2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office (24 page)

I awoke in a mad dash to practice the hurdy-gurdy song and get myself ready for a long day of playing princess. Not to mention having to get two old men up, fed, and dressed in medieval garb. If you're looking for some practice at taking care of children, just get yourself a couple of old men. My patience was wearing thin as I broke up arguments over everything from how much cream to put in coffee to who should get to wear the cod piece as part of their costume. In the middle of all this, I was struggling to remember the words to Mr. Pyres' song.

"You two hush!" I scolded. "I have to perform this song this afternoon." I played the melody easily on my guitar. It was the lyrics that were impossible.

Uncle Grover strode over to me, his large three-cornered hat bobbing unsteadily on his head, and peered over my shoulder.

"Why you're playing one of my favorite songs!" he exclaimed and started to sing the lines, surprisingly in tune.

Not to be outdone, Granddaddy came in on the chorus, "And merrily danced the Quaker's wife, and merrily danced the Quaker." He added a little jig dance and put out his arm to Uncle Grover. They locked arms and turned in a circle like they were doing a reel. I smiled as an idea took shape.

I finished the song and turned to the dancers. "That was great!"

Uncle Grover beamed and Granddaddy said, "Hells bells, everybody knows that song. An' ya know Grover and I can cut a rug when we want to. Remember the Christmas play?"

Boy did I ever. Our good old-fashioned family Christmas had been one for the books. The Grands performing a scene from
White Christmas
was not easy to forget.

"How would you two like to join me on stage at the talent show with Mr. Pyres?" I asked, hoping I wouldn't regret it.

Uncle Grover and Granddaddy high-fived each other, and then quickly went back to arguing over who would look better in the cod piece.

I sighed and put away my guitar. It was time to turn myself into a beautiful princess, but after last night I was feeling more like a frog. I hated feeling like everything was up in the air with Mark. I just wanted to know the truth once and for all. Oh, and there was always the possibility that Tyrell was wandering the streets in search of me with only Marsha standing between me and a bullet in the head. That just gave me warm fuzzies.

My phone buzzed with a text. I looked down eagerly, hoping it was Mark. It wasn't; it was Carlos.

Carlos:
Ahoy, matey. Great news. Me n the boys are in the parade!

Me:
Awesome. Don't be late for our performance.

Carlos:
Never fear. R & P worked it out with the fair organizers. Wait til u see our entrance!! P)

I couldn't even imagine what he was talking about. The Renaissance parade wound its way through the city bringing all traffic to a complete halt for hours. The parade consisted of fire trucks, homemade floats, Shriners, marching bands, and anyone else the organizers could rope into it. They'd talked me into riding on the float one year as Sleeping Beauty. All I had to do was lay there in my fancy dress. What could be easier, right? Wrong. I had needed a bouncer to keep the drunks from jumping on the float and trying to kiss me awake.

I left for my first street performance in full costume a few minutes after ten. I was supposed to stroll along Dock Street with my guitar slung over my neck crooning Greensleeves for an hour and a half. Then I had a break until I was due on stage with Mr. Pyres at one after which I would change into my pirate costume for my performance with Carlos and the Brethren. Quite a busy day.

On my way out the door I chastised my wards. "You two stay out of trouble until The Parents pick you up at eleven. Don't leave this apartment," I warned.

Uncle Grover sniffed. "I had hoped to pay a visit to Miss Kester. We were going to have coffee on her patio."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Just be ready to go at eleven."

"Yeah," chimed in Granddaddy, "and keep yer codpiece on." He erupted into gleeful cackles.

Out on the pavement, I headed for Dock Street. The weather was a little gray but wonderfully cool for walking around in a heavy dress and singing melancholy songs. So much easier to play fairy princess when you didn't have sweat dripping down your face and rings under your armpits.

The morning went quickly as I strolled and sang and posed for pictures with excited little girls, but my mind kept turning back to Mark. And my eyes kept looking over my shoulder.

Was there anything he could say or do to make me believe in him again? I liked excitement as much as the next girl, but having your boyfriend's sexy CIA partner follow you around was a little too much. It was a lot different than how my exes showed up and got in-between us, wasn't it? Hmmm…come to think of it, maybe it wasn't different. Definitely more dramatic, but not a whole lot different.

