Free Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight by Ann Mauren Page B

they asked if Kit was short for
anything, Sam retorted “Kitten” and her tone added the “Duh” as
punctuation.
    While they interviewed me I was
surreptitiously surveying the crowd for my mark, or marks. I
imagined he might take the form of a sinister looking man in a deep
olive suit, complete with black shades and an earpiece, sentinel
style ala Agent Smith from The Matrix. But as I scanned the room I
was disappointed to see no one looking perturbed. About ten minutes
passed and finally, there it was: the look of agitated concern
accompanied by quick movements that had no place here on this lazy
afternoon at the movies.
    He wore a Dallas Cowboys ball cap and
jersey, faded jeans and high top sneakers. Without staring I
couldn’t tell if he was American Indian or just Indian; but he
wasn’t Latino, I was sure of that, even if his Texas affiliation
might suggest otherwise. He was about five ten, with a muscular but
more or less medium build, and had black, sort of curly, medium
length hair and tan skin, but surprisingly light, bloncket (bluish
gray) colored eyes. Eyes that were wide with anxiety and
despair—maybe even panic.
    I felt a sickening wave of remorse. He was
absolutely beautiful and he was looking for me—worried that
something terrible had happened when his back was turned—and
stressed out that the bad guys that someone obviously thought were
after me had somehow succeeded in abducting me from right under his
nose. As his eyes methodically searched the room, I averted mine
just before they made their way to our corner. I was certain that
if our eyes locked the game would be over, with me being removed
from the scene by my ear—the side without the studs.
    Then, to my absolute horror, he began moving
forward in a straight line for us! Now a wave of nausea was
cresting over me. He approached Sam and asked, “Excuse me. I’m
looking for the little blonde haired girl that just came out of the
theater. I thought I saw you talking to her on the way to the
restroom.”
    He spoke with perfect diction and no
discernable accent. Now I didn’t think he was Indian, either. I
just couldn’t tell. Perhaps he was from a previously unknown tribe
of fabulously handsome people—it sure looked that way to me.
    It took Sam slightly longer to respond than
it should have. She must have been deliberating whether the truth
or a lie would go over better. She opted for both.
    “Do you mean Ellery? Long blonde hair, about
three feet tall?”
    The girls all laughed.
    “I know her from school. I said ‘Hi’ to her
after the movie, but we didn’t come together. She’s probably gone
by now.”
    Good answer.
    “Do you want me to give her a message, when
I see her?”
    Even better.
    He thought for a second and then said, “Just
tell her that Ash was asking about her,” he paused, looked around
again then added, “I guess I’ll catch up to her later. Thanks.”
    He turned on his heal and swiftly walked
away.
    Then I had an inspiration. ‘Kit’ said to Sam
in a tone he was sure to hear, “Do you think it could have been
this Ellery who was retching in the last stall?”
    It worked. His course veered immediately
back toward the restrooms. That meant he hadn’t recognized me after
all. Relief. Then more inspiration.
    “Perhaps we should go and check on her, see
if she needs a hand?” I suggested.
    I was anxious to get back to the incarnation
of myself that would set his mind at ease. I couldn’t bear the
thought of driving away with Sam now, letting him suffer through
thinking the worst, only to realize later that he’d been
punked.
    Sam’s simple reply, emulating my accent, was
“Indeed.”
    We excused ourselves and were on our way
back to the restroom. Ash hesitated by the exit. He was talking on
his phone now. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation. We
strode purposefully past him through the Ladies’ Room entrance and
past ten people standing in line. Once inside we stalled briefly,
and then I said,