Part 36 (2/2)
Forever's not in the cards.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
You win. I lose.
Left to cry the blues.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p Retreat's your fallback plan.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p It's all a big ol' scam.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p Imitations welcomed here.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p You can't dry a bogus tear.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
By the time the song neared its conclusion, Keelie stood in the center aisle, alone in the spotlight, staring at Jax. Jax stared back, a pulse beat clearly visible in his neck.
The song ended, joined voices trailing off into silence. The audience, picking up on the significance of the moment, sat hushed and quiet.
And suddenly it was as if the spell was broken.
”I hate you, Jax Whitver. Hate you! Hate you! Hate you!” she screamed. She let the microphone drop and turned and ran toward the doors at the rear of the auditorium.
”Keelie! Wait!”
Jax was just about to leap off the stage and race after her when several uniformed officers, including Patrick Dawkins, converged on the stage.
”Hold that man!” Vinny Vincent, waiting in the wings as they say, pointed a finger at Jax. ”Serve him, officers!”
I blinked. Serve him? Serve him what?
A beefy Knox County sheriff's deputy I knew from...an, er, ”joint investigation,” ambled across the stage and handed Jax an envelope.
”Jax Whitver. You've been served. The No Contact Order contained therein states, in part, that you are restricted from having contact with one Keelie Keller. You may not have contact with her via phone, cellular phone, text messaging, email, or any online Internet or web sites. If you violate the terms of this Order, you may be held in contempt of court and be sentenced to jail time, a.s.sessed fines, as well as court costs. Are you willing to sign the receipt of service?”
Jax took the pen and signed, looking like he wasn't quite sure what had just happened.
I know the feeling. Well.
The audience sat in stunned silence as Jax walked off the stage. He stopped in front of Vinny.
”This isn't over, Vinny. Not by a long shot.”
”Give it up, Whitver. You sound like a broken record. One that wasn't so hot when it was new.”
”This way, Mr. Whitver.” A deputy took Jax's elbow, but he jerked it away.
”Get off me! I'm not under arrest, am I?”
The deputy shook his head.
”Good. Stay the h.e.l.l away from me, or I'll be pursuing hara.s.sment charges of my own.” Jax stalked out a side door. Two deputies followed at a not-so-discreet distance.
Director Harcourt took the stage again and announced the next hometown act, but for all intents and purposes, the show was over. Audience members who moments before had been hooting and hollering, became quiet and subdued. I headed back to my date.
”How come you got yanked up on stage?” Gram asked. ”You can't carry a tune. Every time you sing, Bert and Ernie raise a ruckus to beat the band.”
”You mean Butch and Sundance,” I said. ”And my guess? Jax Whitver was trying to make a point.”
”What point?”
”I'm not quite sure. But I know that performance was all for Keelie.”
”I don't know,” Joe said. ”From here, it looked like he was singing to you.”
I caught the sudden grim set of Townsend's jaw.
”He's a performer,” I said. ”And an actor.”
”Not a very good one,” Joe said. ”Did you catch him in that end-of-the-world flick cameo? Talk about your cardboard performances.”
”Thanks for your incisive a.n.a.lysis, Mr. Film Critic,” I snapped. ”Can we go home now? I have to blog-” I put a hand to my mouth. ”My blog! The performance! My...a.s.s!”
Townsend shook his head.
”Don't worry. I've got the video right here,” he said, holding up his cell phone. ”Well, as much of it as I could film around Keelie Keller's b.r.e.a.s.t.s.”
b.r.e.a.s.t.s?
I looked at Townsend. ”You've got video?”
He nodded. ”Yes, ma'am.”
”From start to finish?”
”Pretty much.”
”Are you...can I-?”
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