Uh-oh. I had to think about this. In my gut, did I think Mark was still involved with Marsha? Nope. Not anymore than I was ready to jump back into Rick's waiting arms. Okay, question two: Did I think the complications of being ex-CIA or even part-time CIA would be a relationship deal-breaker? Well, I really wasn't in a position to judge, was I? Here I was entering into a new business venture and preparing for a cross-country tour. Mark had a lot more to be worried about than I did. Finally, had Mark actually lied about anything, even through omission? I thought hard. Being in a relationship with your ex-partner was a pretty big omission. But I hadn't exactly been forthcoming about my fling with Andre last summer until cornered. It seemed Mark and I had a lot more in common than I'd thought.

I ducked into an alleyway in a panic. I pulled out my phone and punched in Mark's number.

It went straight to voicemail.

"I guess you're still on your way. I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night. I know this relationship has gotten off to a bad start," I rambled, "but that doesn't mean we should throw it away. I mean, I know being with me is like being on a roller-coaster, and I understand if you want to get off…" My voice trailed away. "But I just want you to know that I do trust you. I do believe in you. And I think I really do lo—" the message ran out just before I could finish. Which was probably just as well because if the message up to that point hadn't sounded deranged enough to send him on the next plane back to Atlanta, then me proclaiming my love over the phone certainly would have.

I leaned against the brick wall to catch my breath and wipe away a tear. Fairy princesses didn't cry, I reminded myself. I straightened my shoulders resolutely. I'd done what I could. Hopefully, he was still on his way, and we could work this all out face-to-face. In the meantime I had a performance with a vampire, a hurdy-gurdy and two crazy old men to prepare for.

I found my family waiting for me at the side entrance of the stage. I hadn't appreciated the full effect of seeing them in Renaissance attire. I snapped a bunch of pictures on my cell phone to capture the moment. Might be some blackmail potential as well. The Parents looked presentable, although my mom had way too much cleavage showing above her embroidered bodice. The Grands were another story. I wasn't prepared for Mammaw and Aunt Pearl. All that loose skin stuffed into too tight dresses, leaving way too little to the imagination.

Aunt Pearl greeted me with, "I feel like a sausage in this contraption."

"Yah look like one too," cackled Granddaddy.

Aunt Pearl swatted him with her cane.

"Stop it you two," my mom ordered.

My stepmother, Anne, stepped between them and made some adjustments to the back of Aunt Pearl's dress.

"I think you all look wonderful," I lied. "Are you two ready for our big show?" I asked Granddaddy and Uncle Grover.

"Oh, they've sung the song over and over again ever since we picked them up from your house," Ashley said with a glare.

My sister naturally looked like a fairy princess because of her petite stature, but today dressed in pink tulle, she reminded me of Thumbelina. Especially when she was standing next to her hulking, bear of a husband. Dan was dressed as a commoner from medieval times; shirt open at the chest, homespun leggings and crisscrossed, laced boots. He wore a fake pony tale under his peddler's cap. He was the most authentic looking one out of the bunch of them.

"Well, at least you don't have to perform it on stage with them," I shot back.

"Touché." She gave me a good-natured smile.

I looked around. "Where's Rick?" I asked. Not that I wanted to see him. I was just trying to keep an eye out for him. I didn't want any interference when Mark showed up.

Ashley raised her brows. "We lost him a block back to this stunning redhead in a red and black gown."

"What?" I gasped.

"Yeah, they talked for a few minutes, and then they ducked into a bar. Jealous?" my sister asked.

"No," I stammered. Was Marsha trying to break up me and Mark through Rick? Would Rick go for it? I just couldn't believe the woman would do that, CIA agent or not. Maybe that was her evil plan, to dig up dirt on me and relay it back to Mark.

The stage manager gave me the signal that we were up next. The team of amateur jugglers had just crashed and burned, but the crowd had a good laugh at their antics. It was a few minutes before one. Where in the heck was The Count? I walked up a few steps on the stage so I could get a better look above the throngs of people. I caught a glittery flash of red sequins waving in the distance. Oh, my, I thought, as The Count approached the stage. It was like Liberace had gone vampire.

