by Dan Gutman
Their debut album, Swinging with Pendulum Dune, sold ten million copies and shocked the world. The talent agent ended up stealing all the group’s royalties because the boys didn’t read the contract carefully. But they had their fifteen minutes of fame, and even got to sing “God Bless America” at a St. Louis Cardinals game.
The other guys in the band were thrilled with their success. But Justin realized that the average career of a boy band lasted one album, maybe two. When he told the group he was leaving, Laurent and the other guys took it hard. They stopped speaking to him. Laurent developed a drinking problem, and only recently kicked it and started up his lighting and sound company.
After Justin left Pendulum Dune, he wrote some rhythm and blues songs, hired a couple of hip-hop producers from L.A., and released a solo album simply titled Justin Chanda. It won Best Pop Vocal Album at the Grammy Awards, and Justin was flying high. He started getting small TV and movie parts, opened up a restaurant in West Hollywood, and was named “one of the most stylish men in America” by GQ magazine.
It had all started ten years earlier as a joke in the Cape Bluff High School cafeteria. Justin hadn’t been back there since.
The Cape Bluff exit was coming up fast on the right side of the highway. Justin pulled over onto the shoulder just before the off-ramp and turned off the engine.
He had a choice to make. He could keep driving to Springfield and catch the flight to L.A. Or, he could pull off at this exit and go to the talent show in Cape Bluff.
It would be great to get back to California that night, and sleep in his own bed. It would also be great to blow everyone’s minds by showing up at his old elementary school. He wondered if the house he grew up in had survived the recent tornado.
If he went to the talent show, he knew there were sure to be lots of familiar faces. He wondered if Mary Lampert, that is, Mary Marotta, was as pretty as she used to be back in high school. He wondered if Laurent Linn and the guys in Pendulum Dune were still in Cape Bluff, and how they would react if they saw him. Maybe they would ask him for money. Or maybe they would just beat him up for leaving the band to go off and become famous on his own.
He hated making these decisions. That’s why he had a team of lawyers and agents—to make the tough decisions for him. But he couldn’t get in touch with them now. His cell phone was dead.
Justin sat in the car at the side of I-44 for a good fifteen minutes, thinking things over. The sky was looking dark. There was always the chance that the flight from Springfield would be canceled, just like his other flight. Then he would have driven three hours out of his way for nothing. The weather had been really screwy lately.
He sighed, took a deep breath, started up the Prius, and pulled off the highway at the Cape Bluff exit. He would go to the talent show.
He had no idea that this decision was going to change his life.
Chapter 15
A Jumble of Hubbub
An hour before the talent show was scheduled to begin, backstage was a jumble of hubbub and nervous energy. Richard (who by now was being called “The Raccoon” by everybody) was pacing back and forth with his eyes closed, silently rapping his lyrics to himself. Paul and The BluffTones were tuning their electric guitars while working up the nerve to play the forbidden “Stacy’s Mom.” Somebody’s mother was frantically sewing a costume that had ripped at the worst possible moment.
Julia was stretching her quadriceps to release tension, while the other Beach Babes giggled and sent cell phone pictures to their friends, who were sitting in the same room. Jenny and her Sand Kittens warily eyed the Beach Babes from the other side of the stage, being careful not to make eye contact with them.
The Drumming Gorillas beat on their plastic garbage cans to kill the time. Singers practiced their scales. Cheerleaders, jugglers, magicians, ventriloquists, Elvis impersonators, penguin impersonators, and bacon impersonators were milling around waiting for the show to begin. Amy the crochet girl was sitting calmly in the corner—crocheting.
Somebody kept shouting, “Where’s my mustache? Has anybody seen my mustache?”
Don Potash, the comedian who suffered from brain freeze and flop sweat during his audition, had felt bad that he would not be part of the show. Two days earlier, he asked Mrs. Marotta if he could help out behind the scenes in some way. She said he could be on the stage crew. Because he was big and strong, Don was assigned the important job of pulling the curtain open and closed for each act.
