Weekend at Prism

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “Such as?”

  “I’ll stop right there, though will hazard a guess that we’re all in store for a big reveal in the not too distant future.”

  “Which could be why though all of the commercials were shown on the two side screens here, that one made it to the Ultratron. And everyone loved it.”

  A huge ovation rose from the audience.

  “And now, let’s return to the stage.”

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the house voice announced, “please welcome back Dave Lera and Pamela Watts.”

  The pair stepped to center stage carrying large folders emblazoned with treble clefs. After greeting each other with a hug, they acknowledged the applause then traded a few asides before beginning.

  “Pam, I’d like to again congratulate you on your band’s overwhelming victory tonight.”

  “And David, I’d like to congratulate you on your keen sense of exaggeration.”

  “What’cha got for me?”

  “Everything requested… as long as you’ve got ours.”

  They exchanged their packages, Watts holding his behind her back as she glanced about. “One of the many, many things we’ve borrowed from the Alliance’s playbook is the way they prepare for a concert. While most bands have a rehearsal, as we once did, playing a few numbers included in that night’s set they, and we, now instead just have a warm-up, running down some songs we simply enjoy amongst ourselves, tunes by other performers.”

  “And when Pam and I were having one of our discussions about this segment of the festivities, she suggested it might fun for our two crews to play a few of those for you, along with some new numbers chosen for the occasion.”

  The crowd voiced its approval.

  “So without the chance to properly rehearse them together,” she said, paging through the folder, “Mr. Lera and I agreed to write out the basics… keys, chord changes, that kind of stuff, in hopes we’d be able to get everything in the pocket.”

  “That being said, if you’ll excuse us for a few moments… ”

  “For some words from our sponsors… ”

  “… we’ll go over the blueprints and return as… what did we decide to call ourselves?”

  “I was leaning toward Pandora’s Alliance Obsession.”

  “Didn’t we agree on The Alliance of the Pandoras?”

  “I think you’re thinking of the Obsession of The Alliance.”

  “No. You’re thinking of The Alliance of Obsessions.”

  “How ’bout we call us Combined Forces?”

  “Sounds good to me.” He looked at his watch. “Think we’ll be able to make it?”

  She looked at her own. “Well, we’re coming up on… ” She smiled as she looked to the audience. “Are all of you going to be leaving to get to your New Year’s Eve parties or you wanna stick around so we… along with a few friends… can bring you up to midnight?”

  The response was emphatic agreement.

  “Okay,” Lera grinned. “We’ll be right back. Stay tuned.”

  “Wait!” Loveland called, appearing beside Watts out of nowhere with a rolling table topped with a large gift box wrapped in red paper and a huge white bow. “Anybody know where Andy is? I’ve got a bet I need to collect half of.”

  Poof! He appeared not ten feet distant from Lera, smiling and shaking his head in resignation. “Are you sure we shook on this?”

  “We certainly did, Captain. C’mon over here. To the victress belongs the spoils.”

  Polanski went across, removed the cover, peeked in then groaned, “You really don’t expect me to wear this the rest of the night, do you?”

  “I’ll settle for just the next few songs, then it’s up to you.”

  Reaching in, he removed an oversized three corner, black pirate’s hat decorated with silver fringe and emblazoned with the letters PO above a pair of crossed bones. Gamely donning it he then turned to model it for the crowd that roared its approval.

  “As I was about to say,” Lera cackled, “We’ll be right back after my buddy gets his head together!”

  ***

  Chip sat down beside Reynolds and leaned to whisper, “Got the report.”

  “Cassie?”

  “Nope. Just Mr. and Mrs. Wicks.” He paused. “A very pissed Mr. and Mrs. Wicks.”

  Reynolds sighed. “Who did what and how do we fix things?”

  “Joey had a cop dressed as a waiter faking a delivery. When she wouldn’t open the door the guys did it for her, then tossed in a blinder for good measure. When the smoke cleared Mrs. Wicks was sprawled on the floor dressed in a… one of those dominatrix type outfits?”