My mouth must have been open, because my family turned to follow my line of sight.

"What in tarnation is that?" asked Granddaddy, peering into the distance.

"Yeah, and what's his number?" purred Aunt Pearl. "I love me a well-dressed man."

Oh, he was well-dressed alright. He wore an old-fashioned white tux with full tails and a blood red bow tie. His cape was white satin with a blood red satin underside and the initials VP encrusted in red sequins on the back. He carried a small black case. Betty Getty trailed behind him dressed in a beautiful authentic gown of royal purple. She wore a huge headpiece that bobbed precariously on her head as she struggled to keep up with The Count.

"That," I replied shaking my head, "Is part of our act."

"Oh, my," Uncle Grover murmured, fanning himself.

Oh, my indeed.

The crowd continued to grow as we took our places on the stage and plugged into the PA system. Uncle Grover and Granddaddy had lapel mikes on. The Count and I were standing to the left of the stage using mike stands.

"Great performance from the Juggling Jonathans," boomed the announcer. "And remember, don't text your vote until the end of the show. Now give a big round of applause for act number twelve. Vann Pyre and the Hurdy-Gurdys performing 'Merrily Kissed the Quaker's Wife!'" A light smattering of applause followed by a loud two fingered whistle from brother-in-law Dan's direction and we were on.

I looked to Mr. Pyres for my cue, and he jumped into the song like a pro. I followed on the guitar, and Granddaddy and Uncle Grover launched into the song. I stifled a giggle as Uncle Grover sang the first line of the song and stepped in front of Granddaddy with his arms spread wide. Granddaddy elbowed him in the gut, and Grover faked a fall as Granddaddy bellowed the next line. We all joined in for the chorus, and Granddaddy and Grover locked arms and did a reel. Granddaddy spied Betty Getty in all her finery off the side of the stage, and he raced over and grabbed her arm, leading her into the reel. Uncle Grover stole her away and whirled her across the stage as Granddaddy lamented the next verse of the song. The audience was engaged by the antics and had begun clapping to the beat of the song.

I shook my head in wonder. Never try to second guess an audience.

I looked out over the sea of people. In the distance, for just a second, I thought I saw a ship's sail. I looked again, and it was gone. The song reached its climax, and I looked to The Count to signal the finish. His cape was blowing in the wind; his face a mask of concentration as he charmed the chords from the ancient instrument. The air seemed to crackle and pop as his fingers flew faster across the strings.

The Count gave me a nod. I counted, "One, Two, Three!" and we strummed the final note. The performers froze in a funny tableau with Betty between Uncle Grover and Granddaddy, each grasping her arm in mock adoration.

The audience erupted in applause. The Count marched to the front of the stage and bowed like a great conductor. The audience cheered. Never thought the hurdy-gurdy would garner such accolades.

"Now that's what I call a performance!" hollered Granddaddy, high-fiving Uncle Grover and Betty.

Betty fanned herself. "Didn't know I had it in me!"

"Wonderful job, Diana." The Count smiled as he gently placed his instrument in its case. "I dare say we've got a shot at the prize."

I nodded in agreement and put my guitar away. I glanced at my cell phone to check the time.

"Yikes! I need to change for 'The Rum Song!'" I cried. I had less than fifteen minutes to get into my pirate costume. "You two go find The Parents and stay out of trouble," I said to Uncle Grover and Granddaddy. "By the way, you can play out with me anytime."

They both flushed with pleasure and enveloped me in a group hug. "Thanks for making two old men's year," Uncle Grover said.

"Speak fer yerself, Grover. I ain't old. I still got oats to sow. An' I'm thinkin' of startin' with that little filly right there." Granddaddy pointed at Betty.

"Out of your league," Uncle Grover retorted. I waved goodbye as they argued their way back to The Parents.

I checked my phone again. Three missed calls all from Mark and one message. I ducked into the makeshift changing rooms and pressed the phone to my ear.

"Diana, got your message. We tracked Tyrell to Annapolis. Please be careful. Traffic is completely backed up. I'm going to have to walk. I'll be there soon. By the way, I love a good roller-coaster and I—" the message ended abruptly.

