The Lost Ballet

by Richard Dorrance

  Chapter 26 – The Whosey Joins the Team

  It was 10pm on Sunday night, and the Junes were in bed, watching another George Clooney movie. They had made a deal: they would alternate Zellweger and Clooney movies until they just couldn’t take it anymore. Tonight they were watching Oh Brother Where Art Thou. Gwen always had hated bib overalls with a passion, especially during that horrible period when a lot of attractive women had considered them fashionable. And here she was, watching an entire movie in which Clooney wore bib overalls. Gwen got over it quickly, since the movie was hilarious, the story was intriguing, and the hero was endearing. If Clooney suddenly had materialized out of the ether, Gwen would have kicked Roger right out of bed on one side, and held up the covers on the other for George to slip under.

  George and his hillbilly friends were spying on the hillbilly girls from the bushes, watching them wash their clothes in the stream, down to their underwear, when the June’s dog stood up and looked at the bedroom door. It didn’t growl like it did the night a year before when a Russian woman had entered the June home at three in the morning, armed with a Walther PPK, and crept up the staircase. It just stood there. Fifteen seconds later, the doorbell rang. Roger opened the drawer of his night table and took out his Beretta. Gwen went back to watching the movie. Roger kept the gun behind his back when he opened the front door, and looked at Pete Townshend, who was looking very dapper in a three piece suit done in light gray wool, with white shirt and pink tie. My god, he had a gold watch chain hanging at his front. And this guy had been one of the original wild boys of rock and roll. He looked at Roger’s arm in its unnatural position, behind his back, thought a moment, and said, “What, Rog, trouble in this paradise of Charleston? Gwenny ok?”

  Roger said, “What makes you think that, Pete?”

  “Umm, the gun. Not many people answer their front door holding a gun behind their back.”

  Roger though, oh shit. Another person with special powers of intuition. His wife had them, their close friend Catherine Deneuve, the iconic French actress, had them. And the Russian woman who had invaded their house a year ago, had them. Now, apparently, The Whosey has them. Roger was surrounded by superior beings. Could his self-esteem take another one of these types?

  “Come on in,” he said. “I’ll get Gwen.”

  He took Pete into the living room, then went upstairs. “It’s Pete. Somehow he knew I had a gun behind my back when I opened the door. How could he know that?”

  Gwen kept her eyes on Big George, talked to Roger at the same time. “You saying he’s got the intuition thing?”

  “Must have. Couldn’t have known otherwise.”

  “How’s he look?”

  “Dapper. Very dapper.”

  “Is he drunk? Drugged?”

  “No. Looks nice. Not all sixty-three year old rock n rollers are drug addicts, love.”

  Finally Gwen tore her eyes away from the movie. “You’re right. I shouldn’t start off biased.”

  Just then they heard music emanating from the Steinway in the living room. Trills and arpeggios. Couplets and actaviations. Then melody. A beautiful melody from Quadrophenia, from the song “I Am the Sea”. Gwen muted the sound on the TV and they listened as Townshend played the entire song. Stunning. Gwen abandoned her boy George on video for a new hero, right here in her own house. She grabbed a robe and headed downstairs. Roger took the time to pull on pants and a shirt, put his gun away, drink a glass of water from the bathroom, and follow. By the time he entered the living room, his wife was sitting next to Townshend on the piano bench, and the guy had his right arm around her shoulders, tinkling the keys with his left hand. Roger recognized notes from another great Quadrophenia song, “The Real Me”. He sat down on the sofa and watched.

  “Hope you two don’t mind me dropping in. What’s up with the gun thing? That associated with the ballet project, or something else you have going on? Nice piano. He took his arm off of Gwen’s shoulders and brought both hands to bear on banging out a rendition of The Real Me. Mesmerizing. When he finished, he swung his legs to the left and around the bench, so he was sitting with his left shoulder near Gwen’s left shoulder. He looked over at Roger and said, “When do we start working? When do I get to see the Stravinsky score? When do I get to meet the ballerinas?”

  Gwen said, “Where you staying, Pete?”

  “I was hoping you’d be working tonight, so I didn’t book into a hotel. I’m excited. Want to get going, see the music, start putting it into the synthe. Oh, shit. It’s outside, I forgot.” He got up and opened the front door, Roger and Gwen behind him. Down at the bottom of the steps they saw a pile of luggage, including a long, flat case. Pete said, “If I left that out like that in London, be gone in a flash. Nice place, this Charleston.” He looked at Gwen.

  “Stay here tonight,” she said. “We’ll find a place for you tomorrow.” And the three of them schlepped the stuff up the stairs and into the house.

  Roger said, “How about a drink? Help decompress after the flight. What can I get you?”

  “How about a Courvoisier and soda.”

  Roger mixed him a double, said “We’re working most days, now. Gwen’s the slave driver. You can meet the team tomorrow morning, if that suits you, down at The Hall. That’s our rehearsal and performance space. What are you going to need?”

  Pete drained half the glass, looking satisfied. “I brought my main sythne, the one I like. I may have to rent another one, depending on the type of music we do. The only other thing I need is a computer. I brought all the software I need with me, too. So I don’t need much. Ready to go. How are you all doing?”

  Roger said, “We have the stories pretty well figured out. We’ll go over them tomorrow. When everyone understands them, then the choreographers can get going, and so can you. Those are the two most challenging parts of the production. We only have one ballerina for you to meet. That’s Selgey. She’s one of the choreographers. We don’t have any of the dancers yet. That’s going to be another big challenge. Tomorrow you’ll also meet Bart, who is Selgey’s husband, and who danced with the English National Ballet for years. And the Ps, Peter and Pater, who danced with the Mariinsky. And the others, Helstof, Gale, and the woman.”

  Pete said, “So who’s the boss of this gig?”

  Roger nodded at Gwen. “Like I said, a slave driver. Better be ready to produce, tomorrow.”

  Gwen smiled at Pete. She had very nice feelings about working with this bloke. This genius. She hoped she wouldn’t have to kick his ass too hard, too often. She knew she was going to squeeze the best he had in him, out of him; that was for sure. She got up from the piano bench and headed for the door. As she left the room, she turned and looked at him, said, “Roger’s favorite song of yours is “Love Reign O’er Me”. My favorite song is,” and she started singing as she headed up the stairs, “Momma’s got a squeeze box she wears on her chest; when daddy comes home, he never gets no rest….”

  Pete said, “You got a winner there, Rog.”