The Thrill of It All

by Christie Ridgway

  Blood money, a little voice inside her said. Ransom.

  She jumped up to give Aunt Vi a brisk, brief hug. “I’ve got to get going. My car’s all packed, and…” The sting of tears was beyond silly. “Don’t forget to call that number I gave you the instant Ben walks through the door. GetTV’s using one of the ranger station’s landlines and my crew will get word to me.”

  “Will you have a chance to stop by Uncle Billy’s shop on your way out of town?”

  “No.” She planned on risking speeding tickets. “Is that a problem?”

  “He has your statue.”

  “My statue?” Her Joanie. Her mangled, busted Joanie. Why would Uncle Billy have it? But she didn’t want the thing. She never wanted to see it again, because it reminded her of things she never wanted to think about again.

  Of him.

  “Maybe I’ll win another one next year.” She would, she decided, definitely. Another year of hard work, of buffing her image and polishing her performance, and she’d possess that untarnishable perfection she reached for.

  Aunt Vi pulled her down for another hug. “You know we love you. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Felicity left the room without saying that’s exactly what she hoped to become to them.

  A live show was chaos. A live show on-location was Chaos. A live show, on-location, with an audience was Utter Chaos.

  Felicity would usually have fed off the energy of it, however. But today, the manic scurrying of the crew and the excited buzz of the crowd the audience manager had found at Palm Desert’s famous El Paseo shopping district and then bused in to fill the seats in the nature amphitheater only sucked away her spirit.

  So she hid in her dressing trailer, foregoing her usual last check of the set. As for the audience—she didn’t feel up to facing anyone, including the eye of the camera. Her hands trembled with stage fright as she shuffled through her note cards. And she nearly leaped out of her skin when there was a knock on her door—but it was only her assistant. Not with a message from Aunt Vi, but with the notice that it was near time for Felicity to get mic’d up.

  Where was Ben?

  The question screamed in her mind and was answered by every mob movie and episode of The Sopranos she’d ever managed not to click away from fast enough. Violent programming sent her channel-surfing, but even she could imagine a dozen gruesome endings for her goofy, good-hearted young cousin. Yet she had Mr. Caruso’s word.

  The crime boss of the California Mafia.

  Her assistant knocked again, giving Felicity no more time to wallow in anxiety. She was hardly aware of threading through the cables, satellite dishes, and other GetTV trailers to arrive at the amphitheater’s side entrance, but she relished the few more minutes of semi-privacy as a technician wired her with the microphone and also the IFB. The Interruptive Feedback Button fit snugly in her ear and gave Drew, as producer, an open line to communicate instructions during the show.

  As the audience manager warmed up the crowd for her introduction, she whispered to her assistant, “I’m expecting a message on the landline. If it comes through, have Drew pass it on, all right?”

  Until she knew that Ben was home, she wouldn’t present a single Caruso product. It might mess with the schedule Drew had handed her the day before, but once she was on-air, no one could stop her from running the show as she liked.

  Then she heard her name announced, and, waving and smiling, she high-heeled it across the amphitheater’s stage to her stool and table full of products. During the trip across the short distance she absorbed as much as she could.

  The set pretty much as it had looked the day before. Pacifying.

  Large, enthusiastic audience. Gratifying.

  And in that audience, standing out like crows in a wheat field, a sprinkling of hard-jawed, olive-skinned men in severely cut suits.

  Terrifying.

  Apparently Mr. Caruso was determined she keep to her end of their deal as well.

  She collapsed onto her stool, grateful her knees no longer needed to hold her up.

  “What’s the matter?” Drew said in her ear. “You look like a rabbit. Lick your lips, then smile some more.”

  Felicity did a quick check of her appearance in the three separate monitors set up in front of her, off-camera. One showed the full-frontal shot that was beamed into the viewers’ living rooms, while the others showed her left and right profiles. Drew was right, and rabbit impersonations weren’t going to win her another Joanie.