I cursed cell phones, service providers and the universe in general. I tried his phone again; it rang once then the call ended. I tried again and it went straight to voice mail. Argh! Okay, get a grip. One thing at a time. I quickly donned the tight black leggings and high-heeled boots coupled with the off-shoulder gauzy white blouse and tied the bright blue sash around my waist. I glanced in the mirror. Not bad, I thought. I made a cute pirate.

I rushed from the changing rooms and nearly ran into Andre. Roger and Phil were a few steps behind. "Whoa! What's the rush, wench?" he joked.

"Uh, the performance. Aren't we up next?" I asked.

"It's taking Carlos a little extra time to make his grand entrance so you've got two more acts to go. Are you okay?"

"Just a little flustered. Mark left me a voice message that Tyrell is definitely in Annapolis."

Andre nodded. "Yeah, I got a text from him too. Just wasn't sure if he'd told you he was keeping tabs on you."

"Apparently everyone is keeping tabs on me," I remarked wryly. "So what's up with the big entrance?"

Andre glanced over at the producers. "You'll need to see it to get the full effect."

I sighed. Mystery and drama in every corner.

"Diana," Roger said, seeming to notice me for the first time, "looks like the tour is a go as long as tonight goes well. We found some new backers who love the pirate theme." He gave me a who-da-thunk-it look.

"Go out there, do a great job. No drama, no nutso scenes, and you've got yourself a tour," Phil added.

I nodded. No drama, no nutso scenes, no problem. "You still want me on stage by myself to start?" I asked Phil.

"Yep, the band and Carlos will join you after you sing the first verse."

"Where are they?" I asked, glancing around.

Andre chuckled and turned me so that I looked out past the audience and up the street. The parade was approaching, and in the distance I spied a skull and crossbones flying from the mast of a ship.

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope. They're in the parade on a float shaped like a pirate ship."

"Impressive." And it was. As the parade inched closer, the ship came into view. I could almost make out Carlos and the band waving to the crowds.

"Show time," called Roger. The curtain closed over the last act, and a drove of roadies set up the stage for our performance.

I moved into position behind the giant curtain. I took a deep breath and plucked a few notes on my guitar. I'd done this song a thousand times. Carlos and his kooks wouldn't trip me up with their entrance, and everything would go smoothly. I was Zen. For about five seconds, then my phone buzzed with a text message. I had a minute so I checked it.

Unknown number:
u look good in those pants bitch. 2 bad I got 2 shoot u.

I looked wildly around me. I squinted off stage, but didn't see anyone there.

"Lords and Ladies," the announcer boomed. "Your attention please. May we present local singer/songwriter, Diana Hudson, accompanied by Carlos Rodriguez and The Brethren Band!"

The curtain dropped. I didn't have time to think. I couldn't just walk off the stage, so I launched into the first verse of "The Rum Song." I looked up, surprised to find the pirate ship had made its way up the road and was now "anchored" off the side of the stage. Carlos and The Brethren leapt onto crates and barrels and grabbed ropes attached to the stage. The audience cheered as they recognized the song. Or maybe they were just cheering for the pirates. I couldn't see much past the stage lights. I glanced around nervously trying to find Tyrell in crowd. The first verse was nearing its end, when suddenly The Brethren grabbed the robes and sailed across the stage, landing with a thud to the left of me.

"How's that for an entrance!" the announcer cried as the verse ended. The audience cheered and hooted.

I looked back at the boat. Carlos was poised to swing across. The band was getting in place behind me. I squinted. It couldn't be!

"Mark?" I said into the microphone. Not exactly professional, but how often does your boyfriend show up on a pirate ship?

Mark waved and then lifted his hands up as if to say "how'd I get here."

Then I realized the danger he was in. Mark was Tyrell's real target, and I'd just called him out in front of the crowd. "He's here!" I yelled into the microphone.

Mark jumped in front of Carlos and swung across the stage landing with a thud next to me. A flash of red and black satin off to the side of the stage, caught my eye. "Look out!" a woman called from across the stage. "He's on the other side."

Mark stepped in front of me as Tyrell appeared across the stage holding a gun.

