Rock and a Hard Place

chapter 24

Two days later, ominous clouds thundered over the Red Rocks Amphitheater. “We are not canceling this concert,” Peter said. “I don’t care if there are torrential rains, earthquakes or tsunamis; this show is happening.” He glared at the Red Rocks stage manager, his posse of security, and the management team.

Peter’s family stood in formation behind him, a silent army of supporters.

“As I said before, it’s not safe.” The stage manager held his ground. “With an outdoor amphitheater there are added dangers when inclement weather strikes.

“And I’l say it again, we are not canceling.” Peter said, hands on his hips, a formidable opponent.

The stage manager looked to Peter’s parents for help, but received none. “You don’t understand. We have guidelines, policies and insurance issues at stake here. Do you want to take responsibility for that?”

“You bet I do. What do you need?” Peter didn’t flinch.

“Where do I sign? Do you want a check?” Too much rested on this concert. Libby was coming and he would not let her be sent away.

“That’s not how it works and I’m sure your father can attest to that. We’re talking about the safety of ten thousand people in and around the amphitheater.”

His father interrupted. “Let’s take a look at the radar once more.” He gestured toward the computer screen nearby. “At this point, most of the fans are already in the stands or on the grounds.

Canceling the concert isn’t going to help. There must be some sort of emergency procedure when unexpected storms occur during a concert.”

“Yes, of course there is. However, the goal is not to need them. Moving this many people can result in panic and injury. Plus there is an added threat with a storm system of this magnitude.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to send everyone home,” his mother said. “In fact, it would be irresponsible. According to radar this is a fast moving system. Let’s get the fans to safety here on the grounds, we wil wait the storm out, and then al enjoy a the concert. No one goes home disappointed.”

“Wel, I don’t know. The stage wil be soaked, and the seats in the stands wil be wet. There wil be no dry place to sit,” the stage manager argued.

“The stage is simple, we can squeegee it off in minutes,” Garrett said.

“Our fans never sit during a concert anyway,” Adam added.

“In fact, if you went out there and asked them if they want the concert canceled, or to take cover and come out when the storm passes, I guarantee they’l stay.”

Peter watched the stage manager and his crew process the information and waffle. Libby was going to be here and he’d be damned if a little rain would keep them apart.

“Al right, but I want it on the record I don’t like this decision.”

“Thank you,” his mom said. “We appreciate your flexibility to solve this problem. Let us know what we can do to help.”

“You can have your crew cover the equipment and make sure everyone from your team is safely backstage when this storm hits.”



# # #

And hit it did. Twenty minutes after the conversation a few big fat raindrops pelted Peter. Seconds later the menacing clouds produced high winds. The crowd as wel as the band and crew took cover. Red Rocks suffered a severe thunderstorm complete with spectacular lightening and quarter-sized hail. Peter hoped Libby was safe. He listened as the storm blazed through and left a trail of toppled souvenir tents and turned over trash receptacles. But other than a lot of water and quick melting hail, no major damage occurred. The stage equipment stayed intact and the fans eagerly came out from hiding, like children on Christmas morning, they celebrated that the show would go on.

While the Jamieson team prepped the stage, Peter’s thoughts returned to finding Libby. “I know she’s here,” he said to Garrett.

“She’s had plenty of time to drive from Georgia.” He watched the monitor set up back stage. It showed each girl as she filed out the questionnaire. No Libby.

“So far the security detail covering the contest area hasn’t had anyone answer the final question correctly.” Garrett looked worried.

“Where is she?” Peter said, staring at the security monitor.



# # #

“Come on you miserable rust bucket, just one more mountain to climb.” DarLynn gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on the gauges of the ancient pick-up.

Libby chewed her lower lip as the engine groaned in protest.

They were halfway up the steep entrance road to Red Rocks. Even though they left Georgia two days earlier, they arrived late. The truck caused problems the entire trip. First, an oil leak and then the engine over heated outside of Wichita.

She hoped the deluge of rain was a sign of cleansing and would bring her good fortune and not an omen of bad luck. Libby could barely stay seated. She wanted to run the rest of the way.

A loud pop sounded from the engine and steam hissed out from under the hood, confirming her bad omen theory.

“Sweet baby Jesus, give us a break!” DarLynn pounded the steering wheel.

A parking attendant wearing an orange vest walked up.

“Ma’am, you need to move your vehicle off the drive. You’re blocking traffic.”

“Does it look like I can move this beast? If you haven’t noticed, we’re having a little trouble here,” DarLynn barked.

The man tried to hide his smirk. Apparently he found their dying truck, spewing steam and oil, entertaining.

