LADY SHADE

Episode 4: Casablanca Blues

November 26, 1942

One would think that I would have something better to do on Thanksgiving Day than go to a motion picture show, but when my aide de camp, Stubby, came knocking on my door that chilly and blustery November day wearing that hang-dog look, how on earth could I say ‘No’?

We had just finished dinner, my family and I, not an hour before. Mama and my little sister Doris were in the kitchen washing up and storing the left over food in the ice box while I was in the living room with my Grandpa Jake trying to find something to listen to on the radio. We were warm and content, the old corner stove pumping out heat against the late autumn chill, warming our tiny sixth floor Midtown walk-up. I felt bloated from the feast, Mama having squirreled away from our rations over the past month to have a bit more on the table this holiday, and quite a fare it was. The turkey was small, but with only three weight conscious women in the apartment, along with Grandpa Jake, it proved to be more than enough. There were no sweet potatoes, but we had a bit of homemade cranberry preserves- a gift from Mrs. Hansen down the hall- with plenty of biscuits, mashed potatoes and green beans. For desert Mama had baked a huge pumpkin pie, and I think it was my second slice of that that did me in. Mama and Doris ate their fair shares of course, but with Papa away in the Pacific, Grandpa Jake seemed to think that it was his duty to eat the share of the ‘man of the house’.

We were listening to the nightly war reports, and I was trying my best not to nod off when the knock came at the door. Mama yelled from the kitchen for me to answer, and I glanced at Grandpa Jake as I struggled to my feet. He was down for the count; his chin on his chest, the top two buttons on his trousers undone to allow room for his bulging belly. He snorted at the repeated knocking, but did not come awake as I padded quietly to the door in my stockinged feet.

Oddly, I was not surprised to see Stubby at the door. Stewart “Stubby” Stubbins was a queer little fellow, but you just had to love him. He was short and chubby, but cute, sort of a cross between Lou Costello and Curly Howard. Not my first choice for a dream date, but he had a heart of gold, and despite a long streak of bad luck and a perpetual state of clumsiness, he could always make me smile. Stubby often accompanied me in the field, carrying my radio equipment along with his own camera, driving the car and the like. We both had regular jobs with World News Radio; me as an on-the-spot announcer and journalist, and Stubby acting as my soundman. He was also a free lance shutterbug, usually selling his photos (which were quite good, I might add) to the New York World, the paper that owned the radio station. We both loved our work, and Stubby and I had shared many an adventure, even before the outbreak of the war.

Stubby gave me a warm smile, suddenly remembering his manners and whipping his derby off his head, releasing the unruly mane of curly red hair that the hat had barely held in check. As I asked him inside, however, I noticed that the smile seemed forced and quickly vanished. Stubby seemed nervous about something, but I could not for the life of me guess what it might be.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Stubby.” I said, quickly regretting it. I felt bad, suddenly remembering that Stubby had no family that I knew of, and I wondered if he had even eaten a holiday meal. I offered him a plate, but he declined, shifting from foot to foot as he slid the brim of his hat through his fingers. I should have invited him over for dinner to begin with, but had not even considered it. Stubby had said nothing, of course, but still, it would have been the right thing to do. Stubby had a lot of friends, I knew- a lot of influential friends oddly enough, but somehow I imagined that we had all neglected poor Stubby that day.

“So, whattaya know, Stubby?” I asked sitting down on the arm of the sofa. I wanted to steer the conversation away from holiday cheer, as I was feeling guilty as sin, but it was kind of hard. Especially with the fact that Granddad was sawing logs on the couch right beside me looking too much like a beached whale the way his belly was hanging out over the top of his trousers. I flushed a pretty shade of red when he snorted again, but Stubby seemed to pay it no mind.

“Well…Lisa…I- uh…” It was Stubby’s turn to blush as he hemmed and hawed, stumbling over his words. He was usually not so tongue-tied around me, so I figured that whatever he had to say must have been important to him. I waited, leaning back and crossing my legs. There was nothing I could do until he found the courage to spit out what he wanted to say. I smiled, thinking that it almost seemed as though he were trying to ask me out on a date. It turned out that I was not too far off base.

“I was wondering…Lisa…if you might- well- Would you like to go to the movies with me?”

My mouth must have dropped open because the look on Stubby’s face turned from nervousness to despair. I was shocked to say the least. Not offended, as Stubby must have thought, but flabbergasted that he had just asked me out. I never suspected that he might have a ‘thing’ for me. Stubby must have read my mind though, or at least my facial expression as his hands shot up to wave off whatever I was about to say-

“No! No, it’s not like that!” he squeaked. He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow. I was feeling a bit warm myself all of a sudden. He took a deep breath as he refolded his hankie and tucked it away before starting over.

