Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

[NDP]

“Mudcrack Y,” Olga responds.

“Mr. _____ and Ms. Terwilliger, will you please come with us,” Debbie requests. We then follow them down the long sidewalk that borders the Galaxy 100 Mall on the outside. When we reach the mall’s east entrance, Debbie pulls a glimmering silver key out of her coveralls and unlocks the boarded-up glass door. The door opens and we all walk inside.

“It’s just a short distance from here,” Debbie assures us as we enter the mall’s tomb-like interior with row after row of vacant store spaces closed up by gray metal sliding doors. I hear our footsteps echo down the wide dimly-lit corridors where, 20 years before, thousands used to walk in bright floresecent light daily. Over some of the empty stores, I can discern in the gloom traces of the names of the businesses that used to occupy the spaces. From holes, stripped bolts, and faded shapes in the wall, I make out the names and logos for Waldenbooks, Orange Julius, J.K. Gill, and K.B. Toys. Finally, above an abandoned Thom McCann shoe store, we stop. Debbie gets out an oddly-shaped blue key and opens a side door next to the large overhead sliding door that bars the entrance.

“In here,” she says. We follow inside the vacant former Thom McCann (which is also dimly lit). Olga and Debbie lead us through the back door to the room where the shoeboxes were stored but now are nothing but rows of empty shelves. Debbie then reaches into her coverall pocket and pulls out yet another key–this one green–and puts in some slot in the back of one of the shelves. There’s a clicking noise and the shelf opens sideways to reveal stairs leading downward.

“Downstairs with us, Mr. _____ and Ms. Terwilliger,” Debbie directs which, of course, we do. The stairs are steep and I feel I have to hold on to the rail tightly so I don’t stumble. They are, however, surprisingly well-lit–a change from all the gray murk we had to walk through in the mall. At the bottom the stairwell, we come upon a heavy blue metal door. As might be expected by now, Debbie pulls another key out of her pocket (a purple one this time) and unlocks the door so we can walk into whatever lies behind it.

“Look out, sir!” I hear a voice from overhead say. I then feel what seems to be a shoe graze the top of my head. I look up and see a man fly away from me. He’s carrying a bundle of papers and is wearing a long-sleeve white Oxford shirt, blue suspenders, a maroon tie, charcoal gray suit pants, and black wingtips. His shirt also has holes cut out around his shoulders so he can use his wings (which are identical to the one’s Alice and I have). I look around some more and see about five other people–two carrying papers, two carrying cups of coffee, and one carrying a box–flying around a spacious room containing desks, computers, fax machines, file cabinets, and book shelves on the ground.

“Mr. _____ and Ms. Terwilliger,” Olga Jane announces, “welcome to the DXM League’s regional administrative and archive center.”

A hear a man’s footsteps approach. It’s James Parker.

“Mr. _____ and Ms. Terwilliger,” he happily greets us, “good to see you and congratulations on your coming nuptials.”

“Thank you Mr. Parker,” I say. “This is quite a layout isn’t it?”

“It could be upgraded a bit,” he answers. "It always seems that in terms of money budgeted, New England has priority and Northern California is toward the back of the line. They seem to think it’s still the 19th century and there’s nothing but cowboys and prospectors out here. But, that’s not your concern. The real reason you and Alice are here is…

[dougie_monty]

“…that now that you are fully invested as DXM agents, you will need to enroll in a training course. We begin the procedure here.”
“Do we have the training here?” I ask.

Parker smiles. “No, not here. You are here for photographs for ID cards; fingerprinting; DXM ring fitting; and a background check.”
Alice and I shrug, and nod. We’ve both undergone background checks before.

Parker leads us down an ordinary corridor. I note that signs on doors appear in three languages: English, Latin, and Esperanto.
We stop at the door to Room 6, whose sign reads “Photography/Photographia/Fotografado.” Parker knocks four times on the door and we go in.

A tall, dignified older man in checkered slacks and white shirt, and Orville Redenbacher bow tie, hair, and glasses, greets us. His nametag reads, “Bret Spofford.”
We sit, individually, for pictures. Bret gets three shots of each of us before he’s satisfied.

“I’ll have your ID cards ready before you leave,” he says. He unzips something on the back of his shirt, unfurls large wings, and flies away.

Next we go to Room 7, where a thin black woman in a wheelchair greets us. She wears a plain white dress and gray sneakers. Her nametag reads “Julia Campos.” She uses a computerized apparatus to roll our fingerprints onto. She photoscans our thumbs twice; each individual finger; then four fingers at once, on each hand. She notes that Alice is left-handed.

Parker then escorts us to Room 8. In that room is an older, pudgy, balding man in white shirtsleeves and gray slacks; he has each of us set the right hand on a template on his desk for fitting rings.
“Do you have any preference for stones?” asks the man, whose nametag reads Orville Burns.

“I’d like a birthstone,” I say. “Mine is pearl—my birthday is June 10.”
“Mine is October 15,” says Alice. “Opal.”

“Would you prefer our stones, or would you rather arrange to have a stone from another site set into the ring?” asks Orville.
“I own a pearl I’d like to use,” I say.

“Well, bring it back here within a week and I can set it,” says Orville. He turns to Alice.
“And I’ll get an opal from a local jeweler—Sol Feldman.”

Orville smiles. “Sol taught several classes in gem and precious metal work, that I took. When you have the stones ready, bring them here.”
We go to Room 9 now. Inside, a tiny Chinese woman in a green pantsuit, with the nametag reading “Marilyn Ng,” and gray pumps, greets us from an upper floor—then she flies down to meet the three of us. The top of her pantsuit has wingholes with embroidered edges.

