On Tour Pt. 02

This is the Second part, of two, 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 no sex in this part, sorry.

Chapter 6: Committed - Caught!

Later, the Sanctuary still in darkness, Evan's watch beeped its alarm, and his eyes popped open like overheated popcorn kernels. "Amy, get up! We'll be caught!" Amy stretched sleepily and sat up, Evan was pulling on his jeans frantically. "Oh, no we'll be at the ferry any minute and I haven't got the stereo fixed yet."

Amy giggled as she pulled on her panties. "The wire on the back of that speaker somehow loosened up. And there is a paperclip which somehow got caught on the right hand screw on the back of the amplifier and the jiggling of the bus bumps it against the not quite connected audio jack." She stood up, sliding her bra on and letting the elastic snap into place. "And somehow, just by happenstance, some nail polish got smeared on the sensor window of the amp." She smiled quite mischievously at Evan's disbelieving stare. "Somehow. Do you want to fix those, or shall I?"

Evan bit back a laugh and murmured, "I'll do it. I need to be able to look Bernie in the face and say I did some work. I'm basically a truthful person, you know."

Amy kissed him; her face now serious. "I know." Then the impish smile crept back; the one that played on his heartstrings like a musician plucking a harp. "I can't keep sabotaging the stereo, so it's your turn to be creative about a discrete rendezvous." She kissed him again. "Now be a gentleman and check the coast is clear for me."

Evan undid the deadbolt as slowly and silently as possible, let the door open a tiny crack with his eye pressed to it. The dim light strips showed no one in the narrow corridor. He opened the door and nodded. She brushed past him like a ghost, her hand trailing suggestively across the front of his pants. In a moment she had vanished discretely into the tiny rest room. Evan eased the door shut and hurriedly undid Amy's handiwork as the bus slowed to enter the ferry terminal.

**********

Headline, the front page of THE DAILY GAZETTE

NEAR RIOT AT THE PALACE THEATER

If the Madri-Gals had been any hotter last night either the police would have had to quell the riot or the fire department would have had to turn in a five alarm call. Fortunately four large bouncers kept the stage safe. Amy Sears scorched the audience out to the fifteenth row and gave the rest of the theater a bad case of sun burn. She did her own version of the classic 'Light My Fire' and then her own new composition 'Desperate Love.' Leila, Marrisa, Christa, and Kathy backed her up adding fuel to the inferno with steel voices wrapped in velvet and costumes which left little to this reviewer's overheated imagination. Fortunately the censors had the night off on this one. If they do this again, they will have to warn local authorities ahead of time.

Oh, yes, there was a lot more to the concert, and it was all good.

**********

More cities breezed by, easy to forget. For most of the troupe, life revolved around whatever stage they were at today or were headed toward tomorrow. For Evan, however, life was now revolving around Amy, and whatever moments they could steal away - from a quick squeeze of a hand or brief kiss, to an evening spent snuggled together on a secluded catwalk watching old movies. Just now they had hidden behind a curtain backstage and giving each other their undivided attention.

"You're not jealous of me performing, are you?" Amy whispered in Evan's ear as he nuzzled her neck back stage in a dark corner. The talking and the shuffling of the last few members of the troupe in the background was fading quickly. Most everyone was drained, physically and emotionally, after a performance, and drink, food and sleep were the priorities, in that order, usually, except for the two of them.

"Of course not. Don't be silly. On that stage you are a fantastic entertainer who is a gorgeous woman. Back here you are a no less gorgeous woman, who I am desperately in love with." He chuckled, teasing her lips with a brief kiss, and holding her face gently cupped in his palms. "I hope you don't mind having me along for the ride."

"You've been the best part of any tour, Evan. But what happens after the tour?" Amy pulled back and looked him in the eyes, her expression serious.

'That depends on whether you can stand having me around full time or not," he replied. Part of him seemed stunned at how easy it was to say that, part of him was grumbling about so much for yelling at his dad a few months ago about not wanting to be tied down, and the rest was sorry he didn't have a ring yet - this would be the perfect time ... .

