On Tour

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HOW CAN YOU BE WRUNG OUT IN EMOTIONAL EXHAUSTION BY SITTING DOWN FOR TWO HOURS? GO SEE THE MADRI-GALS.

If I had known. If I had only known. I would have used my life savings to buy up tickets and moved my retirement forward several years by scalping them. Be prepared for an emotional roller coaster ride with these gals. Sitting through the entire show is like experiencing all of the moods of the sea; the serene, the stormy, the playful, the joyful. Amy Sears' career continues its rocket-like climb, so get in on the ground floor so you will be able to say that you were there when.

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The performance was over and Ella was arguing with Bernie on the bus about the position of Amy's name on future advertising posters. Most of the rest of the crew were off to close down the closest pub, and Amy had changed out of the voluminous skirts of her last costume. Leila kept lookout and Evan put each radio pack into the charger with painful slowness and extreme care. Amy chuckled behind him and he finished quickly. He gave her a quick kiss, and then, hand-in-hand, they slipped across the stage to a discrete exit, heading for a French restaurant known for its light and lively cuisine.

After Evan and Amy had vanished into the shadows, Leila's smile faded into a worried frown. She had been on the touring music circuit only a few years longer than Amy, but she had seen much more. She had a couple of briefly ecstatic, dramatically devastating, crash-and-burn relationships in her own life. She sensed Amy was perilously near to making a mistake; not that Evan seemed to be a bad guy, or that he gave any sign of thinking of Amy as just another notch on a belt or trophy on a shelf, but all the other danger signs were there - older guy, transient job, a past with no details.... Leila shook herself. She cared about Amy, and Amy's talent had gotten the group this far and could help loft them further, anything that might affect that was her business, right? How could she find out more about this Evan Grant?

She smiled and pulled out her phone and started to text to her cousin, writing a quick message and attaching several photos of Evan and Amy to it. She pushed SEND and slid the phone back into her pocket. Having an FBI agent for a relative could come be useful; especially if you knew exactly what they did with who and where on Prom night.

The theater was sold out for the next performance, and the sounds of the restless audience were clearly heard to the furthest reaches of the stage, lending an even greater urgency to the preparations.

Ella looked at Amy's beaming reflection in the dressing room mirror, and cleared her throat. Amy ignored her as she adjusted the neckline on her costume. Ella tried again. "Amy."

"Yes, mother," she responded in distraction.

"We haven't talked much about boys...."

Amy flashed her mother an incredulous frown. "It's fifteen minutes to curtain, mom. The timing could be better. How about on the bus tomorrow? Or when we stop for lunch? I'm a little busy right now."

"Dear, are you... involved with anyone?"

"Why?" She wondered if her mother had seen or heard anything. Surely not. She and Evan had been very low key, and the girls were more or less supportive. "Besides, you manage my career, not my relationships - if and when." She turned, with an oppressed sigh. "What is the matter?"

"I don't want you to throw your career away on some boy, like I did, and have regrets." Amy stared at her mother. Her mother returned the stare with narrowed eyes, as if trying to interrogate her. Amy knew that look. Her mother was... not being truthful. She carefully held herself calm and wished she had taken acting lessons. Her mother tried again. "When I met your father, I gave up a lot. I don't want you to give up anything. There will always be another man, probably a better one; there won't always be a career."

Amy continued to stare at her mother. She had pulled out her mother's old scrap books once, and looked at them. She had literally kept every scrap of her life in that book, even when she was in a footnote of a chorus member in a middle school musical. Every bit. The last singing engagement had been two months before she started college, and she hadn't met dad until she started her teaching job six years later. That was consistent with everything all of her grandparents had ever said, and everything her father had ever told her. Was she talking about secretly hoping to one day, possibly, having a comeback, and then got married instead? Why would her mother be saying this? If she knew about Evan, she most certainly would have used his name; she wasn't subtle. So she was just suspicious. Amy already knew that her mother was trying to live out her dream through her daughter; was she seeing her dream threatened by her daughter's phantom boyfriend? Amy was about to challenge her on personal versus professional life when there was an urgent pounding on the door. "Amy! The clock is ticking and everyone is waiting on you!"

"We won't be talking about this later," Amy said as she swept by her mother.

