Then out of nowhere, the Lockness monster showed up and asked me for three fitty. I say “No Lockness monster, I will not give you three fitty. It’s my three fitty.”
The Lockness Monster asks again for three fitty. Again I tell him “No Lockness Monster. It’s my three fitty. If you want three fitty, you’ll have to work for it.” Out of nowhere, Alice tells me she gave him three fitty earlier." I’m like “Alice, why did you give him three fitty? Now he’s just going to keep comming back for more.” Then I say to the Lockness Monster"She gave you three fitty already. You may be able to get three fitty from her, but you’ll not get it from me."
Finally, the Lockness Monster leaves, and I still have my three fifty intact. As Alice and I go for a walk, aliens kidnap us and take us aboard their spaceship, where, to my surprise and disbelief, the Lockness Monster is there, asking again for “three fitty”…
“Hey, what did I tell you the first time?” I tell him. “Besides, even if I did give you ‘three fitty,’ how do I know you won’t just spend it on cheap Scotch?”
“I won’t! I promise!” the creature explains. “I’m going to spend on expensive Scotch.”
“Sorry, no dice,” I say.
“Oh bugger,” the monster says before slowly shuffling away from us.
“More like the Loch Ness Sponge,” Alice comments.
Just then, one of the aliens who kidnapped us appears. He looks like any number of typical outer space aliens seen in sci-fi movies and TV shows from the 50’s or 60’s: gray complexion, short, bald and a big head that barely contains an oversize brain. He’s also wearing a silver lame` jumpsuit with a lavender trim and matching boots.
“Okay, I take it you were the beings we were supposed to pick up from the Morpheus Theater, ________, California, USA, planet Earth?” he asks in a perfunctory manner.
“I’m not sure about that,” I say to him.
“Why? Aren’t you the ones who had been trapped beneath that building on that tacky planet for the last 13 Earth years?”
“Um … no we aren’t. But there were some other aliens who had been living under the theater who were looking for a ride.”
The big-brained big alien goes silent as he realizes that his crew just made a mistake. Then, after doing a slow burn, he erupts in exasperation.
“OH FIDDLE-FADDLE! Can’t these idiots not screw up a simple pick-up?”
He storms back to what we believe to be is the ship’s central control room. After hearing loud jabbering in some unknown alien tongue, we feel the ship abruptly reverse direction.
The alien reappears. “I’m sorry,” he says, “there’s been a mistake. We’re taking you right back. You’ll have to forgive our co-pilot. He’s from Anolecrab.”
“That’s good to know–I guess,” Alice says.
“Oh, that big leech that’s been going around trying beg three-fifty from everybody, is he with you?”
“No, but I think he probably snuck on.”
“A stowaway–that figures.”
The irritated alien goes back to the control room and, within minutes, Alice and I are deposited back on Earth near the Morpheus.
“Let’s hope they get the right aliens this time,” Alice says.
“I don’t know about you but I was having a rampant sense of deja vu part of the time we were on the spaceship,” I tell Alice.
“How so?”
“Well, when the Loch Ness Monster kept bugging us for three-fifty, I had the feeling that I had seen something like this on an episode of South Park.”
“You too? So did I. I hope we don’t hear from any lawyers.”
As Alice and I discuss this, we walk to the front of the Morpheus. There, Salbert rushes up to us and says…
“Where have you been? George Galloway has been waiting to take you to the gems and silver and platinum Nicholas located for us.”
“He told you where it is?”
“Sure. The door to one small passageway was covered over at Nicholas’ order some time around 1915. He showed us where the doorway is.” Salbert holds a yellowed blueprint which indicates that a “stone” surface down the hall from the basement door to the freight elevator is in fact the access, carefully covered with plaster and paint, to another, very short passageway to a few rooms.”
“You’re not going to believe where we just were,” says Alice.
“Try me,” says Salbert.
“________ and I spent a few minutes as UFO captives.”
“You’re right; I don’t believe you.”
Alice and I shrug. But we may try to contact those captors when we open the Hellmouth cavern…
We meet with George Galloway, Stan Brown, and Joe Bradley; then Leo, Jack Sharp, and Jeanette Strong—jiggling as much as ever—accompany us in the freight elevator down to the basement. I take a large tape measure and measure the distance from the elevator doors (yes, there was an elevator there in 1915). Stan and Joe use reciprocating saws—much like a jigsaw Norm Abram might use—to cut out the fake wall that apparently fooled even Jack Sharp. Sure enough, there’s a short hallway, with two rooms adjoining it, with ordinary doors. Alice and I take big lanterns, and each of us opens one door.
“Good God!” says Alice. “Nicholas was not jesting!”
In the rooms are stacks of silver and platinum ingots, and drawers containing boxes filled with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires!
Alice and I mark an “X” on every fifth ingot with grease pencils. We count each kind of gem, and make sure one of five of each kind is returned to a drawer; this per Nicholas’ document giving us all 80% of the gems and precious metal he had stored.
“Don’t take all of ‘our’ gems and metal out of the basement, however,” says Mr. Galloway.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because it’s the rarity of these things that makes them valuable. If you took all the gems or metal to the outside world to sell them, their value would plummet. So we’ll trundle the ingots out to the basement storeroom Jack had built, but all of us should ‘cash in’ only a little at a time.”
Alice and I understand. But I take one emerald and stick it in my watch pocket; Alice chooses a diamond. Stan and Joe do likewise, for their wives; Jeanette selects a ruby and jams it down the front of her dress, between her big boobs. We take a dolly from Jack’s storeroom and carry 80% of the ingots into that room, leaving behind only those we have written “X” on. And we carry drawers containing 80% of the gems into that storeroom, too. We’ll contact Nicholas later.
