“The doorway to the dressing rooms is coming up on the right.”
“Okay. This is some shortcut.”
He shrugged. “I guess it’s more of a scenic route than an actual shortcut.”
“It’s interesting, anyway. Thanks.”
“I like to change things up. And sometimes I just don’t want to run into anyone. Everyone wants to talk.”
I chuckled, but didn’t comment. We passed a dozen more stage flats leaning against the wall and I stopped to look at them. “Boy, they store stuff everywhere, don’t they?”
The flats were made of thick wood planks wrapped in painters’ canvas. These were bigger than the ones I’d seen a few minutes ago, at least ten feet high and several yards wide.
Despite the dimness of the space, I could see that the two in front had been freshly painted. One showed a lush garden scene and the other a sandy shore leading into a sparkling blue lake.
I squinted at the verdant garden scene and tried to imagine how it would appear on camera. “This looks so real.”
“The guys do a great job, don’t they? These were painted just yesterday and they’ll be used for some of the segments in the main staging area. Just to give a different look.” Randy leaned in to more closely examine the stage flat, then straightened. “Anyway, the dressing rooms are right over here. Let’s go find Derek and . . .”
But I’d stopped listening as one of the green leafy plants in the garden scene moved closer to me.
“Whoa.” My stomach did a little dip. Was I hallucinating? The painting was moving. Then I heard a creaking sound and realized it wasn’t my imagination. The flats were moving forward. Falling.
“Oh no,” I muttered, then yelled, “Help!” The entire stack of heavy panels was about to fall on top of me.
“What the hell?” Randy spun around and grabbed the edges of the wood, but the angle of his approach was all wrong and the flats kept coming at me. He shifted position and tried to get a better hold.
“Help!” I screamed again, loud enough for the entire studio to hear.
Everything happened in slow motion. The wood slipped out of Randy’s grip. My leg muscles began to quiver and I fell to my knees while still keeping my arms outstretched, trying to keep the heavy boards up.
“Hold them!” I cried.
“I’m trying!” he yelled.
The planks were too heavy and I couldn’t stop them from pressing down on me. My arm muscles gave out and the wood hit the top of my head and pushed me down.
“Get help!” I yelled, but my voice didn’t carry far.
“Hold on there! I’ve gotcha.” A wiry old man ran over, slipped under the flats next to me, and used one shoulder to keep the wood from falling farther. I could see his spindly back muscles starting to shake.
“Whoa, boy,” he said. “That’s heavier than it looks.”
“Be careful,” I shouted, pushing out with my arms again to try to keep the wood from trapping him, too. “Don’t hurt yourself!”
“I think I’m . . . oh, boy.” All that weight was too much for his skinny body to hold and he tottered dangerously.
My arms were shaking as badly as the old man’s. I shifted again to use my back to hold the flats at bay, but now I could feel my neck muscles screaming.
The old man curled himself into a ball next to me.
I wasn’t ready to watch his life being squeezed out of him, so I pushed his shoulder. “Crawl out the other side!” I shouted. “Move.”
“I can’t,” he muttered, sounding feeble and defeated.
“Hang on! Help!” I yelled it louder, over and over again.
“Try to hold them back while I get more help,” Randy shouted, and ran to the door leading to the dressing rooms. He hollered for help. For heaven’s sake, where was everyone?
I was certain I could survive the weight of the flats for a short time, but I wasn’t so sure about the old guy. And he’d been trying to save me! The guilt—or something—gave me a shot of adrenaline and I was able to push back on the crush of wood for a few more seconds.
“Nobody’s coming,” I shouted. “You need to get help.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Randy said, running back to me and sounding insulted that I’d suggested it. He reached under and tried to lift the flats, but they didn’t budge. “How about if I hold them while you run and get help?”
“I’m already wedged under here!”
Randy bellowed, “Help!”
Footsteps pounded in our direction.
“Brooklyn?”
“Derek!”
“Damn it,” he cursed loudly, and followed it up with a string of expletives. “What happened?”
“I’m stuck,” I moaned.
“Duh,” Randy said.
I almost laughed, despite being a little too close to suffocating to death.