Read Online Shadow Show: All-New Stories in Celebration of Ray Bradbury by Sam Weller, Mort Castle (Ed) - Free Book Online
Authors: Sam Weller, Mort Castle (Ed)
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ended on Friday evening. Usually, he would have spent the weekend with friends in Los Angeles, but he loved opera, and he had tickets for the next night when Santa Fe’s opera company was premiering Poulenc’s Dialogues of the Carmelites , a work Frank had never seen. The tickets included a pre-performance dinner, along with a lecture about the composer.
“You just arrived in L.A., and now you want to fly back?” his wife, Debby, asked when he phoned. “If there’s an Ultimate Commuter award, I’ll nominate you for it.”
“I’ve really been looking forward to this,” Frank answered. Using his cell phone, he sat in his rented car outside the newest Beverly Hills restaurant, where the final meeting had ended. “Do you remember how many times I called the box office and kept getting a busy signal? The person I spoke to said I got the last two tickets.”
“The dinner’s supposed to be in a tent behind the opera house, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, the tent might not be standing. Yesterday the monsoons started.”
Debby referred to a July weather pattern in which moist air from the Pacific streamed into New Mexico, creating rains that were often violent.
“The storm was really bad,” Debby continued. “In fact, there’s another one coming. I shouldn’t be on the phone. It isn’t safe with the lightning this close.”
“I bet tomorrow will be bright and sunny.”
“It’s not supposed to be, according to the weather guy on channel seven. How were your meetings?”
“The director wants me to change the villains from presidential advisors to advertising executives. The star wants me to include a part for his new girlfriend. This opera will be my reward for listening to them.”
“You’re that determined? Be prepared to get wet.” The prolonged boom of thunder echoed behind Debby’s voice. “I’d better hang up. Love you.”
“Love you,” Frank said.
F rank’s plane was scheduled to leave Los Angeles at ten in the morning, but it didn’t take off until two.
“Bad weather in New Mexico,” the American Airlines attendant explained.
The jet came down through dark, churning clouds for a bumpy landing in Santa Fe shortly after five. The overcast sky made the afternoon dark.
“It’s been raining all day,” an airline employee told Frank. “This is the first break we’ve had.”
But a new storm beaded Frank’s windshield as soon as he got into his car. Poor visibility slowed traffic so that what was normally a fifteen-minute drive home took three times that long. Frank pulled into his garage at six. The dinner at the opera was supposed to start at seven.
He’d made various cell-phone reports to his wife. Even so, Debby looked relieved, as if she hadn’t seen him for weeks, when he walked in. To her credit, she was dressed, ready for the evening. “If you’re game, I am. But I think we’re both nuts.”
“I’m afraid I’m more nuts than you.”
“The umbrella’s in here.” Debby pointed to a knapsack they always took to the opera. The theater’s sides were open—people who dressed for daytime summer temperatures could feel frozen as the mountain air dropped from ninety to fifty degrees at night. “I’ve also got a blanket, a thermos of hot chocolate, and our raincoats. This had better be a good opera.”
“Look.” Frank smiled out the kitchen window, pointing toward sunlight peeking through the clouds. “The rain stopped. Everything’s going to work out.”
T he theater was eight miles north of town. As Frank headed up Route 285, traffic was fast and crazy as usual, drivers changing lanes regardless of how slick the pavement was.
Debby pointed toward a police car, an ambulance, and two wrecked cars at the side of the road. “They’re putting somebody into the ambulance. My God. Somebody must have died. They covered the body.”
Traffic threw up a gritty spray that speckled Frank’s windshield. Troubled by the accident, he turned on the windshield
“You just arrived in L.A., and now you want to fly back?” his wife, Debby, asked when he phoned. “If there’s an Ultimate Commuter award, I’ll nominate you for it.”
“I’ve really been looking forward to this,” Frank answered. Using his cell phone, he sat in his rented car outside the newest Beverly Hills restaurant, where the final meeting had ended. “Do you remember how many times I called the box office and kept getting a busy signal? The person I spoke to said I got the last two tickets.”
“The dinner’s supposed to be in a tent behind the opera house, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, the tent might not be standing. Yesterday the monsoons started.”
Debby referred to a July weather pattern in which moist air from the Pacific streamed into New Mexico, creating rains that were often violent.
“The storm was really bad,” Debby continued. “In fact, there’s another one coming. I shouldn’t be on the phone. It isn’t safe with the lightning this close.”
“I bet tomorrow will be bright and sunny.”
“It’s not supposed to be, according to the weather guy on channel seven. How were your meetings?”
“The director wants me to change the villains from presidential advisors to advertising executives. The star wants me to include a part for his new girlfriend. This opera will be my reward for listening to them.”
“You’re that determined? Be prepared to get wet.” The prolonged boom of thunder echoed behind Debby’s voice. “I’d better hang up. Love you.”
“Love you,” Frank said.
F rank’s plane was scheduled to leave Los Angeles at ten in the morning, but it didn’t take off until two.
“Bad weather in New Mexico,” the American Airlines attendant explained.
The jet came down through dark, churning clouds for a bumpy landing in Santa Fe shortly after five. The overcast sky made the afternoon dark.
“It’s been raining all day,” an airline employee told Frank. “This is the first break we’ve had.”
But a new storm beaded Frank’s windshield as soon as he got into his car. Poor visibility slowed traffic so that what was normally a fifteen-minute drive home took three times that long. Frank pulled into his garage at six. The dinner at the opera was supposed to start at seven.
He’d made various cell-phone reports to his wife. Even so, Debby looked relieved, as if she hadn’t seen him for weeks, when he walked in. To her credit, she was dressed, ready for the evening. “If you’re game, I am. But I think we’re both nuts.”
“I’m afraid I’m more nuts than you.”
“The umbrella’s in here.” Debby pointed to a knapsack they always took to the opera. The theater’s sides were open—people who dressed for daytime summer temperatures could feel frozen as the mountain air dropped from ninety to fifty degrees at night. “I’ve also got a blanket, a thermos of hot chocolate, and our raincoats. This had better be a good opera.”
“Look.” Frank smiled out the kitchen window, pointing toward sunlight peeking through the clouds. “The rain stopped. Everything’s going to work out.”
T he theater was eight miles north of town. As Frank headed up Route 285, traffic was fast and crazy as usual, drivers changing lanes regardless of how slick the pavement was.
Debby pointed toward a police car, an ambulance, and two wrecked cars at the side of the road. “They’re putting somebody into the ambulance. My God. Somebody must have died. They covered the body.”
Traffic threw up a gritty spray that speckled Frank’s windshield. Troubled by the accident, he turned on the windshield
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