The edge of the curtain was thrust back and Ella stood there purple-faced, eyes bulging. The sight of her daughter intimately curled around - 'the sound guy' - was the last straw of an increasingly irritating week. And nothing was going to keep her from having a multiple platinum record star for a daughter. Leila later, tearfully, confessed to livid Amy that she had been a little distracted by a cute security guard and had forgotten she was supposed to tell Ella that Bernie needed to see her right away.

Chapter 7: Banished!

Bernie and Evan both winced as Ella slammed the door behind her.

Defiantly Evan rounded on Bernie. "Amy and I are both adults, she's 21 and I'm 24, and there is nothing, nothing we've done to hurt the tour. You can't possibly ... ," he trailed off at the sight of Bernie's leering, cheerful grin.

"Hey, kid, more power to you; to both of you. You think I didn't know? I was rooting for the both of you four weeks ago. Now, being involved with someone else on the tour is no easy row to hoe, but you're the best tech I ever had and Amy is the best singer. Heck, get married and the troupe will save money on hotel rooms." He sighed and prodded Evan's chest with a ragged fingernail that had seen better years. "But this is lousy timing, and things are complicated. We are on a record roll and we don't need the bad publicity or any heck she might unleash, legit or not. You and Amy are about the most popular members of this gaggle of talented, vagabond misfits. And that woman is number 22; given that there are only twenty of us, that's saying something. Anyway, we still have four months on tour, our biggest stop is Vegas next month, and I have a niece who needs some tech experience and an old gaffer who needs a favor. How about you take a two, three week leave of absence to let things calm down and let us work on the bloody old hatchet?" He paused as if struggling with a conscious armed with pair of rusty daggers. "I'll even keep you on the payroll," he managed to force out.

Evan thought it over, and he decided he need some real thinking time. After a second he nodded. He left, got his gear and went to the hotel across the street. The minute he was in the room, he pulled out his phone and texted Amy:

*Amy, I'm on a Leave of Absence for a few weeks to let the heat die down. I'll be back before you know it. Here are my e-mail and cell phone contacts. Either one can get me unless I'm actually dead. You need anything ... ." Evan paused, wondering if he should tell her the rest of the story about his family. What he wanted more than anything, well, was Amy. Marriage hadn't crossed his mind until Leila had thrown the question in his face, but now it was such an attractive idea that he was restless not to be ... . Well, he needed to think about how to get there from here. * ... you let me know. I'll see if we can sneak a rendezvous in a little further down the tour. Love, always and forever. Evan."

In the bus, Ella gritted her teeth in disapproval at the screen. Amy was still in the Sanctuary and was refusing to talk to her. She had, however, left her purse and phone out here. Ella took note of the numbers and with a vicious satisfaction she deleted the message and slid the phone back into the purse. She sat down and pulled out her own phone. She looked up the service number and waited impatiently. "Yes, this is Ella Sears. My daughter, Amy, is being harassed by this creep, and I want his numbers blocked - immediately. We can get our lawyer involved or you can get your supervisor on the line right now."

**********

Article on the middle of the third page of the ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT section of the FREE PRESS

IT'S A TERRIBLE THING, NOT LIVING UP TO YOUR REP

The concert last night was a real downer. I had been looking forward to it. Friends from upstream of the tour had let me know not to miss it, so I was there - how come I missed it? All the words were there, all the notes were there, most of the lights were working most of the time; but the emotions were downbeat even on the upbeat songs. I won't be demanding my money back; but if anyone offered I wouldn't turn them down.

**********

Back in a hotel room a state away, Evan tossed his phone into his pack, venting some of his frustration on the offending hardware. He had been trying to get in touch with Amy five times a day for the last three days; and she was ignoring him. He was tempted to go hacking into the system ... but he didn't want to get into trouble right now. He had woken from a great dream in the middle of the night, re-living the picnic in the park under Ella's nose. He had woken with a cry because Ella had found them just before Amy had kissed him, and Amy had been snatched away by his sudden waking.

He tried to ignore the warring thoughts in his head that were making his gut churn. Had she been playing with him? Had he been just a spring fling for her? He shook his head violently. No. Leila was Amy's best friend, and she wouldn't have been that upset with him possibly toying with Amy if Amy hadn't been serious too. It was getting late. He had to get some rest; tired guys wound up doing stupid things. He slid out of his clothes and into sweats, and then climbed into the impersonal and unfriendly rented bed. Hotel mattresses and pillows had the same smell the world over. He turned out the light and spent the next two hours arguing himself to sleep in the darkness.