"Oh, yes, we will!" her mother sputtered.

Amy and Evan were frustrated. Amy's mother had stuck to her like a burr to wool leggings from the final curtain call to dismissal by the Director. Ella had curtly rebuffed all of Leila's subtle and not so subtle attempts at diversion. Amy had discretely waved Evan off with her eyebrows, a quick glance at her mother, and a disgusted look. Evan had grimaced in empathy and his touch had lingered just a few moments longer than strictly necessary on her shoulder on slipping the radio-microphone off her back. Evan had gone off to his motel room grumbling about the best laid plans - he had had a portable DVD player, two tiny bottles of champagne on ice, and six red sweetheart roses in a cup on a catwalk back above the Director's booth where no one ever went, but which had an unrivalled view of the stage. Amy had left for her room, secure in the knowledge she could lock her mother out of that.

While Amy was in the bathroom, Leila logged on and checked her e-mail. A reply from her cousin topped the list. Excited, she opened the e-mail.

Leila,

You didn't get this from me and I have irrevocably erased my computer memory. You really love to watch me squirm don't you? That little incident with Barb and I is forgotten, like permanently, right? In fact, you now owe me big time.

Arv

Confused and curious, Leila opened the attachment.

When Amy came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, combing her hair, she noticed Leila staring at her phone.

"Are you okay? Is anything wrong?"

Leila started, shutting her phone reflexively. "No. Nothing. Nothing at all. I just got an e-mail from my cousin; you know, the one in the FBI? I haven't heard from him in ages and what does he want? Tickets!"

"Relatives can be a pain, I know that for sure, don't I?" Amy replied, climbing into her bed and turning on the television to hunt through the late night menu.

Leila pretended to be interested in the talk show, but was really trying to sort out her whirling, churning thoughts. What should she do with what she knew?

Chapter 5: Busted -- kind of

Three days later, and now in a completely different theater in a completely different state, Evan grunted in disgust as he swept the castoff pieces of bent and broken technology out from under the control panel. Worse were the pieces of moldy bread crust, the mummified apple core, and the dead mouse. When he felt safe enough to crawl under the panel without throwing down a dozen yards of plastic sheeting, he laid down and squirmed under the equipment. He sighed and wiped the cobwebs speckled with dead gnats off the access panels. He then opened the panels, wondering what other unpleasant surprises awaited him in this antique.

He was just starting his continuity checks on the connectors under the control panel when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He didn't recognize them; they weren't Amy's, and they weren't, thankfully, her mother. The footsteps stopped, and then came the squeal of someone sitting down in the rattling, old lighting director's chair. The decrepit piece of furniture creaked alarming as it was leaned back. Then there was silence. Evan paused and listened. There was definitely someone there, but no on had said anything. More curious than alarmed he slid out from under the panel and looked up.

Leila was sitting in the chair, her face set in a disapproving frown as she glared at him with enough heat to scorch his eyebrows.

"I know who you really are," she said in a flat, hard tone.

Evan managed not to bump his head on the console as he sat up. "I'm Evan Grant. It says so on every card in my wallet." He realized about halfway through the sentence that poorly attempted humor wasn't going to get him anywhere in the face of that utterly humorless stare. "None of them are forged," he added defensively. The mask still didn't flicker. Evan wondered what Leila thought she knew; and hoped she hadn't trolled up some other Evan Grant with some amateur Internet search who was a serial killer or assassin or something.

"You have a very interesting record," Leila commented vaguely, her eyes not blinking.

He felt reasonably secure in the knowledge that the hacking he had done,,, well, been caught at, was secure in a sealed juvenile file. Anything since then was certainly not on anyone's record, and she couldn't possibly have hacked into his laptop... she probably didn't have the skills. Probably. He only hacked when he was bored, and... why was this coming up, anyway? "I don't have a police record. Make sure you have the right Evan Grant."

"Son of Ian Grant?" she asked archly, her eyes locked on his to catch the betraying flickers of emotion at the news.

Evan swallowed and squirmed uncomfortably. She had him nailed. "That's a pain; not a crime."

"Alumnus, summa cum laude, of MIT graduate school," she continued, like a boxer pressing an advantage and wanting a knockout.

