Oryon was finally, finally, leaning over to kiss Gamatria when Lisa pulled away. “Why do I have to kiss you?”
“Because it’s in the script. Oryon just rescued you and …” Randy looked like he was drowning.
“I know it’s in the script,” said Lisa, “but it doesn’t make sense. I mean, she’s Santar’s disciple, right? He’s been brainwashing her for, like, years. So why would she suddenly be all over Oryon? Wouldn’t she think he was the villain?”
“But she was supposed to be Oryon’s disciple and Santar kidnapped her and …” Randy pleaded, almost whined, “they’re soulmates.”
Lisa wasn’t sold. “I think she’d be afraid of him. Mark, you’re a writer. Do you think it makes sense?”
It was the first time Lisa had really spoken to me. And she wasn’t just acknowledging me, she knew I was a writer. We’d been in a few classes together, but I didn’t think she’d ever noticed me. My zombie trance shattered. I looked over at her and tried to focus on her eyes and not her low-cut top.
“Well, Oryon does rescue her,” I said.
“Exactly,” said Randy. “See, Oryon rescues her.”
“But Gamatria still wouldn’t trust him,” I continued. “It might be more powerful if Oryon is desperately in love with her but …” I grinned, I really liked this next idea. “She doesn’t remember him. Like a mystic amnesia spell.”
“That’s cool,” said Lisa. “I like that.”
“Me too,” said Kyle. “It’s way more powerful.”
I couldn’t believe the girl in the harem outfit was excited about my ideas. “You know what might be really cool? If Gamatria made out with Santar and Oryon had to watch—so you’d see his heart breaking. Then he’d really want to kill Santar.”
“I like that,” said Lisa. “That’s nasty.”
“Yeah,” said Kyle. “That has layers to it.”
“No,” said Randy with surprising intensity. “It’s too late to make changes.”
“Well, I’m not kissing Oryon,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Let’s just try it once,” suggested Randy. “I mean, Oryon is rescuing you.”
“But she thinks he’s kidnapping her,” I said. “Wouldn’t she try to kill him?”
If Randy had any real magic powers he would have made the rest of us disappear while he rehearsed his big love scene with Lisa.
Instead, Norman interrupted. “We’ve got to get back to it. They’re kicking us out at ten.”
“No kiss,” said Lisa.
“You’re right,” said Randy softly. “It doesn’t make sense.”
None of us understood why Randy never quite looked happy that week—even after we sold out all four hundred tickets.
6
Bud’s Good Eats
Randy and Norman double-checked the props, triple-checked the flash pots, and quadruple-checked the guillotine. If a head didn’t roll at showtime, heads were definitely going to roll afterwards. But that wasn’t the biggest thing Randy was worrying about. “Is she here?”
Norman nodded. “She’s coming, man.”
“That’s good,” said Randy. “That’s good.”
Randy had never been nervous about a show before. And even though this was his baby—he wrote the script, directed it and starred as Oryon—only one thing scared him. Cousin Jane.
I was scared, too, because I’d given Sarah two tickets. She was bringing her younger sister, Robyn, which wasn’t a thrill, but at least she didn’t invite a date. And she seemed to be into older guys—maybe she’d like the fake beard.
Kyle was scared because it was the biggest audience he’d ever performed for. And he wasn’t expecting the guillotine—or the show—to work.
Lisa was scared because her parents were showing up and she wasn’t sure how they would react to her costume. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t like it nearly as much as we did.
We got into our costumes, smeared on our makeup and Norman hit the preshow music, which kicked off with The Grand Illusion by Styx.
Our illusions may not have been grand, but for $2.50 a ticket for adults and $1.50 for students, they were damn good. The flash pots flashed. The fire-shooters fired. When it was time for the Metamorphosis, Marvin and I metamorphosized. The effect might not have rivalled Houdini’s, but it scored the same shocked gasps that make magic shows magical for audiences and performers. The audience was still oohing at Zephyr’s miraculous growth spurt when the helmet flew off and they realized he’d been transformed into Adoma. Me. Some people screamed. As I stood there in my trance, I saw Sarah in the third row and had to force myself not to smile.
Then Santar captured Oryon and I strapped him into the guillotine while Pink Floyd’s Careful with That Axe, Eugene blasted out of the auditorium’s tinny speakers. As the audience held their breath, so did everyone onstage. Randy’s Styrofoam head fell straight into the bucket and blood sprayed everywhere. The audience screamed again.
Kyle didn’t wear his helmet and Santar’s hair looked perfect.
We didn’t get a standing ovation, but we managed two curtain calls and some of the little kids stuck around to get Randy, Kyle and Lisa to sign their programs.
Marvin went straight home with his parents. Kyle’s girlfriend, Wendy, kissed him and then took off. Lisa’s parents complimented her on the show and didn’t even mention her costume—at least not until she got home. I went into the auditorium to find Sarah, but she wasn’t there. So I retreated backstage to take off my beard.
By the time I had cleaned up, changed and wandered back onstage, no one was in the auditorium except the cast, and everyone but Randy had changed back into their jeans and T-shirts. Randy was still in his white wizard robes when Norman opened the auditorium door and walked in with a woman so stunning she made Lisa look like Marvin. Lisa was gorgeous, but Lisa was seventeen and gorgeous. Cousin Jane was twenty-two and built like a Playboy centrefold minus the staples.
“I’m Jane,” said cousin Jane.
“Me Tarzan,” said Randy.
“You’re cute,” she said.
“I’m Kyle,” said Kyle, trying to look cuter than Randy.
“You were great,” said Jane. Then she took Kyle’s hand and he looked like he was going to melt.
“You too,” said Jane, as she flashed a smile at Randy. “Nice work.”
Then, while both of them stammered out thank yous, Jane looked at me—or maybe through me. “Norman says you’re a writer,” said Jane. “He says you’re really good.” I’d forgotten Norman was in my creative writing class. Now it was my turn to stammer. “I liked the beard,” she said. “Sexy.”
“Jane works with Rainbow,” said Randy.
Just as this was registering for me and Kyle and Lisa, Jane added, “I work with their new theatre division. I’m handling the Beatlemania tour.”
Beatlemania? The show was touring everywhere. It was a cross between a tribute band and a stage play and it was selling out around the world. None of us had seen it because none of us was old enough to remember Paul McCartney before he