She’d have to do her makeup over again. But from somewhere, some part of her could feel him, even hear his voice without the phone. She looked across the room at the hula hoop and reached. It stood up, rolled back and forth, did a spin in place.
“Thank you, Mr. Collins.” A quick, tear-blurred glance at ever-patient Keisha. “I gotta go.”
Dane clicked off his phone and slipped it back on his belt. He cleared his eyes just as three people appeared on the stage: Seamus Downey and …
Dane edged behind the crane, out of sight. Remarkable. Shocking, actually. The other two were dressed in uniforms to make them look as if they were from the fire department. One carried a clipboard, and they seemed to be giving the stage an additional, last-minute once-over. The olive-skinned guy he was seeing for the first time, but the blond guy … he was wearing sunglasses and a fireman’s dress hat, supposedly to hide his appearance, but his war-torn face Dane remembered vividly—he’d almost had a knock-down, drag-out fight with him back in his pasture in Idaho, and come to think of it, Mandy actually had.
Dane could see Emile in his control booth on the third level of the parking garage behind the bleachers. Dane got on his radio. “Emile, this is Dane.”
“Emile. Go ahead.”
“Who are those guys on the stage?”
“Fire inspectors.”
“We’ve already passed inspection.”
“Seamus called for it. He wanted to be sure.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
“I just got off the phone with the fire department. They didn’t send them.”
“I’ll get right back to you.”
So Seamus Downey, who miraculously produced a fifty-thousand-dollar settlement from the Spokane County Medical Center for hiring those two guys, was now in their company as they snooped around the effects. Bernadette Nolan was right: the hospital in Spokane never hired them.
But DuFresne and his government backers did, along with Seamus Downey, Mandy’s bighearted manager who made it a point to find out exactly where and when Mandy’s reversion placed her.
The three men were spending a noticeable amount of time checking out the pod.
Dane checked his watch. It was 1:30, and there had been no call from Parmenter. They all agreed that Parmenter would have to remain at his post for the plan to work, and the scientist said he had a contingency plan, but now Dane had to abide by Parmenter’s final admonition, “If I don’t call by 1:30, if you don’t hear from me …”
He got on the radio again. “This is Dane. We have a go. Please acknowledge.”
“This is Emile. We have a go.”
“This is Preston. We have a go.”
Atop the semi, Preston and three crewmen unfastened the Velcro loops from around the bundle of webbing and carefully lifted the top edge of what looked like a huge fishnet woven from fine, nearly invisible fibers.
In the lab, Moss and DuFresne received a quick message in their headsets from Mr. Stone. “All set.”
By 1:30 Mandy had slipped on the white, angelic costume and then, with Keisha’s help, folded and secured its flowing edges inside a black leather bodysuit.
Keisha closed up the last breakaway seam of the bodysuit and asked, “All right, how’s that?”
Mandy did some stretches, went through a few dance moves, waved her arms about. “It’s working.”
“Looks good from here.” Then she lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “I allowed for a few extra pounds.” She winked.
Mandy slipped a silvery tunic over the bodysuit and looked in the mirror, seeing once again Keisha’s signature touch.
“Just like old times,” Keisha said. “You look as marvelous as ever you did.”
Mandy turned to face her. This was good-bye. “I wish I could have remembered you.”
Keisha placed a hand on each side of her face. “I do earnestly hope to see you again.”
At 1:40, Dane, Mandy, Emile, Max, Andy, and Carl met under the stage for a word of prayer. Mandy figured it was a prayer meeting one would only see in show business: she dressed in silver and black like a fantasy hero; Dane and Emile looking tense, still wearing radio headsets; enormous Max dressed like an executioner, Mandy’s shackles draped around his neck; Andy and Carl dressed like slithery henchmen from the dark side, Carl carrying Mandy’s handcuffs. Dane and Mandy were the only Christian believers. Emile was agnostic, Andy was into Scientology, Max was searching and thinking his family ought to find a church somewhere, Carl didn’t give religion much thought at all.
But they all prayed together because they were a team, and she could feel it: this was her moment, they’d all worked very hard to make it happen, and their hearts were with her.
Dane said the Amen and then let them know, “Gentlemen, it’s been a privilege.”
“Right on,” “Same here,” “Back at you,” “Let’s do it again sometime” … they dismissed to their stations.
“And lady,” Dane said.
She gazed into eyes she needed time, precious time, to fully understand. A moment, an eternity, passed, and there were no words. He finally looked to make sure they were alone and said quietly, “It’s a go. God be with you.” He turned his eyes away and without another word, walked out, leaving her alone in the semidark amid the panels and rigging and girders, alone to take hold, finish the show, and find her way back.
She sank onto a makeshift bench, her thoughts and feelings tending in one direction: Lord, why me?Then she smiled at herself, playing back a memory: Dane, the sorrow-worn widower, and she, the half-doped “hoper,” in his living room, and she giving him a lecture about not giving up but living the rest of the life God had for him. Boy, was that big old shoe ever on the other foot now.
Except that—and how was this for weird humor?—the rest of the life God had for her might be no more than the next hour.
Andy and Carl brought in her hula hoop and let her know her doves were on their way to the third level of the parking garage. She thanked them and they left her alone again.
Alone. Ohh, she could feel it as if it were the story of her life, feel it so strongly it had to have been planned. By whom? She sighed. Same old answer: God—which brought a nice release: where was the point in giving up? If there was going to be a big old defeat, let it come from God, not her. It was better to take hold, finish the show, and find her way back … or die trying.
All right.That was settled.
She put the loneliness to work. What I wouldn’t give to see the ranch again, even fork up some hay and manure; have a mocha at the breakfast table; dance a waltz—no, some swing!—and I’d love to get back to that kiss we never finished.
From where she sat she took hold of the hula hoop across the room and made it float in midair, turn, spin. She closed her eyes and petted her doves in their cages in the parking garage.
And for a moment she could see the aspens growing under the stage and a hint of the green pasture amid the girders in the dark.
At 1:51, Moss and DuFresne, fully aware of the eyes watching everything from behind them, maintained a confident air. Moss indicated the readings. “She’s getting it back. We have a multiplicity of timelines … weak at this point, but coming up to strength.”
DuFresne asked, “Can you cut those timelines off?”
Moss nodded with confidence. “Just giving her some rope.”
“Seamus, it looks good.”
The video monitor showed a wide shot from the top of the bleachers, taking in the gathering crowd. The bleachers and a good half of the parking lot were full.
Just then, the television showed a live feed from the local station.
“Hey, turn it up!” said one of the Watchers.
DuFresne turned up the sound.
“… on this sunny afternoon at the Orpheus Hotel Casino, live show business at its best, the Grand Illusion outdoor escape by up-and-coming magician and escape artist Mandy Whitacre. Hello everyone, this is Steve Kirschner …”