Weekend at Prism

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  Spotswood didn’t time need to come to a conclusion. “Of all of the musicians I’ve had the privilege of interacting with… ”

  “Which is to say a multitude.”

  “Maybe a mutitud-ette’s worth.”

  Scanlan laughed.

  “Of all of them,” Spotswood continued, “I’d have to say that Andy… he’s a rare bird in that he knows exactly who he is and therefore has an uncanny ability to process information when it comes to things that affect him. You can be sure he didn’t… that wasn’t a spur of the moment decision when the coin landed. Exactly why he picked to open I can’t definitively say, though I’m certain we’ll learn the reason soon enough.”

  “Coming up, after some messages from our sponsors Fox will present, in its entirety, the Battle of the Bands pitting Pandora’s Obsession against Christie Cramer, Billy Blair, The Alliance and a recently added 964 pound gorilla. Stay tuned.”

  ***

  Reynolds stood at the back of the Security Control area overlooking the Oasis Theater, watching how the dozen or so techs were handling their assignments. An array of small monitors displayed images being fed from over 80 discreet cameras scattered throughout the venue, most of them devoted to keeping watch on every one of the entrances and main floor aisles, along with a separate set sweeping back and forth to cover the entire backstage area and every door an uninvited guest might employ to enter the arena.

  A few feet behind and at the center of the main consoles sat Claudia and Kathy manning the one set of controls that everybody hoped would never be put to use despite the millions of dollars that had been spent to fabricate the Panic Event Protocols.

  Though there wasn’t any solid intelligence pointing to an attack on the stage and its occupants, there had been enough intercepted chatter in the preceding months to confirm that if terrorism was going to raise its ugly head during the WST festivities, the primary target would no doubt be the concert about to continue twelve stories below.

  If a seemingly confirmed threat entered Oasis, the three snipers hidden in the rafters along with the 15 uniformed guards in place around the stage would have ten seconds—preferably less—to make the decision as to whether one or more of these marksmen or security personnel should take them out and what level of detachment would be employed, ranging from a physical takedown and quick removal to a 50 caliber bullet to the head. That was a fairly cut and dried possibility.

  But if multiple intruders surfaced from multiple locations suspected to be heavily armed with anything from garden variety automatic weapons through handheld explosives and suicide vests, Little Peppy would be activated. First, ten foot high, four inch thick Level 8 glass-clad polycarbonate panels would rise from their enclosures and form a barrier fronting 270 degrees of the stage. Second, 16 SWAT-like personnel would move into action from either side to initially protect then evacuate the performers to whom they had be assigned. Finally, a distracting assortment of sound and lighting effects would flood the area to cause a sense of confusion lasting long enough to hopefully neutralize any remaining problems.

  To minimize the expected hysteria reaction from the audience on the main floor should these procedures be put to use, the house lights would be brought up to maximum intensity and a booming, prerecorded warning repeating, “Please stay in your seats for your own safety,” would be activated.

  Catching some motion to his left, Reynolds glanced to see Chip gesturing at the main door for his boss to join him, which he did.

  “Please tell nothing’s out of control,” he greeted the staffer.

  “Nothing’s out of control.”

  “That’s a start. What else?”

  “Might be a long shot but seems one of Chase’s markers might’a surfaced.”

  “Cassie crazy markers or Cassie inadvertent markers?”

  “Inadvertent.” He paused. “Maybe.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You know that fancy champagne she buys by the case load?”

  “Uhhh… Dom something.”

  “Dom Ruinart.”

  “Right. What about it?”

  Chip cleared his throat. “Again, might be nothing. Maybe just a coincidence.”

  “As you know and I know I don’t believe in coincidences, so please connect the dots for me.”

  “’Bout 90 minutes ago Guest Services got a call asking for a bottle of it on ice. Told the caller it wasn’t on Prism’s wine list. Caller asked where she could get one. Guest gave her the number of a local shop. The log shows that 40 seconds later a call to the shop was made from… ”

  “Room number?”