Amy was laying back on the dark leather cushions of her favorite perch in the Sanctuary. Her hair swirled around her head, gleaming softly in the light of the full moon filtered through the tinted glass like the glow of gold in ancient treasure caves. The light caressed the soft curves of her naked body; no secrets - just warm and welcoming mysteries. Her fingertips trailed down his chest, and her longing smile filled him up and set him aflame like molten gold filling a mold. His hand brushed her cheek and he ... woke with a cry. Evan looked wildly around the room. His pounding heart shook his body. The crushing pressure on his chest made him gasp for breath. He shivered violent as his body realized that much of its warm blood was in one particular organ that was throbbing painfully for release. Evan threw himself back on the bed and yelled into the pillow. After a miserable few minutes, he sat up and grabbed his phone. Walking away from this relationship with Amy wasn't possible; when the most perfect woman in the world wraps her smile around your heart you could just as soon rip your heart out as to betray that smile. He wasn't going to give up without a fight, and in his entire life he had never given up on anything.

He sighed and his fingers worked the apps on the phone. He needed to go far and fast and make a deal.

Two hundred miles away and receding at 55 miles an hour, the Madri-Gals tour bus moved on through the sparse traffic. "So if he was serious, how come he hasn't tried to get in touch," Amy said listlessly, staring out the back window of the bus.

She and Leila were the only ones in the Sanctuary. Truthfully, Amy wasn't pleasant to be around, and the three other singers avoided her as much as possible. When they got together the content of the latest reviews would inevitably come up and the verbal sparring would be miserable for all concerned.

Leila, who had been wondering the same thing, cursed herself for not getting Evan's number. She had given him her private number, but had forgotten to ask. What she wanted to tell Amy was that she had seen Evan's eyes when he talked about a ring, and that no guy she had ever met was that good an actor. But that would lead to talking about her cousin in the FBI, the conversation in the control booth four states back, and, most likely, what she knew. Amy was devastated that a nice, handsome guy had gotten away; what would her mood be if she thought about the real Evan walking out on her. She resorted to, "He's on a leave of absence; that's what Bernie promised. Bernie also said he made Evan promise to lay low until we get to Vegas. Bernie told us that, and Bernie may be slippery, crude, rude, and disgusting - but he's honest."

"Well, why would I want a guy who would be scared away by my mother?" Amy plucked one of her hairs and began to moodily knot it into a little ring shape.

That alarmed Leila. To Amy her hair was almost a sacred thing upon which she lavished a lot of attention. Other singers Leila had traveled with had been catty, touchy, cranky, had mood swings which rivaled the changes of the seasons - only a lot faster, one had even occasionally had a touch of megalomania that made divas look like peasants; none of them had ever basted themselves in their emotions as enthusiastically as Amy was. She spent most of her time composing ballads that could cause someone with a mild touch of depression to run to the nearest bridge. "I was outside Bernie's office. He was nose to nose with her in an Olympic yelling match and didn't back down an inch."

That roused Amy's interest. "What did he say?"

"Well, 'we're in love' was shouted about a half dozen times," Leila said. To herself she added, Evan if you don't get back here soon I will call up my FBI cousin again and get the name of a discrete, reliable hit man.

Chapter 8: Making a deal

It was late the next day when Evan paid the taxi driver, got out, and slung his pack. It had been a long trip and he had argued with himself as every mile had rolled by. He automatically thought of the tour schedule. Amy would be opening in Memphis in two hours. He hoped she was missing him as much as he was missing her. He thought he had found a way to get back, but he'd have to make some deals, some compromises, and some commitments. Most of the guys he had gone to school with had treated 'commitment' like a word inked on a voodoo doll in blood or carved on a mossy headstone in a cemetery. His roommate had had a t-shirt with 'Commitment is a chain holding you back from enjoying your life.' Evan had spent a three hour airline flight realizing that commitments gave purpose to your life, if you made the right ones. Every time he had thought of the words he might have to eat, he also thought how wonderful Amy's hair had smelled when she snuggled up next to him. Each time he had thought about letting it all go and just finding a new direction, he remembered how warm her hand had felt holding his. When he thought about how hard it might be to make a traveling, mobile lifestyle work, he would hear his mother saying with perfect assurance that he could make anything work if he tried hard enough. Evan took a deep breath, formed a clear picture in his head of Amy's last smile, and pressed '4' on his phone.