“I was supposed ta cover the preview showin’ a’ that new Bogart movie over at the Hollywood Theatre. Y’know, Casablanca? I didn’t have anything ta do t’day, really, so I figgered I could take a few snapshots a’ the stars an’ see a good flick t’boot. I had a date too; Judy Wilkins, down in type settin’. You know her. Anyhoo, she called before an’ said she’d totally forgot the picture an’ started washin’ her hair. She couldn’t go, Y’know, out in the wind. Can’t blame her, I s’pose, still, that leaves me wit’ an extra ticket.”

Stubby produced the two tickets from the pocket of his sweater vest, showing me I guess that he did indeed have them. He looked at me expectantly, hoping for the best I suppose, and I just had to smile. He looked like a little kid, and I just could not say ‘No’, like I said before. His face lit up like it was Christmas when I agreed to accompany him, and his own good humor kept a smile on my face. I told him to grab a seat while I changed clothes and hurried off to the room I shared with Doris to pretty myself up just a little.

Stubby was dressed as he always was in his off-green tweed suit and red sweater vest. He almost always wore a bow tie as well, and tonight was no exception. He was hardly dressed for a Hollywood premiere, and I knew the elite that would be showing up would be dressed to the tee. I could not over dress and embarrass Stubby- not that I was even sure that he was aware of fashion- but I did not want to underdress and embarrass myself either. I finally settled on a basic black dress that hung just below my knees and hugged my hips well, broken up by a wide black leather belt. Not too much cleavage, but enough to display what was underneath with a hint. Not that I was trawling, mind you, but what girl doesn’t have fantasies of a movie star like Bogey picking them out of the crowd. Besides, I would have to wear a coat outside in the cold, and in the theatre, when the lights went down no one would see what I was wearing anyway. I teased my hair a bit, but unlike that tramp Judy Wilkins, I had not washed it for a couple of days so it would not cooperate. I ended up tying it back into a loose tail and fluffing out my bangs in a Joan Crawford look. I carefully rolled my last decent pair of nylons up my legs and adjusted the seams in the back before stepping into a thick-soled pair of black pumps that made my calves curvy. I sighed as I stood, realizing that I would now tower over poor Stubby by several inches, but in the end decided against my flats. I was pretty enough that I figured Stubby would be happier if I dressed to impress his fellow news hounds rather than trying to meet up with his standards of a date. Besides, Stubby had said this was not a date, and I had to think of myself, right?

I grabbed my long gray trenchcoat, figuring that it would be warm enough since I had sewn in a lining, and scooped up my over-sized bag without even looking inside. I had not worn the coat since last winter, and found my long white muffler rolled up in one of the deep pockets. I smirked, realizing that I had most of my Lady Shade disguise in hand without even realizing it, and decided to wear my wide brim black leather hat as a lark. I stepped back into the living room to find poor Stubby flanked by my mother and sister, both of them gabbing in an ear and him looking flustered as he tried to divide his attention between the two. I just had to laugh, as he looked so uncomfortable.

I rescued my erstwhile escort, saying that we had to rush, grabbing his arm and leading him towards the door. My sister was obviously jealous that we were going to a real Hollywood premiere, and more so as she loved Bogey. I gave her a wicked smile as I ushered Stubby out into the hall, telling her not to wait up. It was fabulous!

It was just over ten blocks from my apartment building to the theatre in Times Square, so we decided to walk. Unfortunately, the wind was brisk and far colder than both of us were expecting and ended up haling a taxicab on Thirty-fifth Street and Park. We huddled together in the back of the cab, trying to warm up again until the taxi came to a halt just short of Times Square. Traffic was a jumbled mess, as it appeared that over half the city had come out to get a glimpse of Bogart and Bergman. Stubby tossed the cabby a Jefferson and we hurried along, shouldering our way through the crowded streets.

It took us almost fifteen minutes to fight our way through the throng of people lining the streets the few blocks up to the Hollywood Theatre. I was surprised at the number of people out and about on such a chilly, holiday night, but apparently there were quite a few bored people in Manhattan on Thanksgiving with nothing to do after the big meal but go to church or the theatre. We could see searchlights beaming to the heavens from Forty-second Street, but the neon lights of the theatre district were dark. I knew that the city had shut down the light show due to the war, but I had thought that the studios would feel that Bogart was worth the kilowattage and have everything up and running full blast. I was sadly mistaken. Dominating the scene, the Coca-Cola sign seemed dark and lonely, the Camel Cigarette banner dull and boring, reflecting only the occasional light of the passing cars. Even on a holiday, at an early evening hour I noticed that there were men lined up outside of the Army recruiting station set up on Forty-third Street across from the Square’s park. It gave me a feeling of pride to know that so many young men were still signing up to fight the good fight for America and the world. I often considered signing up myself, joining up with the W.A.C.s or even the Red Cross or the USO, but I realize that I am doing my part on the homefront, both as Lisa Lord, ace reporter for a great metropolitan radio station, and as Lady Shade, masked mystery woman and spy buster extraordinaire. The Andrew Sisters would just have to entertain the troops without me.