Jack has Stan and Joe reseal the hidden access, using the piece they cut out of Nicholas’ fake wall, along with caulking compound.
Naturally, we’re all thrilled about this. We make mental plans to sell a few of the ingots.
Mr. Galloway says, “Oh—I should tell you we also had a video camera installed in the subbasement, and one installed in the manager’s office.”
“Why?” asks Alice. We’re heading back to the stage area now. Alice and I walk with our arms around each other’s waists; Jeanette bounces and shimmies as she walks. :rolleyes:
“So Nicholas can use ASL to communicate—with Claudia, or Jane, or Jane’s daughters.”
There’s also a phone down there, of course.
Now we have some other matters to attend to. Alice has received an e-mail from Lady Calley, which was sent shortly after the FBI blew Argo Rank away on the roof of the Morpheus. (Incidentally, Harry Rudolph, still with us, suggests that the shooting will provide valuable, if morbid, publicity for the benefit, publicity we can ill afford to ignore.)
According to Ms. Calley’s message, she intends to speak to give their side of the matter—that is, for her and the remaining minions of Sikes-Potter.
Also, despite the rehearsals, the intrigue, and the classes Alice and I and some others, including Dr. Clouse, Harry Rudolph, and Carol Woo, are taking, we have entered the bowling tournament at the House of Tracy. It’s spread over several days and includes men’s and women’s divisions.
And Alice has arranged with the five married women, the five unmarried women, and Samantha, for a bridal shower for Lorna. 
In the morning, Alice, Mr. Galloway, Joe Bradley, Lena Martínez, and Phil Ramírez, and I, go to Guzman’s Body Shop across the block to arrange for the excavation in the unused back lot, opening a hole in the limestone stratum for the extraterrestrial beasties to escape through. Nicholas gave us a list of languages he speaks; he has been able to communicate with all of the critters, some of whom can translate for others, according to Al the Alien. Al, Godzilla, and the Morlocks all know many languages.
Alice and I and the others arrive at the body shop. We talk to Guzman’s secretary, who in fact speaks very cultured English. She calls Señor Guzman, who comes out to meet us; George Galloway speaks first, introducing us to Guzman.
“Mr. Guzman, these are the people I was telling you about earlier on the phone: Alice Terwilliger, Joe Bradley, Lena Martinez, Phil Ramirez, and _____.”
“Please to meet all of you,” he says as he slowly and stiffly holds out his hand for us to shake. His smile looks oddly forced and his manner uneasy.
“We have a rather unusual request concerning your back lot,” Mr. Galloway says. “Maybe it would be better if we discussed this in your office.”
“NO … I mean … it would be rather awkward to have you all in my office right now,” he stammers. “I’ve been going through my file cabinets all morning and there are papers everywhere. It’s a real mess.”
“Senor Guzman, why didn’t you ask me if I could help?” the secretary asks. "I know everthing that’s in that file cabinet and if you needed help finding something, I certainly–
“No, I don’t need your help Ms. Kershaw,” Guzman says curtly. “I can find everything by myself.” I notice there’s a bead of sweat rolling down his forhead and he’s on the verge of hyperventilating.
“Guzman are you all right?” Mr. Galloway asks. “Is something bothering you?”
“NO! Everything’s fine! Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Well, what we were wondering is whether we could do some excavation work in your back lot.”
“Evcavation work? Absolutely not!”
"We’ll pay you handsomely and completely restore the lot when we’re finished–
“NO! Now, I have to get back to work. Good-bye!”
“But–”
“Sorry, there is no futher discussion of this matter.”
Guzman awkwardly shifts to his right and slowly turns his back. However, before he does, I see him silently mouth, “Help me.”
My ESP goes into overdrive. There is obviously something wrong here. This feeling is confirmed when, after hearing something drop, I see a small cylinder-shaped object roll underneath the door to Guzman’s office and across the floor to Alice’s right foot: a bullet.
Alice reaches down to pick the bullet up. Just then, Guzman’s office door violently swings open and five armed men in dark sunglasses, red masks, and dark green fatigues quickly surround us.
“Listen up everybody! I suggest you all cooperate with us unless you want the wall decorated with your brains,” the leader says. “You’re Galloway aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
The leader points his gun at Mr. Galloway’s right temple and sneers, “Well Galloway, we want you and your friends here to take us to where Red Nicholas is.”
Surrounded on all sides by the five gunmen, we leave Guzman’s body shop and…
…walk around the block back toward the Morpheus.
However, I send a telepathic “SOS” to Fred Moreland and the DXM League in general:
“DIRE SITUATION—HELP DESPERATELY NEEDED—ARMED CONFRONTATION!!!”
“Message acknowledged,” comes back the answer, in the voice of Fred and some people I don’t recognize—apparently senior DXM people.
Suddenly, I hear a familiar braying. Salbert’s burro Loochy appears, a large barrel tied loosely on his back. Before we all turn back onto Bradford Street, off Pendley Avenue (the side street near the Morpheus), Loochy tips forward and the barrel falls off his back, crashing to the sidewalk. Loochy bolts.
The barrel’s contents flow all over. From the smell I guess it to be old-fashioned “floor oil,” a kind of polish used long before there was Mop & Glo.
Mr. Galloway, Phil, Lena, Joe Bradley, Alice, and I, and the gunmen, all lose footing and fall to the sidewalk. I hear cracking sounds as at least two of the gunmen’s weapons hit the sidewalk and break…things are happening really fast! :eek:
And now a police car, with lights and siren on, pulls up. Before any of us can react, Bob Long and Professor Fields jump out. The remaining three automatic rifles are psychokinetically flung high in the air and fall to the street, and smash; one explodes with a loud bang. And now the sunglasses and masks of the five gunmen are flung away and their trousers and undershorts fall down, exposing their bare genitalia.