“I’ll wait in the atrium,” says Parker.
“I need you both to remove the coveralls—you’ll have to fly up to my floor,” Marilyn says.
Alice and I shrug, and remove the coveralls, and the boots. In our underwear, we fly up to meet Marilyn on the second floor, and we go to her office cubicle.

We sit with Marilyn at a desk. She boots up her computer and keys in my name, Social Security number, and date and place of birth. She does likewise for Alice. And she goes to a local-area-network connection to get Julia’s fingerprint data.
The computer ruminates for a while. Marilyn says, “Go into that room over there and choose outfits you like. We have everything in your sizes. We can’t send you away in your underwear.”

I choose a plain black suit, white shirt, and black shoes. Alice chooses a light blue sundress and white pumps. We embrace as we meet.

Marilyn gets printouts from her printer. She shows us the pages, which have the banner headline “Approved” at the top. She then opens a black door, which probably has boards or gray metal on the outside, from which we can see the Spires. Bret Spofford approaches and hands us our photo ID cards; Orville brings us order forms, like medical prescriptions, to take to Sol Feldman for the stones for the rings we’ll have him make.

We fill out training applications in Room 10. Parker meets us there and says we can have the training courses in the Morpheus if we want. He introduces us to the tutor, a young Indian man named Hardev Prithviraj, who looks like the young Ben Kingsley in Gandhi. Alice and I agree to have the courses in the Morpheus, pending Jack and Eloise’s approval. Parker says they will most likely consent to it. Hardev will contact us.

Before we exit to the Spires, Parker congratulates us and shows us the DXM handshake, which seems to me similar to the Masons’ handshake.

He then tells us, just before we exit, that Fred Moreland had called. “Lester Paulsen has recovered from his food-poisoning attack,” he says. “Make an appointment with Bartholomew to continue the Aalto deposition; and Paulsen also wants you to arrange to meet the confessing suspects at the police station soon. Do you have any questions before you go?”

“Yes,” says Alice. “When do we get notifications of assignments?”
“We’ll call Fred,” says Parker. “He’ll contact you.”

“One last thing,” I say. “What is in Rooms 1 through 5?”
Parker hesitates, but answers:

[NDP]

“That’s where we keep our archives. Only senior DXM League members can go in there.”

“What’s in the archives?” asks Alice.

“Untold volumes of top secret information,” Parker tells us. “It will be gradually revealed to each of you when the DXM top brass thinks you’re ready.”

“And how long will that take?” I ask.

“It depends on how well you perform,” he answers. “Although I should tell you it can take awhile. Even I’m still restricted from seeing some things in those rooms.”

For a second, I pause to wonder exactly what type of data would be so potentially explosive that even a veteran member like Parker wouldn’t be allowed to see it.

“Well, good-bye and thank you,” Alice says to Parker.

“Good luck to the both of you,” he answers as we step out the door. “Oh, be sure to stop by the Precious Roy Outlet Store before you leave? A contact there has something to give both of you.”

With that, Alice and I walk outside and down the walkway to the Precious Roy Outlet Store. Upon entering, we are assaulted by a strange odor and walk by displays for products that seemingly would be of no use to anyone before stopping at one of five unstaffed check-out registers. After a few minutes, our contact arrives. He’s dressed as an employee of the store and greets us by…

[dougie_monty]

…giving the same password. Only he points at a large poster map on the near wall and says, “Over the river and under the dam…”
“Mudcrack Y,” Alice and I say in unison, to give the countersign.

“Show me your photo ID’s and ring order forms,” he says. We do so.
The man is quite tall and husky. He wears an old, shapeless red shirt and work slacks, the same as any other employee of the store would wear. He has short black hair and dark eyes. He wears a “Precious Roy” employee badge on his shirt.

“My name is Ted Albert,” he says; he shows us his photo ID.
That rings a bell.

“Are you related to a fellow named Howie Albert?” I ask. “I attend college with him.”
Ted smiles. “He’s my son,” he says.

Now he asks each of us to stand near the wall. He takes an old-fashioned knob-shaped wooden stamper and stamps each of us on the forehead. I don’t see a mark on Alice’s forehead.
Ted then switches on a “black light,” and the initials DXM appear on Alice’s forehead. Then he points it at me. “I see the initials on your forehead, Luv,” says Alice.

Next, Ted hangs hippie-style pendants around our necks. The pendant is a flesh-colored teardrop shape, with a flesh-colored question mark on it. The chain is thin and made of silver.
“If anyone should ask, tell them it’s an emblem of a fraternal organization,” Ted says.

Last of all he hands us each a small booklet with the title, What to Say.
Quite serious, Ted says, “when you get into a serious situation, such as alternate reality, armed confrontation, natural disaster, you are to say, or emit telepathically, one of the appropriate phrases listed in the booklet. The League will be alerted.”

The strange odor is replaced by something more familiar to me—and much more appetizing.
Ted leads Alice and me into a side room with a table set for four. A rather plain-looking woman in red shirt and gray slacks greets Alice and me. She invites us to sit down. “This is my wife Christel,” Ted says.

She serves us pork hocks, collard greens, black-eyed peas and corn bread; and gives us each a chilled can of Lipton Brisk Tea.
After the meal we thank Ted and Christel and bid them goodbye. We go out the front of the store and walk toward the Spires. I can see Debbie Doohan in her waitress outfit, and she sees us and touches her left thumb first to the base of her neck, then to her waist.

Alice says, “That’s a sign DXM operatives use to signify that everything’s hunky-dory, as you Americans would put it.” We acknowledge Debbie.
We return to the car. Car peppers us with questions about our visit to the DXM offices; Alice gives suitable answers. We return to the Morpheus.