Rounding a final corner I saw the source of light that had led us to our goal. The studios had set up lights outside of the Hollywood Theatre, lighting up most of the block. The press had followed suit and set up lights of their own, for newsreel cameras as well as the regular photographers like Stubby. There was a sea of people awash in the artificial light. Hundreds, if not thousands of people were lining the sidewalk and spilling out into the street, snarling traffic and causing the jam to end all jams. I could barely make out a line of police trying to hold the crowd back and keep them in place; the throng pressing against them as they stood locked arm in arm before the movie house. Studio security was there as well, lining the red carpet that led from the curb to the doors along an aisle defined by two strings of velvet ropes. Reporters and photographers were gathered near the doors of the theatre, and the newsreel cameras were lined up along the ‘Walk of Fame’, hoping to get a juicy shot of the stars and ‘special people’ expected to attend the gala.

Stubby flashed his press pass and shoved his way through the mob to join the other fellows gathered near the door. I was not on duty of course, but he led me along as I stared wide-eyed trying to spot anyone important. I saw several people that I knew, fellow reporters mainly, but also a few that I knew of. Strom Thurman was there with a woman that I assumed to be his wife. I saw Mayor LaGuardia giving an interview, along with a few people from his staff. Someone mentioned that Paul Heinreid had already arrived, but both Bogey and Bergman were still no shows.

I was getting cold. Despite the crowd around me, I was shivering, and I could see my breath. Still, I was enjoying the show outside the theatre almost as much as I would the movie later, I was sure. I was just watching the people when there was an eruption of light, dozens of flashbulbs going off and blinding me for several seconds. I knuckled my eyes, trying to focus on the sudden activity at the curb and was suddenly worried that after all of this, I would miss the arrival of one of the stars. I heard a low murmur roll through the crowd, growing in volume and eventually erupting in cheers and applause. I could hear my fellow journalists from the radio and newsreels suddenly rattling off their stories as the police began to push the surging crowd back.

I cursed under my breath, blinking my eyes as the excited mob carried me along. Slowly the spots dancing through my sight began to fade and I stared in awe as a group of blurry images came into focus. I gasped-

Bogart was there, waving to the crowd giving his best on camera smile. He seemed shorter than I had expected, and thinner, but he still had a chiseled look about him that made my knees grow weak. His wife, Mayo Mathot was on his arm, smiling and looking radiant. Beyond them, already inside the theatre I could just make out the equally glamorous Ingrid Bergman, just for a second, as a crowd of journalists, fans and her entourage swept her away and out of sight.

It was not the movie stars however that had made me gasp in shock. Beyond the velvet ropes, on the other side of the stars and mingling in with the sea of faces was an image that I definitely recognized. A face I would never forget. She almost towered over the rest of the people- which was why I could spot her so easily- as she was a tall woman, accentuated by the stiletto heeled jack boots that I was sure she must be wearing. Image is everything after all. Her stark and pale face was only slightly rosy from the cold, her eyebrows arched in a scowl that wrinkled her forehead. Her raven black hair was pulled back and twisted into a severe bun, part of the reason for her nasty attitude, I’m sure. She looked almost exactly as I recalled; evil snarl twisting her red, shining lips, slick black leather trenchcoat with the collar turned up, little lightning bolt earrings sparkling in the flashing light of dozens of cameras. The Nazi woman warrior that was a spy and a saboteur for Hitler here in America! The vile, arrogant witch that had blown up the Normandie last February! The bitch that had almost killed me in the process!

The Valkyrie…

Episode 5: The Big Slip

The crowd surged for the doors as soon as the police opened the ropes and I was jostled along despite my best efforts. Being a journalist, I was no stranger to fighting my way through a mob, and I was elbowing my way along trying to keep the Valkyrie in sight when suddenly I felt a hand grip my arm and drag me off to one side. I struggled, but in vain as I was off balance in my heels and the tugging had caught me by surprise. It was Stubby, of course, and I groaned, knowing full well before I turned back that the Nazi would be gone.

“C’mon Lisa!” Stubby shouted above the din in the lobby, totally ignorant of what he had just done. “We gotta get to our seats. The picture’s startin’ any minute!”