  “Nineteen thirty-eight.”

  “Registered to?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Chester Wicks, Crystal Lake, Illinois.”

  Reynolds thought a moment. “Interesting. And then?”

  “I talked to the clerk who handled it. He said they had it in stock. She asked to have it delivered. Clerk said they didn’t make deliveries. She asked if a hundred buck tip would change his mind.” He paused. “Clerk changed his mind and personally dropped it off.”

  “D’he get a look at her?”

  Chip nodded. “Said she was a pretty hot-looking babe.”

  Reynolds took a few steps away, tapping the handle of his walking stick in his palm. Then resting it on his shoulder, he stepped back. “Alright. Here’s the… ” He stopped, looked about the room then called, “Joey? Could you join us a moment?”

  The man did, towering over both of them. “Chief?”

  “I want you to get with LVPD and the Bureau guys. Tell ’em we’ve ID’d an armed and dangerous hot-looking babe in one nine three eight who needs to be subdued by any appropriate means. Tell ’em Reynolds personally recommends armor and, uh… might be a good idea to knock once, wait five seconds then blow the fucking door off the hinges.”

  ***

  “Welcome back to the Battle of the Bands here at Prism’s Oasis Theater on the outskirts of Casino Row here in Las Vegas but at the center of an estimated one point four billion television screens across the world, brought to you exclusively on Fox. I’m Connie Scanlan.”

  “I’m Jip Spotswood and the contest is about to begin. Any final thoughts before the first shot’s fired?”

  “Looking at our predictions and at the final proposition betting odds now that the betting windows have closed, I’ve got to go with CCBBA starting with Witchcraft, their most recent number one hit, to be followed by Pandora’s Obsession countering with their latest chart topper, the medley of I’m Your Girl and the powerful cover of Jessie’s Girl.”

  “I’d say Witchcraft is a lock while I’ve got the Girls first or second. In any event, as we’ve discussed, they both need to get those numbers out of the way to give them more options for tossing in some surprises. Though you can be sure they won’t be the mandatory acoustics.”

  “We’re agreed those’ll probably be mid-set, along with the 1964 novelty covers which I can’t wait to hear.”

  The house lights began to dim in the auditorium and the spectators unleashed a boisterous ovation.

  “Fasten your seatbelts,” Spotswood advised.

  In a moment a single shaft of light accented with a few, swirling electronic snowflakes poured down onto Dave Lera as he began playing the moody opening of Witchcraft on his Fender Rhodes piano, looking once and smiling to the accolades his appearance had prompted. Then Polanski, strapped into the chair of the Attack System and wearing a large silver headphone/mic combo, surfaced under similar illumination to add a lower register accompaniment to his partner’s lead on the center-top of his nine keyboards, the entire mechanism slowly tilting up maybe 20 degrees as if it was an aircraft lifting from a runway. Next, a third beam focused on Mick Stanton as he gently tapped his drumsticks together then smacked his snare once with both, doubling the speed of the intro. Eight bars later Harry Hansen and DJ Wingrove chimed in on guitar and bass, bringing part of the crowd to its feet. Then Lera and Polanski sang

  (Witchcraft!) />
  In a twinkling, Christie was revealed by the Decoy at left-front stage dressed in a red sequined blouse with the cuffs folded up once above her wrists, tight black pants and a pair of heels that matched her top. Spotswood smiled, realizing her outfit was an updated version of the one she’d worn at her first performance on a night that now felt so very, very distant in his past. Caressing the mic stand with both hands, she opened with the lyrics from Witchcraft about embers and flames.

  Spotswood watched as a shaft of pure white light replaced the Decoy and Poof! rained down on the other vocalist40 feet right of Cramer, his gasp shared by everyone there and probably everyone else, it occurred to him in an instant, across the entire planet.

  Billy Blair had disappeared.

  Billi Blair had debuted.

