Cooper and Sheriff Truman stood on opposite sides of the room, their eyes trained on the spectators, awaiting the arrival of their requested backup. Cooper, especially, watched the crowd. He looked for familiar movements, gestures. A flick of the eyes. A swipe of a hand across a tabletop. Things his FBI-trained eyes had been groomed to look for, and things which his intimate knowledge of Windom Earle left him perfectly capable of doing. Things he'd forgotten to look for, things his clouded mind hadn't let him see.
He wasn't going to let that happen again. Where are you, Windom? he thought to himself. You're close. I know you're close. Where the hell are you?
They'd missed the talent portion of the evening, evidently, for as soon as they walked in they'd caught the last minute of Annie's speech, the one Cooper had helped her with before that afternoon's assignation. Guilt settled into the contoured rugae of his stomach as he watched her speak and recognized the sparkle that came over her when she did. But he still saw her timidity, the way she scanned the crowd with such intensity. He hoped she hadn't noticed his absence. Just in case, he'd hung back in the shadows, where he could see but not be seen.
But when Audrey's name was announced from backstage and she walked out from behind the curtain, his eyes locked in. Dragged from his vantage point to a spot closer to the stage, he was rapt, incapable of stopping the pull she had over him.
She noticed, and she smiled, and he slowly made his way closer as she spoke.
"There's only one way to save a forest, an idea, or anything of value," he heard her say. "And that is by refusing to stand by and watch it die."
He crossed in front of the stage before taking up a spot on her right, hovering over an open barstool; he relaxed against the bar, where they'd shared drinks only a few nights before. It felt like an eternity since he'd first watched her walk the worn wood floors of her father's hotel to sit at his breakfast table. Now, scarcely a month later, she worked her magic over the room at her feet, holding them rapt and focused on her words. She was, Cooper could see now—more clearly than ever—not only in possession of singular beauty but of a rare mind, full of passion and intellect; deserving of more than a backwater rube whose only certainty in life would be the likelihood of his holding court at the Roadhouse on a nightly basis, deserving of more than a glad-handing business associate of her snake-oil salesman of a father.
Deserving of more than a simple FBI agent? he wondered. Surely she could do better than them all.
He turned to face the stage then, and found Audrey's eyes scan the crowd in an arc that ran from one side to the other as she spoke. "There is a law of nature which is more fundamental to life than the laws of man," she said, "And when something you care about is in danger you must fight to save it…or lose it forever."
She paused, dramatically, and let her eyes scan the crowd once more before stopping at him, noticing him seemingly for the first time. As she locked her eyes on him, staring a hole through space and time that bore into him, her words, which on the surface were about a patch of Pacific Northwest forest, carried a double meaning directly into his heart. He felt the challenge, issued from her lips.
Audrey thanked the crowd and stepped back from the mic as whoops and cheers took over the ballroom before a brief intermission was announced. Cooper hesitated only a moment before making his way to the stairwell that accessed the stage, hoping to do a sweep of the dressing rooms. Instead, he caught Audrey as she made her way down the stairs to the main floor.
Her smile disarmed him. "You came."
Cooper hesitated a moment, caught between his duty to intercept Windom Earle and his sudden desire to whisk Audrey to some faraway place where the evils he knew could never hurt her.
"Did you like my speech?" she asked. "I didn't mean for it to sound so preachy, but Daddy practically told me what to say. Well, at least he told me what he wanted me to say. I tweaked it a bit here and there—"
"Audrey?"
His tone caught her off-guard. She suddenly she stood up straighter. "What is it?"
He shook his head. "Audrey, listen to me. I need your help right now."
Her face lost all trace of levity as she furrowed her brow and lowered her voice. "All right."
"I think Windom Earle is here. I think he's planning something. And I think the winner of the pageant is going to be the target."
Her voice was laced with wonder and fear. "Really?"
"Audrey, has anyone strange been lurking backstage? Someone who ought not to be there?"
She screwed her face up, thinking hard. "My father isn't really supposed to be here. Neither is the mayor, especially since he's a judge, so it makes me think the votes are gonna be rigged." Audrey sighed, disappointed she couldn't offer anything more. "Other than that, I saw Mrs. Lanterman backstage a while back. But she's harmless unless she tries to throw that log at you. That's about it."
Cooper reached out and gripped Audrey's shoulder. "Okay," he said. "Okay. That's good. I'm going to be right where you saw me standing. If you see anything—"
"Shouldn't we stop the pageant?"
He shook his head. "That would arouse his suspicion. As it is, this is the best chance we have of catching him. He's been ahead of us for so long…"
Audrey gulped. "So if I see anything…should we have a signal or something? How will you know?"
Cooper held his grip on her arm. "I'll know."
"Okay. Okay," she whispered, meeting his eyes with intent and strength that nearly knocked him over. "I won't let you down, Agent Cooper."
Filled with the tenderest of emotions, awe and admiration and the deepest affection, he drew her close and kissed her in the corner of her mouth. She stiffened in his grasp, surprised, lifting her hands to flatten them against his chest. But she didn't break away, or push him back. They held it for a second before Cooper pulled away, electrified.
"I'll be right here," he told her.
Hey eyelids fluttered against her cheeks as he drew back. "I know."
And with that he let her go. She disappeared into the blackness of the shadows beside the stage, and he lost sight of her.
His sigh wrenched itself from his sternum as he found a place on the barstool and continued surveying the crowd. The contestants spoke in an excited hush, loud enough to drown out the Mayor who was trying to get everyone's attention to let them know that voting would end shortly. Dozens of girls crowded around in the wings or next to tables on the floor in front of the stage, a sea of evening gowns and pale arms shining in the spotlights.
Annie was nowhere to be found.
Cooper touched a fingertip to his lips before sitting up straighter, collecting himself. But it was no use. With an alacrity that shocked even his finely-tuned consciousness, Cooper realized that the brief and chaste kiss he'd shared with Audrey in the stairwell seconds before was loaded with more meaning than an entire afternoon's diversion with Annie. His earlier conviction—the lack of feeling, of emotion, residing in his kisses with Annie, his detachment from her that afternoon in his bed—suddenly had force and weight. He realized the implications, for his own happiness and for those around him, of the mess he'd created.
Painful as it would be, as soon as the case was over and he was officially relieved of his FBI responsibilities in Twin Peaks, he would have to go back to Philadelphia. And he'd likely go alone. His relationship with Annie—the girl who inspired no depth of feeling in his heart—he knew would be at an end.
And as for Audrey…?
A brief light flicker over the stage and the squeal of the microphone being turned on again seemed to draw everyone's attention for a second; instead of Mayor Milford, Doc Hayward stepped out to centre stage, a card in his hand, and called the contestants back up. The votes had been tallied.
The winner would soon be crowned…