Evan was completely lost as to where this was going. "That's supposed to be a prestige thing; but it sucks. Put it on a resume and everyone assumes you're overqualified for everything and expecting more money than they can afford." Evan was thankful he didn't play poker, because reading Leila was impossible. "I leave it off. Why do you care?"

"Worked for six different touring music or singing groups over the last six summers." Whatever was coming, it obviously bothered her profoundly because she hurled each word at him like it was a freshly sharpened throwing knife.

"Yes." Evan tried a boyish grin; saw Leila's body stiffen, and sighed. "Though I'm graduated now, and this isn't a summer job as far as I'm concerned. Do you mind if I ask how you dug all that up?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why does it matter to you so much?"

There was a moment of frozen silence which seemed like the fraction of a second just before the guillotine blade drops, then, "Are you toying with Amy? If you are I will eviscerate you myself."

Evan had once been electrocuted. He had been fooling around in the power electronics laboratory at school like the know-it-all freshman he had once been. If the lab hadn't had an AED he wouldn't be sitting under a dumpy control panel in a theater long overdue for demolition today. So he knew exactly the feeling of having your heart stop and your spirit start to shrivel up and drift off to places unknown. He goggled at Leila's flint-like expression and finally managed to sputter, "How can you even ask that?"

"Handsome guy, lots of prospects, with a record of not sticking with anything - how can I not?" The venom with which the accusation was summed up and thrust homemade Evan think she could give a spitting cobra lessons in bringing down prey.

"I'm in love with Amy. All in. Every bit. The only way I'm gone is if she kicks me out. I'd as soon jump in a shredder as hurt her," he protested, words tumbling out like a disorganized rabble to defend him.

Leila's eyes narrowed, but her expression softened just barely perceptively. "Commitment serious? MARRIED serious?"

There was timeless flash of memory as the image hit him of being with his father in the morgue after the accident. Through his own grief he had seen a crushed man, his father's empty shell, his lifeless, devastated eyes, as he had reached up and brushed an errant strand of hair off of her face, no less tenderly than when Evan had seen him do the same thing at their twenty-fifth anniversary party the week before. Then his father had touched her hand, shaken her corpse slightly, and said, in a yearning voice, "Please wake up, sweetheart. Please." Then he had collapsed. Really collapsed. Like the bones suddenly not being there. Evan and the morgue attendant had had to carry him out. His father had been mumbling, "I wish I were dead, too." Long afterwards, when the edge of his own grief had dulled enough, Evan had wondered how you could love someone so much that you would rather die than be without them. He thought of something happening to Amy - a world without her provocative little smile - and now he understood.

"Do you think she would say, 'yes'?" he responded timidly.

Leila blinked. That was the one response she hadn't been prepared for.

"I have money saved up," Evan continued. "And a trust that opens next year, unless dad changes something," he added sourly. He watched Leila's face carefully, wondering if this was coming up because Amy was getting serious. "Has Amy said anything to you?" he asked cautiously.

"You mean about other guys," Leila shot back sarcastically. Did this guy think she would tell him just how much Amy was falling for him?

"No," Evan responded with absolute sincerity. "Like what kind of ring she'd like."

Leila rocked the chair back a hair too far in her surprise, and a spring snapped and it toppled backwards with a crash.

Amy was alone in the Sanctuary, working frantically. Kathy always came in exactly fifteen minutes after the move started and then Leila, Marrisa, and Christa would trickle in and they would talk about who got to do what in the next 'free style' section of the performance. She finished her task just in time; the door opening just as she sat down on the back bench.

"Hey, Evan!"

Evan blinked and sat up, glancing at his watch. It was eleven o'clock. "Yeah, Bernie, what is it?"

Bernie closed up his phone and shoved it in his pocket. "Kathy is throwing a fit over the stereo in the bus. Wants it fixed by morning. We're stopping for gas in five minutes. Go on over and fix the crappy thing and get her off my back, okay?"

Evan stretched. An hour's sleep had actually left him more tired. "I doubt if I'll be able to do much during a gas stop. Can't it wait until morning? I'll tweak on it while they are eating breakfast."

