Chapter 5

"Did you have any of that Baked Alaska at lunch? It was divine," he commented airily.

"I think you had too many Long Island Iced Teas. Pull yourself together." Laura had found their pre- send-off lunch to be just a little too tacky. . .the menu of "American" fare (Wisconsin cheese, Boston baked beans, and so on) had been so tongue in cheek that it made her gums itch. And she was nervous.

Before them, out the window, they had a fabulous view of the backside of an aluminum grandstand, specially set-up for their imminent departure. Heaped upon the grandstand were Waterbury luminaries, ad executives, and a smattering of invited guests. Will and Laura could dimly make out the voice of Vesper Shillington, melodically chattering on and on with the press from a podium set up in the middle of the street. And louder, far louder than Vesper, they could hear the angry shouts of the protesters.

Sometime on Monday, someone had leaked to the press that Waterbury Publishing was sponsoring the efforts of two would-be treasure hunters. Though Laura guessed it was just another cog in the well-oiled Waterbury publicity machine, it had unleashed a storm of controversy. The media went nuts, hinting that Waterbury Publishing was pulling a cheap publicity stunt (which it was), giving an unfair advantage to a company insider (which it was not), and turning the entire Sooner Than Never phenomenon into a tawdry, Information Age adventure saga (which they very possibly could be). Will had particularly liked it when Hard Copy referred to him as "Laura Dial's live-in boyfriend." Tuesday night, just after Will had completed yet another conversation with his teary mother, who had been insisting that he and Laura were "ruining their lives," they were greeted on their doorstep by a gaggle of reporters, and a small but exceedingly loud band of their fellow Astorians. Laura, who was taking the last load of her things to their rented storage unit in Long Island City, dove into the car, but Will's insatiable drive for the spotlight made him stop briefly and talk to the reporters. One of the townsfolk had beaned him with a rotten onion. Dejected, speechless, and outraged, he had followed Laura into the car.

And last night, as they sat in their room at the Sheraton (which Vesper had graciously arranged), a steady stream of people had filed onto the sidewalk beneath their window, bearing bullhorns, banners, and extremely durable vocal cords. They had kept Will and Laura wide awake most of the night.

Many of those same hooligans were now behind a police barricade on the opposite side of Sixth Avenue, chanting, hooting, and generally being obnoxious as Vesper made her speech. Something Vesper said drew a sudden, hearty laugh and emphatic applause from the crowd. A marching band, on hand for the occasion, crashed into another rousing volley of "I Have Confidence."

"Jesus Christ," Will grumped. "They can hire a damn marching band, and close down half of the city, but they can't give us a decent car?"

"Be quiet!" Laura hissed. The entire to-do over their departure had made her already bad mood worse.

The revolving door of the lobby turned and turned, and in popped Alyssa, the perky new assistant in Special Events and Promotions. "They're ready for you now," she said breathlessly. "Ms. Shillington wanted me to remind you to go directly to the car, and not to--"

"We know," Laura said, and pushed past the assistant. Will followed her. . .out the door, around the bleachers, and onto a narrow strip of red carpet laid down the middle of the street. At the end of the carpet stood Vesper, Simon Waterbury, and--absurdly, surreally--their homely little car.

A great roar rose up from the crowd. Laura made a beeline down the carpet, waving briefly to the Waterbury side of the street. Will's eyes scanned the grandstand, and he caught fleeting glimpses of his brother (who drove down from Syracuse for the day), Fern Findlay, Bryant, the staff of Transylvania Station, and David Nimoy. David Nimoy?

Will almost tripped. David Nimoy. His ex-boyfriend. Will shuddered. That was an ill-omen if there ever was one. Will almost bumped into Laura, who was shaking hands with Vesper and Simon. The protesters jeered. Will flipped them the bird. Laura rolled her eyes at him and climbed into the driver's seat of the Omega. Will daintily kissed Vesper's hand, and shook Simon's wrinkled paw vigorously.

"Bon chance et bon voyage, young man," the mogul said stuffily. "May safety and adventure be your constant co-pilots as you toddle off into the world."

Will walked around the car, got in, and slammed the door.

Laura turned the ignition. The car belched, and slowly began to move.

Across the street, Julie Moran of Entertainment Tonight shouted over the teeming crowd. "Liftoff! We have liftoff! The most controversial couple in publishing history is underway!"

************

An hour later, Vesper stood in her office, making last minute preparations.

"So you know your assignment. You keep your eyes open, darling, and your mouth shut. You are only to be known as 'an unnamed source close to Waterbury Publishing.' You watch them like a hawk, and give me good copy that we can feed to the networks. Remember, we want to give the public what Nellie Bly gave to the readers of that turn-of-the-century newspaper--"

"Drama. Excitement. Adventure," the reporter said dully.

"Don't cut me off, darling. I hate it when people cut me off. The chopper is waiting on the roof to take you to Hoboken. You can nab them as they come out of the Lincoln Tunnel."

"Where are they going?"

"I don't know, darling. That's your job to figure out. But don't let them catch you or I'll have your head for brunch."

The reporter left.

Vesper knocked on the door to her private bathroom. Chad's head popped out.

"Is he gone?"

"No, darling, he's still here; please come out and spill the beans about all our plans and machinations. . .of course he's gone."

"And he doesn't know about my involvement?"

"Sweetie, no one knows about your involvement."

"What's his name?"

"Nimoy, darling. David Nimoy. As in Dr. Spock."

"Mr. Spock," Chad corrected.

"Feh," said Vesper, sticking out her tiny pink tongue at him.

********

Laura and Will sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic in the Holland Tunnel.

"I can't believe you convinced me to do this," Laura sighed as she adjusted the rear view mirror.

"Well, I did," Will beamed. "And now look at us! Celebrities!"

"And wanted by every wacko in the country."

"Oh, we'll be forgotten by Christmas."

"Will, just where are we going? Are you going to finally tell me now?"

"West, Miss Tessmocher, west!"

"Yes, dear, but where west?"

"Well, like I explained to you. . .I don't think it's a single clue that leads to the cash. . .I think it's a progression. And it's always best to start at the beginning," he quipped in his best Billie Burke.

"So?"

"So. . .in Chapter One, Simon details the demure youth of Lady Violet. . .her blushing, her uncomfortability with society, her reticence with suitors, her long and lonely nights on the shore of the mist-shrouded lake. . ."

"And?"

"Simon uses the word 'shy' six times in the first chapter, and never again in the other nine."

"How do you know?"

"I found it on a website by those dumb-dumb linguistic students in Arizona."

"My, you have been busy."

"Plus, Simon said something very bizarre to me when we left. . .'Bon Voyage as you toddle away, bleh bleh bleh.'"

"So?"

"In a certain city in this country, there have been an abnormally high number of Waterbury-related arrests in the past month. . .you know, people digging up public property, going out of bounds at tourist attractions. . ."

"Will, WHERE ARE WE DRIVING TO?"

"Home! To Tara!"

'We're going to Georgia?"

"No! Don't you see? Shy little violet. The lake. Shy-town. Chi-town. That toddlin' town!"

"Chicago?"

"Chicago!"

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