I of course had lost all interest in Bogey and Bergman by that point. I had bigger fish to fry. I doubted that Hitler’s Hench-woman was there to take in the flick, and was quite certain that she was up to no good. Some new act of sabotage no doubt, designed to erode America’s confidence, to strike a blow against democracy! And what better place to do it, I figured, than here at the theatre where some of Hollywood’s biggest stars were gathered, along with senators, journalists, and the mayor of New York City to boot. If that witch followed suit, she was probably off planting bombs while Stubby was dragging me to our seats. I had to get away and look for my nemesis…but how?

I was so lost in thought that when Stubby stopped abruptly right in front of me I did not even realize it. I stumbled into him, bouncing back but not even moving him with the impact. I looked up, figuring we were caught up in the bottleneck at the doors leading into the screening room, thinking this might be my chance to slip away. I was wrong, however, as Stubby turned to introduce me to some woman that had stopped him to chat, making me the center of sudden attention.

The lady was aging, gracefully I assumed, and appeared to be upwards of sixty years at least. She was decked out in furs; a long mink coat that almost reached her ankles with a matching cap perched primly atop her head. There was a jewel pinned in the hat big enough to choke Sea Biscuit, and earrings that looked as expensive as they looked heavy. Still, she wore her age well, distinguished rather than arrogant, and her face was more or less free of wrinkles, her curly hair coifed to perfection and still holding a trace of red amidst the gray. She extended a gloved hand with an honest smile as Stubby introduced us-

“-this is Lisa Lord, on air reporter and announcer for your World News Radio. Lisa, this is Mrs. Diane Williams, your boss.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise as I looked at the old lady in a new light. I had never met our ‘boss’ as Stubby so familiarly called her, but I had heard of her for years, even before I had gotten a job as a radio journalist. Diane Williams was our boss only in the loosest terms. She was actually the owner of the publishing empire that owned not only the New York World where Stubby worked and World News Radio where I had my job, but dozens of other newspapers, radio stations and companies, not only in New York but around the world. She had been Diane Williams since long before I was even born, but I first learned of her under a different name, when I was young and impressionable. She had been one of the first female journalists, way back at the turn of the century, following in the footsteps of the like of Nelly Bly. She had been an actual reporter, not covering fashion and flower shows like other women that had come later, but actually getting down and dirty in the trenches. She had broken a story of a white slavery ring back in the late 1890’s, and her expose on the criminals running London’s underworld had earned her high laurels in our journalistic community. She had reported from the front lines in Europe during World War One while in her forties and won the Pulitzer Prize for her stories covering the Depression just a few years ago. It was only fitting that she would win that award eventually. Diane Williams was widowed- ironically, as her husband died in the war she was covering- but her maiden name had been the same as the man’s whose award she had won. Joseph Pulitzer had died in 1911, leaving his estate and vast wealth, his publishing empire to be divided between his estranged son and his daughter, making her one of the richest women in America. Her name was Diane…

I stood there in shock, tongue-tied as I shook the hand of one of my idols. I glanced at Stubby, only to see him grinning like an idiot at my discomfort. I knew that he had friends in high places, but I had no idea how high-

“-pleased to meet you, Miss Lord. I’ve been a fan of your work for some time.”

I blinked, feeling the blood rushing in and out of my face as I flushed with embarrassment and grew dizzy from shock and excitement. My hero had just said that she was a fan! My heart was racing a mile a minute, and I could do nothing but stutter and nod like a fool. I was never so embarrassed.

“Diane…”

Mrs. Williams turned at the voice and we all looked to see a remarkably exotic looking Asian woman standing before us. She was petite, and gorgeous, with a natural beauty- dammit- as I could not detect a bit of makeup on her face. Her hair was black as a moonless night, just a hint of gray at the temples, thick and long I could tell even though it was wound up into a knot and held in place by two carved sticks that looked like solid ivory to my untrained eye. She wore a long black coat that I was sure had to be cashmere, and beneath that a long silken gown of shining blue trimmed with silver swirls that gave it an ethereal appearance like clouds or fog. She was old too, but I guessed in her forties and it would be years before I found out just how wrong I had been. Despite her age however, her dark almond eyes sparkled with awareness, like she did not miss a trick. She gave me a slight smile, ignoring my scrutiny and turning to her friend-

“The house lights are flickering. We should find our seats.”

Diane Williams sighed, then smiled. “Ingrid must be in a rush, I guess. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lord. I hope next time we’ll have a chance to chat.” She patted my hand, smiling warmly, then looped her arm in her friend’s and the two headed for the grand stairway leading up to the loges where the important people sat. “Come along, Suwan. Mustn’t keep Ingrid waiting.”

I watched as the two slowly climbed the stairs, then disappeared from sight. Turning back to Stubby I could see that he was still puffed up like the cock of the walk, and with good reason. Diane Williams! I was still in shock as Stubby took my own arm and half dragged me into the theatre to find our seats.