The crowd gasped.

"The first one gonna be for my brother doin' twenty in Miami-Dade," Tyrell said to Mark. And then turned the gun on me. There was a wild look in his eyes. "An' the second gonna be for that piece-of-shit data file that made me look a fool. An' the third one gonna be for that mother-fuckin' singin' pirate dude. Where he at?"

I heard someone shout, "Fire in the hole!" and then Carlos flew across the stage in a perfect arch. He hit Tyrell square in the back, the gun flying from his hand as he fell.

Marsha had gone around the back of the stage to catch Tyrell from behind. She pounced on him in a blur of red satin and had a heel on his chest and a gun in his face in a flash. Definitely wouldn't want to get into a cat fight with her. Geez.

A few seconds later, Andre was by her side with a half dozen police officers in tow. They cuffed a cursing Tyrell.

The audience cheered.

"All part of the act, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said nervously.

"Make him walk the plank!" someone called from the audience, making everyone laugh.

Tyrell fought against his cuffs. "Man, this pirate shit gettin' old. They all crazy!" he yelled as he was dragged off stage.

"Can't disagree with that," Mark said as he hugged me to him. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, feeling tears starting to well up, but I forced them down. We had a show to finish.

Carlos stepped up to the mike and gave a nod to the band. "Greetings, Lords and Ladies," he said in his best Jack Sparrow voice. The band started to play softly, a steady dun-dun-da-da in the background. "I am Carlos Rodriguez," he said, rolling his r's. "This is the beautiful and talented, Diana Hudson, the songwriter of 'The Rum Song.'"

I could hear my family cheering among those that recognized the local favorite.

"We have come a long way to sing this song for you," he said conversationally to the audience. "But first, we must take care of some business. Long overdue." He glanced at me and then nodded at Mark.

I looked over at Roger and Phil who, at this point, looked like they were going to have simultaneous heart attacks. This was obviously not part
of the show. So much for a nutso-free performance.

"I tell you my friends," whispered Carlos seductively, "that love is in the air tonight." He nodded. The crowd was mesmerized. I thought I saw a woman in the first row swoon.

The band notched up the tempo, and Carlos handed Mark the microphone. What the heck?

Mark smiled sheepishly and said, "Diana, you don't make this easy—"

A blur of red and black rushed at us and a shrill voice yelled from off stage. "Oh, no you're not!"

The audience gasped as Marsha ran up to Mark. "I spent the last three days following her around keeping an eye on her for you. And I learned a heck of a lot. Did you know she's still seeing her old boyfriend, Rick?"

The audience gasped again at this revelation.

I jumped up to the mi
ke. "No, I'm not seeing my old boyfriend. I told him repeatedly we are over."

"No?" she said snidely, loud enough for the mike
to pick up every word. "How about that hunky bodyguard over there? It's hard to keep track of all your men."

"Don't you talk to my granddaughter that way!" I heard Granddaddy yell. "I'll jerk a knot in yer red head!"

Aunt Pearl hollered her support.

Someone in the audience started to chant: "The plank, the plank." This was rapidly spinning out of control.

"How can you be such an idiot, Mark?" Marsha cried. "With all this evidence? How?" she finished in almost a sob. The fire seemed to leave her, and all that was left was disappointment.

"Because I trust her," Mark said simply.

The audience awwed.

I stared at him feeling those tears well again.

"You know me, Marsha," Mark continued. "Once I trust someone, I'm all in. Not a great trait to have in my former line of work."

Andre was at my side, reaching out to grab Marsha's arm.

"Lay a finger on me, Mr. Bodyguard, and you'll pull back a stub," she hissed at him.

"Charming," he replied.

"Your training is nothing compared to mine." Marsha looked ready to pounce. I worried for a second that she was going to Kung Fu him square in the throat.

Andre didn't miss a beat. Instead of grabbing her by her arm, he dove into her knees and flipped her over his shoulder. The long skirts of her gown hampered her attempts at escape. She shrieked like a scalded cat.

The audience laughed, thinking this was all part of the act.

"I'm guessing you didn't train in a gown. Just calm down, Red, and let the happy couple finally have their moment," Andre added gently.