|
|
“LISTEN, DAVE,” I whispered during the break. “I hate to do this, but I really need to use the little boy’s room, if that’s okay.”
Letterman nodded. “Sure thing. You’ve got two minutes.”
“Thanks.”
I hopped out of the chair and one of the nearby stagehands started directing me to a restroom less than twenty feet away. As I was walking, I picked up Knell’s scent. The trail led down the stairs towards the green room Gail was hanging out in.
“Uh,” I said to the stagehand. “I’ve got a thing about public restrooms. Would it be okay if I went downstairs to the green room for a bit more privacy?”
Her scent and heartbeat informed me that she was nervous about that. She whispered into her headset mic. “Guest’s restroom break likely to extend past return to show.” I could hear the immediately acknowledgement and knew that someone was informing Letterman so that he could be properly prepped for it.
“Thanks,” I said, and rushed past her towards the green room.
Knell’s scent grew stronger as I hurried down the hallway directly toward where Gail had been staying.
I pushed the door open. His scent mingled with Gail’s – and from the tone of her scent I could tell she was under duress. There was no sign of either of them.
I stood in the room and tried to get a bearing on where they might be while simultaneously trying to keep my stomach from doing flip-flops.
On the overhead monitor, which was a live feed from the stage, I could hear Shaffer’s band wrapping up their jam session and Letterman beginning to address the studio and at-home audience.
“So this is interesting,” Letterman said. “In all my years on the show I only ever had one guest walk out on me. And that was Richard Simmons.” A clip from that show started playing.
I picked up the direction their scents led and followed out a back door into another hallway.
I could hear Letterman’s voice picking back up as the Simmons walk-off clip finished. “But it looks like tonight we’re going two for two, as Michael Andrews has also left the stage. Although, admittedly, he did it in a very Canadian fashion. With an apology that he had to use the restroom.”
I raced down the hallway and around another corner, towards a yellow door, their scents getting stronger as I opened the door and started up the stairs on the other side. From the top of the stairs I could again hear Letterman. He was now introducing Ryan Gosling, the actor who played Maxwell Bronte and whose latest release was due in theatres the following week.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I pushed through another door. There seemed to have been a struggle in the essence of their scents, and I sidestepped left, then back right as I tried to determine the direction they’d gone. I moved in an expanding circle, confused over the direction they had taken. The struggle had been a relatively long one. I wasn’t at all surprised that Gail would have, of course, put up a solid fight, werewolf or no werewolf.
Finally determining the direction, I concentrated on a much fresher scent, emanating from above and straight ahead.
I was so focused on the scent that I didn’t pay much heed to the bathing of bright lights that were on me.
I slowly stepped sideways, squinting against the light.
“Aha,” I muttered as I pinpointed a lump of shadows moving along a catwalk hidden above the tenth row of the audience.
“So,” Letterman quipped from behind and to the left of me, startling me out of my concentration. “I trust that you found the restroom all right.”
I turned becoming aware that I had wandered right back onto the stage.
“Uh, no, actually,” I muttered.
The audience laughed.
“That’s okay,” Letterman said. “I can understand how easy it might be for a Canadian to get lost in a big city. I mean, it took Paul more than a decade before he was able to get from the stage back down to the dressing room without an escort.”
The drummer in Paul’s band let off a quick rim shot to punctuate the joke.
I stood looking at Letterman and the boyishly handsome Gosling who was sitting in the chair immediately beside the host’s desk. I could hear the shuffling noise on the catwalk above the audience, and, though my eyes were on the host and the celebrity, my mind was focused elsewhere. I must have looked like a complete knob to everyone.
“So,” Letterman said. “May I ask you to please join us?”
There was nervous laughter from the audience.
“Uh,” I turned to look up at the catwalk again.
“Yes. Those are the lights, that’s the studio audience, here’s my desk, and that there,” he said, gesturing to the couch beside Gosling’s chair, “is your seat if you’d like to take it.”
The audience laughed once more. The drummer let off another rim shot.
I nodded and moved towards the chair. Gosling stood, said it was great to see me, and shook my hand before sitting again.
As I sat, Letterman brought me into the conversation. “So, I trust that you two met some time ago. Was it during the filming of the first Maxwell Bronte movie?”
“It was,” Gosling said. “And I’m glad for that, because, not sure if you’re aware, Dave, but I am Canadian as well. I was born in London, Ontario, and lived in various cities and towns before I moved to the U.S. So this is evidence that not all Canadians know one another. I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting Michael until one of the early production meetings for Print of the Predator.”
“So we have a Canadian actor playing the lead role in a book written by a fellow Canuck,” Letterman said. “Is this some sort of Canadian take-over conspiracy we should be worried about?”
“Ryan was, uh, the perfect actor to pull Bronte off,” I said, making sure to contribute to the conversation while still trying to keep my focus on the figures moving about on the catwalk. “He exudes both intelligence and handsomeness for just the right balance.”
“Not to mention that with Ryan playing this bookseller role,” Letterman said. “He might be single-handedly responsible for more women being interested in books than ever in the history of reading.” Letterman then indicated the in-studio screen on which a series of Gosling’s viral “Hey Girl” memes appeared.
While everyone was occupied looking at the monitors, I looked back up to the catwalk.
“You can see me, can’t you, Andrews?” Knell said in a low voice pitched just for me. “I’m right here. And as I’m sure you can tell, the little miss someone with me was more than a little terrified before I knocked her out.”
I gritted my teeth. Yes, I could tell she was unconscious from the sound of Gail’s breathing.
“And she, of course, has good reason to be frightened,” he continued. “Because she knows if you breathe a word about this, I’m going to kill her while you watch.”