The house lights dimmed just seconds after Stubby and I sat down and within moments the plush, velveteen curtains were drawn aside to reveal the huge white screen behind. The audience hushed as a crackle of static cut the air followed by a flash of light on the screen. Our seats were not the best in the house, despite Stubby’s connections. We were seated far off to the left of the stage and down in the front near the fire exit. The screen was huge and we had to crane our necks while slumping down in the seats to appreciate the picture that took up more than our field of vision could take in. The seats were comfortable, if a little cramped for Stubby’s girth, but as in any theatre that I have visited before or since, the floor was stained and sticky. It was a grand place though, with a high vaulted ceiling and chandeliers hanging down for lights. Faux marble columns climbed the walls and some gold like paint was filigreed throughout the stucco plaster to add an air of elegance.

We sat through three cartoons starring Bugs Bunny and Porky Pig as well as a sing-a-long for ‘The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze’. We saw a movie trailer for a new Hitchcock film that I made a mental note to see (I love Hitchcock), and then the newsreels from Movietone. We cheered for the Allies as scenes of the war flashed before us. Knight and Squire were shown waving to the camera after smashing a spy ring in their Great Britain, and our own masked marvel overseas, the Guardian, was seen along with our boys as the Allied troops landed in North Africa, coincidentally Casablanca. It was only when I saw the shield-slinger busting up the brown-shirted Nazis that I was snapped back to reality and remembered that the Valkyrie was lurking about.

I must have been fidgeting in my seat as I started twisting and turning to look about the theatre for my nemesis because Stubby leaned in close and asked me what was wrong. I lied, telling him that I had to visit the powder room and snatched up my bag, hat and trenchcoat before dashing off up the aisle. I hated lying to Stubby, but this was far too important. I hurried up and out the exit at the top of the aisle without even glancing back once, made a sharp right in the lobby, then hurried back in to the theatre from another curtained doorway. There was an usher standing there, and he gave me a curious look as I scanned the audience while slipping into my coat and floppy hat. I gave him a smile, then wrapped my thick white muffler about my lower face even as I saw a shady looking character slipping through the fire exit down near the stage across the vast auditorium from where I had been sitting.

It was far too dark to see what the man had looked like, but my female intuition told me that he was up to no good as he crept along then slipped through the curtained partition. He had that shady look about him, glancing back and peering about (as I had just moments before), and dressed in a dark, baggy suit with his hat brim curled down low so I knew that he was up to something. I hurried across the mezzanine, my hand slipped into my over-sized carryall bag as I probed with my fingertips to see what, if any weapons that I might have brought with me. I mentally kicked myself remembering that my Gyro Gun was wrapped up in a towel in my closet waiting to be cleaned and came up only with a lint covered ‘Shade Grenade’ that I found nestled between my compact and a hair brush.

My heart sank as I made my way down the aisle along the wall, but I hesitated only long enough to listen before slipping through the curtain and into the hallway beyond that led to the fire exit. I crept along the dimly lit corridor, trying to hear but the sound of the blaring music heralding the start of the movie drowned out all but the clack of my heels on the cold stone floor. The hallway branched off, one way leading to the fire door, while to my left, the corridor that led to the stage. It was an obvious choice, so wrapping my fist about my little bomb I took to the left.

There was an eerie light flickering and flashing about the area behind the screen as I climbed a short set of steps and I realized that it was the effects of the motion picture bleeding through. Back stage was spooky and huge with ropes and sandbags hanging down from the rafters making it look like some vast tangled spider’s web. There were hanging backdrops as well, suspended from ropes along the back wall and bits and pieces of furniture scattered about. I noticed right away as I slowly tiptoed forward that one of the curtains had fallen and lay in a big heap on the floor. I could just make out the word ‘ASBESTOS’ stenciled into the material, and wondered what was happening when I heard something tip over and clatter to the floor in the shadows.

I inched forward, hearing over the sounds of the film a familiar voice shouting in a hush, berating someone, obviously. It was the Valkyrie all right, a harsh and wicked voice that I would not soon forget. I smelled something odd, like gasoline or kerosene, but in my rush to spy on the spy I ignored the odor, along with the warning bells that were clanging in my head. I should have known better, but I was caught up in the thrill of the hunt by then, and just wanted to catch the witch.

