B00C4I7LJE EBOK by Robin Skone-Palmer Read Free Book Online Page B

round-trip airfare from L.A. I did not give him the pleasure of seeing me react. I swallowed a gasp, then managed to inquire in my best lady-of-the-manor voice, “And is that each, or for that do I get a pair?”
    Before he could reply, Karen and I slid out the door and nearly collapsed laughing on the sidewalk. As I struggled to catch my breath, I sputtered, “I can’t believe people would pay so much for something they put on their feet to walk around in the mud.”
    “So, how about lunch?” she said.
    “Isn’t there an Automat around here?”
    Karen favored me with a look of pure exasperation. We stopped in a little coffee shop and ate sandwiches, then headed back to the hotel and called up to Phyllis’s room.
    “Warde’s gone to visit friends, so it’s just us,” she said. “You order the car and I’ll be right down.”
    Although she called it a rehearsal, it was really reconnaissance. We needed to find the stage entrance and get the geography of the place.
    “Small dressing room,” Karen said as she opened the door.
    “It’s not as close to the stage as I’d like. Check the lights,” Phyllis said.
    Karen flipped all the switches and lit up the room.
    “This is okay. It’s hard to put on false eyelashes in the gloom,” Phyllis commented as she looked in the mirror.
    I figured she’d done it so many times she could probably do it in the dark.
    “No lock on the door,” Karen said. “I’m not leaving the costume bag here.”
    I suggested she leave it in the care of the stage manager, but Karen vetoed that. “We’ll have to bring it back with us tonight.”
    The orchestra was rehearsing for the opening-act singer, so I gave them the music for Phyllis’s introduction and play-off, both of which were brief. Professional musicians could play it at a glance. The entire outing took less than twenty minutes.
    “Back to the hotel,” Phyllis told the limo driver; then to us she said, “We’ll order from room service.”
    Neither Karen nor I was hungry, since we’d just had lunch, but Phyllis ordered some soup. We ate it anyway.
    Warde had not returned, so Phyllis and I worked on her seemingly never-shrinking stack of correspondence until it was time to leave.
    That night I realized another reason Phyllis liked me was that I towered over her. She had a not irrational fear of being hemmed in, and after the night’s performance I could see why.
    The venue was not a regular theater but a convention facility, so security was minimal. At the end of her performance and before she could get to the dressing room, several people made their way backstage. As soon as they spotted Phyllis, they made a mad dash to say hello. I’m sure they had no intention other than to be friendly, and perhaps they were a little overcome with the thrill of seeing a celebrity, but a dozen excited people bearing down on one can be frightening, especially for a petite woman. People thrust programs at her seeking autographs as other hands reached out to touch her.
    “Is this your real hair?” someone shouted as an arm stretched toward her head.
    “What a gorgeous costume!” someone else exclaimed as a hand clutched the glittering beads.
    “Let me give you a hug!” a large lady screeched as she grabbed Phyllis.
    They had backed Phyllis against a wall, and I could sense panic starting as she found herself trapped. I waded into the middle of the group and put a protective arm around her, although ordinarily she didn’t like to be touched.
    “I’m sorry, we have to leave now,” I announced. Putting my other arm out in front of me and stepping on only a few toes, I managed to extract Phyllis and guide her into the dressing room. Karen slammed the door. We all sat quietly for about five minutes, and Phyllis tried to pretend she wasn’t rattled. Then came a knock on the door. We froze. When Phyllis nodded, I went to the door and opened it slowly. It was the orchestra leader with our music. I hoped I wasn’t too abrupt as I