Grace House: The Trial of Obscurity
Page 32
Chapter 32 Obscurity Rock
At almost midnight Love looked into the little attic room. She saw that Obscurity had pulled off the headband and was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Love sat down beside her.
“Back yet?” asked Obscurity. Her eyes did not move from the ceiling.
“Yes, a few minutes ago. Reason’s with her baby, and Dignity is circulating downstairs. The party is still going strong, you know. I wish you’d rejoin us.”
“They signed.” It was not a question.
Love touched the security woman’s long white hair. “No. They had quite a time of it, but they didn’t sign a thing. They’re still Reason and Dignity.”
Obscurity sat up and looked her in the eyes. “Come on! Don’t—do you really mean it?”
Love really meant it. “And I was wondering if you might sing even yet? Your amplifier and guitar are still downstairs.”
Obscurity jumped off the bed. “Sing? I could fly! Throw me my headband. What happened? Did, did Dignity just look Mr. Power in the eye and say no? Could he have?”
“Something like that. They had some trouble getting out of the house. Reason had to threaten to scream.”
“This is impossible,” Obscurity said, smoothing on the headband. “Are you sure they’re all right? Their eyes don’t look a little odd?”
“They look perfectly normal,” Love said. “Come downstairs and see for yourself.”
Power slammed a palm down on the desk top. “You, gentlemen, have put me in one stinking cesspool of a position. Do you realize what this means? Do you have any conception?”
Blindazabat and Mammon did not answer. Snare, who realized full well what it meant, smiled wanly.
“It means I’m going crawling to Grace House,” Power shouted. “It means I’m going to go out there, get in that car, and go stand on their doorstep with my little hat in my hand.” He pulled the contract from his inner jacket pocket and slapped it down on the desk. “Pride threw that at my feet on his way out. I had to stoop and pick it up. Why in Hades didn’t you just do the job? Snare?”
The little lawyer approached the desk. “Admittedly, it’s a dilemma—” he began.
“A dilemma! The Heaven Channel goes on the air in...” Power glanced at his watch “...four hours. They’ve got the story, the details. They’ll even interview Pinch live; see if it doesn’t happen. This isn’t a dilemma, you squeaking little squirt, it’s a pile of manure as tall as this house! Now you know very well I can’t go beg Dignity to change his mind. But if he doesn’t sign tonight we haven’t got squat to counter the exposé.”
“The usual denials, Power,” Mammon put in.
“Catch up with us, gramps, it’s not good enough. Snare here told me earlier this evening that our debt picture doesn’t allow us that kind of leeway. We’re teetering on the edge. Either this story dies or we’re on the brink of meltdown.” He lurched to his feet and steadied himself. “Snare, bring both contracts and come with me.”
A drum roll and the echo of a turned on amplifier. Dignity looked away from a circle of chattering partiers in time to see Obscurity run down the stairs and plug in her blazing blue guitar. At the piano, Faithfulness crashed out some very un-Orchardlike chords; and on the drums, Joy started a driving beat which Obscurity’s guitar tore through like a jet through a wall. Her throaty, amplified rocker’s voice leaped out at them.
Mrs. Power threw a party. Ask me who was there?
Everyone who’s anyone was pulling up a chair.
They dined on wine and caviar, this banquet of the blessed;
And Mr. Power portioned out each morsel for the guests.
But they didn’t say a word to me. You see, I wasn’t there.
I didn’t get invited. Yeah, I missed the whole affair!
Ooh, the agony!
No one’s heard of me.
My biography
Can’t—get—ma-ade!
As the decibels mounted, children and teens danced on the stairs and the adults began to clap along.
I was dancin’ on the sidewalk forty-seven blocks away
Where the streetlights all get broken and theirs nothing much to say.
I missed the Powers’ party ’cause I didn’t have the dough.
Now I’m rockin’ in a cradle and I’m rollin’ in the snow!
Hey rock! Obscurity.
Hey rock! He stands by me.
Go talk! Go play your game.
I rock! I’ve got—His—na-ame!
The amplifier hit some sort of electronic wall and bounced off with a sound like a ten-thousand-pound rubber band snapping. Everyone was yelling encouragement and applauding wildly.
The doorbell had brought no response and neither had knocking, so Mr. Power knocked harder, this time putting his back into it and bruising his freezing knuckles. But it was no use. The party music was deafening. Peering in through a strip of window at the edge of the doors, he tried to get someone’s attention, but no one was looking his way, and in a moment his breath had fogged the glass. He backed off, shivering, cursing the snow that was swirling down in large flakes.
He shifted to the window strip at the other side of the doors and—holding his breath—looked in again. With her back to him, the white haired girl was playing the guitar. Clocks were tolling and paper horns were being blown. Around the neighborhood fireworks were going off. He looked at his watch: just midnight. Inside, someone at a piano struck up Auld Lang Syne. A violent shiver ran through his drunken frame. Then another. He decided that his expensive top coat was too thin for sub-zero weather. Besides, he felt sick.
One more look. Yes, there was Dignity. He had brought the white haired girl a drink in a paper cup, and she was putting down the guitar to accept it. The boys’ little cousin Reason danced by with her husband, and Power could see her eyes sparkling and her smiling mouth moving as she said something to Dignity. She and Truth danced away, and just as this window too became fogged, Dignity and Obscurity walked away from the microphone and began to dance together.
Power had not stopped quaking. If he got inside now, he reasoned, they would try to put him to bed. He could not even keep his teeth from chattering, and he felt as if he might throw up. Another strong gust of snow blew over him, and making a sudden decision, he staggered away, clinging to an iron rail as he descended the steps to the street.
In the car, Snare was drumming his fingers on a briefcase and whistling tunelessly. He looked up with that annoying little smirk of his and said nothing.
“Home, sir?” asked the driver.
Power nodded quiveringly.