We meet Jack and Eloise near the stage and tell them what Parker said about training courses in the theater. Fred and Buster are present.
“Most of Hardev’s courses can be taught in a larger dressing room,” says Eloise. “But a few of them actually require the use of the stage.”

Now we return to the rehearsals. At this point, since the performance is almost due, we’re sharpening our routines.
Sylvia approaches with Mary Blonda, Samantha, and a man I recognize—director George Stanhouse.

“Mr. Stanhouse has come to make recommendations to the performers,” Mary says. “I’m still the director here, though.”
Eloise tells Alice and me telepathically, George Stanhouse is not a DXM person.
The Cigar Band sets up and performs “Milord.” Stanhouse doesn’t comment, not even about how much Jeanette jiggles and shimmies under her dress.

Lorna McManus goes through her songs. Stanhouse appears impressed.
I get on stage and, after a few vocalises, I sing “Fer the Good Times”; then I play the two Chopin pieces I’ve rehearsed. Stanhouse writes something down on his clipboard.

Doris Sharp’s Punk Band sets up. After they play, Stanhouse reacts the way I did when I first heard them.
Alice and the others set up as Prester John’s Aunt. Stanhouse is absorbed by their performance and writes down some comments.

Andy, Joanie, and Johnny Goss set up for “The Typewriter.” When it’s finished, Joanie reacts as if she knows the professional director.
The Contralto Quartet performs Jonathan & Darlene Edwards’ version of “I Am Woman,” for the last number in this set. Stanhouse busts up laughing.

Now we gather around the director to get his critique, just as Fred’s daughter Latonya approaches. She says, “Alice, ______, Professor Fields called. You’re to meet Mr. Paulsen here tomorrow morning.”
“Is that lawyer Lester Paulsen?” Stanhouse asks.

“Yes,” says Alice, clinging to me.
Mr. Stanhouse now tells us about his contact with Paulsen:

[NDP]

“He’s a tough S.O.B. About ten years ago, I was in a breach of contract suit against some producers of a play I was supposed to direct. Paulsen represented the producers. He kept my lawyer and me so busy with all his interrogatory questions and depositions that I had little time to direct.”

“So what happened with the suit?” I ask.

“Oh, we had to settle out of court for just a pittance of the money I should’ve gotten,” Stanhouse says with a sigh. “It was just too damn expensive for me to take it to trial–and too risky.”

“Is there any advice you can give me before I go back in to face Paulsen?” Alice inquires.

“Yes,” Stanhouse replies, "be sure to…

[dougie_monty]

…answer his questions plainly and directly. And don’t let your eyes or mind wander—that will encourage him to badger you. He is quite vulnerable to consistent eye contact.
“And you may want to do some legal research of your own—play the game by Paulsen’s rules. The legal encyclopedia Corpus Juris Secundum has articles on contractors’ liability. If you use phrases and precepts here and there, that come from CJS, it may help. The more knowledgeable you appear to be to Paulsen when he cross-examines either of you, the less likely it is he will try to batter you verbally.”

“By the time he collapsed from the food-poisoning attack,” says Alice, “He had begun cross-examining me. ______ had already undergone direct and cross.”
“Did he say anything about re-cross?” Stanhouse asks.

“Yes, he did,” I say. “For that matter, Professor Fields said he might want to re-direct.”
“Fields?” Stanhouse asks. “Is that Professor Walter Fields?”

“Yes,” say Alice and I together.
Stanhouse smiles. “Wally and I go way back. When we were in the Scouts on camp-outs, we used to pour salt on snails and slugs and watch them shrivel. And if a mosquito should land on his arm, Wally would squeeze the skin around the skeeter so that it would get abnormally bloated and fall to the ground. Then Wally would step on the bug to squash it.”

We get a good laugh out of this.
“In any case,” I say, “I’ve read some articles in California Lawyer about Paulsen. In general his good qualities outweigh the bad.”

“Don’t forget,” says Fred, “the lawyer will tailor his temperament to the client; certainly Lester Paulsen is no exception. Maybe that’s what made him successful enough to get written up in lawyer magazines.”
“Certainly Paulsen would have been a better choice for Lemoyne than Newsome or Thallwood,” I say.

“Lemoyne?” asks Stanhouse with a sour expression.
“That’s right,” says Alice. “Victor Lemoyne, a builder in Lodi.”

“I know him well,” says Stanhouse, rather disgusted. “He wanted to knock down the Sutter Community Theatre in Hayward to build condos. But we prevailed. I’ll meet you here after dinner, and give you some information on how to deal with Lemoyne or anyone representing him. With that, and the suggestion about CJS—from my own lawyer—you should prevail, or at least stay even with Paulsen. He won’t be able to batter you down like he tried to do to me.”

“Fine,” says Alice. “We can be here tonight at 7:30 in the manager’s office.”
While Stanhouse discusses the next set, and who will be in it, Alice and I go into that office to use the computer and find a website for Corpus Juris Secundum [I don’t know it offhand; it’s 4:30 a.m. here—dougie_monty], and we print out a few pages from the appropriate sections.

“Remember,” says Alice, “We won’t use the CJS wording verbatim but we’ll follow it in general.”
“Fine,” I say. We sit side by side in front of the computer and engage in small talk for a while.

Then I check my e-mail. Among other things that remain when I purge the Inbox of its Spam content, I find a letter from my sister Janet. She’ll be out here for the performance, but right now we read her information about some blood and marriage relationships she says exist among the group at the Morpheus. We are relieved to read that there are no blood relationships between married couples (and certainly Alice is no kin of mine by blood, fortunately), and quite amused by some of the blood relationships that do exist. We already knew about Jeanette’s connection to the Luglio family…

We return to the stage area just before Lloyd Werdin, in tweed suit and cap, appears on stage to do his “queen-is-dead” routine for Stanhouse. In the wings the five husbands, in their penguin costumes, wait for their turn to perform.