I was hurrying along as quietly as I could in my heels when I stepped in something slick. All at once my feet went out from under me and I was sailing through the air. I vaguely recall landing awkwardly, pain shooting through my tailbone and wincing as my head slammed against the hardwood floor of the stage. Stars spiraled through my mind’s eye as I tried to rise, then everything went black-

Episode 6: The Desperate Minutes

I don’t know how long I was out, but I hurt like hell when I finally woke up. My head was pounding, and it was a pain just to open my bleary eyes. I forced them open with some effort though, and looked about, trying to get my bearings. I was still backstage I assumed as I seemed to be facing the back of the movie screen that glowed with the images flashing on the opposite side. I blinked, shaking my head and looking around as the screen seemed oddly large to me. My eyes grew wide as I finally realized where I was.

I was hanging from my wrists, which had been bound with a thick, coarse rope that hurt and bit into my skin. My arms were stretched overhead, my bindings attached to another rope that disappeared far above in the darkness. I looked down and saw that I was suspended some twenty feet over the stage, dangling. Worse, my ankles had been bound together with a bit of cord as well, and from them hung one of the sandbags that I had noticed earlier. It was heavy, putting an even greater strain on my outstretched arms and prevented me from moving too much. The weight also kept me from getting to the knots that held my wrists as I was just not strong enough to hoist all that weight up to free myself, though I did try.

Glancing down again, I saw that I had been stripped of my coat and hat. Worse, there was something stuffed into my mouth and was being held in place by my own muffler that had been wrapped around my lower face several times and knotted behind my head. I was effectively gagged, not that anyone in the theatre would have heard my cries above the noise of the movie soundtrack anyway. Of course my bag was no where to be seen, and my Shade Grenade- not that it would have been any real help- was gone as well. Still, I squirmed for a bit trying to undo my bonds but really did nothing except to get my body swinging a bit and twirling as well. I felt like a worm hooked on the end of a fishing line.

I still smelled kerosene, and as I glanced about as my body spun I saw the flickering dance of a candle’s flame far below. The flame was licking at a rope, and even as I followed the taut cord I knew that it would end up being the one connected to me. I saw however that it was also laced into the movie screen somehow, but I could not follow the intricate traces through the dim shadowy rafters. Near the candle, and on the same small table in fact I saw a large wind up alarm clock that seemed connected to a thick bundle of sticks. It did not take a genius to figure that the sticks were dynamite, and I was aghast to see that the hands on the clock read twelve minutes to midnight. Twelve minutes to live…

A cold chuckle drew my attention down and away from the makeshift bomb and I saw my nemesis step into the circle of flickering light almost directly beneath me. The Valkyrie stared up at me, a long cigarette holder dangling from her garishly painted lips. A cruel smile twisted her face as she laughed again.

“So, Fraulein, here we are again.” The woman smirked blowing smoke from her nose. She looked pure evil dressed in her slick leather trenchcoat and her hair drawn back. One of Hitler’s best, I imagined. She was obviously enjoying my predicament. I saw too her henchmen gathered by the stairs ready to bolt. They looked nervous in their baggy suits and hats, as though they wanted to be far away right then.

“I had so hoped that our next meeting would be as adventurous as our last. Imagine my disappointment to find you unconscious on the floor when we investigated a strange noise earlier. A pity really, but inspiration and 'schicksal' provided me the means to at least make our final meeting memorable.” I grunted, cursing into my gag like a longshoreman but my captor did not seem impressed. I saw the clock click to eleven-fifty when she moved closer to it.

“I do not have much time, I am sorry to say, but there is enough I think to explain your dilemma. You have already noticed that you are bound and hanging from a rope that is connected to the screen of this movie house. That same rope is strung back and down to a point that passes over this candle. The flame is already burning through the rope that suspends you above the stage, and when it eats all of the way through, you will fall. The movie screen will fall as well, and all without in the theatre will see you bound and gagged. It will be the last thing they will ever see.

“They will be shocked into inactivity, and if I have calculated correctly, they will have some thirty seconds of life left. Enough time for you to disarm my crude bomb, should you be able to free yourself from your bonds, but without help I think that an impossible task, even for you. The audience will gasp and murmur, but the cattle will do nothing. You will moan and squirm, should you survive the fall to the floor, but you will not be able to disarm the bomb before it reaches the stroke of midnight. The bomb will explode, killing you instantly no doubt, and a goodly portion of the confused audience. Those that do not instantly die in the explosion will be burned alive in the raging inferno that follows. I do hope that you have smelled the kerosene that my men have spread along the rotting wooden floor of the stage. With the asbestos curtain fallen, there will be nothing to halt the blaze, and your actors and senators, your rich and famous, and even your yellow journalists will be burned alive, unable to escape or trampled in the rush to the exits, which my cohorts have locked shut.”

I heard the clock tick again, my attention was so focused. I watched, squirming in my bonds as she plucked the cigarette from her holder and tossed it down, crushing it beneath the toe of her boot. She slipped the holder into her pocket and smiled up at me again.

