Invisible Threads--Chapter 17

Writer's Note: Please read the previous chapters and prologue of Invisible Threads before reading this.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

On the Friday morning before Gary was scheduled to fly to Las Vegas for the show, he found himself sitting on his couch with Cherie pacing back and forth, lecturing him like a miniature General Patton preparing his troops for battle.

"Your flight leaves here at 9am Sunday morning. I won't be here since the cheapskate bastards at Superstar only paid for one ticket and my mom's credit card can only be abused so far. So, I have to leave today to be there in time to pick you up at the airport in my car. I've enlisted Phang to make sure that you don't flake out on me and miss the flight."

Gary knew all of this but it was safest to not interrupt.

"When you land, check in with the Superstar people, and ask where we're supposed to meet at the hotel. Once they tell you, explain to them that your fiance is driving you to the hotel. They'll be fine with that. I'll meet you at baggage claim.

"On Monday morning, we have some filming to finish that godawful back story piece that you screwed up so badly. Maybe we can fix some things. Like, start over. You have to be awake and alert for that. No Red Bull all-nighters. Got that?"

That was a cue. He nodded.

"Monday afternoon, we get to walk the stage for fifteen minutes. Then we are done until noon on Tuesday when we get you to make-up for that night's performance. Easy-peasy."

He nodded again.

"You only have one rule: Don't be a moron. If you can obey that rule for the next five days, then everything will work out. Otherwise, you will be done before you even get started."

No pressure.

"Starting with Tuesday, every performance could be your last. No screw-ups and no do-overs. There will also be lots of off-stage stuff but I'll walk you through it. Are you ready?"

Of course not. "Yes."

He was startled when she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. He was less startled when she stood back up, said "Don't screw up." and then hit him on the arm.

He carried the luggage - both his and hers - along with the boxes of costumes and props down to her car and watched her drive away.

Right before she pulled away, she said "Get some rest." He would not do that. He had two days to himself. Two days of glorious, uninterrupted research, experimentation, and math. He brushed his teeth, put on clean clothes and headed to the lab.

***

Al now fully remembered why she hated all these Las Vegas union people at the end of last season. She had been back in Vegas for a little over a week and had experienced very few conversations that did not include one of the following phrases:

"That's not in our contract." Or "If you want that, you're going to have to push the schedule."

If these people put half of the effort into doing their jobs that they put into making excuses, the production would go off without a hitch. But she smiled and gave them her standard response:

"You'll have to get with the Executive Producer to discuss any changes to your contract."

In two days, it would change to:

"If this isn't done right now, then you will be up to your ass in lawyers by morning and I will make it my life's mission to make sure that you never work in this industry again."

She understood that they all hated her probably more than she hated them. That bothered her sometimes. But it was what it was. And success breeds forgiveness. If the show came together and everyone made money, then they would all be friends again next year.

She arrived at the booth before 6am to find Lacy cross-referencing between some items on her tablet while a multi-screen of audition videos ran on the computer in front of her.

"Good morning."

Lacy looked up, there were dark circles under her eyes. "Good morning. You want some coffee?"

"No. I'm good. Did you work all night?"

Lacy's smile was weak. "I was hoping to get this done and pushed it a little late. I got a couple of hours of sleep."

Not much less than Al had gotten. She wondered if she looked as bad as Lacy. Probably.

"Is that the glib sheet?" Al was looking at the tablet on the desk.

The glib sheet was what they called the 'spontaneous' jokes and comments the judges were going to make with the contestants on air. They were meant to give the impression that the judges were spending time with the contestants and bonding with them.

"Yeah. I'm almost done."

Al sat down next to her. "Rest your eyes a second."

She pulled Lacy's tablet over in front of her and watched from the corner of her eye as Lacy lolled her head back. She scanned through some of the edits that Lacy was making. The original from the writing team was just as crappy as the previous year's. Lacy's head jerked up when Al laughed out loud at one of the edits.

"What?"

"This is good."

"Thanks."

"What are the chances of me ordering you to go back up to your room for a couple of hours and get some sleep?"

"I'll sleep tonight, I promise. But there is just so much left to do right now."

"Okay."

Al pushed the tablet back in front of Lacy who rubbed her eyes and put her earphones back on. Al stood, leaned over and kissed Lacy on the top of the head. Lacy pulled off her earphones and looked up quizzically while Al turned and left the room. The interaction was another thing that Al forgot during the arguments and craziness of the day. Lacy remembered it for the rest of her life.

***

In Las Vegas, Gary's plane was at the gate and everyone else had gotten off when the flight attendant told him that he had to deplane.

Gary would have missed his flight entirely if Phang hadn't tracked him down at the lab. He had worked through the night and used every whiteboard in the lab, plus both of Dr. Lecki's. He even borrowed one more from the lab next door.

The math was working. It was making sense and beginning to come together. Once he started thinking of the threads as contrails of constantly moving particles in an ether, he was able to borrow not only from Young and Fresnel but also from good old-fashioned Newtonian physics. On two occasions, he had made a thread disappear by reaching his hand into it and keeping it in place long enough to stop the motion along it. On another 98 attempts, nothing had happened.

He pulled his thoughts out of the math and into the airport through which he was walking. It had been a while since he had gotten off the plane and he felt like he had walked a long way. He had followed the crowd without paying much attention. It seemed that he should be somewhere by now. How big was this airport?

"Mr. Richardson?"