Alice and I and the others of our group stay off our feet—not just because of the oil, but because we sense it would still be dangerous to try to stand. So we just lie there and watch.
Two more vehicles appear—another police car and Jack and Eloise’s big van. Jock, Winifred, and Hermione get out of the police car. Several others of our group get out of the van, including Salbert, Jerry Britton, Dr. Clouse, Stan Brown, and the older Sharp kids. Stan walks back to Guzman’s place. Salbert takes equipment to clean up the spill.
And the others approach us.
Our cop friends have overpowered and handcuffed the gunmen. Dr. Clouse photographs the scene, after getting Bob Long’s permission, using her own Minolta. “Pull your pants back up!” Jock orders, before Laura takes pictures of them. They meekly comply. Especially what with the large crowd of passersby that has gathered.
Jock now Mirandizes the gunmen. When he finishes, I use ESP and find that Lady Minerva Calley sent them out to confront us.
I emit another telepathic message.
“Ms. Calley, your gunmen have failed,” I “think” to her in an extremely stern voice. This is your side of the story?? I demand that you tell us where you are!”
Alice sensed my message. We all have now risen to our feet, our clothes stained by the primitive Murphy’s Oil Soap.
And suddenly an older woman runs out of a candy store across the street, and comes over to us. She looks like a cross between Marie Barone of Everybody Loves Raymond, and Dame Edna Average. She wears pink slacks and an old-fashioned white blouse, and Edna Average eyeglasses.
“I am Minerva Calley,” she says nervously. “Yes, I sent these men after you…”
Professor Fields quietly says, “You’d better not say anything else, Ms. Calley, until your own attorney arrives.” Ms. Calley nods and stands quietly.
The police department sends a paddy wagon. The gunmen are all handcuffed and herded into the police van.
Suddenly we all hear a crumbling sound—Bob Long says it’s from up in the mountains—then all is quiet. 
Lady Calley collapses on the pavement. Winifred gives her first aid, and Hermione calls for an ambulance. “Thank you,” says Lady Calley weakly. The cops and the ambulance now leave, and Salbert has cleaned all the floor oil up off the pavement; he has even wiped the excess off our trouser legs and skirts, as the case may be.
Now Stan Brown approaches with Señor Guzman. Both are smiling.
“I’m so sorry,” says Guzman. “Those men saw Ms. Kershaw’s desk notes and forced me to wait with them in my inner office. One of them was a mechanic who worked part-time at the shop. He took the desk log and phoned the others, and they came and threatened me.”
Stan says, “Hector gave me permission for us to start the digging. A ten-foot-wide hole through the ground in the back lot and the limestone stratum should be enough. The outer-space critters should be able to exit within one hour after the hole is dug.”
“And we who remain will assist you,” says Al the Alien, in a telepathic message to Alice and me. “We’ll keep Calley and those gunmen under telepathic surveillance. And even the extraterrestrials can use telepathy—and psychokinesis—to watch them as well as any other of Sikes-Potter’s flunkeys who could menace you.”
And I get a telepathic message from Leo. “My Italian ghost friends from De Caro’s, and I, will watch all of you…” I hear a huge chorus of ghostly voices agree with the one-word message, “verità!” [Truth!]
Alice and I say a telepathic, enthusiastic, “Thanks! ¡Gracias! Grazie!” to all of them for this. We all return to the Morpheus; Salbert and Louise Brown meet us in the theater laundry and give us robes to wear while our clothes, spotted with floor oil, are laundered.
The six of us—Alice, George Galloway, Phil, Lena, Joe Bradley, and I, now relax in the lounge, wearing light clothing. We refresh ourselves with coffee and crackers. Alice and I cuddle; Mr. Galloway’s dear wife, an older woman named Betty, stays with him; Phil’s wife Maria comes; Amy stays with Lena.
“Oh, that was an experience!” says Alice, clinging closely to me, as I do to her. We all seem to emit a collective sigh that really lasts. And we now seem to have at least one other “league” on our side against Sikes-Potter, Lemoyne, and their ilk…
Now Buster saunters in, with Fred. Fred told him what was going on. The cat walks over to Alice and me and jumps onto my lap; I happily stroke his fur and he purrs a little.
Then he comments…
[The first mention of the gunmen being handcuffed should be deleted. Obviously they couldn’t pull their pants up (:o) if they were handcuffed.
[Also, Jane Bradley came into the lounge, to comfort her husband Joe.]–dougie_monty
“Argo Rank is dead. Walter Locke is dead. I. Loomis Knattey is in jail in Canada. Victor Lemoyne is in jail awaiting trial. And now, Lady Minerva Calley is in custody. So who’s left?”
“Maya Kalp is still free,” Fred points out, “but, given the shape she’s in, I don’t think she’ll be doing anything for awhile. By the way, I did just get word that something suspicious happened a few days ago related to her assault.”
“What?” Alice asks.
“Well, that methhead who attacked Kalp was released on bail,” Fred explains. “It seems that some well-dressed man showed up at the Billings jail where he was being held and posted bail for him. (Incidentally, the bail was well over six figures.) Now, nobody in Billings knows where the guy is. It looks like he’s skipped.”
“I suspected there was more to that assault than some druggie mugging somebody to fund his next fix,” Buster says.
Salbert, who just walked into the lounge, has some other related things to add…
Stan Brown has already hired a crew; they’ve begun the digging through the dirt and (soft) limestone.
