Ariana hadn’t felt this nervous over a show since their first gig. They all had ample reason to be nervous here in Goldenrod, the last place they should have been. It was far too late to back out now. The show had to go on.
The bright stage lights prevented Ariana from noticing anyone in the crowd during the first song, but as her eyes adjusted her worries about coming here were realized. Sure enough, there was the Goldenrod Police in the back of the bar, and was that the chief and a detective sitting at one of the tables? Not surprising, considering how Team Rocket made the police force look like a bunch of incompetent fools during Rocket’s first and final raid on the city.
Those who are fools were likely to be fooled again, Ariana told herself. She held onto that thought to keep herself going. She was going to have to play games with the police once more and take on the role of a knavish woman if she wanted to keep a mental upper hand.
During a particular song Ariana stepped down from the stage to walk between the tables of the audience. She passed by Petrel then, and merely glanced at him with no other acknowledgement so she wouldn’t draw any attention to him. So he made it here after all? That was nice to know.
She paid particular attention to the police chief and detective, fully acknowledging that she knew they were here as much as they knew she was. Ariana also knew they couldn’t do anything in the middle of the performance. So she teased them, “Who Framed Rodger Bunnelby” style like the scene with Jessica and the detective who was watching her. The crowd ate it up of course, wolf-whistling and encouraging this brazen display, though not fully understanding the mocking intentions of the action. Afterward, Ariana returned to the stage with a swagger in her movements that kept her going throughout the rest of their set.
When it was time for the Golden Signals to wrap up, Ariana needed to give the other band members their own opportunity to get away. She knew the police were after her, but she wasn’t sure about the other ex-Rockets with her. After the curtains closed Ariana came out once more with one guitar player for an encore acoustic performance. This gave the rest of the band time to pack up and quietly disperse. They knew what to do. Ariana had to trust that her boys could get away safely, but she was starting to doubt if she could do the same.
Petrel couldn’t help but crack a smile at Ariana’s display in the middle of their set. She was brilliant at what she did, even after all these years. The crowd was on her side now, and the cops looked foolish. They stood there with their red faces and their averted gazes, scratching their noses or the backs of their heads uncomfortably. Too good.
At this point Petrel had determined that it was not him they were after. He’d spent so much time in Goldenrod that he figured the cops had probably decided to leave him alone at this point. After all, he hadn’t done anything really bad in years. And Ariana had made no attempt to make contact with him. Maybe she had this all under control. Maybe she didn’t want his help? Fine with him. He took a load off in that chair of his, propping his feet up on the small table next to him until a waitress came over and kindly asked him to keep his feet off the table.
The curtains closed after the last song, and Petrel could sense all of the suits behind him begin to move. Instinctively, he cupped his hands against his mouth and called out, “Encore!” If the whole crowd joined in, they could make their escape while they were chanting it. The cops wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.
But Ariana had different plans, it seemed. The curtains came up, and there she was with the guitar player. Just the guitar player. She was going to take the hit for them! Just like that! Although he’d never been given a reason not to, Petrel couldn’t believe his eyes.
An arrest wouldn’t be made out here in the theater. It would be bad for business, and there was a chance the audience would get upset about it. Still, Petrel had to do something. He took his invitation out of his pocket along with his trusty make-up bag. In the dark of the theater, he adeptly covered his lips with a thin layer of the reddest lipstick he had and then planted a big one right on the back of the invitation. Then he rose, wiping the rest off his face with a make-up wipe, and headed towards the green room. There was a woman standing in front of the door to backstage.
“Ariana will come straight here after the performance, right?”
The woman blinked. “Yes, but I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “We do not allow customers backstage.”
“I’m Ariana’s boyfriend,” Petrel insisted, and handed her the card.
The woman took it and looked it over, puzzled. Petrel noticed that she didn’t speak again until she turned it over and saw the lipstick stain. “What’s your name?”
“Petrel.” It was a name he had not used out loud in a long time. “Ask any of the guys in there.” He hoped the backing band was still packing their stuff up. The woman nodded and went into the green room. From inside, he heard a couple voices he recognized.
“Petrel?! Bring him in!” The woman appeared again a moment later and let him in. Petrel went inside and saw the group of musicians. They had just finished up packing, and one of them had left already. Not leaving together was a wise choice. One of them opened his mouth to say something, but Petrel cut him off.
“I’m here to help Ariana. And, uh, the other guy.” Smooth. “Just get yourselves out.”
They seemed to understand, and while they all quietly and slowly left Petrel took the time to acquaint himself with his surroundings: the windows, the ceiling, the potential hiding places. He continued to do this, hoping to have a plan by the time Ariana showed up.