Chapter IX
Joe stared. The figure stared back. Joe probably would have recognized him, even without the tell-tale bruise by his eye where Joe had struck him with the soda can. The memory of their last altercation unfroze Joe's feet from the spot where shock had rooted them. He backstepped rapidly and turned to flee down the staircase. He felt the breeze from the man in black's arm as he made a grab for him and missed. He was much too close for comfort.
Joe's feet flew down the stairs to the third floor, barely touching, but fast as he was, he knew it wouldn't be fast enough. His friend from the hotel room probably wasn't feeling in good charity with him - after all, he had knocked him out and left him tied up in the vending machine room - probably earned him a good scolding from the Gray Man as well. Technically, they were on the same side as the Gray Man, but he had given the Hardy brothers orders to steer clear of this case, and was just looking for a way to ship them back to Bayport. Joe didn't intend to provide it.
He skipped the staircase to the second floor and swung around the corner instead. The only thing that would save him was to find a good hiding place, and this building was full of them. He plunged through the first door he came to and pushed it shut behind him, turning to lean against it.
The air was split with screams. For an instant Joe thought that he'd stumbled into another crime scene. Crinolines lay everywhere, along with curling irons, open makeup kits, and half-full coffee cups. All around him were women in various stages of dress - or undress - some in robes, some in corsets and petticoats, some just holding dresses in front of themselves like shields and screaming.
Oh, no. Ladies dressing room. Panicked, he turned back to the door, remembered what waited for him on the other side, and turned back again, slapping his hands over his eyes.
"Um...sorry...I just...um..."
"Cool it, girls. Can't you see he's more afraid of you than you are of him?"
Joe started to peek through his fingers to see who his defender was, then thought better of it. He concentrated on looking as innocent and harmless as he could.
"Come on. Make yourselves decent so the poor guy can uncover his eyes. That's right. Okay, pal. You can look now. Then you can explain yourself."
Joe carefully peeled his fingers from his eyes to find himself confronted by a girl in a dark red robe, her long brown hair wrapped around electric rollers. She was smiling wryly at him. "Lost our way, have we?"
Joe nodded, made a little speechless by the crowd of beautiful women, a breathtaking sight, even in their robes. "I didn't know - sorry -"
"Yeah, well, we're going to buy that story this time, since you look kind of green, and not report you to the Stage Manager. Whattya say, girls?"
The girls eyed him silently.
Joe turned cold at the thought of being turned over to Jerry Stryker. "Come on," he pleaded, "it was just a dumb mistake - I'm really sorry - "
A blonde girl in a peach robe smirked. "Oh, let's let him off the hook. He's kind of cute."
The other girls giggled in agreement.
Joe grinned in relief. "Thanks. You won't regret it." He turned toward the door again and remembered the man in black. If he knew this was the ladies dressing room, then he knew that all he had to do was bide his time outside. He turned back to the girl in the red robe. "Um. I don't suppose that there's another way out of here?"
The girl raised her eyebrows. "No. Except for the fire escape, of course. What on earth are you up to?"
Joe flushed scarlet. "I can't explain - is that it over there?" he pointed to a door in a niche against the far wall. She gestured him toward it with a flourish. All the girls' eyes followed him in various degrees of amusement and curiosity. He pushed it open to reveal the black grated fire escape outside. "Where does it lead?"
"Beats me. I always take the front door myself. You know, all this jumping around isn't going to help your performance. Unless you were planning on doing Tarzan instead of Faust?"
Joe shrugged, grinning in embarrassment. "Thanks for not turning me in. See you later." He stepped out onto the fire escape and started down the metal ladder. The girls crowded out onto the fire escape above him to wave goodbye. Laughing, he waved back as he made his way down to the second floor. Better keep going all the way to the mezzanine, just to be safe.
He made his way nimbly to the recessed fire exit by the mezzanine, just below ground level, and paused to catch his breath. He stopped smiling as he thought about his situation.
Of all the rotten luck. Now the Gray Man knew that they were back in the building, so they weren't only dodging Jerry Stryker, Gabby Townsend, and the mysterious Cobra, but the Gray Man and his people as well. He winced. Big building or not, it was just a matter of time before they bumped into one of them. And luck just didn't seem to be on their side. As far as he was concerned, the Russians had good reason to believe that the Romanov Rose was cursed. It sure hadn't brought them anything but lousy luck. He'd better go report the situation to Frank.
This time he eased the door open and peeked through before entering. The lights were on, but it appeared empty. The sound of running water came from behind a door to the right - probably a bathroom. He tiptoed across the room to the door opposite, and peered out into the hallway. Coast was clear. He slipped outside and drew a big breath of relief.
He was just passing the next dressing room door when the sound of an altercation made him pause. Now what?
