28. Luke
28
LUKE
W ookie is tall and sinewy, a man of indefinite age with a perpetual tan and tattoos covering every millimeter of his skin. My mom would say that he swears like a sailor, but there is no one on this earth who shares Wookie’s fluid creativity with profanity.
He greets me at the Odeon with a hug and a predictable expletive, flinging out his hands to encompass greater Empire. “Have you lost it completely?”
“I don’t think so.”
Daph is coming down the street, right on time, and Wookie takes a good look. She smiles a greeting and I do introductions, liking how she slides an arm around my waist. Wookie takes a hint well and averts his gaze.
I unlock the door and we step inside. Daph has brought a flashlight—something I didn’t consider—and plays it over the walls while we look for light switches. Wookie finds them in a maintenance area, the sound of his progress obvious from the string of curses he utters. The lights flare to life and Daph stands, looking around. She strolls through the lobby, her gaze trailing over the watermark on one wall, the crumbling plaster high overhead, the chandelier hanging at an angle, half its bulbs burned out. The carpet is stained and torn. There’s a knob hanging loose on one door, its mate on the facing door is missing. The popcorn machine has been torn out, probably to be sold, without a lot of care for the resulting damage.
I see the red walls and the gilt ornamentation, the glory that was once characteristic of this place. I climb the stairs, ignoring Wookie’s shouts, and stand at the top of them to view the stage.
It’s stupendous, a proscenium stage with a large screen suspended near the front of it. It must have had actual footlights at one time, but the stage was updated sometime in the last century. The seats, upholstered in red velvet, are in surprisingly good shape, and the ceiling is a marvel of decorative stucco.
Wookie appears on the stage far below. “The electrical is a nightmare,” he says, with a lot of extra words tucked around those ones.
I didn’t expect otherwise.
“It’s all got to go,” he says and stamps a foot hard. “The stage is solid, but the workings back here are ancient. I’d rip it all out and start over. No matter who uses this place, they’re going to need equipment they can count on, not something out of the basement of the Opera Garnier.”
“Phantom of the Opera,” Daph says, sliding into a seat at the end of a row.
“Eighteenth century, I’m thinking.” I raise my voice. “The acoustics are great, Wookie.”
“Yeah,” he cedes. “These old places have that going on, at least.” He nods, thinking. “Perimeter check,” he says. “Basement and roof.” Then he waves and heads out.
“It’s beautiful,” Daph says, but her tone isn’t dreamy.
I’d bet my last buck that she has some kind of idea.
It may cost me my last buck to fix this place up. The scope of the repairs, even with a glance, is beyond my expectations. Have I bitten off more than I can chew this time? It wouldn’t be the first time that enthusiasm steered me false, but this might take me further off course than ever.
I admit this to Daph and she smiles.
“Where does it say that you have to do it alone?” she asks. “I know you’re used to doing things alone and not counting on anyone to help, but maybe it’s time to mix that up.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’d have to incorporate, but you could sell shares in the theatre. Voting shares or not, you set up the tiers and the numbers and people invest in the project. You diminish your own risk and liability in so doing.” Her eyes narrow as I stare at her, practically watching her mind work.
Bloody hell.
“Or you could take donations. I’ll have to check with my dad as to how that would be set up. I’ve never done it before, but essentially, people would pitch in to help with the cost of the renovations. For a ten thousand dollar donation, for example, your name is permanently on the wall of the lobby. For twenty-five, your name is bigger and listed somewhere else. Maybe it’s embroidered on the curtains. Maybe for fifty thousand, you get two tickets to every production mounted here.” She frowns, continuing to astonish me as she thinks out loud. “Or maybe that’s part of a different program. A yearly membership and maintenance subscription.”
I sit down hard beside her. “Would people do that?”
“Are you kidding me?” She turns to face me and I realize how little expectation I have of those in my hometown—and it’s not deserved. “Didn’t you notice that pretty much everyone in town came out for dinner at the café last night?” I’m thinking of exactly that. The place was packed. Merrie said she was booked out for the week, and word of mouth hasn’t even started. “People live here,” Daph says. “People care about their homes. People love being part of a solution, especially when all they have to do is write a cheque.”