Alice and I sit with George and Betty Galloway, and Samantha and Thalia; the granddaughter of George and Betty sits with Eddie Sharp; Olivia sits next to them with Eddie’s brother Carl. She seems much happier now that the Henry Vermillion episode is just an unpleasant memory…
Alice and I tell the Galloway clan, and Stanhouse, what we’ve found out.

[dougie_monty]

I haven’t yet found CJS on the Internet, nor have I had time yet to research the subject the Narrator and Alice will be researching in the encyclopedia. Stay tuned. :o

[NDP]

“First off, don’t worry,” I tell everyone. “Nobody inadvertently married their cousin.” I hear a few chuckles in response.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I found out that George Galloway is distantly related to Gwen Berry and her family.”

“How far back?” George asks.

“From what my sister tells me,” I answer, “in the mid 19th century, one of your great-great aunts married one of Gwen’s great-great-great uncles shortly after they arrived from Ireland.”

“I’ll mention that to Gwen the next time I see hear,” George says. “What else did your sister find out?”

"Well, she says…

[dougie_monty]

“…there are quite a few. For example:

 “Mary Smith Blonda is a great-great-grandniece of Alfred E. Smith, who ran for President in 1928.
 “Jeremy Britton, the Cigar Band’s drummer, is an eighth cousin of Dr. Clouse.
 “Charlie Salbert is the sixth cousin of Professor Walter Fields.
 “Hermione is distantly related to Joe Bradley.
 “Johnny Goss is ninth cousin three times removed, of Lloyd Werdin.
 “And Jack Sharp is a sixth cousin of Lady Eleanor Astorbilt!” :eek:

That last one gets a shocked reaction from most of us, all of the Sharps and Fred in particular. We all remember the enmity that used to exist between the Astorbilts and the Sharps—but Jack and Eleanor may not even have known about their kinship.
“And,” I continue, “she said some things about Gwen and Grace Tolliver—”

Here, we are interrupted by the arrival of Joan Breastly, who asks to speak privately to Alice and me. She wears a black pantsuit, cream blouse, and silvery-gray pumps.
Puzzled, we follow Joan to the back row of seats. Buster follows and perches on the arm of a seat directly in front of us.

“Before Lorna’s wedding and your benefit, there are a couple of quick assignments we’d like you to go on. You’ll be paid handsomely.”
“Go on, Joan,” I say.

Joan says, “We have information that two people connected with Threshold live in this region, east of the Bay Area. We believe one works at a pool hall on Siddely Street three miles from here, and another is a football coach at _______ High.”
“So what do we do?” I ask.

“You’ll be a pair of grungy bikers who frequent Spike’s Pool Emporium. We’ll furnish your names, your cycle, your clothes, your specific orders, and a cover story. And we’ve contacted Don Clay and Bob Long, so the police won’t interfere with your operation. You are to identify the Threshold mole.”
“Heck, I know I can see Alice as a groovy biker chick,” I say. She giggles and kisses me.

Joan faces me specifically. “We’ll have Mary Blonda fit you with a professional style beard, warts, and ugly tattoos,” Joan continues. “I’ll call you when this assignment is ready for you to go on.”
“What about the high school?” Alice asks.

“That comes right after you finish the pool-hall mission,” Ms. Breastly says. “Alice, you’ll be a giddy cheerleader named Andrea Torrance; _____, you’ll be a macho linebacker on the varsity football team, named Dennis Montrose. You are to secure evidence that the coach, named Willy Hades, is a Threshold operative.”
“I’m a little old for high-school football,” I comment.

“No problem,” says Joan. “We’ll have Loora rejuvenate you with her sorcery, and we’ll also furnish you with a cover story and all the documents you need, including transfer papers from another high school. We’ll prepare some friends here to pose as your parents.”
“Okay, Ms. Breastly, let us know when you’re ready,” says Alice. Joan leaves, as we see her off.

Alice and I, with hands linked, sit back and savor the moment: our first DXM assignment.
I growl facetiously, “Hey, babe, how about ridin’ out to Spike’s for Bud and eight-ball?”

Alice says, “Hell, yes! And I’ve got some Bull Durham.”
[The previous exchange was cleaned up verbally for the post; Alice and I both use coarse expletives.]

Now I say, sounding much like Archie Andrews, “Andrea, can you go with me to the dance this weekend?”
“Why yes, Denny,” answers Alice, sounding much like Betty Cooper. “I hope you make some touchdowns Friday night!”

I ask Buster, “How does the League finance its operations?”
The cat answers, “Let’s just say they have some wealthy backers.”

We return to the first row. Some others of our group approach Alice and me; Stanhouse has gone to the manager’s office for something. Alice and I engage in some small talk, but we’re soon surrounded by others commenting on our engagement. Even the five husbands in penguin costumes, Jack Sharp, Bob Blonda, Joe Bradley, Pete Oranjeboom, and Stan Brown, come down from the wings to talk to us.

Grace Tolliver and Gwen Berry also approach. Grace had assured Alice and me that “Tolliver” was in fact her birth name, not one from any of her five marriages. I read some more from Janet’s letter; I had wondered about whether Grace and Gwen are related. And Janet answered this question in sufficient detail:

[NDP]

yes. Grace Tolliver’s great-grandmother was the sister of Gwen’s great-great-grandfather on Gwen’s mother’s side.

I tell Grace about what my sister found out. “Well, that doesn’t really come as too much of a surprise,” she comments with a monotonous tone. “Some people here have told me Gwen looks like my daughter.”

“I’ve noticed the resemblence too,” Gwen echoes with a similarly humdrum voice.