Nicholas, who had been so grateful to the Luglio family when he was in Italy, finds out from Claudia that Jeanette Strong is descended from the patriarch Federico Luglio—her mother is a first cousin of Ferruccio. (And Fred and Salbert plan to dub spoken and graphic messages on the TV screen when necessary to communicate with Nicholas.)
According to Salbert, that crumbling in the mountains was an “allegorical sound,” if that makes sense. Maybe only we of the DXM League heard it. Salbert suggests was a symbolic death-knell for the power of Sikes-Potter’s cabal…
And now we are visited, in the Morpheus, by the same two FBI agents who were at the insurance building, Hiram Steptoe and Leroy Colfax.
“We want to speak to _______, Alice Terwilliger and George Galloway,” says Agent Steptoe. The three of us stand up and walk over to the agents.
We go to an isolated room off the wings, containing nothing but a table and chairs, and an overhead light—the room has no windows. We all sit at the table. Agent Colfax produces a large portfolio of papers on the case.
“After we spoke to Ms. McKenna, we obtained a search warrant for the home of your cousin, Kurt Todd, who is still in custody on Terminal Island,” says Steptoe. “We found evidence linking the estate of Henry Sikes-Potter, and five minions of his, to a series of questionable international dealings.
“The search at Todd’s home helped us locate hidden assets of Sikes-Potter, which he had ‘converted’ to others to avoid having them submitted to probate.
“And now, with the five persons identified as minions of Sikes-Potter dead, as in the case of Walter Locke, alias Dana Holbreigh, and Argo Rank; or in custody, as Minerva Calley, Loomis Knattey, and Maya Kalp, it is likely the court in England will appoint, as administrator to the hidden estate, Sikes-Potter’s ex-wife, who lives in Rhondda, in Wales.”
“How much was the hidden estate in toto?” asks Alice.
“$529 million,” says Colfax.
Now that sounds appropriate! Alice tells me telepathically.
Colfax continues, “And it is likely none of you will need to contact us now—that is, until the trial date is set in the federal court in Sacramento. That will likely be about two months from now.”
Steptoe and Colfax pick up their portfolios. Mr. Galloway and Alice and I see them out to the exit.
As we approach the exit doors, Steptoe also tells us that Lemoyne is facing more charges—he has attempted to victimize people besides Alice and me. He is in fact facing 20 other counts of misuse of the mails, securities fraud, and kidnaping.
“I hope he can’t buy his way out,” I mutter. Steptoe and Colfax leave.
“Remember,” George Galloway says to me, “Lemoyne is also facing that $45 million class-action suit arising from the collapse of the medical building—that he had built and he cut corners on. When the courts get through, Victor Lemoyne will be no victor at all.”
We return to the conference room, where most of the others are. “What about that ‘methhead’ in Billings?” asks Alice.
“Well, that ‘well-dressed man’ may not be too happy about the suspect jumping a six-figure bail and leaving him holding the bag.”
Leo joins us, apparently just to kibitz. “When I was up there, I noted that Maya Kalp seems to have relatives in that region—people not concerned with her conspiracies but with her personal well-being. And my Italian ghost friends may be able to locate the suspect…”
“Well, that’s good to know,” I say.
We recover from this matter and return to the rehearsals.
“Has the steering committee prepared a program yet?” I ask Alice. She and I sit together on a couch in the conference room, in a close embrace.
“Yes, we’re preparing a preliminary draft of the program now. Louise Brown and others on the committee were working on it while you and Bob Blonda and Loora Oranjeboom went up to the roof. And Louise will be going to the college administration to make the arrangements.” Alice smiles and kisses me.
So we go out into the stage area to talk to Louise and the others. The Cigar Band is rehearsing. Jeanette is in her usual outfit, jiggling and bouncing as vigorously as ever. :eek:
Jane Bradley sits with Alice, Louise, and me, a few rows back. Remembering Jeanette’s comments about her (Jane’s) daughters Susan and Doris, and the clothes Loora, and Jane herself, wore, Jane comments to Alice and me:
“Look at that retard!” pointing out the window.
I turn around and look out the window to see some goofball dressed in drag with fishnets waiting for the bus.
Then I notice I’m sitting on the bus next to Samantha.
“Did you say that?” I ask.
“Say what about what?” she responds giving me the eye.
I ignore her for a moment because that strangely dressed guy waiting looks eerily familiar. Almost like I’ve known him all my life but I’ve never seen him like this…
“What time is it?” I ask.
“A little after 7:30…why?”
I grab her right arm to look at her watch…7:46am and the date shows as NOV 21.
I turn quickly to yell at the driver not to stop…if I change that then none of the rest of this nonsense would have happened. Instead I feeze in horror as I see myself in the mirror over his head and it’s not me!
Instead I see…
Red Nicholas! He’s cleaned up, shaven, and wearing a gray Brooks Brothers suit with a red tie.
“Where am I? Who am I?” I ask Samantha (if that really is her name).
“Calm down,” she says placidly. “There’s no need to panic. Just remember: we are the dreams stuff is made of.”
It’s same misquote from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” that was engraved on the trap door to the Morpheus’ sub-basement.
“She’s right you know,” says a familiar voice in the seat in front of me. It’s Alice. She’s dressed in Edwardian garb–a dark blue dress that nearly goes to the floor with a corset, a bonnet, etc.–and carries a green pin-striped parasol.
Alice gets up from her seat, takes her parasol, turns it upside down, and twirls it in the aisle.
“It’s your world, we just live in it,” she says with a strangely giddy tone to her voice.
