Electra H


Tonight’s broadcast was live. That was no big deal for Electra. With a very few exceptions, she’d been doing live segments for ten years.

And both Cher and Ghirardelli had each been on our team for at least seven years.

We were scheduled, we were coiffed, we were as rehearsed as possible, and we had our cues and signals ready.

Her step was confident as she went through the rooms, making sure everything was where she wanted.

So of course she saw a camera view of the auditorium as it filled and went all weak in the self-esteem.

I tapped at the door as she was hyperventilating on the stairs. “Electra? Can I see you for a second?”

Ghirardelli ended up taking her by the arm to lead her to where I could pick her up. Our clothing department sat on the porch in her rather formal gown.

Cher stepped out to join her in his evening suit.

I held Electra and pet her back very carefully. “Now, Electra, who’s the smartest sylph I know?”

“Amelia!” she snapped back with a smile. Been waiting for that one, huh? She thought she was cute. Well, that’s fine. It’s not often I get to ‘spring my clever trap.’

“Yep,” I said. “And she’s spent the last two days emailing all her friends and contacts, saying they should come see this terrific show that her friends Electra and Conrad are going to put on.”

Ghirardelli and Cher gave me little golf claps. Electra shot daggers at me from her eyes. “Bastard.”

“Probably. But do you think Amelia doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

“No,” she sullened.

“And if she thought you couldn’t do well, she’d be here, wouldn’t she? Giving you last minute tips and a pep talk and stiffening your spine.”

“Yeah…” she sulked.

“And that means…?”

“She has confidence in me.”

“That’s right. She does and I do and the staff does.” They gave little cheers. “So, do your ritual and we’ll start.”

I put her down on the porch. They have this tradition. Before a show, they hold hands and sing something. It doesn’t matter what.

Ghirardelli likes 80’s pop songs. Cher likes mainstream gospel songs. Electra likes romantic ballads. It all depends on who gets to pick that day. Or night.

I eased away from the porch to let them have their ritual. But Ghirardelli ran across the table after me. “Mister Master, sir!”

“Ghirardelli, I’m just Conrad.”

“Yes, sir, Master, sir, um, we, uh, we were talking when Cher was doing Electra’s hair…” She paused and looked over her shoulder. The other two nodded support. She turned back to me. “Conrad, would you like to join us for a song?”

“I… yes,” I said, surprised at just how touched I felt to be invited. I scooted back. “What’ll we have?”

“Not Gitarzan,” Electra said.

“Not Itsy Bitsy Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,” Ghirardelli said.

“Not Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves,” Cher said.

“Okay, none of those,” I agreed. “But what DO we sing?”

“That’s what you get to decide, Conrad,” Cher said. “We, uh, we think of you as part of the family. If you don’t mind. So it’s probably your turn.”

I picked The Time Warp. I sang the part of Blofeld. They all knew the words and we had a blast, a wonderful, cooperative time.

Then they ran inside as I wheeled the table out onto the stage and turned on the big-screen repeaters.

Electra stepped onto the porch with her microphone on. “Hello! How’s everyone doing?”



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Index

123. Annie J

125. Kerri H