It took three more steps before the sound of his name registered through his confusion. He looked back and saw a brightly colored sign being held over the head of a man somewhat younger than Gary and about two inches taller. It said Superstar Performers. He had missed it.

"That's me."

"You're the last one from the Dallas flight. If you will just follow me, I'll take everyone to baggage claim and then to the bus."

"My fiance is picking me up. Where do we check in at the hotel?"

"Go into the main lobby and follow the signs. You can't miss it."

"Thank you."

Now that he had been pulled into reality, he looked up and saw that the baggage claim area was right in front of him. The room was brightly lit and noisy and it took him several minutes to spot Cherie.

She looked awful and the crowd around her accentuated her diminutive stature. She waved. He walked over to her.

Her voice was a whisper, "Anybody from Superstar here?"

"Yeah, they're over by the conveyor."

She threw her arms around his neck and got up on her tiptoes against him. "Bend down and kiss me."

"Oh... right." He put his arms around her waist and leaned down and kissed her. As always, it was awkward, and her breath was nasty. "That long enough?"

"It'll do." She stepped away from him. "Did you check any bags?"

"No, just my backpack. You have my stuff."

"Good. The car is in the parking lot."

He stepped back and looked her up and down. "You look awful."

"You should see it from the inside."

Gary decided to be assertive, "I'm driving."

"Damn straight you are. I'm napping."

The weather was a very comfortable 65 degrees. It had been about 25 in Champaign when he had gotten up that morning. She led him to her car, and he squeezed his backpack in amid the suitcases, boxes, loose clothes, and multiple fast-food bags, wrappers, and cups. The car smelled like ketchup. Could be worse, he thought. It could be onions.

The hotel was on The Strip which did not seem to be very far from the airport but it required fifteen minutes of driving and another fifteen minutes of sitting in traffic to get there. Gary was surprised that most of the city looked normal with very few casinos or large hotels until they got to the center. Much of the drive felt seedy and a little rundown.

Cherie snorted and opened her eyes when Gary opened his door. "We there?"

Gary stepped out of the car and found an empty cart next to the door which avoided the need to tip anyone. While Cherie shook her head to wake up, he emptied the contents of the car onto the cart.

The sign for the Superstar performers was large and obvious. Cherie took the cart and waited while Gary got into the queue. The crowded room was noisy and filled with echoes which made Gary tense. He felt a touch on his arm and looked down to see Cherie. She had left the baggage untended, which also made him tense.

She had to raise her voice to be heard over the din. "This place is pretty crowded, huh?"

He nodded. "Is the luggage okay?"

She was up on her toes so he leaned his ear down to her. She spoke directly into his ear. "The luggage is fine. It's not going to stress out over being jammed in here with a thousand yelling people."

He nodded again. "It's lucky."

"Just make it to the head of the line, do your business and then we'll go to our hotel room and have some peace and quiet. Can you do that?"

He nodded again and she walked away - hopefully to find the baggage not stolen.

The head of the line brought him to a woman sitting next to a box with "M-R" written in black marker on the side.

"Name?"

"Gary Richardson."

She pulled out a large envelope with his name on it. "This is for you."

It contained a nametag, some schedule information, and the hotel keycards.

"Now." She placed a form on the table in front of him. "Please read and sign this form at the bottom."

It was identical to the one he had signed with Cherie in Nashville. He signed.

"The elevators are to your right and behind me. They will take you to your room. Breakfast starts at 6:30 in the morning and ends a 9:00. It is complimentary. You are responsible for your other meals."

The elevators were busy and it took several minutes before he could get himself, the cart, and Cherie onto one. The keycard opened the electronic look on the room door on the first try - good omen. Given the ostentatiousness of the rest of the hotel, the room was surprisingly mundane. Cherie collapsed immediately onto the bed and Gary settled into a chaise longue next to the window and pulled out his tablet to delve back into his calculations.

Within 15 minutes he had fallen asleep.

***

Harriman had driven across the country to Las Vegas trying to shake his obsession with Gary Richardson. What good would it do for him to remove Richardson from the picture if he himself lost his chance due to a lack of preparation? He had two big stage tricks to perform. One of them included working with an assistant, which he hated. With a complicated illusion, there was one way for it to go right and a thousand ways for it to screw up.

When he got in line for check-in, the staffer for his line was a young woman. Once he made it to the front, he gave his name and she found his envelope within seconds and gave him the prepared spiel. He didn't pay much attention until she was finished and then he remained standing there.

She smiled confusedly. "That's all you need here. You're good to go."

He turned his smile up full and looked directly into her eyes. His rapt attention began to have the desired effect and she held his gaze and her confused smile became a slightly uncomfortable, flirtatious one. She glanced to either side and then slightly nervously to the three people in line behind him.

"A friend of mine from Nashville is here. Gary Richardson? You wouldn't know his room number by any chance?"

Her flirty smile turned into a pouty frown. "No. I'm sorry. I only hand out envelopes. I don't have that kind of information."

"Maybe you could try and find out and we could meet up later?"

"That would be so nice. When and where?"

He arranged a rendezvous that he had no intention of keeping. This one was too low on the totem pole to be given access to room numbers.

Two more efforts with more senior looking staffers yielded no better results. The last one had told him that the room numbers were very closely guarded and only a couple of people at the top of Talent Management had the list. So, he had failed in accomplishing something that he had no reason to even be trying.

He had also failed at getting over his obsession. Richardson was under his skin.