There was only one performer who wasn’t nervously getting ready backstage—Elke Villa. But in all the confusion, nobody noticed she was missing.
The talent show had been switched to the Cape Bluff High School auditorium at the last minute. This was because eight hundred tickets had been sold, and the fire code stated that only five hundred people were allowed in the elementary school multipurpose room at one time. Honest Dave Gale moved the grand prize—the Hummer H3T—over to the front lawn of the high school so everybody could see it when they arrived for the show.
People were still buying tickets at the door and filing into the auditorium thirty minutes before show time. It was going to be standing room only. Three seats in the front row were blocked off with white tape. They were reserved for the judges—Mayor Rettino, Principal Anderson, and Reverend Mercun.
Just about the whole town had come out to see the talent show. At five dollars per ticket, they had raked in at least four thousand dollars from the admissions alone. A lot more money would be made from selling ads in the program, sales of the DVD, still photos of each act, and cupcakes and cookies, which were selling briskly in the lobby. All that money wouldn’t fix the estimated million dollars worth of damage to the school, but it would go a long way toward replacing the library books that had been ruined.
Money talks, as they say. To the grown-ups of Cape Bluff, the talent show was a success before the first act took the stage. Parent volunteers were cheerfully ripping tickets, hawking food, and handing out programs at the door.
“Don’t miss the opportunity to buy a DVD of the show!” one usher announced. “You’ll have those memories forever. Pick up an order form on the table in the lobby.”
“Photos are available for purchase,” another volunteer announced. “We have individual action shots, pictures of each act, and a group photo of all our talented performers.”
Honest Dave was walking around the audience, schmoozing and hobnobbing with his old customers, new customers, and potential customers. Laurent Linn, the sound and lighting guy, was running around hooking up tiny wireless microphones for the performers so they would be heard.
Mary Marotta was also rushing around, giving quickie pep talks to nervous kids and making sure everyone had the right equipment and costumes. She was almost in a nervous panic herself. There were eight hundred people out there! What if something went wrong? In her eyes, the last rehearsal had pretty much been a disaster, with props breaking, CDs skipping, and kids misbehaving. She really wasn’t sure if everything was going to come together in time for the actual show. And she was on the verge of laryngitis from shouting so much at rehearsals.
The media loves heartwarming human interest stories, so The Cape Bluff Tribune, Channel 6 Action News, and KNOW-AM “In the Know” radio had sent correspondents to report on the talent show. It was a natural headline: TOWN DEVASTATED BY TORNADO STRUTS ITS STUFF. Tech guys were setting up their equipment and reporters were interviewing parents in the audience.
Most of those parents sat anxiously in their seats. They were hoping their child wouldn’t be the one to sing that horrible note, fall off the stage, forget the lyrics, collapse into tears, or humiliate the family in some new and unusual way. Proud grandparents waited patiently for the show to start, some of them having come from hundreds of miles away. Dozens of video cameras were at the ready, fingers hovering over the record button.
Each member of the audience had been instructed to bring along a flashlight with them. It was Mrs. Marotta’s idea to end the show with an
all-cast sing along and have everybody wave their flashlights back and forth in the dark.
As it got closer to seven o’clock, a buzz of anticipation swept through the audience. Everybody knew the show was about to begin. Mrs. Marotta gathered the kids in the room behind the stage.
“Okay, this is it!” she said. “I need to tell you kids something. We all want to be something different from what we are. We all want to be somebody else sometimes. Well, you become someone different when you’re on the stage. You each have two minutes to shine in front of the whole town. Show ’em what you’ve got. Whatever happens out there, I’m proud of you and you should be proud of yourselves. Now let’s get this party started.”
The doors leading out of the auditorium were closed. The last stragglers found the few remaining seats. The house lights were dimmed. Conversations ended. People shushed their neighbors.
“Pull the curtain, Don!” Mrs. Marotta ordered.