The bus pulls over to pick up a passenger. The doors open and in steps…
…Jeanette Strong, now wearing a really sheer nightie, and nothing else, not even shoes. She carries her big red purse and plunks the fare into the fare box.
The driver does a whopping Jackie Cooper-style double take. He says, “Lady, you can’t ride the bus looking like that!”
“Why not?” asks Jeanette, focusing her clear gray eyes on the driver as she stands in a Mae West pose, getting catcalls from the male passengers (Buster isn’t on the bus). 
Then, suddenly, she slips the nightie off and drops it behind her, down into the stepwell! The passengers cheer, except for me and Alice and Samantha (that’s her, all right).
The driver, who had just turned the bus onto Siddely Street, a few blocks from the Morpheus, says “I give up!” and exits the bus. He trips over Jeanette’s discarded nightie on the way out, and falls on his face, unhurt, on a small patch of well-manicured grass.
Now Samantha, wearing a sexy bikini that leaves no doubt about the location, size, and color of her nipples, her pubic hair, her vulva, or her anal opening, sighs and gets up, and gets behind the wheel of the bus. She drives it into the private parking lot adjoining the Morpheus, and properly parks it.
“Everybody out,” she says. The passengers file out, leaving Samantha, Nicholas, the naked Jeanette, Alice, and me. Samantha shuts off the bus engine and gets on the radio to the dispatcher, saying, “Bus Number 339, Morpheus Theatre, private lot, South Bradford Street.” “Ten-four,” says the dispatcher. We exit the bus and go into the Morpheus’ side entrance.
Jeanette and Samantha go to the women’s locker room to put more normal clothing on; Samantha in the extremely revealing bikini and Jeanette naked and carrying her big red purse. Nicholas, Alice, and I go to the freight elevator; Alice and I only go down one level, to the seats; Nicholas pushes “BB” for the sub-basement. He says Salbert and Stan Brown are down there, waiting to lift the grate so he can return to his Hellmouth TV. :rolleyes:
Alice, still in the Mary Poppins getup and twirling her parasol, walks with me back toward the seats. I realize I’m in a Brooklyn Dodgers road uniform, carrying a big Louisville Slugger bat; I also carry a newsletter with an “Amos and Andy” story in it—unusual since the people in the seats ahead of me on the bus were black. On the top margin, in handwriting I don’t recognize, it reads, “dougie_monty’s dream record 5-1-03; [CL]?”
I start to puzzle this out. But I take the cleats off; I don’t want to wear baseball shoes on the Morpheus’ carpeting. Alice and I get to the front row again. We sit there, along with George Galloway, dressed in a firefighter’s turnouts; Louise Brown in military gear (as if she has just returned from Iraq); Jane Bradley dressed like a very overgrown (and how! :eek: ) Shirley Temple; and Dr. Laura Clouse in a kimono and black Japanese wig. Buster is curled up on one seat in the front row; he peers disdainfully at all these silly humans. 
As I sit down with Alice, I wonder what has been going on!
The rehearsals continue, and I see Mary Blonda, apparently on the steering committee, with a large clipboard. It appears to me that she is preparing a first draft of the program. She wears her usual ill-fitting blouse and faded jeans.
Now Johnny Goss sits down at the piano. Out comes Jeanette, now wearing a glittery pink dress. Arthur, Hermione, Daniel, Winifred, Paul, and Eda—the latter two hadn’t visited the Morpheus before for the rehearsals—sit in the front row with us. They are in ordinary clothing except for Winifred and Hermione, in summer police uniforms.
Jeanette assumes a suitable posture and belts out Edith Piaf’s brassy masterpiece “Milord,” in French.
It’s a near perfect performance. We’re all stunned on how good it is. At the end, Jeanette quietly walks backstage with Johnny Goss. For several minutes, the stage is empty and Mary Blonda starts to tap on her clipboard with her pen as she waits for the next act to go on. I glance at Alice who–for some unknown reason–is still dressed like a “Gibson girl.” Oddly enough, there’s nothing jarring in seeing her wear clothes from 100 years ago. The fashion seems to suit her quite well.
Finally, the next act appears. It’s an odd one: five people in cheap penguin costumes who waddle around the stage before they start bopping each other on the head with rubber chickens. Yet, as weird as the act is, it only gets even more strange when…
…they start to sing.
I hadn’t recognized these penguins. But they sing a song from an old Benny Hill skit about fish, with lines like “poor old sole.” The voices belong to Stan Brown, Joe Bradley, Bob Blonda, Pete Oranjeboom, and Jack Sharp. The men’s wives sit in the front row and almost laugh themselves sick at their husbands’ ridiculous performance; the lyrics are “cutesy” and the husbands’ voices are rich bass or baritone.
I sense we have enough material to do another performance at another time and place.
Meanwhile, I notice something on the wall at the outer edge of the proscenium arch, downstage at “LR”—that is, at the far right corner of the front of the stage. A glistening line, running from floor to ceiling—which I hadn’t noticed before, the way the lighting was—looks like metal or glossy rubber. There aren’t any electrical connections at that point on the stage—lights, sound equipment, whatever—so when we’re finished for the day I’ll want to ask Jack and Eloise about it. This may be the next phase of our intrigue…
The penguin act is over. We applaud; Buster purrs appreciatively.
Then Claudia hands a note to Mary. The young deaf-mute girl, who may very well be on her way to a career like Marlee Matlin’s, gets on stage and does a few mime blackouts in the style of Marcel Marceau, including “Bip the Dice Player.” Jane Bradley plays the piano, accompanying Claudia in the manner the accompanist performed with Marceau in an appearance on the Red Skelton Show. Claudia began her series of skits with the signed announcement, “Marcel Marceau created this.” When she finishes, we applaud in a way that Claudia, who can’t hear, can appreciate. Buster calmly waves his tail up and down, to signify his appreciation.
