"Joyce! What the hell is the meaning of this?!"
Franny rolled over to try and get a look at the speaker. Her first sight was of a pair of black shoes, shined to such a gloss that the reflection of a ballgagged ballet teacher could be clearly seen in them. Her gaze traveled farther up, taking in a distinguished-looking man with grey hair and a very expensive suit.
"Aaauugghhh!" Franny did her best to try and warn the man—for all either of them knew, Brenda Joyce might already have her gun out of her handbag. "UUUhhhh!" Her communication consisted of nothing but slobbering vowel sounds.
"Let me explain…" Brenda Joyce began in a smooth voice. Franny desperately tried to see the woman from where she lay on the floor.
"Explain? This is an outrage!" Franny could see the man regarding her as she lay bound at his feet. "An outrage!" Oh, God, thought Franny, quit yelling at her and go for the police—don’t stop to untie me, I’ll wait! "This is not my client’s wife!!"
Franny was certain she had misunderstood. She waited for the man to insist that Brenda Joyce release her. No, she had heard correctly—Brenda Joyce was explaining to the man that Ted was with Madame Ulanova, in the next room.
"Well, who is this, then?"
"A nosey troublemaker. Don’t worry, we’ll deal with her."
"Well, for heaven’s sake, make sure it’s done neatly. Now, I have to return to the party. Please let me know when Madame Ulanova is ready to go."
Party? The Opening Night Gala! It had to be going on somewhere nearby! Brenda Joyce and the man had departed, leaving her alone on the floor. The door hadn’t closed all the way, and Franny could see into the office: the curtained window! She could hardly be sure, but just suppose it did lead to the outside, or even to the area where the Gala was being held. She had to take the chance.
Gently, Franny slid her head into the partially opened doorway, and gingerly moved her shoulders through, opening the door far enough to admit her slim form. Fortunately, the door moved smoothly and quietly as she crawled through. Across the office, there was evidently an anteroom like the one she was in; Brenda Joyce and the man were speaking with someone inside it. Their backs were to Franny as she slithered across the carpeted floor; as she had at the hotel, Brenda Joyce had done a less stringent job tying her legs than Ted would have, and she was finally able to slip her ankles free. Hunching her shoulders, she checked one last time to see that her captors were still looking in the other direction. With all the strength in her legs, she heaved herself at the curtain.
Franny spun, getting her back to the curtain, her slippered feet nearly silent on the heavy carpet. Her fingers grabbed desperately to find a purchase on the heavy fabric before she was seen. There! She had it! Using enough of her weight to pull without overbalancing herself, she yanked as hard as she could, pulling the curtain to the floor. Surely her captors would have heard that sound, but it didn’t matter. Rescue was at hand! The Gala was being held in the room right next door! Franny could see hundreds of people milling around, eating, drinking, talking. Directly below where she stood was a table with hors d’eourves, and an elegantly dressed blond woman was just helping herself to a snack.
"HHHeeeeuuuuuggghhh!" Franny shrieked into her gag. The woman was looking straight at her! "HHHeeeuuggghh!" the girl repeated. Oh, no, not another one in on the kidnap plot! But, no, this woman was simply continuing to snack, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at a companion. She turned back toward Franny one more time, her eyes practically meeting the helpless girl’s. Franny tried once more to yell, and the woman seemed to be looking right through her.
From behind came the sound of Brenda Joyce giggling. "Nice try, honey. I guess you didn’t realize that they’re holding the Gala in the rehearsal studio. That’s a two-way mirror, that allows officers of the ballet company to watch without intruding. You can see them just fine, but I’m afraid they can’t see you. And with the amount of noise out there, it’s highly unlikely they’d hear you, either."
It was just too much. Franny sank against the pane of one-way glass, weeping. No one was coming to save her. Whatever these people planned to do with her, there was nothing she could do about it. From the next room, she could hear Ted laughing. Hands touched her shoulders, and Brenda Joyce said, "C’mon, now. You’re not getting away. Just come with me and be a good girl." The woman took Franny by the arm, and led her into the other room.
In the smaller room, Franny was amazed to see that Madame Ulanova was seated at the table, unbound, her face and hair creased where the gag had been. She was eating a small packaged salad, and sipping from a glass of water. Ted stood near her, his gun in plain view. Another salad and glass were at a place next to her, and Brenda Joyce said gently, "Have a little something. It will keep up your strength." Franny nodded her head feebly, and the woman turned her around, untying her wrists and arms. Franny could barely lift them, so her captor unbuckled the ballgag from behind her head. The saliva-lubricated ball was pulled from between her teeth, and Franny collapsed into the chair.