As I listen at them, I see they are both standing with identical slouched postures and sullen expressions. For me, the surprise is that they aren’t more closely related than they are.

Alice, who’s looking at Grace and Gwen from the same vantage point, comments…

[dougie_monty]

“I find it curious that the same genetic material would show up so prominently in two people so distantly related.”
“Just what relation are we to each other?” Gwen asks me.

“You are her fourth cousin once removed,” I answer. “Incidentally, Ms. Tolliver went to _______ University herself, same as you did.” Grace nods.
“And where did you go high school?” I continue.

“Mission High in San Francisco,” Gwen and Grace say in unison.
And both were born on February 28.

“This is uncanny!” says Alice.
We’d like to continue this, but Lloyd Werdin and some others are impatient to go on. I sit back, and Johnny Goss goes on stage to tell Mr. Stanhouse, “We open now with Lloyd Werdin.” Johnny goes to the piano and plays a short passage from Beethoven’s “Pathétique;” Werdin comes on stage with the chesspiece and does his skit. Mr. Stanhouse looks thoughtful.

Then the five husbands come on stage to do their penguin shtick. Johnny Goss plays appropriate music. Stanhouse doubles over laughing. I now notice Sylvia Goldstein sitting next to him.
Now Daniel, Jerry Britton, Phoebe Atwood, George Sharp, and my brother Grant come on stage. With Alain Duval at the piano, they actually try to sing from the Uniform Commercial Code! We react with catcalls and raucous laughter, all of which the combo, and Alain, appreciate.

Now the stage is bare. I hear the soft, small voice of Jack Sharp II saying, “Grandma, may I play something?”
Eloise says, “Why, yes, honey. Go ahead.”

The seven-year-old walks quietly onstage, to our applause. He sets up sheet music on the piano, and plays Mozart’s Sonata in C Major. When he finishes he stands up and bows; we give him thunderous applause.
“I never saw him before,” Stanhouse comments to Eloise. One of your grandchildren, is he?”

“He’s my only grandchild,” Eloise answers.
“Then—who are these others?” the director asks, pointing at Andy, Brenda, and the others, all sitting in the same row and presenting similar appearances.

“Those are my children,” says Eloise.
Stanhouse reacts the way my Mom, and Ms. Bondurant, did.

Now Jane Bradley, in an exaggerated swagger, comes onstage to play her music. Daniel, Joe, and I set up the steel guitar, drums, and string bass on stage. Jane is in her garish C&W outfit, befitting this larger-than-life woman who has the stature of Anna Nicole Smith and the figure—proportionately—of Dolly Parton. She plays her music, with that lovely, sultry contralto voice resonating through the theater. I join in for Jud Strunk’s “Biggest Parakeets in Town,” plunking away at the string bass.
Jane and the others get a hearty round of applause. This ends the second set.

Stanhouse talks to Sylvia, and both write comments on their clipboards.
“I’m ready to give you my full critique for the performance,” he says. Mrs. Sharp, I hope your grandson has learned a balanced view of performing.”

Joanie Sharp, mother of Jack II, speaks up. “He has. Right now he’s in his grandfather’s office with his Nintendo Playstation 2.”
Before we continue, we have two visitors. Lorraine Adler brings several copies of the galley proofs for her article; and Joan Breastly returns to give Alice and me more detail on what we are to do on our pool-hall mission. But she defers to the reporter.

Lorraine hands copies of the galleys to Alice, Eloise, Sylvia, and Mary Blonda.
But before we read them, Mr. Stanhouse stands up in front of the seats to give us his complete critique. Ms. Adler apparently knows him well. The director says:

[NDP]

“On the whole, not bad for a group of semi-professionals. However, I’m not sure if I get the whole ‘queen is dead’ bit. It seems a bit too conceptual. Is it based on some sort of inside joke?”

“In a way,” Eloise answers.

“Well, it might be a little too inside for the audience,” Stanhouse explains. “Anyway, the ‘Biggest Parakeets in Town’–that’s a Roger Miller song right?”

“No,” I say. “It was by Jud Strunk.”

“Oh, yeah” he exclaims. “God, I forgot about him. I liked your performance though.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“Okay, loved the Contralto Quartet and the penguin act but you guys might want to use bigger rubber chickens,” Stanhouse advises. “Slapping each other with big fish would also be funny. Jack Sharp, the boy, was amazing–a real prodigy. Prestor John’s Aunt was great. It’s good to see Gwen Berry performing again.”

“How about us?” Doris Sharp asks.

“Look, I’ll level with you,” Stanhouse says. “Punk’s not my favorite type of music so I’m probably not the best person to judge. But, judging from what little punk rock I’ve heard, you do certainly seem to fit the spirit of the genre. Also, I don’t know who exactly Avril Lavigne is but she really must’ve done something to piss you off.”

Lorraine Adler then interrupts Stanhouse’s critique with a strange question. She inquires…

[BlueMit11]

“Why in the hell is there a rabid iguana hanging onto your shirt sleeve,” at which point I look down and realize she’s right, look back up only to say…

[dougie_monty]

“That’s sort of a good luck charm, Ms. Adler.”
I think back to the episode with Samantha, months ago, that ended with Mr. Stanhouse’s appearance. This was before I met Alice.

I walk up to Stanhouse and look closely at the iguana. Of course, it’s not real. It’s a plush animal toy, tied to a shoulder strap on the director’s shirt. The “spume” around its mouth is made of cotton and tulle.
“Say hello to Iggy,” Stanhouse says.

“Hello, Iggy,” we all say. Lorraine laughs.
Jane Bradley, still in costume, approaches, with a slight air of impatience. I use ESP and find that Mrs. Bradley is irritated with Stanhouse for not mentioning her.