Don Potash pulled open the big curtain and seven Cape Bluff Elementary School teachers were lined up on the stage in size order—wearing old-time bathing suits. Two held beach balls. One had a boogie board. A huge cardboard sun was pinned to the back curtain.
Mrs. Marotta thought it would be fun to get the teachers involved in the talent show, and was amazed that seven of them were willing to do a silly skit to start things off—stripped down in bathing suits, no less.
When the spotlights hit the line of teachers, the crowd roared with laughter and approval. There’s nothing funnier than seeing your teacher in a bathing suit. In the front row, Reverend Mercun looked uncomfortable. Nobody told him there would be a skit featuring half-naked teachers.
“Hey y’all, it looks like a good day for surfing!” said Miss Andrews, one of the third grade teachers onstage. She put on a squeaky, high-pitched voice, like she was trying to sound like a teenager.
“Everybody knows the best surfing in the world is right here in Cape Bluff, Kansas,” said Mrs. Watson, who taught fourth grade.
“Do you think The Big Kahuna will be coming to the beach today?” asked Mrs. McCarthy, the music teacher.
“Oooh! He’s dreamy!” gushed Miss Proto, a second-grade teacher.
“Are you kidding?” said Mrs. DiMartino, fifth grade. “That guy is a major creepazoid!”
“Who cares about The Big Kahuna, anyway?” said Miss Katz, the art teacher. “Let’s catch some waves!”
Jangly guitars blasted out of the speakers and The Beach Boys started singing, “If everybody had an ocean across the USA …”
The teachers joined in singing “Surfin’ USA,” and by the second line the audience was into it, clapping along and stamping their feet. Everybody laughed when the teachers pantomimed surfing or swimming.
When the song came to an end, there was an awkward pause, as if something was supposed to happen next but nobody knew what it was.
Finally, the tip of a surfboard appeared from stage right. The surfboard was on wheels, and it was being pulled across the stage by a rope. A man was standing on it, and when everybody realized it was Principal Anderson, the crowd went crazy, hooting, whistling, and laughing. He was wearing a brightly colored bathing suit, a tie-dyed T-shirt, flip-flops, and on his arms were those inflatable swimmies that parents put on their toddlers who are learning how to swim.
“It’s the Big Kahuna!” gushed Miss Proto, and she pretended to faint.
“Cowabunga!” shouted Principal Anderson. “Surf’s up, beach bunnies, and I am majorly amped, fer sure! I think I’ll shoot the curl and hang ten on those gnarly waves out there. Who’s with me?”
The skit was pretty awful, but everyone seemed to enjoy watching the teachers and Principal Anderson make fools of themselves.
While the skit was going on, in the room behind the stage, Mrs. Marotta was looking around at the kids and noticed for the first time that Elke Villa wasn’t there.
“Where’s Elke?” she asked a boy standing next to her.
“Beats me,” he shrugged.
“Has anyone seen Elke?” Mrs. Marotta asked.
All the kids looked around. Nobody had seen Elke.
Mrs. Marotta rushed over and peered through the curtain at the side of the stage. Elke’s parents were sitting in the third row. Mrs. Marotta quickly climbed down the steps and into the audience.
“Have you seen Elke?” she whispered to Mrs. Villa.
“She’s not backstage?” she replied, concerned. “Elke told us we should come here early to get good seats. She said she was going to walk the dog and then ride her bike over here. But she should have been here by now.”
Onstage, the opening skit was finished and Principal Anderson was talking to the audience, welcoming everyone to the talent show.
“Your children and grandchildren have worked unbelievably hard preparing for this night,” he said. “We’re so grateful that you could all come and see the talented boys and girls we have here at Cape Bluff Elementary School. So sit back in your beach chairs, dudes and dudettes, relax, and enjoy the—”
At that moment, the lights went out. The auditorium was plunged into total darkness.
Somebody screamed. There was a buzz of whispered conversation in the audience. It wasn’t obvious if this was all part of the show, or what was happening. Flashlights clicked on.
