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.It’s an idea.I miss you.”With those magic words, Helen perked up.“It’s a wonderful idea.I’ll hop a flight from Kennedy Airport.”“Great.My flight arrives at two, so try to work around that time.I’ll let you know where I’m staying, in case we get our wires crossed.”“Okay, baby.Hey, I’m proud of you, Cory Chamberlain.”Not long after she reserved a flight to Logan Airport, Helen received another phone call.It had to be Cory at that hour, something she may have forgotten to mention earlier.“Hey, baby,” Helen said seductively.“Hello, darling,” a voice whispered deliciously.Helen was wide-eyed.Cory never called her darling.The whisper was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.“Who is this?”The voice whispered, “One of your Israelites.”Helen thought.“Ah.Then may I call you Michael? Or would you prefer Mr.Jackson?”“You’re a snot, Townsend.”“Me?” She laughed.“What’s that song Jackson recorded about starting with the man in the mirror?”“Okay, I get your drift.Listen, I’m flying to Boston Friday afternoon.Do you want to have lunch with me beforehand?”“Really? I’m booked for Boston, too.That’s a strange coincidence.I wonder what the odds are—”“Slim to none, and stop making it sound so creepy.My departure is three thirty.”Helen raised her eyebrows.“Mine, too.Wow.”“Knock it off, Helen.”“Sorry.Yeah, let’s have lunch first.How about meeting me at the paper, say noon?”“Fine.By the way, there’s a matter you need to address.I think I’m about to throw a wrench into your queer show.”“How’s that?”“I was watching the news tonight.The dock workers are on strike in Oakland, California.”Like she cared.“What does that have to do with us?”“Does the word ‘union’ mean anything to you?”“Of course it does.Unions protect just about any worker in the United States.”“Like actors? Wardrobe? Makeup?”“Among others.” When a mental list of those she knew belonged to an organization, and those who had never worked in the theater, flashed through her mind, she sat upright.“Oh, shit.Some of us need union cards.”“You catch on quickly, Ms.Townsend.”“I need to call everyone immediately.” Another fifteen phone calls before she could call it a night didn’t thrill her.Blair laughed.“You sound like your palms are sweaty and your heart’s racing.”“Yeah, a shock wave of ‘what the hell am I doing?’ just tore through me.”“Well, relax.Anyone involved knows they need the proper credentials.I just wanted to spook you.”Helen’s tense muscles relaxed, but now she was pissed off.“You really are a bitch.”Still, she laughed.“I wish I could have seen your expression.Are we still on for tomorrow?”“I guess so, but you’re buying lunch and the cab.Good night, Blair.”“Wait.There’s one more matter.”“You better make it worth my time,” Helen said.“You may not call me Michael.”Chapter SixteenA fax came over Helen’s office machine.Cory had sent a rundown of her Friday night program.They would open with Mozart’s “The Marriage of Figaro Overture,” a fabulous opening with great power.Helen knew Cory was tickled.Then would come Bach’s “Air On the G String.” Couldn’t he have come up with a classier title? Either way, the piece possessed the ability to lull Helen to sleep.The next one was underlined, with a happy face drawn next to it.Chopin’s “Military Polonaise.” Helen cringed.That music Cory had practiced repeatedly, ad nauseam, and Helen had learned to loathe the piece.The list continued.Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” works by Bizet, Chabrier, Tchaikovsky, and Sousa.Then Copland’s “Simple Gifts,” followed by the last piece, Anderson’s “Sleigh Ride.” A great night for music.“I love you,” the fax ended.A house gopher poked his head into Helen’s office.“Helen, some woman on line seven says she’s Michael Jackson.”“Thanks.” She grabbed the phone and punched in the line.“Hello, Mikey.”“Our flight’s been canceled.”“Don’t bullshit me, Blair.I wanted to smack you last night.”“No fooling.I called to confirm.There’s a mechanical problem, but we’re on a flight at eight.”Helen pouted.Cheated again.She wanted to see Cory at five, not wait until ten and miss the concert as well as the extra time with her.She appreciated the classics as well as the next person and she’d never heard the Boston Light Orchestra live.She would miss the fun.“What a bunch of bull,” Helen said.“Griping won’t get us there any sooner.We can’t drive.We’ll hit every imaginable traffic pocket.An early dinner for us instead of lunch, then?”“New York Deli at four,” Helen said.At least she’d have a great Reuben [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]