I now notice that all of the other four married women wear outlandish costumes. Besides Jane Bradley’s Anna Nicole Smith-gone Shirley Temple and Louise Brown as G. I. Jane (!!), Loora has dressed like Liza Minnelli in Cabaret, and Eloise Sharp appears as a Playboy bunny. Mary Blonda, still directing the proceedings, wears an Elvira dress and wig.
What these five women do next takes me completely by surprise. I see all of the minors, including Claudia, file out of the stage area, as if going to the conference room, the dressing rooms, or the lounge. The married men quietly doff their penguin costumes onstage. Their wives line up by the stage steps and carry a large rolled-up mat onto the stage and spread it out. Then, as the rest of us look on in astonishment, the women shed their costumes and underwear! With Johnny Goss again at the piano playing mood music, the five married women lie on their backs naked on the mat, and their husbands shed their underwear—and each man mounts and screws his woman with gusto! :eek:
When they finish, and we in the seats have had a good laugh, George Galloway, still in turnouts, says, “Mary, is that on the program?” The naked couples, now sitting together onstage, laugh with the rest of us.
I make a mental note to call the attention of Jack and Eloise to the suspicious wiring, or whatever, I saw along the side of the arch.
Meanwhile, Alice, still snickering, has sat next to me. She relaxes. She is not wearing the Gibson Girl getup now. In fact…
she’s wearing her “Audrey Hepburn beatnik chick” ensemble that consists of a tight black long-sleeve pullover and black jeans with her hair tied up in a long pony tail. She also has on a raspberry beret, sunglasses, and is puffing on a cigarette (even though smoking isn’t allowed in the Morpheus). I wonder how Alice could change her outfit so quickly.
After the stage is cleaned up, the next act goes on stage: a strange man with a salt and pepper beard who I’ve never seen before. He looks as though he’s in his 50’s, is 5’10", average weight, and wearing a green turtleneck sweater, a brown tweed sport jacket, blue chinos, and brown loafers. In his right hand, he holds a red chess piece–the queen.
Without saying a word, the man places the red queen on the stage floor. He then stands still for about a minute before he takes his right foot and lightly taps the red queen so it falls down on its side. The man, who until now has displayed no emotion whatsoever, then leaps backward with an ecstatic shriek and begins to skip around the fallen chess piece yelling, “The queen is dead! The queen is dead!”
None of this, of course, makes any sense to me. However, that’s not the case with everybody else. Mary is watching the man skip around the stage in a circle with rapt attention. The five couples all have smiles and facial expressions that indicate this is the greatest act any of them has ever seen. I see Alice (who has removed her sunglasses) weep with joy and murmur, “Genius.” Even the normally bemused George Galloway has a wide grin on his face. Only Buster, who returned to the auditorium after the couples’ surprise orgy, has the same “What the hell is going on?” expression on his face that I do.
Finally, after what seems to me like an interminable period of time, the man stops skipping and yelling. He quietly picks up the red queen chess piece and exits stage left. When he leaves, I again notice the glistening line on the wall downstage that runs from floor to ceiling.
“Alice,” I whisper, “look at the downstage arch. Do you see anything?”
“No, I don’t,” she answers as she tries to compose herself from the last act. “What is it I’m supposed to see?”
“There’s some kind of shiny line that’s running from the floor to the ceiling. Take a closer look.”
For a few seconds, Alice concentrates on the downstage arch.
“I still don’t see anything,” she states.
“Well, maybe you’re sitting at too much of an angle,” I say. I then ask George Galloway if he sees anything by the downstage arch.
George takes a good look. “Nope, nothing unusual,” he says.
“Are you sure?” I ask him as I glance at the glistening line. To me, it couldn’t be more obvious if it were a few inches from my face.
“I don’t see anything either,” adds Mary. “By the way, what did you think of that last act?”
I pause for a second and…
I say, “It’s likely the most avant-garde shtick I’ve ever seen.” I’m a little surprised with myself for using a French term and a Yiddish term in the same sentence.
The next act could hardly be more different. Andrew Sharp comes on stage with his wife Joanie. She sets up an old-fashioned typewriter table, and she and Andy carry an old-fashioned Smith-Corona typewriter—which I recognize as that belonging to Andy’s dad Jack—and set it up on the table. Joanie slips a sheet of paper into it. Andy sits at the piano and Arthur, Alice’s brother, sets up a lighting apparatus above and behind Joanie, and cranks a screen down from the top of the proscenium arch, which will allow the audience to see what Joanie is typing. She wears an old-fashioned secretary outfit, including horn-rimmed glasses and a pencil behind one ear. Now Arthur leaves the stage.
Andy gives Joanie the downbeat. As he plays Leroy Anderson’s “The Typewriter,” Joanie plays the typewriter part in that tune; she bats out Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. When this act is over, and we have applauded and the young Sharp couple takes their bows, Alice suddenly snuffs out flat the cigarette she was smoking. Then she stuffs the flattened butt into a heavy little vinyl bag she puts in her purse. I’ve seen her use that bag to hold litter until she gets to a trash can.
She says, “Ecch! Now I know why I quit smoking!” She puts the beret on my head, and turns slightly toward me so as to push her bust against my near arm. I gently squeeze her hand. (I have changed out of the baseball uniform and am wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and suspenders.)
With the rehearsals over for now—Mary will give her notes and recommendations to the full steering committee—I stand up and have Alice do the same. She is puzzled, but I have her walk with me over to the corner of the stage, and I point out what I saw, close up. It’s a vertical pipe of some sort, running from a hole in the floor to a hole in the ceiling. It looks like it’s made of aluminum or stainless steel.
