. I understand that this tour, dubbed 'Unexpected Love', uniquely, will have slots set aside for the singers to experiment with new numbers, so it is possible no two performances will be the same. I bid the Madri-Gals good luck on their journey.

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Chapter 1: Setting the stage

Amy Sears sat, steeping in melancholy like a forgotten pot of tea, and gazing out the back of the bus at the receding scenery. Not for the first time she reflected on seeing perfectly where she had been, but having no view of where she was going. A deep sigh fluttered her lips and she leaned her arm against the leather cushions.

Even after three years she still felt like the newest singer in the group. The group was the Madri-Gals; currently on tour. She was also generally the most popular. This did not endear her to all of the other four girls, and sometimes she felt isolated and left behind by life.

The compartment at the back of the bus was singers only, and referred to as Sanctuary, since that meant NO one else, especially managers, publicists, and mothers, Amy spent as much time as possible here. In her case all three were one person hell-bent on making her career an unparalleled success - and her personal life an empty shell.

More scenery flowed endlessly into the past.

The city that loomed on the horizon in front of the speeding Madri-gal caravan contained the temporary offices of the group's business and personnel manager, Bernie Stafford. He was a grumpy, stoic man, with long years of experience in the merciless entertainment business. With a waistline advertising an overly fond, health negligent attitude toward gravy and cheese on his fries, and a dark stubble like a mask on his face even right after carving the last of the shaving cream off, he wouldn't inspire confidence in any one by his looks, so he had to settle for a reputation that blended the business savvy of a hungry shark, the frugality of Scrooge, and the ruthlessness of an IRS auditor. He had fired the group's technical support staffer yesterday for allowing one too many glitches in the last three performances, and was now interviewing a replacement. The group was due in late tonight and the first performance tomorrow night. No pressure. He looked at the small stack of paperwork in front of him and gave the applicant what might be called a not too unpleasant scowl.

Evan Grant sat in a rickety chair across the table from his future employer. He was tall, muscular from rugby, with rugged good looks, also from rugby. His eyes looked like melted milk chocolate and he had black hair so dark it seemed to suck in the light around it. He kept his face carefully neutral. His advisor at the Institute had informed him somewhat sardonically that his usually disdainful expression was not a good selling point. He had used that advice in all his successful interviews and discarded it in all of his unsuccessful ones. He needed this job, so he played along.

"You say here you toured five summers with five different groups."

"That's right."

"So, what did you do in all the off seasons?"

Evan shrugged, considered saying he hitch-hiked tramp steamers around the world, or did top secret work for the government, or ran arms to freedom fighters in trackless jungles; but decided that Stafford wouldn't have that kind of sense of humor, based on his reputation, and decided to settle for the truth. "College."

"Really?" Bushy grey eyebrows scampered up his forehead in surprise. "What were you studying?"

"Electrical engineering and computer science," Evan responded with absolutely no inflection; curious as to what Bernie's reaction would be.

A forced chuckle which had started but a moment before as a disbelieving grunt escaped the shabby man's nicotine-stained lips. "Yeah. Right. None of my business as long as it wasn't in jail." There was a hint of stretched silence as Bernie gave Evan a moment to consider any confessions he might have to make. Evan gave his head a slight, exasperated shake. Bernie laid the paperwork on the desk and looked at Evan intently for the first time, his eyes, while not looking any more intelligent, did reveal a significant level of shrewdness. "You know, kid, I know most of the guys you wrote down for references. Been in this touring music group business with them for a long time." He paused as if giving Evan yet one more final chance for any shame-faced confessions; but Evan just looked back. Bernie finally gave in. "Every one of them called you every name in the book, some that even drunken sailors don't know, and told me I should toss you out on your ear... and send you back to them. McConeahy even said he'd offer you 10% more than I'm paying, without even asking what I was paying. That's quite a rep, kid."

Evan shrugged. He knew he could go just about anywhere; he just wanted something... different, and this had been different. Definitely different than the rock band he had supported last summer.

The man appeared to reach a decision. "Your union card is good, your dues are up to date, and all the blanks are filled in on the paper. Even spelled everything correctly. Okay, kid, you're in. Stella will give you the paperwork. You start now. Bus arrives with all the stuff at 8:45 P M. Show is at 8 PM tomorrow. Better be a fast learner."

"No problem," Evan said, standing up and hefting his day pack.

Chapter 2: A funny thing happened thirty feet in the air

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Lead article, THE WEEKEND section of the CROWN TRIBUNE:

MADRIGALS BREEZE THROUGH BREAKING HEARTS

Tonight is your last opportunity to catch the Madri-Gals as they hurry through on this leg of their tour. The show was great, and loyal followers of this column know how seldom I use that word. The girls sparkled on stage, backing each other up quite effectively. The solos explored a rainbow of emotions. Amy Sears was awesome when she sang two of her own compositions that explored world-weariness and hope amid despair. I have my fingers crossed she will release a solo CD with her own compositions on it. Marrisa also did well, flirting with the audience, and getting chuckles from the guys - who got elbows in the ribs from their dates. Then Kathy came out and skewered the guys to even the score. The lighting and effects were flawless, and I suspect that some new twists have been added for the last few shows... and I hope cities earlier on the tour don't feel cheated.