I’m so blown away by this idea that I don’t know what to say.
“Bad idea?” she asks, looking confused.
“It’s brilliant, Daph. It’s absolutely bloody brilliant.” And in case she isn’t sure of my enthusiasm, I kiss her senseless.
Damn. What a team we are.
Then Wookie whistles from the stage. “You gotta see this roof, Luke. It’s holding together with a wing and a prayer.”
“Can we fix it?”
“We can replace it. The basement’s dry, though. If you’re doing this, I’ll need Steig and Blondie here to help, ideally Rasta and Solo, too.”
“We’re doing it!” I shout and Daph laughs beside me. “And oh, hey, Wookie, we have about eight weeks to get it done.”
That prompts him to loose a stream of expletives that turns the air blue. Daph and I grin at each other, and I can’t wait to begin.
It takes a particular kind of insanity to try to bring a reunion concert together in just eight weeks, tossing in the renovation of an old theatre and the reunion of a band that is missing one key member.
I guess I have it.
I remind myself that the first word in the band’s name has never been so apt, but I don’t have time to think about it. There’s just too much to do.
On the other hand, it feels as if the project has someone watching over it. I have to believe that Taylor is influencing results, giving things a nudge when they get knotty, pulling together elements with welcome ease. We avoid big crises. We have a couple of lucky breaks that are nearly miracles. Taylor’s younger brother, Jason, for example, plays as well as Taylor and knows our entire catalogue. He’s thrilled when we learn that and ask him to take Taylor’s place for the tribute.
I have never worked so hard in my life. Touring can be grueling because each performance is demanding. Four or five shows a week means I can eat anything, and I’ll still lose weight. I must sweat a metric tonne each night we have a show, but it’s been over a year since we gave a performance. I start running every morning instead of once in a while, and kick up the reps on my hotel exercise program.
That’s on top of the demands of the theatre building. The wiring has to go and time is of the essence, so I help out. The roof is being replaced, too, but a great company from Havelock that worked us in. The floors are sound and so are the stairs, but some of the seats need to be refurbished. And as Wookie said, everything backstage needs to be updated. A new sprinkler system has to be installed as well as smoke alarms, and it’s like watching money take flight out of my bank account.
Still, it’s satisfying. The first time we turn on the new house lights and see the place, we spontaneously break into applause. It’s beautiful, embellished with carvings and ornaments the way no one bothers with anymore. For now, we’ll get it clean and functional, but I’m having fantasies of restoring the whole damn place to its former magnificence.
For what exactly? It’s a good question but I’m willing to defer it until after the concert. It seems like overkill for The Rocky Horror Picture Show on one Friday per month, with twenty patrons showing up to watch. (Maybe ten.)
The best part is the donations. I thought we might have a few people step up to support the project, but every day, at least one person presses a cheque into my hand on Queen Street. It’s not a lot of money so far, but the spirit of it is encouraging. For the first time in my life, I feel like I might belong in Empire.
Noah, of course, is all over the concert. Again, he wants an exclusive. Again, I turn him down. Again, he’ll be first. The kid has no shortage of enthusiasm. I let him into the theatre that first day, and he documents it for his before shots. He follows Wookie around so diligently that I have to limit his access.
We’ve been working sixteen hours a day and even though it’s been less than a week, I’m missing Daph something fierce. I don’t want to knock on her door at midnight, though. I see her in passing a lot during the day, and we make time to talk and hang out a bit, but I’m afraid she might be slipping away.
How can I do all the things at once? I’m not sure.
Tonight, I’m leaving comparatively early because I really need to see Daph. I’m locking up when I see the car.
It comes peeling out of the night, like a streak of lightning. Everyone in the county must hear the roar of its engine. It races down toward Big Red, takes the circle around the tree with a squeal of tires, then the driver gears down and heads up the hill. I hear the car turn again, but can’t tell if it’s turned onto Caledonia or Britannia. The driver hasn’t left town. I hear tires squeal again and the engine rev and by the time I get past Jim’s antique store, I see its headlights.
In Daph’s driveway.
The headlights go out. The engine dies. And I hear a car door slam hard.
What fresh hell is this?