  And she was beautiful.

  The stunned silence lasted possibly two, no more than three beats. But then the crowd exploded into a frenzied ovation. It didn’t seem to phase Blair in the least as she sang, “I’m on fire, and this is magic.”

  That was Blair’s voice, no question about it. The crowd recognized it too, judging from the tremendous cheering. She was dressed with a complementary nod to her partner: spiked red heels, black stockings, a tight, black denim miniskirt and a red sequined top, the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, showing a good deal more cleavage than Christie would or could. Her hair was a bit longer than Christie’s, a bit wilder, but the same rich auburn.

  “Witchcraft!”

  There was a chuckle on that background line, Polanski no doubt. Spotswood nodded with a chuckle of his own.

  “I’m a believer, I’ll touch the flames”

  He glanced to a screen showing a close-up of Blair’s face. “Yup, that’s him all right,” he said to Scanlan.

  “What I see, it’s made of dreams

  It’s just what it seems”

  Christie and Billi moved closer, each raising a free hand and pointing at the other.

  “It’s all part of witchcraft”

  They turned toward the audience still pointing, Lera and Polanski joining in on the concluding line of the chorus

  “Burn up the spell!”

  The Alliance was in the pocket, the strength of the song expanding as they rolled into Christie’s second lead.

  Christie turned to Blair and began to move toward her, both of them running languid hands through their hair. Blair’s turn.

  Now their faces were just a foot from each other as they sang.

  Both of them pointed to Harry Hansen, who tore into a blistering lead guitar break, the crowd not relinquishing its approval for a second. The third verse, same as the first, punched out of the band with even more controlled fury, Christie, Blair and the boys perfectly adding the coda

  “Burn up the spell!”

  three times as the song concluded, the last lick reaching a plateau which, even for them, was phenomenal. Nobody was in their seats as the ovation shook the auditorium. While one of the huge side screens displayed a close-up of Blair soaking up the adulation, the other showed a tight shot of Loveland standing shadowed on her side of the stage with an expression of wonder mixed with troubled disbelief.

  “Jip, now I’m speechless. Did you see that curveball coming?”

  Spotswood flashed back to the interview when Lera’d said We’ve got an interesting opening gambit in mind. Ought to do the trick. “Never.”

  “Doesn’t appear Laura Loveland did either. How will Pandora’s Obsession come back? How do they match that?”

  “Don’t know that they can match… I guess they just get their first song out of the way and take it from there.”

  When the ovation continued with no end in sight, Blair turned to Polanski, raising her hands as if asking how to proceed. After glancing about the theater, he simply nodded once then held his own hands up to the throng to quiet things down followed by motioning them to sit, which seemed to do the trick. After Billi placed her microphone into its stand and set her palms on her hips, the place went virtually silent.

  “So,” she began, cocking her head. “I’m still Billi, just with a new spelling, and I think I can answer most of your questions by saying… ” She looked down to the stage then back up. “… it seemed like a good idea at the time!”

  The crowd exploded again and after an exaggerated curtsey, she stepped away.

  Pandora immediately launched into their I’m Your Girl—Jessie’s Girl medley, but instead of leading off with the rocking version of their greatest hit that matched the tempo of the Rick Springfield cover, they went with the original poppy, immensely catchy incarnation that had once been accurately referred to as The biggest earworm to have ever crawled onto the face of the charts.

  Loveland’s voice was in top form and the rest of the group backed her up with obvious glee as if they hadn’t performed the number countless times in the past, sax player Dave Brodnan tossing in a few extra notes here and there to add some extra stress on the rhyming lyrics along with the band’s jack-of-all-trades Norm Magnuson doubling Loveland’s synthesizer. The second verse rolled out smoothly, lead guitarist Jon Cox and rhythm player Tommy Norman matching their licks perfectly to Watts’ practiced bass line and the solid beat being laid down by the band’s newest member, legendary percussionist Jimbeau Walsh.

