9
Meet me at 10. I want to see you.
That is what she
whispered to me. That, and the kiss, is
what had me on fire, a passionate hope rekindled.
She also whispered
where to meet her. And that is where I
headed that morning. In fact, I left
early. I had not seen her at breakfast,
but she and the Morgan crew could have been there earlier.
I was supposed to
be at the TV Studio, but I begged off, asking for an additional hour, before
showing up for morning planning. Another
Lookout Variety Hour of Power was scheduled for the next night, and I needed to
bring in my preliminary sketch of the next episode of The Sands of Loren. I never knew trying to write a soap opera
that was only ten minutes an episode twice a week would be such a burden. At least I had prepared an outline the day
before. I was still a slow typist, and I
had missed the times when Lisa would help me type copy, but I was hopeful that
would change, as it appeared we might be growing closer again.
That certainly was
just an incidental part of being close to her, though. It was nice to have that help, but mostly
because it drew us together. I loved her
company and her smell, the touch of her fine blond hair, the smoothness of her
skin, the hazel brown dreaminess of her eyes slightly magnified by her thick
glasses. I loved having someone to talk
to who was intellectually compatible.
Who am I kidding? She was way
smarter than me, but I loved it.
I made my way to
our rendezvous spot. I was fifteen
minutes early and she wasn't there yet.
I didn't really expect her to be, but that was okay. I wanted to prepare myself for her
arrival. I wanted to be there
first. I had some flowers that I had,
well, surreptitiously acquired; some daffodils and other tulips. I arranged them as best I could, hoping that
she would not notice my lack of skill. I
pictured her coming around the corner, seeing the flowers, and then falling
into my arms.
I heard noises
from the band room, some melody being rehearsed for a future concert. Their practice began at 9:30 and would end at
11 AM, so there was no chance they would come out to interrupt us. And Mr. Black's office was no longer a den of
black market booze. The final group to
use the area, the Drama Club putting on Charley's Aunt, did not have rehearsal
until later in the afternoon.
So there I was,
waiting for my beautiful friend, Lisa Carlton, standing in the covey alcove,
the same one where we first observed Mr. Black and his partners in contraband,
David Izzner and Jack Kessler, discussing their black market enterprises. I don't know if it was the first place I
would have chosen (I wish we could get in my Dad's office, but that wasn't
possible, certainly not at this time of morning), but it was a place where we
kissed, even it was ostensibly for cover.
It grew to be 10:00,
and she had not arrived. Fifteen minutes
later, I was growing anxious. I did not
know whether to keep waiting, or look for her, or just give up.
Knowing that it
wasn't in use, maybe I had misunderstood.
Maybe she meant the actual auditorium.
I had decided not to be in the play, occupied as I was with the soap and
other TV studio activities, and had not really been in the auditorium since
Jack Kessler had assaulted me, only for him to wind up falling and busting his
head open during the tremors from the tunnel explosion.
I cracked open the
main auditorium door. It was very dark,
but I could see the outline of the set for Charley's Aunt, flats up to suggest
a Victorian house, and a dining room table with ornate chairs. I could see that someone was seated at the
table, but I couldn't make out who they were.
"Lisa?"
I called out, thinking she might be the one on the set. I flicked on a light near the door, and it
lit up the auditorium enough to see that it was Lisa at the table. "Lisa!
What are you doing in here? I
didn't see you come in. I almost missed you."
She didn't move or
respond. "Are you feeling ok? Is everything...." And then I noticed that her head was lolled
back at an awkward angle. I rushed in
closer, jumping onto the stage. There
was something sticky on the floor.
Lisa, my
Lisa. My beautiful, bright, intelligent
friend. My first true girlfriend. My lover.
Her throat had been cut. The
sticky stuff was her blood.
I touched her
gently, but that was all it took to send her sliding out of the chair, and her
body slamming onto the stage floor.
I was crushed with
grief, but my first reaction was anger.
"No!" I screamed.
"This can't be!" I
looked skyward and shook my fist.
"Enough!"
I'm sorry, Doctor
Duncan. I need to take another break.
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