THE RED WAKE

Chapters10-11-Interlude-Chapter 12

     “I know what you mean to say, my friend,” he said. “I know you very well.”

     Horgan jumped stiffly down from the stage, his knees cracking as he landed. In two strides, he was suddenly very close to Alan, staring at him so intently that their noses nearly touched. In that moment Alan sensed Horgan’s anger, and a seething desperation, which seemed to shimmer in the older man’s bruised countenance, and suddenly, without knowing why, he was afraid. His fear made him angry, and Alan felt a powerful urge to wrap his hands around Horgan’s throat.

     As if sensing Alan’s thoughts, the older man’s eyes widened.  Horgan’s glare filled with menace as he began to snap his fingers repeatedly near Alan's temples. 

     “I know your type, my man,” Horgan said. “And I’ll be watching you. I… will be… watching… you.” 

     Snapping his fingers to a tune that only he could hear, Horgan turned and walked away. As he withdrew, Alan felt the seething connection sever. His sudden anger seemed to recede as Horgan left the auditorium.

     “What the hell just happened here?” 

     It was the production manager, Purnell Ragdhi. 

As the tall Pakistani approached, stress bent his handsome brown features into a frown. Alan scrubbed at his face with both hands and smiled, attempting to allay Purnell's concern.

      Move on. Keep going forward. 

     "Creative differences," Alan said. "What's up?"

    And Purnell, who’d worked with Alan since his revival of Say Goodnight Gracie at the Public five years earlier, knew enough to take the hint. 

     “You want the good news or the bad news?” he sighed, switching subjects.   

     Alan turned and looked up into Purnell’s brown eyes, some six inches above his own.       

     “The bad news first, please.” 

     The tension in the theater was as thick as molasses after Horgan’s outburst. Purnell grimaced, before turning to address the assembled crew and cast. 

     “Everyone, may I have your attention please?”

     All around them, people stopped. In their bruised gazes, Alan read the free-floating anxiety that disaster survivors share when told to “brace yourself.”

     “The good news is that we will have an audience tonight. In the face of societal collapse, never underestimate the power of denial.” 

     The company applauded and catcalled. 

     Despite himself, Alan smiled. A lump rose in the back of his throat. They were all struggling to get through the madness outside in the best way they could. For these people, like so many others in New York, work was a welcome distraction. 

     And so they would play before an audience of brave souls tonight. Quietly, Alan applauded every one of them. Purnell spoke up again. 

     “The bad news is that only thirty people have called to confirm reservations.”

     More cheers. 

     Purnell frowned like the only kid who didn’t get the joke, while everyone around him howled.  

     The show would go on as planned.  

                                 *****