“Starlight! Starlight! Starlight!”
She smiled into the darkened half-moon-shaped arena. Starlight held her arms wide to the thousands, receiving their adoration.
It had been this way from the beginning, when more than an hour before she had walked onstage. The audience had been told to be silent as she glided onto the platform in her white silk wide-legged jumpsuit trimmed in gold. She’d stood in the middle of the stage, pressed her hands together, bowed, and said, “May the light forever be with you and yours.”
The ten thousand were supposed to return her greeting in the same manner, but instead, a deafening roar filled the arena.
Since then, it had been difficult for Starlight to speak through the continous screams and ceaseless stomping. She loved this passion.
“What we’re going to do today is celebrate life,” she said at the beginning. “Celebrate that you are part of the universe.”
When she held her hands to the stage’s ceiling, the crowd followed.
“Celebrate!” she shrieked into the microphones. “You are a star, and I am your light.”
The applause roared like thunder.
“This is about energy that you need to grasp now, take into the world, and be the god that you were designed to be. Stand and receive your measure.”
Howls mixed with their applause.
“Dance! Dance to celebrate life!”
The multitudes began to jump, twist, and turn.
Since that point, Starlight had been able to speak only a few sentences at a time.
“I am here today to teach you what has taken me to the highest level that the One meant for all of us to achieve. You too can have millions in the bank. You can live anywhere you want. You can drive any luxury car you desire. First, you must recognize that you are god. Recognize your supremeness.”
The cheering that followed kept Starlight silent for almost ten minutes.
“The key is to believe in yourself. Believe that you can accomplish every dream because you are a god. The Higher Being gave you the capacity to become greater than the creator. Yes, yes, yes!” She clapped her hands.
The crowd followed.
“For all the promises of God … are yea,” she said quoting part of 2 Corinthians 1:20. It had been Lexington’s idea to include scripture. “God says yes to your being great. God says yes to your having all that you desire. Yes, yes, yes,” she yelled, working the crowd into a greater frenzy.
She smiled. One more scripture for good measure. She looked at her notes—the cheat sheet that Lexington had created with Bible verses that might fit her message.
“The Higher Being says, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive and ye shall have.”
It worked. The roar was louder than before.
“You can have whatever you desire. If you believe, you will receive!”
Through the cheers, Starlight glanced at her watch. This was supposed to be five hours, but after ninety minutes, the crowd’s cries told her it wouldn’t last that long.
“Believe and achieve!” Starlight yelled because she was too exhausted to say more. The fever that she raised with that exclamation would give her time to rest and enjoy these moments.
The crowd’s roar created a rumbling that made the entire arena tremble. Starlight closed her eyes. This was where she belonged, in the center of the light. This was why she did this: to bask in the affection. And it didn’t hurt that in the end, Lexington said they would clear a million dollars.
The screams were much louder. It was wonderful to be in the midst. The arena quaked. She was adored.
“Starlight!” She squeezed her eyes tighter. They were worshipping her.
It was the tug at her hand that made her open her eyes. She blinked, then squinted when a wave of dust and debris accosted her.
The dark powder, inches thick, billowed in front of her, filling the air with a dense mixture of concrete chunks and ash. She snapped her eyes shut as Lexington dragged her backstage.
“We have to get out of here,” Lexington screamed above the others.
“What’s going on?” She coughed into her hand, trying to clear her lungs.
“The building—it’s falling,” he cried, pulling Starlight through the screaming bodies that packed the staircase.
Starlight’s heart pounded as she bumped through the crowd, tripping as Lexington dragged her faster than she could move.
It had taken minutes to get from the limousine into her waiting room when they arrived. But now as Lexington crushed past others running toward safety, the minutes were much longer.
When the day’s light finally greeted them, Starlight jerked her hand away from Lexington, bent over and coughed, releasing the grit that was floating inside her chest. But Lexington gave her only seconds. He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the maze of screamers.
Moments later, Lexington shoved Starlight into the car. “Go,” he yelled to her driver.
She coughed, trying to clear the dust from her lungs and the thick ash from her tongue. “What happened?” she asked hoping that what he’d said before was not true.
Lexington’s breathing was labored as he looked through the back window. “Part of the building collapsed.”
“Oh, my God.” She didn’t dare follow Lexington’s gaze. His wide eyes told her all she needed.
“Maybe we should go back,” she said, through the fear that rose from her toes and filled her completely.
He shook his head.
“But suppose someone is hurt?”
