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“Yes,” Holly whispers back.
Onstage Kate asks, “Who you gonna believe?”
“Believe the woman!” they yell back.
She makes that waggling gesture with both hands.“Come on, Davenport, don’t pussy out on me, who you gonna believe?”
“BELIEVE THE WOMAN!”
“When the man says she wanted it?”
“BELIEVE THE WOMAN!”
“When the man swears she said okay?”
“BELIEVE THE WOMAN!”
“You guys! Who you gonna believe?”
“BELIEVE THE WOMAN!” the men yell… although if push should come right down to shove, Holly isn’t sure what any man will do. She’s heard women say men are simple creatures. Holly doesn’t argue the idea—such arguments are pointless—but doesn’t really believe it. Women have basements; men have sub-basements.
“That’s right. Believe the woman, respect the woman, and don’t take any shit from people who don’t. Thank you, Davenport, you’ve been so great! Goodnight!”
But they won’t let her go until she’s come out for three bows. Standing O time. Only the boo-birds refuse to get on their feet. Not so many as in Iowa City, Holly observes, and sitting there in their blue shirts, they look like sulky children. She reminds herself that even children can be dangerous, and that leads her back to what she was thinking when she glanced at that screen shot, expecting nothing and getting a lot. Maybe everything. She needs to talk to Izzy, but first she has to take care of her women.
Later on she will think,Thank God for the chair. If not for that, Kate could have ended up in Ira Davenport Hospital. Or dead.
4
The RiverCenter stage door is on Third Street, and so Holly has arranged for them to go out a different way, onto Pershing Avenue, where a car and driver provided by Next Page Books will be waiting to whisk them back to the hotel. After Iowa City, Holly expects no problem with their exit (what’s called “exfiltration” inEssentials for Bodyguards), but that turns out to be far too optimistic.
Later, in Madison, Corrie Anderson will fill Holly in on what she’s learned about Kate’s audiences on this tour, much of it from Kateherself. “There are three main after-show groups,” she’ll say. “There are Woman Power fans who just want to wave and maybe get a picture of Kate leaving the building. There are autograph seekers, who can be a little pushier. Then there are the eBayers.”
“The what?”
“Collectors. Brokers. Buy-sell-and-trade guys. They’re rabid and they’re pushy. It’s only partly about money. It’s also about the thrill of the hunt. They want first editions signed, or limited editions—Kate did a couple of those. They want posters, eight-by-ten glossies, even one-sheets from the ShowtimeWomen Nowdoc she participated in. They have stuff you wouldn’t believe. One woman wanted Kate to sign a pair ofpanties. They sell their goods on eBay or dedicated collectors’ sites like Kate 4Eva. The true fanatics are as persistent as cockroaches and just as hard to get rid of.”
Holly finds out for herself when they emerge on Pershing. This exfiltration point was supposed to be a dead secret, but there’s a crowd of seventy-five or a hundred people waiting for them. They aren’t taking pix with their phones; they’re waving books, magazines, posters, and other paraphernalia—one has a gay pride rainbow flag—all of them calling things likeKate! For my mother, Kate, she couldn’t come! Kate, I came all the way from Fort Collins! Kate, please! Please! I’ve been a fan since 2004!How they knew about Holly’s exit strategy is a thing she never finds out, but after being fooled the first time—possibly just by dumb luck—they somehow do.
A RiverCenter usher is sitting in a folding chair and waiting for Kate to come out. When the crowd surges forward, he gets up, spreads his arms, and does his best to hold them back… which is like King Canute trying to hold back the tide. Beyond the waving, yelling eBayers, their driver—a young woman who looks like a college student—watches with a face that says,I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do now.
Holly’s phone is on her belt, still set to mute. She feels it vibrate, looks down, sees JEROME in the window. She has no time to consider this, let alone answer, because just then a howl of rage cuts through the persistent babble.
“YOUUUU BIIIIITCH!”
A very large man who looks like a gone-to-seed WWE wrestler bulls his way through the crowd. He’s wearing khaki pants and a dirty white tee-shirt. His hair is shaved down to a shadow. His arms are inked and his face is red with fury. He’s swinging a baseball bat. The usher steps in front of him and the man (the Hulk, Holly thinks,the Incredible Hulk) sends him flying into the street with one push.
“YOUUUUU FUUUUCKING BIIITCH!”
Kate freezes, staring with wide, amazed eyes as the Incredible Hulk raises his bat. Corrie lifts one hand in astopgesture that will work on this man no more than a pitcher of water would work on a forest fire.
Holly doesn’t think, simply kicks the usher’s chair. It skitters across the sidewalk. The Incredible Hulk trips over it and faceplants on the concrete. Blood leaps from his nose and lips. The eBayers are screaming and backing away, some dropping their precious mementos, phones, and Sharpies.
The Hulk rolls over. His lower face is painted with blood. He points at Kate like an explorer pointing out an extraordinary landmark.“YOUUU! MY WIFE LEFT ME BECAUSE OF YOUUUU!”
He’s struggling to get up. Somewhere a police siren has begun to whoop. Holly says to Kate, “Get in the car.”
Kate goes without question or hesitation, hauling her stunned assistant by one arm. The Hulk has made it to his knees, looking after them. Holly dips into her bag, and when the Hulk turns back to her, she hits him with a faceful of pepper spray.