“It’s a power outage!” shouted Laurent Linn from the back of the room. “I’ve got no juice at all!”
The audience murmured with worried restlessness. Somebody handed Principal Anderson a flashlight. He pointed it at his own face and hollered to try to get everyone’s attention.
“Okay, calm down, everyone!” he shouted. “Nothing to worry about. I’m sure the lights will be back on in a moment.”
Laurent Linn opened the back door of the auditorium and looked outside. The Exxon sign down the street was dark. All the stores on Main Street were dark. The streetlights, too. It was a blackout. The electricity in the whole town of Cape Bluff had been knocked out.
It was still twilight, and the full moon made the sky a little brighter than it normally would be at that hour. In the distance, about two miles away, Mr. Linn could clearly make out something he had seen a number of times before in his life and hoped he would never see again—a dark funnel cloud.
“Not again!” he exclaimed.
Chapter 16
The Show Must Go On
The news that another tornado had touched down in Cape Bluff took approximately ten seconds to spread through the packed auditorium. A few seconds later, there was panic in the room. People were yelling out in frustration. Parents were holding their children tightly. Babies were crying. Even they sensed something was terribly wrong.
Typically, years and often decades would pass between tornadoes hitting Cape Bluff. It was very unusual for two of them to arrive so close together in time.
“Please remain calm, everyone!” Principal Anderson shouted over the sudden worried buzz. “We’ve all been in this situation before.”
“Remain calm?” said Tom Villa, Elke’s father, as he jumped up from his seat. “My daughter is out there! I’m going to go find her.” Elke’s mother had lost control and was sobbing hysterically.
Chief of Police Michael Selleck, sitting two rows behind, got up and grabbed Mr. Villa.
“Tom!” he yelled, wrapping his arms around the big man. “Stop! Don’t be crazy!”
“Let me go!”
It took three men to hold Tom Villa back and prevent him from running out of the auditorium to look for Elke.
Lucille Rettino, in the front row, stood up. As mayor of Cape Bluff, she knew it was her responsibility to take control in a crisis situation.
“For safety, we need to stay right here,” she announced. “Mike, I’m putting you in charge of finding Elke. Take Mr. Villa and two other men with you. And be careful.”
Police Chief Selleck chose a couple of strong men. The four of them grabbed their coats and rushed out the back of the auditorium.
Reverend Mercun rose from
his seat and asked if he might say a few words. A hush fell over the audience as he spoke.
“Dear Lord,” he prayed. “We ask for no material possessions or wealth or fortune to come to any of us in this room. But we beseech you to protect the life of this young girl. And protect all of us.”
“Amen.”
A few minutes passed before Honest Dave stood up.
“What are we supposed to do?” he asked. “Just sit here in the dark doing nothing?”
“Yes,” Reverend Mercun replied. “Let us sit here in the dark and be thankful that this happened when we are all in this room together. God brought us here for a reason. This room will serve as our shelter, our sanctuary, until the storm blows over.”
“What if it blows over here?” somebody shouted.
“Let us pray that it doesn’t,” the reverend replied simply.
People turned off their flashlights. It was quiet for ten minutes or so while some prayed and others worried about what might be happening outside to their homes, their businesses, their farms, their pets, and above all, that poor girl Elke.
The quiet eventually gave way to restlessness and quiet conversations.
“I was just thinking,” Principal Anderson said calmly as he stood up. “As long as we’re all just sitting here … did you ever hear that old saying in show business—the show must go on?”
“How’s the show supposed to go on?” asked an old man sitting near him. “I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, much less the stage. You’re a darn fool, you know that?”
Principal Anderson went to the front of the auditorium and asked the people in the first row to put their flashlights on the edge of the stage and point them toward the curtain. They did. The people in the second row passed their flashlights to the people in the first row, who put those flashlights on the stage also. The people in the third row saw what was happening, and they got up to pass their flashlights forward too.