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Rehearsal was over and Amy was standing off stage talking to Leila, sipping water and glad for the respite from the glaring stage lights. Most everyone else had gone off to take a breather and get some lunch.

"Do you remember the hairstyle of that society matron the other night in Cincinnati? The one right in the front row?" Leila was chuckling, looking out over the orchestra seats of the theater. "Snow white and piled high?"

Amy nodded and smiled, feeling relaxed for the first time that day. "It was hard to ignore her. If she had piled it any higher she could have put chimes in and been a church steeple."

Leila nudged her elbow and rolled her eyes. "Steeple? It looked more like a triple vanilla soft serve cone."

Amy choked on her water and forced herself not to spit it out. She grabbed Leila's arm and squeezed. When she could breathe she gasped, "Oh, you are so right. I am so, so glad I didn't think of that on stage. I would have collapsed."

Leila's expression of concern contorted into alarm. "Oh, no! Your mother!"

Amy glanced around. Her mother had just emerged from the side door on the other side of the theater, obviously looking for someone, and she could guess who. Her stomach felt hollow and seemed to be wallowing in sticky mud. She looked around frantically. The stage doors on this side were chained shut until performance to keep people from sneaking in; sneaking out wasn't an option. Then her eyes tripped over a small wickerwork of metal poking out from behind a thick drape of hanging curtain. Two mincing steps took her around the edge and she saw it was the first step of a steep, narrow circular stair which disappeared into the gloomy overhead. She looked imploringly at Leila, who responded with a mischievous smile and whispered, "Be quick!"

Amy grabbed the thin railings and climbed up the stair, treading lightly to make no noise. Leila twitched the edge of the curtain across the bottom step and stood in front of it, sipping water and not looking at anything in particular. She felt like running away as Ella's eyes speared her, and she hurried over. Leila fought an urge to dart off into the backstage tangle, like a mother fox fleeing into a bramble thicket to draw off a baying hound from her cub-filled den. "Yes, Ella. Nice to see you," Leila said with casual brittleness. "Sorry you missed the rehearsal. It went really well, especially Kathy's...."

Ella cut her off curtly, her eyes darting around like those of a prison guard looking for the telltale traces of dirt from an escape tunnel. "Yes, I'm sure. Where is Amy?" She didn't bother to look at Leila, but slowly turned around as if she would look for footprints if she could, or catch a scent like a bloodhound. "We have things to discuss and then she has composition time." Her eyes tried to intimidate Leila, but there were few things that could intimidate Leila; who adopted a considering, speculative frown and said, "She said something about going to the ladies room, though that was a while ago. I haven't seen her since the end of rehearsal."

Ella's entire focus shifted to face the staff rest rooms, seemingly dismissing Leila as unimportant and now unnecessary. She strode off like a pirate ship after a treasure galleon.

Leila glanced at the curtain. She was fairly sure Amy would be okay and she deserved a break. Fighting an urge to follow her friend into the anonymity of the rafters, she followed Ella, determined to enjoy sending her on some more false scents.

Evan was trying to track down a malfunction in one of the lighting controllers. It was erratically turning the light on and off, and it was one of the spotlights which would track the soloists, so it was too important to let go. He was laying on a narrow metal cat walk forty feet above the back row of chairs, and let his fingers probe a wiring bundle with the needle-like sensors of a small detector. It was more than warm this high, and he had shifted the ventilation to blow down the length of the walk and over his feet. He flicked a glance at his watch; eight hours until show time. He was mildly annoyed. Usually he only had to glare sufficiently at a misbehaving piece of equipment, and it would immediately start to behave, like a small child quickly but casually walking away from a broken vase. By senior year his lab instructors had referred to him as 'gremlin tamer,' and his lab partner had nicknamed him 'chip whisperer,' since small computer components would practically spring to attention under his fingertips. So far in this job, like all his past summer jobs, no single glitch had taken him more than five minutes to resolve. On this one he had invested twenty minutes of his precious time, and he wanted to get something to eat, have two cold beers, and take a thirty minute nap before show time... which he would watch like a hawk but not really notice, since to him the show was more a series of cues rather than a scored sequence of notes.

He felt a slight crackle of static electricity on his fingertips, and the walkway trembled to approaching footsteps. He sighed and looked down toward his feet. It was probably one of the two resident technicians wondering what he was up to.

It was at this point that Amy, excited at exploring the unfamiliar maze of walks and cubicles in the darkness outside the stage, found the problem junction box by bumping against it, causing a static spark to flash up her arm and crackle in her hair. The tug on the line pivoted the recalcitrant light on its stand and flicked it on. Sensing the lights coming on, the fan shifted to high speed.