  With a little bounce, she resettled herself on the stool, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. Then, touching her ear, she grinned at the audience. “My producer just told me I resemble a rabbit. Not a good thing in these wide-open spaces, wouldn’t you agree?” She pretended to scan the bright blue sky above her for predators, noting but dismissing another cable that was strung between two of the one-hundred-foot-high boulders behind her that served as the walls of the amphitheater.

  Most of the audience laughed.

  Ignoring the serious Suits who didn’t, she launched into a welcome for the live audience and a brief explanation to the at-home viewers about their location. “We’ve taken you to the ski slopes of Tahoe, the pier in Santa Barbara, and that memorable roller-coaster at the Magic Mountain theme park. But today we’re at one of the most unique—and starkly beautiful—spots in Southern California.”

  Her eyes scanned the scenery around them. “I wish I could tell those of you at home how blue the sky is here. We’re sitting snug, cupped in a bowl of mountains. The air is so clean and dry that the smallest detail is cleanly etched against the stark blue, almost like a movie backdrop. As a matter of fact, this area served as the location for many movies over the years, standing in for everything from the Sahara to a lush tropical isle. I think the audience with me today will agree that basking in the seventy-something-degree sunshine while not far away rises the snow-covered San Jacinto Mountain makes a special way to start the New Year.”

  The audience clapped, except for the goons.

  “Get a move on,” Drew directed in her ear.

  It wasn’t the message she was waiting on. So she smiled again, stalling. “They say you have to see the desert in spring to appreciate it, but winter is pretty wonderful as well. Now, bring me back here when it’s a hundred and eleven in August, and you may hear an entirely different story.”

  The audience laughed and clapped again.

  “In case you’ve forgotten”—Drew’s voice was as dry as the air—“we’re here to sell.”

  She darted a quick glance to the rear of the audience, where she could see him standing, wearing his headset and accompanying mic. He looked his usual put-together self, but she sensed his impatience.

  “Read the prompter, Felicity. The revised schedule’s on there. Start with the massage pens.”

  Revised schedule? Her gaze darted to the prompter, but the first product was the same from yesterday’s schedule. With a tiny nod, she took a breath and picked up one of the vibrating pens that came with a diagram of stress points on the body. Her mouth opened and she launched into her sales pitch on automatic, her delivery smooth and her enthusiasm real-enough-sounding, even as her mind focused on the problem at hand. The Caruso products were to follow and there was still no word that Ben was safely home.

  Her gaze found each of the mobsters in the audience. Sweat was glistening on their faces—she could have told them a business suit was a bad fashion choice for the desert outdoors—and a few of them were shifting in their chairs, apparently bored.

  One shot her an evil look.

  Her speech hitched a second, along with her breath. If she’d doubted their presence was meant to intimidate her, now she knew she was wrong. Oh, what to do?

  If she introduced the products, then she lost her leverage for getting Ben back.

  If she didn’t introduce them, it would be one public, potentially damaging career move. Drew would think she’d lost her touch and her marbles. After all, she was the one who
had waxed poetic on the sauces to begin with.

  The sales period wound down for the massage pens and she was still unsure. She tried stalling with a few more comments about the desert until Drew growled in her ear again. “Get on with it, Felicity. Read the prompter.”

  She didn’t need to read the prompter to know what was next. As she half-turned toward the table beside her, her eye caught a figure looming in the same side entrance to the amphitheater that she’d used. Her heart stuttered in her chest and her body froze.

  Magee. Michael Magee, the man she’d planned on never, ever seeing again. Out of his usual ratty jeans and rude T-shirts and in a pair of shorts and shirt that she recognized as Mountain Logic climbing gear. There was a climber’s harness buckled around his hips and flexible rock shoes on his feet. He watched her with his cool, gunslinger’s stare.

  And underneath that dark, judgmental gaze, she was supposed to sell the Caruso products, and sell out her family.

  “The prompter,” Drew growled again in her ear.

  Her eyes still locked on Magee, she blindly reached for one of the bottles of sauce. There was a high-pitched whine in her ears, but she didn’t think it was coming through the IFB. It was her nerves, every last one of them plucked and humming, thanks to Magee’s presence.