He looked at her for only a second, before he turned his eyes and his body away. “I’ll make some calls.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
Starlight closed her eyes and listened to the succinct communication. She heard only words that defined disaster: collapsed, injured, ambulances. It was when he said police that she opened her eyes and stared at the back of his head.
Her mind couldn’t comprehend this. She remembered that she was speaking and that people were screaming. She told them to dance—they were dancing in their seats. She told them to believe and achieve—they chanted. After that, only confusion.
Lexington hung up the phone. “It doesn’t look good.”
“Tell me.” When he didn’t answer, she peered in his eyes. “Lexington?”
He shook his head. “The balcony collapsed, Starlight.” He grimaced. “Too. Many. People.”
She tried to clear the thick knot expanding in her throat. “You don’t know that for sure.”
His thoughts came through his eyes. Then he turned toward the window.
“Where are we going now?” she croaked.
“My place.” He remained turned away. “Don’t want to be tracked down at the penthouse.”
She nodded, even though he wouldn’t look at her. He believed they needed to hide, but what were they running from? She trembled at the answers that whirled through her mind.
“Too many people.” His words replayed in her head.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she wished that she could pray.
Starlight paced the narrow space that formed the living room and dining room as Lexington held his cell to one ear and his land phone to the other. His words, quick and short, made her shudder.
She stopped in front of the balcony, a square concrete box that overlooked one of the ponds scattered throughout the apartment complex. These ponds, with water cascading over the rocks, were the only reason she enjoyed Lexington’s apartment. She melted to the sound of tranquility in the middle of Culver City.
But today the pond’s waters were still. Just like the leaves on the trees. Not even the air moved.
“Okay, keep me posted,” she heard Lexington say. He clicked off his cell phone. “I’ll get back to you,” he said into the other phone.
He sank into one of the plastic-covered chairs that surrounded the octagon-shaped dinette table.
Starlight took slow steps to him and waited until he raised his head.
“It’s bad.” The fire that Lexington carried in his eyes was gone, extinguished by the words he’d just heard. He dropped his head again in defeat.
Starlight sat next to him. “Tell me everything.” She tried to sound strong, but she managed only a whisper.
When he looked up, the tears that clouded his eyes made Starlight change her mind. She didn’t want to hear what he’d heard.
Lexington’s lips quivered. “People may be dead.”
She shook her head.
“The balcony collapsed. No one knows if everyone got out.”
She stood and rubbed her hands along her arms, trying to warm against the chill that streaked through her. She began to pace.
“Starlight.” She could feel Lexington behind her. “It was the balcony. Where we added the chairs. Where we put the extra people.”
His words poured guilt into her soul. She covered her ears, unwilling to hear more.
“We put too many people in there,” he yelled, breaking through her barrier. “Twenty-five hundred more than capacity.”
She whipped around, almost striking him, he stood so close. “Why are you telling me this?” she hissed.
He leaned away. “You asked.” He reminded her as if it pleased him.
Her chin fell to her chest.
“It won’t take long for the investigators to realize what happened.”
She raised her head, stared at him, then grabbed her cape from the couch and stomped toward the door.
“Starlight, we have to talk about this.”
She opened the door and rushed into the hallway, but his words followed her. “The police will be coming.”
She pressed the button for the elevator.
“I’m not going to take the fall alone.”
She turned toward the Exit sign.
“I will tell them what I know.”
She stopped her steps but didn’t look back. A moment later, she ran down the stairs.
Outside, her eyes wandered up and then down Green Valley Circle, finally spotting her driver. She was standing in the middle of the street when the limousine slowed in front of her.
“Take me home,” she said. She closed her eyes as the car rolled toward the freeway. But her mind wouldn’t close to Lexington’s words: “I’m not taking this fall alone. I will tell them what I know.”
She shivered, his threatening tone settling in her mind. Surely she couldn’t be held responsible.
It wasn’t my fault.
The arena was over twenty years old. It must have been an earthquake or something else that made the building fall.
It wasn’t my fault.
“Dance! Believe and achieve. Dance!”
Her own words taunted her—the last ones she remembered before the gigantic plume of dust ensconced her.
It wasn’t my fault.
The more she silently recited the mantra, the more she thought about Lexington and the fear in his eyes and the threat in his voice.
A husband cannot testify against his wife.
Her eyes snapped open at that thought. Where did that come from? But as she closed her eyes again and settled back into the seat, she began to wonder if Lexington had been right. Maybe they should have been married.