Franny had never imagined she could trust her captors, but she was far too hungry and thirsty to care. Both women ate and drank in silence. Finally, finished, Franny put down her glass, and looked at her captors. She had fully expected them to begin retying her, but they just sat watching and smiling. It took only a few seconds for Franny to understand: she had been drugged. The narcotic had been, no doubt, intended to make Madame Ulanova easier to prepare for her journey back to Russia. What did they have in mind for their other captive? And did it matter? For now, Franny was beginning to feel wonderfully warm and relaxed. Her peril was no less imminent than it had been, but all that seemed far less important now. She tried to prop her head on her elbows over the table, but they didn’t want to stay up. Slowly, her head began to sink to the tabletop. She knew she should fight it, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She lay one cheek against the polished wood, her hair spreading out on the glossy surface. She felt Brenda Joyce reach down and take a handful of her hair, lifting her face to smirk at her captive. Franny could feel the sharp pain, and knew she should react, but all she could do was grin stupidly at the woman holding her. Brenda Joyce smiled at Franny’s lack of reaction, released the hold in her hair, and said, "She’s ready." Gratefully, Franny let her head sag back down to the table. All she wanted now was to sleep.
Sleep came and went. Sometimes she was fully aware of her surroundings, sometimes not. At no time, though, was she able to make any movement to affect her situation. She knew that she had been thrown, unbound, into the trunk of the car, next to a sleeping Madame Ulanova. She drifted off to sleep in the stifling dark of the trunk. Her next memory was of being carried over the man, Ted’s, shoulder. He was holding her legs to his chest, and her arms hung down either side of her head, which collided with his back every few steps. Franny knew her trim rear was high on the man’s shoulder, and she could feel his hand give it an insolent squeeze from time to time. She tried to raise her head to see where they were going, but all she could see was a glimpse of Brenda Joyce’s high-heeled feet through the curtain of her hair hanging down. It was too much effort to hold up her head, anyway, and she let it fall back again. When next she awoke, she was in a small, barely-lit room. She was lying on the floor, Ted presumably having set her down there. Her fuzzy brain recognized some sort of arrangement of pullies and ropes at one side of the room. Before she could register more, she felt Ted prop her up in front of him. Brenda Joyce drew out a roll of silver duct tape, and proceeded to simply wrap the tape over Franny’s lips, and around her head, over and over again, smoothing it over her lips, and plastering her hair against her head. Ted then picked her up again. She tried to drift back to sleep, but a sharp pain in her back startled her. Two sets of hands then went to work fastening her in place. Franny could hear the sounds of duct tape being stripped from rolls, as Brenda Joyce and Ted wound tape around her wrists and ankles. She could almost make sense out of the muttered conversation between the two, but her mind just refused to focus. She knew that her arms and legs had been spread apart, and that they didn’t want to move now, but that was as far as she got before she finally dropped back to sleep.
Her awakening was cold and sharp. In her sleep, perspiration had soaked her leotard, and the air-conditioning was chilling. Music was filtering down to her from somewhere, and the boom of a tympani punctuated a familiar waltz: she was in the theatre! The performance was under way, and she was a prisoner somewhere inside. There was an agonizingly sharp pain in her back, and as she unsuccessfully tried to move, her blood froze as her brain finally registered her situation: Ted and Joyce had left her spreadeagled across the iron rail at the bottom of the counterweight system. Her right wrist and ankle had been taped to stanchions at the base of the railing; her left wrist and ankle were similarly taped, but on the far side of the railing, leaving her spreadeagled on her back, across the rail, looking up into the darkness. She didn’t need to be able to see to know what was up there: the counterweights that moved the sets! She was lying right in their path, and it didn’t take much imagination to guess that the one she was lying directly under was the one supporting the huge clock! Oh, my God—she desperately tried to hear enough of the music to know how soon it would come crashing down! It was the ball scene! The "Grand Waltz" had begun! There couldn’t be more than about ten minutes or so before the cue to move the clock would bring several hundred pounds hurtling down on her!
Now, Franny’s attempts to escape put her previous efforts to shame. Only her superbly-conditioned muscles prevented dislocation of a hip or shoulder, as she pulled frenziedly on the imprisoning tape. Unlike the ropes they had used before, the duct tape had no give to it. With more leverage, she might have stretched it enough to pull free, but she was fastened so securely in place that none of her limbs could exert enough pressure to loosen the bindings.