“Mr. Stanhouse, don’t you have any comments about me?” she asks.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Bradley,” he says. “I wanted to give a more detailed critique of your performance, of ‘Rusty Old Halo’ and your other songs, and I hadn’t yet had time to assemble my notes. Beside, Ms. Adler interrupted me with her comment about Iggy.”

Jane is like that. The statuesque mother of five, with the pretty face, golden-brown hair and big blue eyes, gives off strong vibes—and this gives her considerable latitude when dealing with anybody, from her kids to her husband Joe to this director. And it doesn’t hurt to have that deep sultry voice, the radar sense, and the “rack” which resembles two flesh-colored watermelons protruding from her chest!

Now Ms. Breastly calls Alice and me to the back row again. Buster joins us.
“Your names are Dave Monaghan and Andrea Teller for this mission,” she says. “In a couple of days you’ll go to Sherm’s Tattoo Parlor on Bascombe Street. He’s a DXM operative and he’ll give you both tattoos that can be removed when the mission is over. What kind of tattoos would you like, ________?”

“Well,” I say, thinking back, “My Dad had tattoos like a sword piercing a heart; his first wife’s name Gloria; a dragon; and a big, purple butterfly. So that’s what I’d like, but I may use the name ‘Samantha’ instead of ‘Gloria.’”
“And you, Alice?”

“I’d like a skull, a rose on my navel, daggers on my buttocks, and the name ‘Dave’ on each breast—and a black widow spider on the side of my neck.”
Joan takes notes.

“Go back to Precious Roy’s. Ted will fit you for leather jackets and boots and gloves.”
“What about the chopper?”

“Fred has already taken delivery on a huge Harley at the mansion. You both know how to ride a motorcycle, don’t you?”
“We sure do,” we say, showing Ms. Breastly our motorcycle licenses.

“Good. And Parker is preparing a cover story and orders. You’ll get them at your e-mail address. I’ll call you at the mansion when you’re ready to start.”
“What about me?” Buster asks.

“Well, the mission is supposed to end at the Terwilligers’ place,” Joan says. “I’m preparing a special assignment for you.” She strokes Buster’s fur; he purrs.
“Well, let’s get back to the stage. I think Mr. Stanhouse is ready to give his comments on Jane Bradley.”

As we walk down to the first row, Laura Clouse, whose shift at the hospital ended about an hour ago, meets us. She’s going on stage to sing “I Dreamed a Dream.”
Mr. Stanhouse has been talking to Sylvia and Lorraine, and, with the plush Iggy still hanging from a strap on the shoulder of his shirt, he shuffles his notes and prepares to comment on Jane Bradley’s C&W performance.

But he defers to Dr. Clouse, who wears a white pantsuit and black blouse—looking like a female version of John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever. Jane, still looking like a six-foot-tall version of Tammy Wynette, sits at the piano and gives Laura the downbeat.
Stanhouse senses our reactions to Laura’s song. He comments on her and Jane, just before we read Lorraine Adler’s galleys she has prepared for her feature story.

[NDP]

I scan the article and first see that no mention is made of the so-called Code Jockeys setting sections of the Uniform Commercial Code to song. I know Jerry, George, Daniel, and Grant are going to be relieved. However, this feeling is short-lived as I notice something disconcerting about Adler’s galleys. She has…

[dougie_monty]

…defied us and made several subtle references to “flight” in her descriptions of the performances by Alice, Gwen, and me: “soaring”; “on wings of song”; “birdlike sound;" “what is it about this performer that she doesn’t let on?” “I wonder what he is hiding…”
“She doesn’t know when to quit, does she?” Alice asks.

I mutter, “I guess pulling down her panties wasn’t enough.”
Eloise approaches. “We’ll have to tell Fred,” she says.

“Allow me,” says Alice.
Fred, the galley proofs of Lorraine Adler’s feature article include subtle mentions of our wings, Alice tells Fred telepathically.

Thanks for telling me, Fred answers. I’ll contact Myron Skagg right away.
“Well, that should settle her hash,” I say. “I thought Loora made our point. Obviously she didn’t.”

“I shudder to think what Loora might have done if Lorraine had defied us when she conducted the interviews,” Alice says. “She might have had to streak back to her office!”
“Well, I just might bring something like that about!” says Loora, who has approached us during the latter part of this exchange. “I might have some real surprises for Ms. Adler…”

We read the rest of Lorraine’s article. We peruse the reporter’s observations about Claudia Hart, who
“…seems to have overcome a severe disability. The 18-year-old Claudia, totally deaf-mute, prepared and performed a series of mime routines originally performed by famed pantomimist Marcel Marceau, to whom she gives full credit. Miss Hart is agile, with expressive face and hands, mimicking the master impressively throughout her performance.”

I notice that Susan Bradley and Brian Brown—Louise’s middle son—sit with Claudia as they read Ms. Adler’s comments. Red Nicholas’ descendant looks down and blushes as she reads.
Jane reacts to another passage, which reads:

“The 39-year-old Jane Thompson Bradley, a majestic figure in a garish Wild West getup, caterwauls through four country-western songs, including Hoyt Axton’s ‘Rusty Old Halo’ and Jud Strunk’s ‘Biggest Parakeets in Town.’ Bradley suggests Elva Miller or Florence Foster Jenkins with her contralto voice. Her choice of Strunk’s song seems to say, ‘Hey, everybody! Look at my knockers!’”
“Jane isn’t going to put up with that,” I say. “Even Joe doesn’t say things like that about her.”

Owen Sharp reads Eloise’s copy; he approaches me and asks, “Mr. _______, who are Elva Miller and Florence Foster Jenkins?”
“Elva Miller was an older woman who made several albums of off-key songs in the Sixties,” I say. “Florence Foster Jenkins flourished about 20 years before that.”