“Tel you what. If you can back your vehicle down to that service lot, you should be able to pul it in before it, ah, blows up.” He grinned.

Despite her nerves over seeing Peter again, Libby smiled at the odds the truck would indeed explode.

“Stay with your vehicle, Miss, and I’l get a tow truck on it’s way to help you out.”

“But I have to get to the concert, I’m already late!” Libby peered out the window at him.

“That’s right,” DarLynn said. “She’s Libby, the girl from the contest. They’re looking for her.”

“Right.” The parking guy looked at them in doubt. “I heard something about a contest.”

“Wel, she’s the one.” DarLynn pointed at Libby. “We’ve driven halfway across the country to get her here and we’re not giving up. Libby, you hop out and walk the rest of the way. I’l stay here and deal with the truck.”

“Are you sure?” She wanted to go so badly, but hated to abandon DarLynn after everything she’d done for her.

“Don’t you worry about me. I’l be waiting for you after the concert. Now go on.”

Libby hugged her friend then jumped out of the truck, ticket in hand. She showed it to the parking guy. “Do you know where Gate 3A is?”

His eyes widened as he recognized the VIP entrance. “Al the way up. There are gold signs to direct you.”

“Thank you.” She began her long trek up the hil.

“Hey kid,” he caled after her. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She smiled and ran around the bend in the road.

Out of breath after what seemed like a marathon trek, Libby arrived at the gate and joined the line under a gold banner that read

“Search for Libby Contest Winners”. Her nerves taut, she waited her turn.

“Ladies, patience please. We’l get you al back in. It’s only a storm delay. Please show your ticket and hand stamp as you reenter.” A tal, dark haired security guy said.

Thankfuly, the line moved quickly. Libby sighed in relief that the concert hadn’t begun yet, but she felt annoyed at al the girls around her who pretended to be “Peter’s Libby.” How could they have possibly answered al the contest questions right?

“Hand please,” the security guard said.

“Excuse me?” Confused, Libby hesitated next to the turnstile with a black light set up.

“Your hand. Put it under the light so I can verify your hand stamp from exiting.”

“I just got here.”

“Oh,” he grabbed the radio from his belt and spoke into it.

“I’ve got a new arrival here, what do I do?” He turned back to Libby. “Sorry, since we had to evacuate the amphitheater there’s been a lot of confusion. We’re al manning different stations now.

The radio blared back. “Go to the contest table and have her complete the final question.”

“This way,” he said, stepping away from the main crush of fans reentering and over to a long table with questionnaires, pens and a surveilance camera set up in the corner. “Let’s see, looks like you answer the question on this sheet and . . .” His radio blared again. “Hang on a sec.” He took the radio and stepped away to listen.

Libby picked up the slip of paper and a pen. So this was how they would determine the real Libby? If al these girls could figure out the answers to the other questions, certainly they would know the answer to this one too. She read the question.

“In the song ‘Angel Kisses,’ what is Peter referring to?” She hugged the sheet to her and began to laugh. No one could possibly know the answer, but her. She wrote the words on the paper. Her heart filed with joy at the memory of that autumn day when Peter traced her scarred hands with his finger tips and kissed her pain away.

She waited for the security guard but he wouldn’t return. Her adrenaline ran high now that she was about to see Peter again.

Suddenly music filed the air. The concert started and she was missing it! Anxious to find Peter, she waved to the get the security man’s attention. He stil spoke on his radio, but held up his index finger and signaled he would be another minute. The crowd’s roar filed her ears. She couldn’t bear it. When he stil didn’t return, she waved again indicating that she left her answer sheet on the table.

She turned and dashed away and into the seating area to see Peter.



# # #

“Roger, you’ve got to speak up, I can’t hear you over the music.” The security guard held the radio tight to his ear and strained to hear what the head of Jamieson’s security said.

“What is the status of the crowd at your entrance?” The voice crackled over the radio.

“We’ve got just about everyone back inside, but I stil need to know about the contest procedure. I’ve got a girl who hasn’t been processed yet, and no one else is here.” He looked up to see the blond girl at the table wave to get his attention again. She pointed at the sheet on the table and then disappeared.

“Have her fil out the questionnaire and let me know her answer,” Roger said.

“Got it.” He spoke into the radio. “Hang on, while I grab it and see what she wrote.” He returned to the contest table, picked up her paper and read the neatly printed words.

“The scars on my hands. That’s what she wrote. Does it mean anything to you?”

“That’s her! You found her! Bring her back stage!”

“Shit. I can’t. She just entered the amphitheater. I’l never find her now.”