  Trying to catch her breath, she turned to the audience. The Caruso cohorts were all sitting up straight. The one who’d given her the evil look had lowered his brows and folded his arms over his chest in a clear posture of intimidation.

  But Felicity refused to let herself be rattled. Holding the product toward the audience, she smiled and spoke directly to the Evil Suit. “Here’s something new I’ve just uncovered—a hidden treasure—from a local family who keeps several secrets.”

  “Felicity,” Drew cut in. “Not that, read the prompter.”

  She ignored him, focused as she was on Evil Suit, who sat up even straighter as what she said appeared to sink in. He half-rose out of his seat.

  “As a matter of fact…” she continued.

  “The prompter,” Drew ordered again.

  She ignored him again. “…I’ve known this family for years, but until just recently I didn’t realize that—”

  A hand swiped the bottle of sauce away from her. Felicity looked around, startled. Magee! Michael Magee, on her set, with her sauce, trying to stop her from doing what she wanted!

  He leaned down to burn her ears with an angry whisper. “I’m going to be mad as hell if I was saved for this. If I find out my sole purpose in life is to keep you from pulling stupid stunts.”

  Stupid stunts! Felicity heard that echo and re-echo even as she finally paid attention to Drew’s commands and glanced at the teleprompter. He had revised the schedule. The Mountain Logic clothing was up next, not the Caruso sauces. She made a quick apology to the audience—“This is why they call it live TV”—even as Drew spoke again in her ear.

  “Your friend will demonstrate some climbing moves while you give the pitch.”

  Later on she’d figure out whose idea this was and why. For now, she dragged her professionalism back around her and flashed another smile for the audience. “World-famous climber Michael Magee is here to show us what the products from Mountain Logic are designed to do. While you might not aspire to extreme sports, you’ll feel like an extreme athlete in this comfortable yet hip line of sportswear.”

  On one of the monitors, she saw the camera zoom back to catch Magee leaping onto a sheer rock face behind her. He landed like a fly, his fingers wedging into an unseen fissure, his rock shoes balancing on an invisible ledge.

  She had to keep her eyes on the audience after that. Not that she was afraid for Magee—Lord knows it was clear the man was made to crawl up perpendicular surfaces—but because watching him move with such power and grace made her remember too much about how they’d moved together.

  It took him hardly any time to reach the top of the pillar of rock. There was another man up there—Gwen’s brother from the rock gym?—to help him off with his harness. Then Magee stood alone, on top of the world, it seemed. She wanted him so badly she could cry.

  Drew commanded again, “The prompter.”

  She read it silently first. To show just how extreme you can get in Mountain Logic gear, Michael Magee will demonstrate a maneuver called tightroping a slack line.

  That cable she’d noticed when she’d walked onto the stage was no cable at all, she realized, but climbing rope. She glanced up at it, stretched high above her. Barefoot, Magee approached the ledge, then glanced down at her.

  Her heart stumbled. Unable to look away, she remembered Gwen’s brother taking off the climber’s harness. Which meant Magee wasn’t wearing a safety leash.

  Her heart stumbled again and her mouth went desert-dry. What did he think he was doing? Talk about stupid stunts!

  But she could see that reckless gleam in his eyes and she thought about how lost he’d seemed the day before without his “purpose” of taking care of Ashley and Anna P. It had never occurred to her that climbers had a death wish, but the idea suddenly had her around the throat and was squeezing.

  She cupped her lapel mic, preparing to shout him out of this foolishness.

  “Felicity.” Drew’s voice in her ear interrupted. “We’ve blocked off the entrance to the amphitheater and its parking lot, but I just got word that there’s a group outside who want in. They say they’re your family?”

  Now?

  Now?

  It had to be Charms. Only Charms could mess up a simple instruction like “use the telephone” and show up at a time like this. She felt like screaming in frustration.

  Well, let them cool their heels until she persuaded Magee not to take this tightrope walk.

