Flash Point (8 page)

She pushed through the crowd until she stood beside the pickpocket and said loudly, “Give that woman’s wallet back!”

He stopped, startled, and glanced first at her and then around. People turned to look. “That woman there!” Amy said dramatically, pointing at the actress carrying an open purse—another clue that this was a scenario, since who was stupid enough to do that in the city? The woman gasped and felt around in her purse. Amy, hoping her camera angle was good, brought her foot down hard on the pickpocket’s instep while raising her knee to kick his balls.

He was too fast for her. She got the instep but before her knee could connect, his fist had slugged her in the jaw.

Women screamed. Amy went down, astonished at the pain. The pickpocket ran, cheetah fast, eluding the two men who chased him. Sirens screamed in the background.

Someone bent over Amy. “Lie still, I’m a doctor.” Fingers touched her face.

“Can . . . Myra do . . .
that
?” Amy gasped. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Jawbone’s not broken and your teeth seem intact. You’re very lucky, young lady, he didn’t connect square on. What a stupid thing to do.”

“Myra . . .”

“What’s going on here?” a cop voice asked. Black boots, blue uniform, a holstered gun looming above her. Behind him, the chants resumed:
“Give us back our jobs! Times be tough, man!”

Times be tough.

* * *

“I really can’t imagine why you would think that was a scenario of ours, Amy,” Myra Townsend said severely. “We don’t hurt our participants!”

“I didn’t know I was going to be hurt,” Amy pointed out, but she knew her position was weak. The cop had taken her and the robbed woman to the precinct to file a police report, then delivered Amy, hours late, to Taunton Life Network. Amy had refused medical services, frantic to get to the station and explain in greater detail than her choked cell call had allowed. At the precinct her jaw had swollen on one side; now it was turning the colors of various types of squash. “Ms. Townsend—”

“Call me Myra. But you know, of course, that TLN assumes no liability for your misjudgments about scenarios. That’s covered in your contract. And you weren’t even on our premises.”

“I don’t want you to have any liability. I’m just sorry I’m so late for work. It won’t happen again, I promise you.”

The corner of Myra’s mouth quirked. A phantom zapped into Amy’s mind:
Myra looming huge over tiny circus figures at her feet, clowns and acrobats and a miniature lion tamer with roach-sized lions
. Myra said, “I’m sure you won’t be late again. Look, I’m going to have a car take you home for the rest of today. Your pay won’t be docked. Just put ice on that jaw and report to work tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Amy said. Gratitude flooded her. She’d screwed up, but she was going to get a second chance. Myra’s eyes radiated compassionate understanding.

The phantom in her mind vanished, leaving behind an odd, nostril-tickling smell of sawdust.

Nine

BECAUSE OF THE SWOLLEN
jaw, she had to tell Gran the truth about her job. She hadn’t lied before, but saying that as a contestant she “solved logic problems” left out a whole lot. Nothing about premises, syllogisms, or the null set usually produced a punch in the jaw.

Sitting on Gran’s bed with an ice pack against her face, Amy explained
Who Knows People, Baby—You?
, cheesy title and all. Gran said nothing, her sunken eyes on Amy. When Amy finished, Gran was silent for a long moment and then said, “How edgy?”

Amy smiled. It hurt her mouth. “Not edgy enough to be dangerous. That was just me.”

“Amy, do you want to do this TV show?”

She thought of Rafe Torres saying
“I’m here for the money
.
”
She tried to answer Gran frankly. “I don’t know yet. The whole thing could be interesting. At first I just went for the salary and benefits, but now . . . I don’t know.”

“You want to win. Under that sweetness is a deep competitive streak.”

“I don’t think there are winners or losers among the participants, only the viewers who vote.”

“It’s television,” Gran said flatly. “Eventually there will be winners and losers.”

Amy shrugged.

“And when does the first show air?”

“This Saturday, believe it or not.” Amy had only just learned this astonishing fact. How could TLN get a show ready that fast? On the other hand, what did Amy know about television production?

Gran said, “That soon? You’ll need to tell Kayla about the show before Saturday. And I guess we need to get a TV, don’t we?”

Amy had already considered this. Carefully she had divided up the salary she hadn’t earned yet: so much for food, so much to get the TV out of hock, so much for cabs to and from Friday night’s All-City, so much to be saved in case the whole gig disappeared overnight.

She spent the rest of the day cooking, cleaning, caring for Gran, and playing two quick games of chess with Paul, both of which she lost. The second Paul saw her swollen jaw he opened his mouth to ask. Amy snapped, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“OK.”

“Not ever.”