“There is the slightest chance that you might escape, as the exit that I will use to leave the theatre will be left open. Rather than dwell on that, I would advise you to beg the forgiveness of your god these last few minutes instead. It would be a far better use of your time.” With a mocking laugh in her wake, I watched as the Valkyrie turned on her heel and strolled across the stage to join her men. Within moments they were down the stairs and gone, the fire door I had seen before slamming shut behind them.

I sagged in my bonds, mentally cursing myself as I screamed into my gag. It was hopeless I knew, as the movie drowned out my muffled complaints. Still I had to try, at least until I saw the clock click off another minute.

I struggled, twisting my fingers as I strained to reach the knots of my bonds overhead. My wrists quickly chaffed with my squirming, and soon I felt blood trickling down my arms. All that I had succeeded in doing was to make my arms, wrists and shoulders hurt even more and set my body to swinging on the end of my tether as another minute ticked by. Eight minutes now…seven…It did not seem to matter.

Then, in desperation, I saw a possibility. My body was swinging, more so because of the extra weight dangling from my ankles. I stared hard at the sandbag, calculating the length of rope that attached it to my legs with the distance that I was hanging from the screen. I knew that I could not get free. The Valkyrie had said that maybe I would be able to get away after I had fallen, but that would mean that everyone else in the theatre was doomed. I could not let them die, at least until I had exhausted all of my options, and it seemed that I might have at least one other that my captor had overlooked.

I tried to shift my weight, trying to find the rhythm of my pendulum like motions. I tried to swing, to get the arch wider as I otherwise helplessly hung. I lost all track of the clock beneath me, and expected any second to fall to the floor as the rope that held me aloft finally snapped, but with every swing I noticed that the sandbag was coming closer and closer to the movie screen.

Finally I saw the bag brush the screen, though just barely. I strained my muscles, trying all the harder to increase the arch and with the next pass I saw the bag push deeply into the screen. It was not enough to draw attention, but the next swing was bigger, and the one after that deeper still. The screen had to be bulging out each time that I maneuvered the sandbag into hitting it. I hoped that someone in the first few rows would notice and investigate, or at least send an usher backstage.

I actually heard the thump as the bag hit the screen on the next swing. Again, and again, as I was raising quite a ruckus now, but still no one came to investigate. I felt a jerk in the line, and knew that time was running out. The strain of my swinging was making the rope fray faster in the candle’s flame. Even if I could bring the screen down ahead of schedule-

I slammed into the back of the movie screen and I heard a rip as the sandbag smashed through. I lurched to a sudden stop as the bag snagged and a new pain shot through my arms causing me to scream. I writhed in my bonds, kicking and flailing about when a sudden loud clatter cut through even the noise of the movie’s dramatic music. My eyes flew open wide as I saw the screen suddenly tilt, then fall from the pulleys that held it aloft. My actions had knocked the movie screen loose from its moorings, but as the screen fell, the sandbag was pulled along with it and I screamed again as I thought my body might be ripped in half. There was an enormous clamor as the screen hit the floor but I did not even hear it as I fell myself.

Without the screen to counter balance my position, gravity took hold. I fell, the sandbag making it all the worse as it had ripped free of the screen at the last moment. I saw the ground rising up, and then I jerked to a sudden stop. My arms felt wrenched from their sockets as somewhere high above in the shadows the rope that I dangled from caught up in the pulleys.

Pain washed over me in waves as I swung back and forth. I winced, trying to open my eyes only to be half blinded by the light of the projector that was now shining directly on me. The images of Casablanca flickered over my helpless form, and somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear Bogey saying that his troubles did not amount to a hill of beans. How right he was. I looked out at the crowd, and saw that the Valkyrie had been right. Most of the audience was frozen in terror, wondering what was happening. A few had stood, and I heard shouts of protest, but no one seemed to be running forward to help me despite my muffled screams of warning and despair.

A shadow flicked through the beam of light then, and I figured that the special guests in the balcony at least might be rushing to safety. I had gained a couple of minutes I supposed by bringing the screen down ahead of the Ratzi’s schedule, and I hoped that some of the crowd might escape. Hopefully I raised my head and squinted into the light.

I saw someone dangling from the balcony, and my first thought was that they had seen the bomb and were panicking, but when only that one dropped to the aisle below I became confused. The form landed softly it seemed, in a crouch, and a second later it was running towards the stage. I stared in disbelief as my eyes adjusted to the queer darkness flashing in the light of the projector, but it seemed that the shadowy silhouette was a woman. It was slim and lithe, and seemed to be holding a long skirt up to its hips for better movement. The houselights came up just then, and I saw that it was indeed a woman. In fact, it was the woman friend of Diane Williams running for all she was worth towards the stage. The Asian had hiked her long gown up and was running barefoot down the aisle, all the while her dark eyes focused on me.

