E VA N M A N D E R Y
Chapter 21 ***
A
RMS FOLDED, a beefy sentry guarded the Broward Performing Arts
Center backstage entrance. Across a barrier, a throng of screaming teenagers held “We Love Spitfire” signs that they hoped to have
signed by the band. They expelled so much youthful heat they made the thick Florida night air feel like soup. Through this sea of adolescents, an old man in checkered pants and a threadbare Titleist shirt attempted to wade his way to the velvet rope, earning dirty looks and more than a few elbows. Just who did he think he was, anyway? He timidly approached the brute, who spoke before the old man could even say a word. “You got the wrong night, pal. The Englebert Humperdink show is tomorrow.” The goon turned to his companion, an oleaginous-looking man of thirty or so, and continued speaking as if David weren’t there, or if he were, as if he weren’t human. “You know we get all kinds here. When Wayne Newton is here, the old biddies scream for him like he’s Elvis or something.” The comment received no reply. The guard’s colleague had all the trappings of someone who either was important or wanted to create the appearance of being important. He was dressed entirely in black and wore tortoise-shell glasses that were so obviously designed to age him up, one couldn’t help but doubt whether they contained lenses. He car223