Free Forsaken by James David Jordan

The arena runs the lights, but the operators are way up in the third deck. We’ve got walkie-talkies to communicate with them.”
    There was no time to stand around with my mouth hanging open. “Get them on one of those things and tell them there’s been a change and you want them to dim the lights real low during the opening prayer. I’ve got to find two strong guys and a cart.” I took off down the stairs.
    The plan was simple, and it could have gone off smoothly. I did find a cart, and I did find two strong guys, and the lights did go down during the prayer. On the other hand, we happened to choose Chicago’s squeakiest cart, so everyone in the auditorium was already peeking toward the stage and wondering what was going on before we even got the cart to the pulpit. To top it off, the two big strong guys were actually much bigger than they were strong. They dropped one of the plants when they were loading it onto the cart. The pot shattered on the stage, spilling potting soil everywhere. At least that saved me the effort of digging through the dirt.
    The song leader, whom I later learned was named Donny, was a young guy with leather pants, two arms covered in tattoos, and hair past his shoulders. He could have been a biker, but he was a real pro. He didn’t miss a beat with his prayer while we were practically making mud pies on the stage. Fifteen thousand heads, though, were praying with one eye open. After the prayer there was nothing to do but send a maintenance guy out to sweep up the mess while the band played a few bars of a song that Elise identified as “Cleansing My Soul.” Simon glared straight ahead the entire time. I almost hoped that I’d find a bomb in the stupid plant.
    When the second pot finally made it off the stage, I dove into it with my hands. There was nothing there but potting soil. Elise didn’t speak. Simon and ten members of the cast looked at me as if I had just arrived from Mars.
    I was off to a great start.
    I was feeling a bit put upon at the end of the show as Simon finally walked off the stage with the band playing a cool, bluesy version of “Amazing Grace.” The whole situation seemed to have been set up to make me look bad. After all, at the last minute I had walked into a dreadfully planned—strike that—totally unplanned security situation. Yet everyone seemed to expect me to make lemonade out of a rotting lemon, with no inconvenience to anyone but me. To top it off, no one had even told me yet that I was hired. There was nothing fair about it; but let’s face it, there’s nothing fair about life. I braced myself for Simon’s reaction to the plant fiasco.
    To my surprise, there was little reaction at all. In fact, Simon barely acknowledged my presence as he came off the stage. He was busy shaking hands and talking to well-wishers and hangers-on. Finally, I tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you want to meet at the hotel restaurant for breakfast so we can talk about some things?”
    “Actually, I’d rather talk now. We’ve got to discuss what went on tonight.”
    “What do you mean, ‘what went on tonight’?”
    “Frankly, I’m not sure this is a good fit.”
    “Fine. You invited me here; I didn’t volunteer.” I turned to walk away.
    He touched my arm. “Hang on, Taylor. I said I’m not sure. Don’t you think we should talk about this before either of us makes any decisions? How would you feel if you walked off and then I got whacked tonight? That’s what they call it, isn’t it? ‘Whacked’?” He smiled, andI noticed again how much he and his daughter looked alike, particularly when they smiled.
    “That’s what they call it on television. We used to call it ‘popped.’ It wouldn’t make much difference to you, though. Either way you’re stiff.” It was my turn to smile.
    “That’s comforting, thanks. Listen, now that the show’s over, the events manager for the arena is taking us out for dinner. Can you come along? We should be able to