“Fine.”

“Anyway, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Good. King’s pawn to e4.”

Sometimes nerds were really restful.

W
EDNESDAY

The next scenario happened Wednesday afternoon.

Amy had spent the morning doing exactly what Myra had said: playing and reviewing a computer game. Even she, no gamer, could do this one, since it was designed to teach four-year-olds to read. Amy used a joystick to move the cat onto the mat, the dog out of the fog, the ball into the hall, and herself into terminal boredom. She counted the minutes until the free lunch that Alex had promised in the company cafeteria but instead was brought a box lunch at her cubicle in the sub-basement. “Just for today,” the gofer said airily.

Were the six others doing this, too? Eating a dry sandwich in a cubicle and testing childish games? Somehow Amy couldn’t see Waverly spending hours noticing problems with this bug-ridden draft of
I Can Read!
(there was no hall to move the ball into). Nor Rafe nor Violet. But maybe they got more advanced games. Someone should give Waverly a game based on fashion. Oh, if only Amy could afford those kinds of clothes. . . .

“Amy Kent has not made a keystroke in two minutes,” the computer announced, and Amy hastily moved the bee into the tree.

At one o’clock the game disappeared and the computer said, “Amy, please report to loading bay number six.” A map appeared on her screen.

Thank heavens!

One by one the seven show participants appeared in the loading bay. Myra, looking chic in a gray skirt and fitted Zac Posen jacket that Amy would have given a pinkie finger for, said, “No talking, please. Not just now.”

Waverly rolled her eyes. Violet looked amused. When Cai arrived, Amy spent a lot of energy not looking at him, which amused Violet even more. Myra herded them all onto a bus, which deposited them in an alley with a small door. Myra unlocked it and ushered them inside. From the street signs, they were somewhere off Second Avenue, but nothing in the very long corridor that Myra led them through gave her any real clues. Another set of steps, steep and dim; now they were underground. Another long corridor, one more set of steps, and they ended up in a bare, windowless room with thick soundproofing on the walls and seven plastic lawn chairs.

Amy could feel her heart thud. Whatever came next, she had to do well at it, because she certainly hadn’t distinguished herself so far.

Myra said, “This scenario you will each do separately. Amy, you’re first. Go back through the door we just entered and Alex will escort you. The rest of you, no talking, please.”

Violet said, “And I thought I was through with school detention.”

Myra said, “
Violet
—”

Violet shrugged and grinned at Amy. But Amy saw the skin pulsing at Violet’s temple; she was just as nervous as the rest.

“Amy, go,” Myra said.

Alex Everett appeared at the door. He said nothing to Amy as he led her to yet another small door. Now she could hear the muffled noise of people talking loudly. Alex turned to her. “I’m going to open that door, and you’re going through it. Whatever happens, you have to last ten minutes. Or else that’s it for you on this show.”

“Last ten minutes at what?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he put his ear to the door, listened for a long, agonizing two minutes, then jerked the door open.

“‘Now, by my maidenhead,’” a woman’s voice said, “‘at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!’”

Alex pushed her through the door and said, “Go.”

An old woman bustled across the stage to meet her. The
stage
. Amy was on a stage.

It was everyone’s nightmare: being suddenly thrust into a play, the whole matinee audience watching her—she could see them clearly, filling the small theater. Amy had actually been in this theater once, pre-Collapse, when Gran had taken her to see a production of
Death of a Salesman
. Now the audience watched
her
and waited for her next line, and she had absolutely no idea what it was. She could feel the blood rush to her face, turning her crimson with panic and embarrassment. Sweat slimed her forehead.

“‘What, Juliet!’” the old woman said again, more loudly. A few titters arose from the audience.

Juliet. This was a modern-clothes production of
Romeo and Juliet
. This woman was the nurse, and the woman standing across the stage was—who? Amy had read the play in short-form high school, but she remembered only the story and not any lines. Wait—“To be or not to be?” No, that was
Hamlet
. Oh,
shit
—

You must last ten minutes
, Alex had said. Or lose her job.

The nurse’s mouth opened to say “What, Juliet!” a third time. Before the words came out, Amy said, “‘Here I am, nurse!’”

More titters from the audience. They were laughing at her. Were they in on this planned humiliation? They must be, or how else could they accept a Juliet played by four different girls: Amy, Violet, Waverly, Lynn.

The woman across the stage said, “‘I called, your mother.’”

“I am here!” Amy said.

Laughter from the audience. Amy blinked back tears.

Lady Capulet said, “‘This is the matter:—Nurse, give leave awhile, we must talk in secret:—nurse, come back again; I have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel. Thou know’st my daughter’s of a pretty age.’”