  Reynolds chuckled then shook his head. “Dare I ask what old Chester was wearing?”

  “He was seated on the sofa in a pink negligee.”

  Reynolds sighed again. “D’Joey work anything out with them?”

  “Room comped. Travel costs comped. Ten grand plus they keep the bottle of champagne.”

  “I’d say that’d be reasonable.”

  “There’s more.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Return visit at a date to be determined. All expenses paid along with a two bedroom suite for a week and unlimited room service. Five K casino credit plus tickets to any shows in town they wanna see.”

  “When did Joey become a philanthropist?”

  “When Chester said Make me smile or first I’ll call the local TV stations and then my attorney.”

  “Sounds hardball for a dude who likes playing dress up.”

  Chip held up his trans that displayed a photo of a woman’s face.

  “That’s his little leatherette?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “Shit,” Reynolds grinned. “I’d dress in Victoria’s Secret if she asked me.”

  “About the offer?”

  “Book it.”

  ***

  Combined Forces exploded out of the gate by starting their set with a balls-to-the-wall revision of the Grand Funk Railroad chestnut We’re An American Band. With Walsh handling the driving cowbell and Stanton on drums, Polanski yelled the order “Go!” just before the other instruments chimed in, the Attack System providing the sense that a marching band had joined the assembly. To the delight of the audience, Stanton took the lead vocal with the girls joining in on the choruses and contributing a cheeky “Come on dudes, let’s get it on” after the singer observed that they were out to beat the boys in the band. Before the lead break arrived, all of the musicians from PO had looked to Polanski as if for approval, no doubt amazed that they were now part of a group led by the reigning apex predator of rock and roll. Then seconds after finishing the opener, CF followed up with a rollicking version of Loverboy’s Working For The Weekend, Christie taking the lead vocal and substituting working up to midnight in the choruses.

  Next up, Watts stepped to the center microphone and said, “I have a hard time with lead vocals if the bass line is too complicated, and this one isn’t, so I’m gonna give it a shot.” After some thunder and lightning courtesy of the Attack System, they jumped into Ami Stewart’s Knock On Wood, Loveland filling in the high notes her partner couldn’t reach.

  Lera then moved to Loveland’s Farfisa as Polanski, Wingrove and Hansen lined up beside him. “Back when we were getting started and had to audition for club owners, some of them weren’t keen on both me and Andy on keyboards ’cause guitar bands were the rage, so we’d often trot this one out.” And they played That Thing You Do! with Lera expertly handling the verses while Christie and Billi added handclaps and Wingrove and Polanski provided a backing that included playful imitations of the way Harrison and McCartney often shared a single microphone when Lennon took the lead vocals. During Hansen’s solo, Polanski stepped across to whisper something into Billi’s ear, making her laugh and kiss his cheek, and the two women then joined in with backing harmonies for the rest of the number.

  As the lights dimmed, Polanski moved back to the Steinway, joined by Walsh on drums, Watts with Wingrove’s acoustic bass, Bro
dnen on alto sax and Cox adding guitar. Loveland stepped to the piano, set a hand on the lid then delivered a stylish, jazzy interpretation of What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?

  In quick succession CF went on to a powerful cover of Cyndi Lauper’s Money Changes Everything with Blair providing an ironic tongue-in-cheek vocal, followed by Loveland reinventing Joan Jett’s I Hate Myself For Loving You. Then Christie stepped center stage and said, “This next number was originally recorded by Eddi Reader, and it’s coming straight from my heart.” She then sang Kiteflyers’ Hill, a song Spotswood didn’t recognize but as she gazed up to BB1, knew it was meant for him.

  “You all know our good friend Jip Spotswood, don’t you?” she asked when she’d finished and the audience responded with a nice ovation as his face appeared on both of the side screens. The crowd applauded more as she again gazed up to BB1 and blew a kiss, adding, “Thank you, Jonathan.” After the audience calmed down she continued, “I’m sure most of you are familiar with an article he published last October on Pinkiefinger that… well, if it wasn’t for him, I think we’d all be doing something different tonight.”

