Hiding

She hated these events, but her parents insisted that she attend. At sixteen, plump and uncomfortable in the fancy, hideous dress her mother had bought her, she was miserable. It was pink, ruffled, sleeveless and belted at the waist with bow at the back--a true horror for someone built like her—so she went around the large ballroom looking for a place to hide.

She saw a large floral arrangement and walked over to it. It wasn't tall enough, but she saw a chair against the wall a few feet away, and slowly pulled it behind the arrangement. Sliding down into the seat, she thought it was a perfect hiding place and began to relax.

Watching the people at these events could be fun, seeing the women trying to catch a good-looking man's eye, or a man traipsing after a sexy woman with that hungry look, or a couple searching for someone of importance to cozy up to, made the time pass. She been to a couple of these before, so she knew that when the lights would dim for a minute, it was a signal dinner was going to be served, and she'd have to join her parents. 

She wondered why they felt they had to drag her with them? It was nothing related to her, she wasn’t any help in meeting the kind of people her parents spent time and money to socialize with in the search for possible clients.

Suddenly, she heard voices behind her, low, whispering, and wondered what was going on. She looked around but didn't see anyone. Searching for a possible source, she noticed that the curtains about the room were occasionally moving, so she focused on an area where they moved the most.

It didn't take long to see one of the Groups by Anon serving drinks to the partygoers slip into the room with a fresh tray. Whoops, there were openings behind the curtains, probably one was behind her. She began to concentrate on what was being said.

“When do we begin?”

“As soon as the toasts start.”

“Why not wait till the food is being served?”

“Too many waiters bustling about.”

“And if we’re together?”

“We won’t be together. You go to your father’s table first. It’s not full. Then slip away.”

“I’ll saunter over from here, straight to the dias, the table of the high and mighty.”

“Your instrument is under the modesty curtain protecting the ladies from prying eyes.”

“Grab it and start, and I’ll turn toward the audience when you strike the first chord.”

“Your father is going to…”

“Don’t worry about him. His brain is going to be slowly churning with ideas about how to handle this. Don’t you back out now, Bob. Turn chicken and I swear you’ll regret it.”

They stopped talking, and I began to try to make sense of what they’d said. Cord, instrument, did that mean a gun, a bomb, no, it must mean a grenade with a string to pull. Dear God. What am I going to do.

I was afraid to move because if they heard me, they’d guess I knew their plans. Maybe I should slip down to the floor and crawl away. No there wasn’t room. Maybe I could…what. Brain work, please. A few minutes went by, and I came up with a probably lame idea.

I could take off my shoes and try to trip them. And also take off the stupid belt around my waist and add it to the shoes as an even better obstacle. 

I looked around the ballroom and saw my father, all six feet two of him looking around for me. I ducked down further, taking off my shoes as I did so.

If this worked to stop those maniacs, I’d be forgiven. If I failed, we’d all be dead, and it wouldn’t matter. But maybe I should scream for help, telling them a bomb plot was underway. “No, they’d just assume I was a loony and hustle me away, giving the terrorists a chance to throw the grenade and start shooting.

I sent up a silent prayer to God, as the lights dimmed. Someone moving forward from behind me almost fell, but to my horror he grabbed the back of my chair, righting himself. 

I felt his eyes on me, and suddenly recognized him. It was, Jimmy, the school’s football hero, but he was dressed in a purple sequined suit.

Before I could say anything, he covered my mouth with his large hand. I was stunned by his whispering my name. “Kate, please keep quiet, there isn’t much time. People are starting to notice us." Then he went on, “You’re the girl from the school’s choir. You have a great voice. Do you know Elvis’s song, “If I Can Dream.” 

Confused and frightened, I muttered, “Of course.” And that seemed to be enough for him to grab me by the waist and start moving us to the front, to the Dais. At first, it made no sense at all. I was scared, but suddenly a light dawned.

We reached the Dais, and his friend, Bob was there, holding a guitar. Chords, instrument? The first few chords began as he held me around the waist and whispered “Duet.”

Somehow I found myself singing those wonderful words with him,

“There must be lights burning brighter somewhere

Got to be birds flying higher in a sky more blue

If I can dream of a better land

Where all my brothers walk hand in hand

Tell me why, oh why, oh why can't my dream come true

Oh why”

As we went on, some people joined in, and when it ended, there was loud applause, The three of us hustled off to the side of the room, as his father rose and said, “I hope you enjoyed that. My son and his friends. They’ll be back after dinner with some more. But now it’s time to begin."

His father then began a long introduction to the main speaker, so we slipped out into the hall. Before I could get a word out, Jimmy began, “What the heck were you doing? Why the mess on the floor?”

I punched his arm, and he stopped.

“I thought you were planning to shoot someone, well, throw a grenade…,” I mumbled.

“Huh,” he started. 

I cut him off, muttering, "Instrument, cords, when the speeches start…”

Bob started laughing so hard, he barely managed to speak, “She heard us and not knowing what we were going to do, imagined we…"

Jimmy suddenly understood and began to grin. 

“What were you hoping to prove?” I asked.

Jimmy stopped laughing and said, in a quiet voice, “I hate football, hurting people and getting banged up. I want to try my hand at music, theater, but my Dad…”

I sighed and said, “I feel the same about going to law school, ugh, double ugh. But my Dad has dreams of a law partnership. All he has is daughters, so he decided I’d have to do. I don’t know what I want yet, but at least I’d like to explore some possibilities.”

Bob, apparently the practical one, said, “So why not try to get some money now. Then we’d be able to break free. We could try to score some local weekend gigs, but we need a name...”

Simultaneously, Jimmy and I shouted, “The Assassins.”