  “Felicity? Thumbs-up, we’ll let them in. Thumbs-down, we won’t.”

  With a grimace she glanced toward Drew at the rear of the audience, then back up at the eerie grin on Magee’s face. She was really going to kill him this time if he didn’t stop this nonsense immediately. But how?

  Unless…It would stall him, she was sure of it. Never looking away from Magee, she flashed Drew a thumbs-up.

  She recognized when the newcomers entered at the rear of the amphitheater, because Magee blinked, his face showing sudden surprise. The rest of the audience was leaning forward in their seats, their eyes on him, and they must have seen the way his expression changed, too. Everyone’s heads, including Felicity’s, turned.

  And there they were, the whole motley crew that was her family. Aunt Vi in another of her straight-from-the-seventies polyester pantsuits. Uncle Billy, in his grease-stained coveralls and gap-toothed smile. Ashley, Anna P. on her hip. Roberta, the old geezers, and the only well-dressed one of the bunch—her cousin the golf hustler—too far back for anyone to see, naturally.

  But Ben? She glanced up at Magee and then back at the grouped Charms. No goofy towhead in sight. Her heart pounded.

  Looking at Aunt Vi, she mouthed the question. “Where’s Ben?”

  “Surprise!” From the side entrance to the stage, a figure came running. Goofy, towheaded Ben had grown into a tall, goofy towhead in the last couple of years. Felicity had never seen a more precious sight.

  Paralyzed by relief, she let him rush her, then tackle her with a one-armed bear hug that had her mic leaping in one direction and her IFB in the other. She didn’t care. Instead, she hugged him back, her arms locking around his lanky form. “You idiot.” She said it over and over.

  He only laughed, then pulled away to look down into her face. “Unlucky idiot. Or maybe just lucky to have you in the family.”

  She almost shhed him, but with her mic swinging on its wire somewhere at her feet, she didn’t bother. A story explaining who Ben was and why he was here would occur to her any second.

  And though Drew was probably going crazy, without her IFB in, she didn’t know about it. So she took another minute to get a question answered. “What happened? What took you so long?”

  He laughed again, lik
e the darling doofus he was. “You can thank Uncle Billy for that. They had me out at some old place in the desert. On our way back, we ran into an area of road he’d salted. Four blown tires.”

  She gaped at him. “I swear I’ll kill him with my two bare hands!”

  “That’s why he sent me up with a peace offering.” From behind his back, Ben whipped something out.

  Felicity stared at the blob of metal in her cousin’s hand.

  “Uncle Billy and Mom put it back together for you,” Ben continued. “I heard it looked a little different before, but hey, I think they did good.” He shoved it at her.

  It took Felicity a moment, but then she realized what was in her hands—what Uncle Billy and Aunt Vi had done. They’d rebuilt her Joanie.

  Apparently the statue hadn’t broken cleanly in two, because when soldered back together she’d lost her elegant stance for a much less ladylike slouch. Her scars and scrapes were still in evidence, but someone—Aunt Vi, it had to be—had glued a chartreuse pom-pom on top of her head as a hat-cum-coverup for the major damage that part of Joanie had sustained on her near-fall from the mountain.

  Mountain…She looked up, but Magee was no longer there. She glanced toward the rest of the Charms and found him, leaning against the rock behind them, all dark hair and gunslinger glare. Her gaze moved back to the family, and by contrast, their love and pride in her shone from their eyes.

  Her fingers squeezed the cool metal of the Joanie.

  When he’d accused her of turning her back on her family, she’d told Magee the only people she had to love her were strangers. But looking out at the Charms, she had to take it back. Take it all back.

  She’d been wrong. So wrong.

  All this time, the Charms had loved her, even when she’d distanced herself from them. They’d loved her when she’d made up stories about them. They’d always loved her.

  But she’d done the whole, dumb Dorothy thing, hadn’t she? Gone to Oz looking for love, when all the time it was in her own back yard?

  Cradling the Joanie against her, she smiled up at Ben. “You’re right. They did do good. I love it just as it is.”