“Yes, I see it now,” says Alice. “It must have appeared to you at that particular angle and thus been invisible to everyone else.” She takes two pictures of it with her Minolta, one near the floor and the other up toward the ceiling. I now call Jack and Eloise over. They are back in normal clothes now. Jack says he can see it, and tries to remember whether or not it’s something he put in.
The other four married couples have also put their regular clothes back on. Mary is slightly embarrassed: the threads on the top three buttons on her blouse have torn loose, showing more of her bosom than she wanted to—she’s braless again and her breasts bob with each step she takes. Such a dear person in such a sexy body…
The man with the salt-and-pepper beard, now wearing a three-piece suit, comes down to the front row to meet us. Andrew, Joanie, and Dr. Tim Werdin, Joanie’s brother—visiting the rehearsals again—approach too.
Joanie says, “This is my dad—Lloyd Werdin.” We greet each other. The facial resemblance between Lloyd and his son and daughter is unmistakable.
“What did you think of my sketch?” he asks me.
I pause, mentally.
What do I tell the senior Werdin?
I decide to scan my memory.
Of course! Minerva Calley!
She had approached us as our cop friends subdued the gunmen. She wore pink slacks and an old-fashioned white blouse, and Dame Edna Average eyeglasses. And now I remember she also wore an enameled red brooch that was in the shape of a chess queen.
My interest in the matter may be merely academic, now that Ms. Calley is in the hospital and Sikes-Potter’s hidden fortune has been seized by the British Government. But I decide to watch the papers for the next week or so, to see what may have transpired. Lady Calley was taken in the ambulance to the local Kaiser Permanente Emergency Medical Facility.
I tell Mr. Werdin, “Well, it was quite esoteric and minimalized. I admit I did not fully grasp it but the others did and I should keep that in mind.” This seems a more diplomatic thing for me to say than that I was too stupid to understand it.
Now Eloise approaches, with Harriet McKenna, who wears a black pantsuit and white blouse—much more modest than what she wore in her office. Jeanette, Lena, Lorna, Gwen, and Fred also approach, and Buster sits in the nearest seat; more greetings. Before Harriet speaks up, the elder Werdin comments philosophically:
“The hydra is running out of heads.”
“I don’t know about that,” responds Fred. “One thing I’ve learned in the DXM League is that it’s best to never get too confident.”
Harriet now has her say. “I was wondering about something. Does anybody know what that long pipe on the wall downstage is for?”
“So you’ve seen it too?” I say, “Maybe Mr. Sharp knows.”
“Actually, I know,” I hear Salbert’s voice say. “In fact, it’s not any ordinary water pipe. It’s something a lot more unusual.”
“What could be so unusual about a long pipe?” I inquire.
"That pipe is…
[Bumped to check for posting error.]
…an access tube for critters going to and from the Hellmouth.”
“That narrow thing?” asks Harriet, her immodest body shimmying slightly under her professional clothing. “That pipe can’t be more than an inch wide inside!”
“And so are most of the critters,” says Salbert. “Some of them can distend themselves so they are less than an inch wide but several feet long. Besides, we also need a vent for Nicholas, in case the oxygen down there turns low. After all, the renovation Mr. Sharp had done closed off a lot of air passages below ground.”
“Isn’t it about time for that hole through the limestone to be ready?” I ask.
As if in reply, George Galloway’s cell phone rings. It’s Señor Guzman, who tells Mr. Galloway that the hole is just about broken through. We all hear a loud rumble, as if it has started to thunder.
Señor Guzman is still on the line. Now Mr. Galloway says, “The hole is open!” A deafening shriek follows, indicating the departure of scores of critters from the cavern.
Johnny Goss goes up on stage and plays “The Exodus Song” on the piano.
The voices say “Thank you!” in unison.
Now we’re treated to an astonishing sight—Leo comes down the aisle, his chains clanking, and he’s accompanied by Al the Alien! :eek:
Harriet McKenna, not familiar with the characters we have met in the Morpheus, screams in fright and jumps into my arms! But she’s way too big for me to hold—and besides, Alice is standing there. I insistently set Harriet down, and the elder Werdin approaches her.
Al is courtly and polite, surprising for a ten-foot creature of his kind.
“The extraterrestrials have left,” he says. “And just after they exited, they kept their word and started sealing the limestone back up behind them—sort of like using a large-scale kind of Krazy Glue. Tell Mr. Guzman they can cover the hole back over in his lot, in 24 hours.
“I shall return to the Hellmouth. We terrestrial critters are happy there. And some of the critters have become couch potatoes the same as Nicholas. Just a few minutes ago a bunch of them joined him, noshing on Cheetos and Ho-Ho’s and watching Ms. Cohen on CNN.
“And I shall continue with my efforts on your behalf,” Al concludes, facing Alice and me. Then he vanishes.
We all sit down, amazed at when we have just seen.
I notice that just as Al disappeared, Lloyd Werdin has gone a little distance away and begun talking with Harriet McKenna. They sit in seats about 60 feet away from us.
“Your dad seems to have found a friend,” says Alice to Joanie and Tim. Alice now clings to me.
“I’m glad,” says Dr. Tim Werdin. “Our mom died several years ago.” 
We all react with sadness and sympathy. Joanie breaks down and cries in her husband’s arms.
Now we all knock off for lunch. Samantha and Thalia, who have just finished their own lunch, call us into the backstage dining room. Most of us have soup and sandwiches; Gwen and the other vegans settle for fruit, raw vegetables and ice water. Samantha gives Buster a helping of liver and a saucer of cream.