A woman was hollering something in a language he didn't understand. Before he could decide whether to move on or check and see if everything was all right, a tall woman erupted from one of the dressing rooms and ran smack into him. He mumbled his apologies, backing up and blushing furiously. The woman, a striking brunette of indeterminate age with a sculptured face and burning dark eyes, was wearing only a dressing gown. She stared at him in surprise, then smiled suddenly, so dazzlingly that it made Joe a little dizzy.
"Olga!" she cried, clasping her hands and making the words sound more like song than speech. "Please to come here!" A thin woman in a plain, dark print dress with her hair in an uncompromising bun came to the dressing room doorway.
The tall woman put her hands on Joe's shoulders, smiling her ravishing smile. "American boys. They are so beautiful, yes? You are with the Opera?" Joe nodded dumbly. "Is good. You do for me a favor? Very small. Very fast."
"Sure."
She beamed her thanks and, taking his hand, led him into the dressing room. Joe noticed the star on the door and a printed sign that read "Kareechniva".
She gestured to an enormous basket of roses lying on its side. "These flowers," she explained. "I can not keep. But the cast would perhaps enjoy. You would please to carry them to the cast room for me?"
Joe nodded, righting the basket and giving a low whistle. There had to be five dozen roses there anyway, all long stemmed in pink and yellow and red and white. "Too bad. You allergic?"
"Allergic? Ah, yes!" she gave a bubble of laughter. "Very allergic. To the man who send, you see? But the flowers, is not their fault. Still beautiful. Should be enjoy." She opened her hand and frowned at the slightly crumpled card there. She turned it over to the blank side. "My English. I understand very well, speak okay. But write-" she shook her head. "Not so good. You maybe write message for me. How much I enjoy working with cast, all the good wishes I have for performance, something nice. American. Sign Galina. Yes?"
"No problem." Joe took the card and hefted the basket in one hand.
She flashed her smile again. "Thank you many times. You are sweet as well as beautiful." She patted his cheek and kissed it lightly. "Favor I must return. Let me see. Olga -" she smiled at the stiff woman with the bun. "Tea is what time?"
Olga looked at Joe with an expression that he couldn't read. "Three PM. As alway."
Galina smiled. "Lovely. You come back at three. Have tea. Yes?"
"Sure." Joe couldn't quite believe his ears. Callie would be green with jealousy. That gave him an idea. "I'd love to, but - I'm with two friends. I don't suppose - "
She made a grand gesture. "Bring. I enjoy meet. Three PM. Now I must do scales. But I see you later, yes?"
"Uh, sure." Joe backed out of the dressing room to the sound of her running vocal scales.
He lugged the roses back to the Green Room and dropped them on the table there. Callie was at the sink and Frank was sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the table, listening to his walkman with his eyes closed. Joe reached over and cranked up the volume knob. Frank cried out and sat up straight, swinging his legs to the floor and tearing off his headphones. He glared at Joe.
Joe grinned. "Now that I have your attention. Guess who I met?"
Frank glanced at the basket. "A florist."
"Uh-uh. Galina Kareechniva. She asked me to write a good luck note to the cast for her." He flicked the card to Frank. "Here. You're better at that kind of thing than I am."
Callie flew back to the sofa. "You didn't! Galina Kareechniva? You're kidding!"
Joe shook his head. "Nope. It was her. Written plain as day on the dressing room door. Besides, I recognized her from her picture in the flyer."
Callie's mouth fell open. "I don't believe it!" she wailed. "Joe Hardy, of all people! It's not fair! You couldn't begin to appreciate her!"
"Not true." Joe objected. "I appreciated her a lot. She's a knockout."
Callie clutched at her head. "If that isn't just like you! You meet a brilliant artist, the star of the Bolshoi Opera, and that's all you can think about!"
"Hey, I'm not the only one! She called me a beautiful American boy! And she said she'd see me later," he winked at Callie. "Maybe I could introduce you."
Callie turned to Frank to complain, and noticed him studying the card with his brow furrowed. "Can't think of anything to write?"
Frank didn't look up. "No. I mean, yes, but - I'm trying to read the other side."
"Other side?" Callie sat down on the arm of the sofa next to him.
"Yeah. Message from the sender."
"What does it say?"
"Well," Frank hesitated. "My Russian is kind of spotty. And I'm used to reading print, not script..."
Joe leaned over his shoulder on the other side. "Can you tell who it's from? She said she was allergic to the guy."
"I don't know. Maybe I'm losing it, but..." his eyes met Joe's grimly. "I'd swear it says Sergei Kovran."
Joe stared at him in dawning comprehension. "Frank!" he shook him by the shoulder for emphasis. "That's it! Not Cobra! Kovran!"
TBC