I watched in total disbelief as when she reached the stage, she leapt without breaking stride and twisting in midair to land almost directly beneath me in a crouch. She was over forty, I thought, but she had jumped onto the stage without batting an eye. A leap that I doubted I could have made in my best school prime.

The petite woman stood, letting her gown fall back, but I saw that she had a small thin blade in her hand now. She fingered her knife as she stared up at me, her gaze following the ropes that suspended me from the rafters. I wondered why she had been carrying a knife, briefly, but then I did not care as I started screaming and kicking towards the bomb that was ticking closer to midnight. The Asian woman followed my gaze, and I know she saw the bomb, but she walked right past it and headed for the wall where the ropes were all tied off that held the backdrops, curtains and myself in the air. I felt a gentle tug on my line, and suddenly I was falling.

I hit the stage with a thump. It hurt, but I had fallen half the original distance before, when the screen had fallen, and though my feet were asleep from the ropes that bound them and the weight of the handbag, I felt relatively unhurt when I hit. Finally able to reach the knots, at first my hands flew to them, then to the scarf that was gagging me instead. With a mad jerk I ripped my face free and spit the cloth from my mouth as I rolled over to find the woman-

“Bomb! There’s a bomb!” I screamed, but I saw that the Asian woman had found it already. She was holding the clock in her hands, severed wires dangling. It read two minutes to midnight.

I sagged with exhaustion as she tossed the now useless clock aside and padded over to me in bare feet. She hiked her dress again, then crouched down beside me and in two quick motions, slit the cords that bound my wrists and ankles with her knife. I could hear the audience starting to talk now, louder and louder. The credits were rolling from the film, and the closing song played in the background. It was a sad, pretty tune.

“Miss Lord…” she said, apparently remembering my name, though I did not recall catching hers. “Are you well?” I nodded, sitting up and rubbing my wrists. Men were moving forward, towards the side stairs that would lead them on stage. Too late of course, but welcome none the less. “I must go.”

The woman stood and started to head towards the edge of the stage. I could not believe that she was going to just leave like that. She had saved my life. I scrambled on all fours, trying to get my arms and legs working as I crawled after her.

“Wait!” I croaked, my voice catching in my throat. “Who are you? I want to thank you!”

The woman glanced back over her shoulder and smiled. “A friend, Miss Lord, both to you, and the Lady Shade.” And she jumped off the stage and was gone, vanishing into the crowd…

Epilogue:

It was the next Monday when I arrived at work that Stubby met me with the latest edition of the World.

There had been a story the next day after Thanksgiving of course of the failed attempt of Bund operatives to blow up the Hollywood Theatre the night of the preview showing of Casablanca. Bogey, Becall and Bergman had given short statements, not really knowing what had happened but apparently happy that no one had been hurt and the tragedy had been avoided. I was chagrinned to be interviewed by my colleagues as I had been in the midst of things. I gave a general, if somewhat humiliating account of how I had gotten lost on my way to the powder room and had been kidnapped by the Nazis. No, I did not know the woman who had rescued me. No I did not know nor had I seen the Bund operatives before. Why they had hung me from the rafters, I did not know. I was just happy to be alive and thankful to the mystery woman that had rescued me.

The paper that Stubby showed me on Monday had a related story after the fact. As I read, I went pale with shock and disbelief, then red and livid with anger. The story he pointed out was an editorial by Diane ‘Pulitzer’ owner of the New York World. In it, she recounted the events of that fateful Thanksgiving night, mentioning me as a hapless victim of a greater evil. The end of the story however was what set my blood to boiling.

“In the aftermath of the avoided calamity, the United States government, in their infinite wisdom, arrested for questioning and detainment certain people who had attended the screening; a number of questionable citizens including three German Americans, an expatriate Italian, and three Nisei- Japanese descended Americans, one of which was my friend and confidant, Suwan Shinobi…”

Diane Williams went on to praise the efforts of her friend, explaining that the woman had saved them all with her quick actions. I was devastated to learn that Miss Shinobi and her two fellow Nisei had been transferred to federally funded detainment centers, “until their national allegiance could be determined.”

I dropped the paper in a daze. I could not believe it…

The woman had saved my life. She had saved the whole damn theatre!

Stubby bent over and picked up the paper. He stared at the print for a moment, then sighed.

“I’m sorry, Lisa…Sorry…”

Stubby hung his head and left the little room that I used as an office. For my part, I flopped down into my chair and stared at the framed page of the World that I had hung on the wall almost a year before-

Japanese Bomb Pearl Harbor!

What had we become…

End

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