Palm Sunday, March 28, 2:27 p.m. Passion Ministry
Hundreds of thrilled Passionates and wannabes, many in wheelchairs or walking with crutches, had walked, rolled or limped into the Ministry’s auditorium.
At the last minute, Brendan had found a technician to take Virginia’s place, but appeased her with a backstage pass. Frustrated to be without her recording tools, Virginia pushed hastily through the crowd. But before she ducked behind the curtains, she wanted to experience the groupies.
Early in her career, Virginia realized people enjoyed talking to her. So, she pretended to care. Stories were everywhere. In the faded eyes of the elderly woman beside her. In the pinched cheeks of the little disabled girl. Even in the cool, expectant darkness muffling the empty stage.
The lights blossomed, bringing the concert hall to life. Within seconds, the Palm Sunday Spectacle flickered onto television and computer screens around the world.
Colored laser lights knifed across the front rows, staining the eager faces of the audience. A spotlight clicked. Another dazzling beam. A screaming country music riff tore across the stage as a shaggy-haired young man burst into view. Several tweenie girls shrieked at Palomino. Passion Sound’s youngest artist strutted to the microphone, guitar strings dancing.
The strobes blasted the stage with white light to reveal John’s band members, standing in a tight knot around the drummer. Fingers rippling, they accompanied the young star.
From her position hidden behind the main curtains, Virginia glanced across the stage. Spotted Brendan. She could feel him soaking in the power.
He turned. Grinned.
She blew him a kiss, knowing how hard he’d toiled to strengthen Palomino’s cowpunk sound. It was working. Adored by the younger attendees, Palomino’s latest hurtin’ tunes were being downloaded by the thousands.
The young heartthrob stalked the stage with jumpy energy, all the while ripping off mean guitar licks. The crowd leaped to their feet and applauded.
From her location near the front, Rachel quivered with anticipation. In her youth, she had crashed a number of rock concerts but had almost forgotten the helium-like rush of the swelling music and pounding feet.
Only thing missing was a flask of whiskey. She glanced sideways at Harry, then gawked.
Sitting still and staring beyond the stage, he was untouched by the tumult. Focused on something else.
On a catwalk high above the stage, Oscar surveyed the crowd through binoculars. He whispered into his walkie-talkie. Watched as his men shifted position.
Securing the perimeter and denying weapons access were key components to successful protection. Both had been accomplished with thoroughness and efficiency. So far, so good. He continued his scanning.
When Virginia came into view, his gaze lingered.
In row five, Sheila was alone, babysitting the bigwigs. Where was Phil? He rarely let these ‘money bags’ out of his sight, so his absence was unusual. She glanced at the guests.
Fortunately, they were spellbound by the performance.
Palomino snapped off a salute. Bowed. Trotted into the wings.
The curtain fell.