I remember, and mention, a review of Ms. Jenkins’ performance that included the comment, “In high notes, Mrs. Jenkins sounds as if she was afflicted with low, nagging backache.”
Jane comments, within earshot of Loora and Eloise, “Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll condone this!”

Eloise says, “Simmer down, Jane—we’ll handle this!”
Jane nods, and, with a satisfied smile, replies, “Yes, I guess you will at that…”

Mr. Stanhouse now says, “Mrs. Bradley, I’ll tell you now. Your performance was lively and enthusiastic, and I don’t agree for a minute with Ms. Adler. You are in fact one of the most expressive C&W singers I have ever heard. And where did you learn the steel guitar? You play it quite well!”
“Thank you, kind sir,” Jane answers. “I learned it when I went to Juillard.”

Fred contacts Alice, Eloise, and me telepathically.
Any time now you will see and hear Lorraine’s reaction. I’ve already talked to Skagg.
I tell Alice, who snuggles close to me, I expect Lorraine to run like hell into the Morpheus, screaming her fool head off, any time now.

To Sylvia’s dismay, Claudia Hart is the last performer to appear on stage for Mr. Stanhouse. She does her full mime routine. Mr. Stanhouse, Iggy still hanging from his shoulder, gives his review of Claudia, while Jane translates his comments into ASL for the young girl…

[NDP]

“I usually don’t care for mimes,” Stanhouse begins, “but I was quite impressed by Claudia Hart. She not only does an outstanding job performing Marceau’s routines but injects enough of her own style into them so they don’t become rote imitations.”

Claudia, after Jane finishes translating the critique, responds by beaming with pride. I also seem to notice a surprising glint of cockiness in her eyes as if she was saying, “Damn right I’m good!”

There’s another performance left: Lorna McManus. As she and the members of her band set their instruments up on stage, however, I notice Lorraine Adler out of the corner of my eye. Oddly enough, she’s not shrieking in terror, screaming in anger, or visibly upset in any way. In fact, as I see her approach Alice and me, I see she has a blissful expression on her face.

“_____, Alice,” Adler says to us with a wide smile, "I…

[dougie_monty]

[I stand corrected about who performed last—d.m. :o]
“…got a call from a representative of Associated Press!”

“Uh—that’s very good, Lorraine,” says Alice, who turns and faces me with a quizzical expression.
“I don’t get the connection,” Alice tells me.

Eloise and Loora stand behind Lorraine and wink at us.
“I got a call at the office,” Lorraine continues, “shortly after I left here. Apparently someone has read my articles and decided I may pass muster for AP or the San Francisco Chronicle or the Sacramento Bee…”

“A representative of Associated Press, eh?” I ask.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Adler says. “A young fellow from the administrators’ office. Said his name was Jay Orange.”

Alice and I know what’s going on.
“Has this Jay Orange contacted you before?” I ask.

Lorraine pauses. “Well, I remember him telling me about the punk band that’s performing here, a few weeks ago. But when he called me today, he gave me an address to go to: 633 Pauley Drive, several miles from here.”
That’s the site of the Berrys’ old house, Alice tells me telepathically.

Wait ‘til she sees what’s at 633 Pauley Drive now!
I think in reply.

Now Fred contacts Alice and me. Well, you heard it. Is this nosy reporter in for a comedown! Skagg is in on it. I helped him contact Jan Oranjeboom.
Way to go, Fred, I reply.

I notice that Sylvia is pleased that, despite dougie_monty’s last post, Claudia is not the last performer Stanhouse will evaluate. Lorna, buoyed by her upcoming wedding, sings and emotes to the best of her ability. We are all impressed, and even Ms. Adler applauds.
Now James Parker approaches. He motions for Alice and me to step to the back of the seating area with him.

“Here’s a few things you need in order to proceed with your pool-hall mission.”
Parker gives us a sketch map showing how to get to Spike’s Pool Emporium; a sealed envelope to give to Sherm, the tattoo artist; another envelope for Ted at Precious Roy’s Outlet; the registration and insurance papers for the Harley that’s now at the Sharps’ mansion; and a few photographs.

“This is Spike Grant, the owner of the place.” He’s a scruffy, bearded, balding man with an earring on his right ear, and wearing denim overalls and a red T-shirt.
“This is Leroy Sims, a pool shark. He can be nice, but he’s mean if you rile him.” Sims is a tall, lean black man with a graying Afro and a goatee. He appears to be left-handed.

“And this is Mabel Fafoofnik, a flirtatious goofball who hangs around the place. Grant tolerates her because her daddy is a part-owner.”
Mabel is a pudgy, overripe blonde, with an iron-cross tattoo just below the base of the neck in front; her tank top is so low on one side that an areola is visible. She sneers for the camera, and a cigarette dangles from her mouth as if glued to her lip.

“And we’re to find out which one of these people is with Threshold?” I ask.
“We don’t think any of them is. What you need to do is get to know them. That’s easy enough. There are other people in Spike’s place you’ll have to scrutinize.”

I’m mediocre at eight-ball. I’ve played billiards with Alice; she’s quite good at it.
Parker leaves, saying, “Fred will call you.”

With Lorna finished on stage, Stanhouse, Lorraine, and Sylvia talk together.

Meanwhile, Jan Oranjeboom comes down to the first row to talk to Alice and me; he appears as smug as the cat that swallowed the cream. Alice and I join him along with Eloise, Loora, and Gwen, several rows back. We decide to wait until Stanhouse evaluates Lorna, now sitting with Jock, before we find out just what Jan did. And he and his mother Loora high-five.

[NDP]

“I got another job representing another act,” Jan says proudly. “It’s a real promising one.”