  After original drummer Greg Brown quit the day following the PBOO IPO to expand his vineyards and winery with his new found fortune, more than a dozen musicians auditioned for the coveted assignment but all were rejected, to a one because Pamela Watts knew exactly how she wanted to tweak the rhythm section and wouldn’t accept a second best. Then on a visit to Hawaii, while having lunch with friends at a fish joint popular with the locals north of Honolulu, Walsh happened in to pick up some sandwiches. Stepping over to introduce herself, she was delighted to learn he was a big fan of Pandora and especially her bass work. As he paid for his order the man playfully suggested he’d like to jam with her sometime if she wouldn’t mind hanging with a retired old crank. She replied she’d do so at the drop of a hat so he advised that his vintage Jimbeau chapeau Bordeaux could be served at eight that evening.

  Arriving at his ocean-front estate that night with a spur-of-the-moment purchased, white second-hand Fender Precision and a thousand questions, he escorted her to the drum set-equipped lanai as the sun was setting where they sat conversing until three the next morning examining and analyzing practically every song in Obsession’s catalogue though never once touching their instruments. While she’d have to run the idea past Loveland, she felt she’d found her man.

  Calling Walsh late the next morning to ask if he’d be interested in considering hitching up with the band on a temporary basis, he peeled off a list of reasons why he wouldn’t, emphasizing the facts that he was thirty-some years senior to PO’s oldest member, hadn’t recorded in three years nor toured in seven and really thought that he couldn’t meet the extraordinary energy requirements that would be demanded to properly execute the already perfected Pandora’s Obsession dynamic without putting my own stamp on it.

  Having checked in with Loveland to confirm she was on her way from San Francisco to the Islands, Watts asked if she could drop by that night with a friend for a few minutes to pick up her bass.

  The pair arrived at seven along with a portable synth, a pair of mics and a small amp, then said their goodbyes around midnight after assuring their new drummer he’d receive all of the necessary documents along with a hefty signing bonus ASAP. Since that meeting, the superstitious Watts had continued using the second-hand bass despite owning seventeen others.

  As the chorus neared, some audience members began singing along then most joined in on the lyrics and then applauded themselves for knowing the words to what Rolling Stone had ranked as the fourth most memorable chorus in rock music history.

  Halfway through the second refrain Spotswood noticed a pair of roadies moving in, one holding Loveland’s Gretsch Country Gentleman while the other placed a microphone stand at the front of the neutral zo
ne, figuring he knew what she was going to try to pull off though puzzled as to why she’d risk it with the stakes so high. He’d seen her attempt the switch twice on a different medley performed during the Inside The Box concerts and both times it had misfired, once when the strap unbuckled and the other when she’d tripped trying to get to the mic. But as I’m Your Girl ended and the band transitioned into the opening of Jessie’s Girl, she smoothly stepped off the low riser, donned the instrument and strolled to the microphone in enough time to even lift a pick from the top of the neck.

  After singing the tune differently than on the single, substituting breathless joy for cynicism, the crowd screamed its approval as the first voting tallies appeared on the side screens.

  “Jip, we were expecting CCBBA to take an early lead but not this wide.”

  “Pandora’s Obsession’s earned over… now 21 million votes while their opponents are already over the one hundred million mark.”

  “And the lag in the totals is already up to 29 seconds.”

  “Let’s take this opportunity to remind our viewers that they can cast their votes as many times as they wish… vote early and vote often as we say back home… by texting to the number at the bottom of their screens and pressing two for The Alliance and seven for Pandora’s Obsession.”

  “You’ll be charged one dollar plus a small fee for each vote cast and all proceeds will go to the Franklin Potcheck Charitable Foundation which devotes its efforts to assisting those with sight or hearing difficulties.”

  “Though Pam Watts has an aversion to jewelry, I noticed tonight she’s sporting a wide, colorful bracelet on her fingering wrist that seems to have writing on it. Any clue as to what it says?”