The nurse said, “‘Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour,’” and Lady Capulet answered that Juliet was not yet fourteen. Then the nurse gave a long speech, which Amy desperately tried to follow. The Shakespearean language was difficult, but apparently it was about Juliet’s childhood. Finally the mother told the nurse to “‘hold thy peace,’” which she didn’t. Another long nurse speech.

Keep talking, nurse! The longer she did, the less Amy had to say.

But eventually the nurse turned to Amy. “‘Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nursed. An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.’”

“‘Marry,’” Lady Capulet said, “‘that marry is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, how stands your disposition to be married?’”

Married. That’s right—they wanted her to marry somebody who wasn’t Romeo (who?) and Juliet didn’t want to. Amy tried to look rebellious and said, “I have no disposition to be married.”

More laughter, but not as much. The line wasn’t right but evidently the idea was. How many minutes left?

Another long exchange between the mother and the nurse. Amy tried to decode the flowery language. Paris wanted to marry Juliet. The nurse thought that Paris was hot. Finally Lady Capulet put a hand on Juliet’s shoulder and said, “‘Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?’”

Did she? No, not really, or Shakespeare wouldn’t have had a play. But had Juliet met Romeo yet? Where in the play was this scene? Better play it safe.

Amy said, “I know not. I hardly know valiant Paris.”

More laughter. Amy pressed her lips tightly together. She was growing to hate that sound. A young man entered stage right. Was this Paris? He didn’t look all that hot. But no, he knelt before Lady Capulet and said that the guests had come and dinner was served. Lady Capulet said, “‘We follow thee,’” and left the stage, tossing over her shoulder, “‘Juliet, the county stays.’”

What did that mean? Was Juliet supposed to stay onstage or follow her mother? Then Amy remembered dimly that “the county” referred to Paris, as if he were several square miles instead of a single man. Lady Capulet must mean that she should stay and wait for him.

The nurse said something Amy didn’t catch, and they both left the stage. Amy sat down in the chair that Lady Capulet had vacated and waited, facing the audience.

Nothing happened.

She smiled at the audience.

They laughed.

Juliet must have to do something here. But what? Well, she was waiting for Paris; maybe she primped. Amy took a comb from her pocket and combed her hair. The audience roared. She put the comb away. Where the hell was Paris? Was one of the boys supposed to play this part, Cai or Rafe or Tommy? Had they refused?

She was trapped on a stage with nothing to say.

The audience howled.

Damn them
. Didn’t they have any compassion for her? Did they know what was happening? Weren’t the ten minutes up?

She rose from the chair and looked toward the wings. Lady Capulet and the nurse stood there, Lady Capulet with her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter quiet, the older nurse with folded arms and a face creased with pity. Amy started toward them but the nurse shook her head, pointed to her watch, and held up three fingers. Three more minutes onstage.

Damn them all. She would tough it out. Amy turned to the audience.

“Here I stand, with Paris nowhere near

And my heart sore with waiting. He

Is not my own true love, but nonetheless

My mother wishes me to marry. What

Can I do? I am but a woman

And these times are hard—”

In her mind she heard the chanting demonstrators:
Times be tough, man
.

“So I must do as I am bid. Or maybe

Not. After all, I am neither a borrower nor a lender,

And even a young girl can have

A mind of her own. I am a Capulet. I am Juliet.

Time and tide wait for no man.

We Capulets can make our own destiny. I will

Not trust in the stars, but compel them. And may

it all

turn out well that ends well.”

Did any of that at all make sense? The laughter still continued, but now Amy also heard scattered applause. She sank into a curtsy, wishing that instead she could kick every laughing hyena out there in the audience right in the balls. Even the women.

“Laugh at me, yea,” she cried, raising her eyes to the heavens, “but he who laughs last laughs best!”

The curtain came down.

Amy rushed into the wings. The actress playing Lady Capulet was laughing so hard she sagged against the wall. “Let me see, I counted
Julius Caesar
in that little speech, and
All’s Well That Ends Well
, and
Hamlet. . . .
You’re certainly an unoriginal original, Amy!”

Amy ignored her. She ran up to Alex and said, “How
could
you . . . made a fool of myself . . .”

“Actually,” he said coolly, “you didn’t do too badly. It’ll make good television.”

“You bastards!”

“You can always quit. For now, come with me. I have to get you in a cab before I fetch Violet for the party scene.”

Amy said fiercely, “Haven’t
you
ever had the nightmare where you’re forced onstage in something and don’t know your lines?”