  Lera and Watts exchanged comments, making her nod enthusiastically then yell to Loveland who in turn moved back to her main keyboards to sort through the sheath of staff paper until she found what she needed, holding up an index finger to indicate she needed a moment to study it. Then she looked to the Attack System where Lera had joined Polanski and called across, to which Lera held up a pair of fingers to indicate what part she should handle.

  “Anyway,” Christie continued, “we’d also like to dedicate this next one to him as our way of saying Thanks for bringing us all together tonight.”

  As soon as the first few bars of the intro began, Stonetree let out a whoop and shared a laugh with Scanlan. The three keyboardists were joined by Brodnan playing a silver flute and Magnuson adding some deep percussive notes from a pair of tympanis as the long intro unfolded.

  Then Poof! Stanton appeared center stage dressed in top hat, white tie and tails, spinning a black, white-tipped cane.

  “Prism, Las Vegas setting

  And the city sure knows that the city is getting

  The crème de la crème of World Standoff!

  And a show with everything but Yul Brynner.”

  As Combined Forces tore through its version of One Night In Bangkok, Stanton pranced about, changing the lyrics to fit the occasion and garnering a huge ovation as he placed the cane to his crotch, elevated it to a steep angle then playfully snarled

  “I get my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.”

  Strapping on his Fender again, Polanski went center stage with his now two female vocalists taking up positions on either side and a few feet behind. “This is one of the first songs I ever learned in my formative years. I think I was looking for a girl like the one Eric Carmen was writing about.” After a quick count he let go with a passionate version of Go All The Way, Blair and Cramer joining to create a delicious three part harmony and two-part backgrounds.

  As the musicians rearranged themselves, Billi went to the left-front lip of the stage and exchanged a little banter with some of the observers. Then nodding to Hansen to start the guitar intro, she sang the opening riff from No More Mr. Nice Guy.

  The crowd went crazy.

  Then with a slight bow and hand gesture to her right… Poof! Alice Cooper materialized to take the rest of the verse then the pair romped through the rest of the song like two kids on a playground, the ovation when they wrapped it up rivaling any that had preceded it.

  It might not have ceased until Loveland went to a microphone as the musicians eased away from the middle of the stage. “All right, calm down.” She grinned. “God I hate it when a guy applies mascara better than I can.” That just incited them more, so she folded her arms and made the face of an impatient kindergarten teacher. “Now you kids pay attention. I’ve got an important announcement to make.” After a moment, she did. “We’re going to do just one more, then take a short recess, then come back with some excellent substitutes who’re going to teach you something about rock and pop.” After still more applause she continued, “Okay. This is going to be a tough one to pull off. First thing, we’re going to need every guitarist available.”

  Wingrove, Watts, Hansen, Cox, Norman, Magnuson and Polanski moved forward in two groups.

  “Second thing is I’m going to need a collaborator on the vocal. Christie? Care to join me?”

  Cramer did.

  “Third thing,” Loveland added, looking about as if something was wrong, “we’re going to need drums.”

  “Lots of drums,” Christie cautioned.

  Poof! A huge platform appeared at the center of the stage, triangular in shape with three circular risers inside its borders, the forward disc empty. At the rear-lefts at Walsh behind an augmented kit with assorted cymbals, a snare, pairs of floating toms and floor toms and a single bass drum prominently displaying the Ludwig and CF logos. To his right was Stanton manning a double bass ensemble including twin snares, six floaters and two floors, all of the shells sparkling in the six Prism/Standoff! colors.

  The audience, now realizing what the commercial had been about, went wild as the two percussionists soaked it up, grinning like they’d just hit a jackpot. Then after the spectators finally calmed down, Stanton casually looked across and chuckled, “I told you mine was bigger.”

  After more applause Walsh nodded then replied, “We’ll just have to see what we have to see.”