Ian Grant forced himself to concentrate on his computer screen. His entire life he had gone on and come off periods of being a workaholic; this period was more intense than usual. Concentrating on the company was one way to ignore how oppressively quiet the house was. He glanced at the time; 5:56 pm. By now the house's only other occupant; Jamal, the cook, butler, chauffer, and handy-man, was probably in the kitchen; but that was on the other side of the huge home and unless he dropped an entire oven rack of pots the background silence was unlikely to be broken until Jamal called him to dinner on the intercom. He sighed, glanced sadly at the family picture, and forced himself to start slogging again through the latest round of National Security Agency contract revisions.

His phone vibrated and he froze. Then it whistled a quiet tune. It was his private number; precious few people ever used that and it was almost never good news. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it. Evan. Their last conversation had been more than three months ago and had ended more than bitterly. It was unlikely to be Evan. Who could be calling from Evan's phone? The nightmares of every parent with a prodigal child pushed their unwelcome way out of his subconscious. It was the police. Or the morgue attendant. Or the kidnappers. Or ... he shut down that line of thought, steeled himself and answered. "Ian Grant."

"It's me, dad. Don't panic."

A rush of relief jammed with three months of acrimonious thoughts in Ian's throat and all he managed to croak was, "Evan? You're alright?"

"Never better, dad. And I am about to make your dreams come true. Well, some of them, anyway."

"What do you mean, Evan?" He was wary, but the sound of Evan's voice was so welcome that it overcame the frustration at Evan's irresponsible wanderings.

"How would you like me in the family business, dad? Twenty hours a week guaranteed, though likely more. I work for you. No arguing, no complaints."

Ian shook his head in bewilderment. What was Evan playing at? Being in the company was the last thing he had wanted to do; he had said so quite loudly on their phone conversation. "Why the change of heart, son? What is going on? Are you in trouble?"

There was a pause on the line, and it didn't take a lot of imagination to picture Evan taking a deep breath. "Remember the story, dad? A young hacker genius, a hacker's hacker, was being hunted by nearly the entire US government for mayhem and mischief on myriad government websites, databases and even highly secure networks. No one could catch the 'Quantum Phantom'." Ian flushed and his heartbeat was leaden in his chest. How had Evan ...?

"He didn't do anything malicious or catastrophic, just annoyingly 'I am smarter than you are' irritating. Then a brilliant young programmer in the NSA was assigned to take the Phantom down. The Phantom found out and accepted the challenge and the hunter became the hunted. After a titanic struggle that roiled cyberspace like colliding black holes, Excalibur finally made the tiniest mistake, but that was all it took. The Phantom finally succeeded in hacking into his hunter's own computer and took over the webcam - and saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. The horrified look on her face as she realized she was one keystroke from having her own PC ghosted right under her fingertips struck him. Then a dialogue window popped up on her monitor with a chatroom address. When she logged in there was a message for her. You remember the message, dad? 'The Phantom wants to come in from the cold - possible?' She said yes, but he would have to show good faith. Within twenty-four hours every bit of hacking had been undone, seven day-zero vulnerabilities were revealed, a long list of security upgrades were posted, and the Phantom worked a deal to defect to the good guys. There wasn't a 'checkpoint Charlie' for hackers, so they met at a restaurant in Richmond to do the paperwork. She was expecting a short, soda-and-potato-chip-belly nerd with a pimply face with a green carnation. Instead there was a tall, handsome guy with dark curly hair, dark eyes, with the build of a guy who does his best thinking while running. With an entire bouquet of green carnations. She immediately told the other two agents that she could handle it, and they had dinner. The Phantom turned legit and worked with the woman in the NSA for five years, and finally went independent and started one of the most advanced computer security companies in the world while being on retainer to an entire alphabet of government agencies. Oh, and by the way, married the woman and they found time to have a son. That's how the story goes, dad, isn't it?"