"Huuummfff!" she screamed beneath the gag. Her mouth was not packed this time, but the multiple turns of duct tape sealed her lips completely. HHHeeaaammmfff!" Useless, of course, but the logic of surrender would do no good, either. How many minutes could there be left? How many seconds? Another despairing cry, Franny’s eyes closed—and then snapped open. Voices. Someone was coming close to her prison.
With rescue at hand, Franny had to draw on every ounce of strength she had remaining, screaming into the stifling gag. The urgent voices grew closer, and now she could hear feet in the hallway. Hurry, hurry, her mind raged at them. Now, they were pounding on the door. Oh, God, how many minutes—maybe seconds—remained?! With a crash, the door to the room gave way, and a uniformed police officer burst in. He had a fraction of a second of shocked surprise: the room was much smaller than he had imagined, and the momentum that had carried him crashing through the door sent him flying across to the far wall, where he tripped over a metal toolbox lying on the floor, collided heavily with the wall, and slumped to the floor, bleeding from a cut on his head, unconscious.
Now, Franny’s struggles ceased. The heady mixture of courage and adrenaline that had carried her through her ordeal evaporated. Her rescuer lay unconscious on the floor, and her last moments on earth would soon be orchestrated to Prokofiev’s demonic waltz. She closed her eyes and wept.
"Fran?!? Hello?!? Are you in here?!?" What a lovely way to make her final exit: she had dreamed that Erik was here to rescue her.
"Oh, my God!" Only his actual touch brought Franny back to reality. Erik was here! But could he free her? He pulled at one of her bound wrists; she ignored the pain, but did her best to show him that he wouldn’t get her out that way—he’d need to find a tool of some kind. He had clearly reached the same conclusion. He turned to look at the unconscious policeman, and scrambled to open the toolbox. Hammers, screwdrivers, nothing that would work! And, Franny knew, it was unlikely he had any idea of just how imminent disaster was. Finally, he stood up, holding a tiny saw in his hand. Wasting no more energy on speech, he moved quickly to cut the tape around her left wrist. She tugged on the tape, to hold it as taut as possible. It snapped free, and Erik reached for her other wrist. Frantically, Franny grabbed his shoulder and pointed at her left ankle. The clock was now striking above, the music spiralling madly, and she had to get off that rail! Fortunately, Erik wasted no time asking questions, and fell to cutting the tape around her ankle. As soon as it came free, Franny wrenched her body up, hurling herself off the rail. Erik lowered her to the floor, still hanging from her right wrist and ankle, as the scene concluded onstage, and the massive clock flew out, hundreds of pounds of iron clanking onto the spot Franny had occupied only seconds before. She scarcely even noticed Erik cutting her remaining bonds. Instead, she sobbed in relief, and fell into his arms when she was finally freed. She did feel the rain of kisses he showered on her neck, hair, and face, and she clutched him close, burying her head in his chest.
For several minutes, neither moved, Franny’s face buried in Erik’s chest. Finally, he cleared his throat, and asked, "Ummm… do you want me to untape your mouth?" If she hadn’t been gagged, Franny probably would have burst into hysterical laughter. As it was, she did her best to smile under the gag, and lowered her head to let Erik slide the small saw blade gingerly between the tape and her cheek. After a minute of careful work, he was able to peel it away from her mouth. Once it was free, though, he looked uncertainly at the way the rest of the tape was still wrapped over her hair. Franny laughed.
"Don’t worry," she said. "After what I’ve been through, getting duct tape out of my hair will seem like a breeze," and she laughed again. "How did you find me?"
"Well, the message you left put the police on the right track. When they found your scarf, and figured you had been tied with it, that led them to think you might still be here. They found the man and woman who kidnapped you in the parking lot with that poor Russian woman, and I guess they figured they’d get off more easily if they told us where to find you."
"Oh, my scarf. Actually, they gagged me with it." She thought for a moment. "Did the police give it to you?"
"Yes, but it looks a little wrinkled and damp. I’ll get you a new one."
"Oh, I’d like a new one, but I just thought I might keep the old one as a souvenir."
He took the scarf from his pocket and handed it to her. "A souvenir? Of being kidnapped and nearly killed?"
Franny draped the scarf about her shoulders, and thought for a second. "Yeah. It may have been the worst experience of my life, but you’ll have to admit it was a pretty unique one."
"Well, I hope it stays that way. I don’t want this happening to you again!"
"No, of course not…" Franny’s voice trailed off. "Neither do I." Deep in thought, she walked with Erik out of the theatre. Surreptitiously, she fingered the scarf, damp from her saliva. Well, of course, no one would really want to be kidnapped. But to say she'd never have another adventure… well, she couldn't promise that!