  Norman began playing a soft introduction on his acoustic Gibson that brought still more cheering and explained the necessity of the heavy artillery—Combined Forces was going to take a stab at covering perhaps the greatest rock anthem of all time, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven.

  Loveland took the first verse as Brodnan added a recorder to the accompaniment then Cramer handled the second verse as more guitars were added. Loveland sang the third, Cramer the fourth then as the instrumental interlude ended, Stanton and Walsh joined in. Loveland took the fifth verse and her partner the sixth. As the intro before the guitar solo began, all seven of the available instruments were being worked but the players seemed confused about what was to happen next, Polanski shouting and pointing to them as if he was a quarterback before a long count snap to designate who was going to take on the impossible task. Just as the time was about to arrive, Cramer stepped to her mic and smiled, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Jimmy Page!”

  Poof! The legend appeared on the riser in front of the two drummers and let loose, the other guitarists backing him with unbridled enthusiasm.

  Christie finished out the concluding verse with an unusually manic ferocity and as the song neared its end, the crowd was again on its feet. When the final chord rang out, all of CF bowed to Page, who in turn responded with a Hindu ones of his own, saying to each of them “Namaste,” then turned to acknowledge the beaming drummers who’d acquitted themselves quite nicely.

  “We’ll be back with more after a short break,” Loveland gleefully yelled, and as the house lights came up the entire stage disappeared as if into a black hole.

  ***

  Potcheck sat hunched over in a wing chair, his right index finger sliding up and down behind his ear. “You know something, Ben? In the 35 years I was in practice, I never once was dishonest with a client, nor for that matter with an opponent.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. Of course, occasionally when an opportunity to dissemble or cheat presented itself and I knew...”

  “Temptation.”

  “Yes. Tempted to use dishonesty. But even when I knew I’d never be caught, or at least thought so, I also knew that violating the trust I’d established with friends and foes alike would assuredly suffer.”

  Walbee stepped across and placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Trust is a good thing, a good quality. Even when misplaced for whatever reason.”

  “I know, I know. But still… ”

  “We’ve all made mista
kes like this, Franklin. I have, you have. How about you, Charles?”

  “More than I can count,” Bernardini replied.

  Walbee sighed. “So assuming the worst, I think we should look forward rather than to the past. Franklin?”

  The man glanced up then absently rubbed at one of his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s examine what I’d say are our three… three separate items that we have to address before tomorrow night.”

  “Agreed.”

  “First of all, I’d like Charles to outline his thoughts on precisely how Claude might have gotten this far, assuming he’s the one… ”

  “He’s the one,” Bernardini put in. “I haven’t a doubt on that point.”

  “Walk us though it then.”

  “Please,” Potcheck added.

  Bernardini began with his suspicions of St. Honore since their first conversation. Someone with the entrepreneur’s skills, successes and refined business acumen wouldn’t have led with a vague, amorphous proposal to retain his services; rather, if he was set on retaining him he would have approached with specific needs and be seeking specific solutions. If he suspected the possibility of the Tournament being gamed he would said so at the front end, not procrastinating for months concerning the focus of the assignment. Likewise, despite his portfolio allowing supervision of most Prism and Tournament operations including Security, the fact that he chose not to have either the owner nor Walbee in the loop was seriously questionable. Which is why the Traveler had elected to make a backchannel contact with Potcheck once the details of his proposed quest were finalized.

  “One thing I still don’t understand,” Potcheck said, “is if he was intent on fixing the Tourney, why would he bring in a man of your abilities to catch him in the act?”

  Bernardini made a noise. “A few scenarios come to mind. The most obvious is that he didn’t think he could be caught in that act. That being the case, retaining my services would make him appear to be conducting due diligence which, in turn, would expectantly earn him points in your eyes as to future joint ventures. On the other hand, if I or someone else was able to crack the code, or for that matter even hone in on the possibility of a fix, he’d be able to adjust his strategies from altering the methodology to cancelling further efforts.”