The image seared into Evan's eyes was that of an angel. The figure was a perfect silhouette of the feminine form; the skirt whipped around her knees in the breeze like a robe in flight, and her hair swirled wildly around her head like a halo woven from lightning over rain forests and firmament from a newborn sun. Her hands gripped the railing to steady herself, and the flickering shadows cast by her slender arms looked like beating wings. Completely bedazzled by the vision, Evan ceased to breathe, thinking he had electrocuted himself for the second and final time in his life, and expecting to hear his mother's lilting, lullaby voice tell him that it was time to come home with her.

He didn't expect to hear a breathless, startled voice blurt out, "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't know there was anyone else up here! I'll go!"

"Wait!" Evan called out, sitting up and shielding his eyes from the glare. The darkness fell like a severed curtain cord as Amy tried to turn on the narrow walk and tugged again on the cable to the junction box. The light faded like a candle snuffed by a breeze, and the fan settled back into a less urgent hum. Worried that she had done something wrong and half blinded by the flashes of light and darkness, Amy froze. Evan sat up slowly, carefully, not wanting to frighten the wonderful apparition away. "Who are you?"

"Amy. Amy Sears. Who are you?"

"Evan Grant. You are one of the Madri-gals; I think I recognize you now that the light isn't in my eyes."

"What are you doing up here?"

Evan chuckled. "I'm one of your support staff. New guy. I ride in the van or the truck rather than in the bus. I do the sound and lighting. Well, for the last four shows, I mean. I spend all my time looking at cues and screens, so I didn't recognize you at first." He chuckled. The sound was happy and soothing, and Amy sat down on the walkway and crossed her legs and chuckled back in an encouraging way. A casual chat with a mysterious and handsome voice high in the air was much more interesting than letting herself be found by her mother. "The rehearsal went well," Evan continued, glad she hadn't bolted down the walkway and bounced him around like a pea in a can. "But one of the spotlights started to wander during the bows, and I wanted to nail it down and give it a good talking to." That mild wit was rewarded by another chuckle, and he pushed forward, concerns over malfunctioning electronics on hold in his small, specialized world. "What are you doing up here in the clouds?"

He could almost hear the debate in the hesitation of the lovely, lilting voice. Finally, after a moment it confided quietly, "I'm hiding from my mother."

Evan laughed, his light guffaw echoing among the rafters, struts and walkways like a merry pinball game. Both smiled into the darkness, unable to see each other as more than shadowy shapes, but comfortably companionable. "Sorry," Evan continued sheepishly. "We have something in common, because I'm here avoiding my father."

Amy chuckled and leaned against one of the railings, making the catwalk shift slightly. "My mother is my manager and publicist. And I spend a lot of time avoiding her."

"You could fire her, couldn't you?" Evan ventured. He couldn't see Amy clearly in the shadows, but she seemed quite confident and self-assured. Not many young women would calmly chat with a stranger in the overhead of a theater.

Amy's tone betrayed the expression Evan couldn't see. "It's more complicated than that. It's the opposite of a whiny kid wearing down a tired parent. The kid doesn't have anything else to do, and the parent just gives in because it's easier and there are some things that just have to be done. So my mother doesn't have anything better than running my life, and I need to perform and make a living. I'm good at it. I love it." She bent forward, toward Evan, and whispered, "And she can't come out on stage and nag me; so I'm safe there." Evan could tell she was shaking her head. "So, is your dad trying to run your life? Are you fleeing a terrible scandal? Did your astrologer tell you to get out while you could?"

The humor made Evan smile through a painful subject. "He wanted to run my life; and I didn't want to start out my life as the boss's son. I know he cares about me, but his vision for my life and my vision for my life aren't running down the same set of tracks right now."

"She wasn't in the rest room," Ella grumbled accusingly at Leila. "And her cell phone was in her purse in her dressing room." Leila didn't blink, wrapping her face in a puzzled expression. "I'm sure she wouldn't leave the theater. How about you take the gift shop and I'll look in the offices back stage." Ella frowned, sensing a trap. "No, I'll take the offices and you take the gift shop." Leila paused as if flustered, and then nodded. Ella marched off, and Leila smiled at her back, and then went to check out the television news in the lobby.

Evan glanced at his watch and was startled to see it was three o'clock. "This is the fastest two hours ever," he commented, showing his illuminated watch face to Amy. She sighed and shook her head. "I have to go off and be 'found'; or else my mother will be calling in the police." She stood up, impressing Evan with how gracefully she balanced on the cramped walkway. He rolled somewhat more clumsily to his knees and stood up into a stoop to avoid an embarrassing concussion on the low overhead. "Thanks for helping me find that balky light. I'll walk you to the stair; it's not really designed for strolling up here."