Bernie grunted. "With her temper? Five will get you twenty the first thing she'll do waking up is try the stereo. I'd rather hear, 'So you finally got it fixed,' rather than, 'Can't you do anything right?' We're on a real roll with the reviews so far; I don't need a cranky singer. We'll be on the ferry at four a.m., you can slouch back then to your warm seat."

Evan grunted, stood up, and rummaged in the overhead for his kit. "Okay. But I'm gonna need a big breakfast and about six cups of espresso by show time."

"Thanks, kid." Bernie made his way down the swaying aisle and sprawled in his own chair.

Evan walked forward and sat on the floor beside the driver. Then driver spared him a sympathetic grin and kept him awake with a running commentary on the basketball game playing quietly on the radio. At the fueling stop, Evan walked up to the lead bus; the one painted in Madri-Gal colors, and climbed the steps. "Stereo?" he said to the driver. The older woman had her grey hair tucked neatly under a Cubs baseball hat, and was cradling a mug of coffee just slightly smaller than a barrel on her lap. She pointed back and said, "All the way in the back."

"Thanks. On my way," Evan replied. There were twelve chairs, six on each side of the aisle. Six of them were occupied by sleeping passengers; one of whom was Amy's mother. Reflexively Evan ducked his head and looked away. Then the passage shifted from the center of the bus to the right side. First was a small rest room compartment - unoccupied according to the sign. Then came a kitchenette nook. Then three doors, probably to little sleepers. He looked curiously at the doors. The first had a sign that read, "Christa and Marrisa." The second had a sign that read, "Kathy." Evan grinned. That figured. Then came a sign that read, "Amy and Leila." Evan hesitated for the barest fraction of a second, temped to knock on the door and at least say good night to Amy, but that seemed too much like tempting fate. There was a second rest room, and then a door in the back with the prominent label, "Sanctuary - Singers Only.". Evan opened it and peered in.

It was a small room with a broad window across the entire rear of the bus, and halfway up each side. Except for a cabinet on his left, the room was ringed with dark leather couches. Under the couches were small doors, one of which was obviously a small refrigerator. The ceiling had hanging speakers in each corner. Evan turned around and saw above him a flat screen tv built into the ceiling over the door. The room was lit by LED strip lights under the edges of the seat cushions, and the bright moonlight filtered to a dim, eerie blue by the heavily tinted back window. He groped for the light switch and the lights came on with a rush of brilliance. He had just opened his kit on the floor when the door opened and shut in a heartbeat. The lights vanished and he heard what sounded like a deadbolt clicking.

His sight was befuddled by the sudden darkness, and he was just about to exclaim in surprise - when he caught a whiff of Amy's perfume. He stood and enfolded her in his arms, her quiet chuckle echoing in his chest. This kiss was not the victim of stolen moments or hostage to snooping relatives and nosy friends; it could last as long as they wanted it to, and they explored each other's lips with passion uncaged. Amy unbuttoned his shirt by touch, popping one button off in her haste. Evan mirrored her movements, his fingers trembling slightly as his imagination pierced the darkness with visions of her beautiful body. HIs shirt tumbled to the small square of carpet, as entwined with her blouse as their two bodies were. His hands cupped her breasts through her bra, and her breath became little gasps against his lips. HIs fingers, fumbling in their urgency, were fought off by the tiny clasps. Her teasing giggle inflamed him, and he forced himself into supreme restraint to pop the tiny closures one by one. The barrier fell free, and he explored the curves of her chest; the shape of them, the warm of them, the softness of them. She moaned quietly against his lips, the sound more intoxicating then any liquor. His fingers played with the tips of her nipples, their stiff attention broadcasting her arousal to his libido.

The kiss was broken as she tugged the undershirt over his head and ran her long, delicate fingers through the soft, tight curls on his chest. She pressed her palm on the hardness straining at his jeans, and he gasped and collapsed back onto the back couch, pulling her down on top of him. Desperate not to let their bodies part, they fumbled with each other's belts, and squirmed out of their pants, their lips still locked together, their tongues still teasing each other. Evan reached down and slid Amy's last wisp of clothing down her long, slender legs. His fingers fumbled at the wet warmth, and the scent of her readiness flushed any rational reflection from his mind. Driven by ancient instincts and guided by desperate desire stoked by six weeks of increasingly unrestrained teasing, they joined together in a delirious rush.