“Who is it?” I ask.

He’s about to answer when two men in dark gray coveralls and animal traps walk into the theater. One man is short, rotund with dark hair and beard stubble and the other man is tall, bald, and also a bit stout.

“Excuse me, everybody,” says the short one. “Can I have your attention? We’re from animal controal and you’ll have to leave the theater for 30 minutes while we search the auditorium and stage.”

“What for?” Loora asks.

“Escaped hamsters,” he says sternly. “Ravenous bastards–they’re eating everything in sight.”

“Just so long as it’s made of plant or synthetic material,” quckly clarifies the tall bald man, “so don’t worry. There’s no chance of you getting devoured by a bloodthirsty swarm of hamsters.”

“Hamsters?” repeats Lorna incredulously. “You mean those cute little rodents you keep in cages with exercise wheels?”

“Aye, one and the same,” the short dark-haired man from animal control replies. “Now, everybody must leave now!”

“How did these hamsters get loose and why are they such a threat?” Stanhouse inquires.

“Good question,” the bald one states, “but we can’t answer it now. Now, please clear out everybody.”

“That’s right,” adds the short one. “Let’s all file out now.”

And so, we…

[dougie_monty]

…exit the stage area, toward the lobby. We get a telepathic message from Jack Sharp:
I have the video cameras running, facing these men. All of you take the stairs down to the upper basement. I’ll have Leo and some ghost friends of his watch these people. Eloise will stay in contact with me on our handy-talkies, and there’s a hidden telephone near the elevator section, on each floor. If these guys are legitimate we don’t have anything to worry about. If not, Leo and his pals, and George Galloway, and I, will deal with them.”

We acknowledge. We all go down to the upper basement, by way of the stairs.
“If they follow us down here,” Eloise says as she leads us down, “We’ll use the door at the end of the corridor on the left.”

I look down that corridor. “I don’t see any door at the end of this hallway,” I say.
Eloise smiles and winks. I catch on.

Eloise now approaches a switch on the wall, and pushes the toggle. We now see the visitors facing Jack Sharp and George Galloway, on a monitor mounted near the ceiling…
Mr. Galloway says, “Mr. Sharp and I are the owners of the theater. I’d like to see the written orders that authorize you to search the place for hamsters.”

One of the men, the bald one, carries a plain black portfolio, and removes a paper from it. George reads it and nods. Meanwhile, Leo appears in front of the elevator.
“We’ll watch those guys,” he says. “If they go into a sensitive area or follow us down here, we’ll appear and scare them.”

Now George Galloway and Jack Sharp, apparently satisfied, join us. They too use the stairs.
“Will those men take the elevator down here?” Alice asks. She stands so close to me I sense she is getting really randy…

“No, I switched the elevator control to ‘off,’” says Jack, holding a key with an odd-shaped head. Alice nods.
Meanwhile, Eloise approaches a pay phone Jack had installed in the upper basement, thumbs through the phone book hanging near it, and keys in a number.

“Animal Control? This is Eloise Sharp, at the Morpheus Theater at 633 South Bradford Street… yes, I am a part-owner of the theater… I’m calling about two men who just came in looking for hamsters, they said… they wore black coveralls… no, I don’t know.”
Eloise turns to Jack, who approaches and wraps his arms around her.

“Honey, did those guys give their names?” she asks.
“Yes, they did,” Jack answers, handing Eloise the paper George read. Jack holds Eloise close.

Eloise gets back on the phone and says, “Uh, the names were Paul Guilford and Porfirio Cruz… oh, I see… they said thirty minutes… oh, all right… that’s Jack and Eloise Sharp, and George and Betty Galloway… fine. We’ll be in the atrium. Goodbye.” She hangs up.
“Well, they are employees of Animal Control, but I have no idea why they would come here after hamsters.”

“I haven’t seen any,” says Buster, hanging languidly over Jeanette’s shoulder. Georgie and Bobby Blonda, with their girlfriends Maria and Katrina Oranjeboom, stand close to Jeanette and stroke Buster’s fur; he purrs.
Leo reappears.

“What are they doing now, Leo?” asks Alice; I’m holding her close the way Jack is holding Eloise—and, now, George Galloway is holding Betty.
Leo shrugs. “Just poking around, looking for critters to trap, near as we can tell,” he says.

Stanhouse, who had not noticed Leo when he appeared earlier, now sees the chain-bedecked ghost, and starts, but quickly regains his composure.
“Are you a real ghost?” the director asks.

“I sure am, Mr. Stanhouse,” Leo says cordially. “I can vanish and go through walls and say ‘Boo’ and everything.”
Stanhouse regains his composure and says, “If you’d like to be in a movie, I can get you in touch with a casting director.” Leo nods.

Mr. Galloway says, “When those guys leave, how would everyone like to go visit the Turkish bath?” Everyone nods or says something to show they’re interested.
Now the thirty minutes has passed. We take the stairs back up to the atrium, where we meet the guys.

Cruz, the tall, bald man, holds a trap and shows us what’s in it. “We didn’t see any hamsters, but we did catch one rat.” Inside the cage trap is a small, almost pathetic looking rat.
Now, Bob Long and Hermione Terwilliger, on duty and in uniform, come into the atrium, accompanied by a uniformed Animal Control agent, whose name tag reads Joseph Hightower. Guildford and Cruz look uneasy; Cruz drops his portfolio.

George Galloway smugly tells us, as the uniformed agent speaks reproachfully to the men in coveralls, “I made some phone calls myself.”
While Agent Hightower, Bob Long, George Galloway, and Hermione speak to Guildford and Cruz, Stanhouse says he is ready to give his critique of Lorna. She stands close to him, in a close embrace with Jock, who is in mufti.