I note with some interest the apparent attraction between the senior Werdin and Ms. McKenna. Maybe she’s tired of the bed-hopping that is the habit of such as Olivia Short and Jeanette Strong. And so is Olivia herself, it seems, since she has begun a relationship with Carl and Eddie Sharp and she is present with them, sitting between Eloise’s sons.
Again I note that Helen and Irwin, younger siblings of Carl and Eddie, sit together, and sense that they are closer than most brothers and sisters. But I assume Jack and Eloise know much more about this than I do.
And Loora Oranjeboom’s two little girls sit with Mary Blonda’s two little boys, and they get along just fine. Well, Joe Bradley had told me he first met little Janie Thompson when they were playing in her brother Phil’s tree house…
Eloise now gets a cell-phone call from Señor Guzman, inviting us all to a Cinco de Mayo celebration at the Mexican restaurant across the street from his body shop. Artie, Jock, Andrew Sharp, and Mike Bradley resume their guard duties, with the same eight-hour shift pattern. It’s easier now with Nicholas back in the cavern.
Alice sits with me, of course. She wants to discuss some new information she has on “recalcitrant plebney,” the mysterious disease/disorder that killed Carol Cott, Bill Topp, and the bikers. She has been scanning the Internet on the computer in Jack Sharp’s theater office.
Now she squeezes my hand. I furtively glance and see her nipples getting hard, and, more importantly, her pupils expanding.
When we finish our lunch, we excuse ourselves.
We comment briefly in the corridor about the events that have just transpired, including the meeting of Lloyd Werdin and Harriet McKenna.
And it’s clear that Alice wants me to discuss things, with her, and share some passion, when we reach a private dressing room. 
Unfortunately, what we find in the private dressing room quickly puts the kibosh on our plans. Inside, is the last person anyone of us wanted to see:…
…Rita Waterford. Her clothing is slightly torn, and smeared with dirt and grease. Alice and I look her over carefully and turn our ESP on full blast, but we don’t detect much.
By now everybody we’ve been to the Morpheus with, knows about Rita—her sniper attack at the Terwilligers’ place; her turning State’s evidence; her falling out with Lemoyne when he stiffed her out of $10,000. And for all we know, she still considers some of us “enemies” in reference to Christina Aguilera.
I send out a telepathic message. Alice asks Rita, “What are you doing here?”
“I was evicted,” she says, in a strained, raspy voice. “I have nowhere to go. I climbed in through that window.”
We look at the window, which is right off the street and may have escaped Jack Sharp’s notice during the renovation. It appears that the metal sash in the casement window (which cranks open) was wrenched open. Rita seems to be quite strong.
She has a look of menace in her eyes, much like a feral pet.
I sense the approach, outside the window, of Loochy, Salbert’s burro. And there are footsteps approaching the door to the dressing room. I turn and see Andy Sharp, Stan Brown, Jock Dumfries, Winifred—and Salbert.
With these people standing in the doorway, I approach our unwanted guest and tell them, “This is Rita Waterford.”
The group reacts. Rita cowers in a corner.
“You can’t stay here!” Says Alice sternly.
“I can stay if I want!” Rita shrieks.
“Leave her to us,” says Winifred. She and Jock approach. Alice and I step out of the room, joining the others. Jock closes the door from the inside. Then we hear three angry voices hollering inside the room, for a few minutes. Finally Jock opens the door again.
Jock and Winifred, slightly disheveled, have Rita handcuffed—and footcuffed. That is, they have used handcuffs on her wrists and on her ankles. “Call the paramedics,” says Jock. They carry Rita, cursing and writhing, out to the theater lobby, just inside the front doors. Stan calls 911 on his cell phone.
At the doors, Alice and I meet Jack Sharp, George Galloway, and Fred Moreland. Jack says, “It looks as though I’ll have to call a security company to make routine patrols around here, at least for a little while,” he says.
Rita, still restrained, lies on the shallow-pile carpeting just inside the entrance.
“Did you Mirandize her?” I ask Winifred.
“Believe it or not, we did,” she answers. She just said, ‘Yes, I understand.’”
But now Rita is quiet.
Impulsively, Jack Sharp asks Rita, “Did someone send you here?”
“No!” Rita answers with a shriek. I notice her pupils are quite wide. It’s hard to tell, even with ESP, but we think she’s lying.
Now a few others approach—Gwen, Lorna, Jeanette, Amy, Lena. Rita writhes slightly and moans.
Then Joanie—Mrs. Andrew Sharp—appears. Rita freaks out totally, writhing furiously and screaming.
The ambulance and paramedic truck arrive. Jock and Winifred assist in tying Rita in a litter and putting her into the ambulance.
Jock then gets into the ambulance, which speeds away. Winifred gets on the radio to report the response. She and Hermione get in their black-and-white car to drive to the hospital.
Now I feel an impulse. I send a telepathic message to Al the Alien, and Leo.
Leo appears—where he can’t be seen from the street. Al, of course, doesn’t appear.
In order to communicate properly with the ghost and the alien, Alice and I now go back to the conference room. We’re there with Jack and Eloise, Fred, Salbert, George Galloway—and Dr. Clouse. The women I mentioned as first seeing Rita at the entrance doors, wait in the hallway, baffled by Rita’s appearance. Joanie Werdin Sharp joins us in the room.
Speaking aloud, I ask Leo and Al, “What’s with Rita? Has someone sent her? And why did she freak out when she saw Joanie?”
Alice and I have our hands linked as if at a séance. This allows us to receive the answers from Leo and Al, together. Al tells us: