CHAPTER 1
DEL PASO HEIST
I pulled my harvest-gold van into the angled parking spot along side the Artisan Theatre building just off of Del Paso Boulevard and took stock of everything around. The "Decepti-Kon: Fusion of Japanese and American Animation" car was there, as was Danielle's. She must already be inside. She did say she was leaving downtown at 4:30 and it was around 5:15, so the Stage Manager must be on duty by now.
I grabbed up my bags and saw Erin outside the front door of the theatre looking equanimous as always. I sent Danielle a text message letting her know I was outside and greeted Erin, who, oddly, informed me that she'd been trying to get in touch with Danielle for about 45 minutes and that she'd been waiting outside for someone with a key to arrive.
"Her car's here, though," I stated plainly.
"Well that's weird," Erin replied, "are you sure it's hers?"
I nearly responded but instead walked back toward the parking to investigate further. There's usually another red Pontiac that parks alongside this building. Maybe it was that one that I saw and Danielle was stuck in traffic, powerfully obeying the no-cell-phone laws of California. As I approached, however, it was clear that this was, in fact, Danielle's car. Those Kentucky license plates unmistakable. The more troublesome piece of the puzzle, though, was the fact that her bag, laptop, planner, purse and backpack were all inside and in plain view. With hesitation and trepidation I tried the front passenger door.
It opened without fuss.
I returned to Erin.
"I don't want to seem alarmist," I said, trying to seem unruffled, "but it's definitely her car, all her stuff is inside and it's unlocked."
"That's…" she hesitated, as though desperate to disbelieve all the now possible situations we were facing before continuing, "…concerning."
We immediately started calling anyone we could track down with a key. We found some of the Decepti-Kon people and asked if they had a key. We called the building manager, the theater's artistic director, and Danielle repeatedly. Finally, the director arrived and let us in. By this point, we were in an utter panic.
Had she been taken? It's not like her to leave her things in her car, let alone to leave it unattended and unlocked. Had she been hit by a car shortly after exiting her own and rushed to a hospital? Had she gotten inside the theater only to notice something elevated that needed repair, climbed a ladder, fallen and been knocked unconscious? No explanation for what could be happening was pleasant to think on. All we could do was hope against logic that she was inside the theater, safe, and simply unaware of anything happening around her or the calls on her phone.
As I rounded the corner to run into the space behind everyone else, I heard Erin cry out.
"She's here!"
What kind of reaction was that? Panic at finding the motionless, unconscious body of Danielle prostrate on the stage? Terror at the sight of some kidnapper holding her hostage?
"She's here!" Erin cried out again, still unclear as to the emotion behind her verbal outbursts.
"She's in the booth running cues…"
She's in the booth running cues.
This took me a minute to process. Surely that can't be right. She can't simply be in the booth running cues! Her car is unlocked with all of her personal belongings inside it sitting just off of Del Paso Boulevard in North Sacramento across from the single sketchiest Bank of America I've ever been to. Something must have happened to cause her to respond in such a way. And why the unresponsiveness to our calls? Obviously her phone was stolen when she was jumped just outside the theater before she could get inside or call for help. Clearly this must be the case!
"You've been calling? That's weird because I don't have any missed calls or texts from anyone. And I've been here for, like, an hour and a half!"
Unbelievable. How could this be? All that panic. All the chaos. All the phone calls to people we hardly know. All this and she's simply been enthralled by running light cues…
CHAPTER 2
NAME: WITHHELD
Two hours after all the commotion, we opened our show.
Two hours after that we gathered at Craig's house for an after party.
Four hours after that, Danielle's car was broken into on the block where she lives, her backpack, laptop and bag - again left in the car - were all taken.
Six hours later, she moved to a new apartment.
I went over to help her and her roommate, Carly, move. Our mutual friend and associate Tony was also there to lend a hand. We moved all their furniture, built and repaired anything that needed building or repairing, and ate some Mexican food at Tres Hermanas on K Street.
I went about my day until our show that night when, to my surprise, Danielle informed me that the actress in the one-woman show she was working on at another theater had sent her a text message a little while before letting her know that a man had sent an email stating the he had the script to that one-woman show and several books that belonged to Danielle. I was personally very excited by this news since one of those books was, in fact, not Danielle's, but mine on loan to her: The China Study - a nutrition text written from a massive nutrition research project. I asked if she'd contacted him yet, and she said she hadn't. She sent him an email, somewhat terse, saying "I understand you have my script and books. Can I get those back from you?"
Over the course of the next several hours the two of them exchanged emails - apparently all rather laconic in nature - since by the time our show was letting out they were to the point of him saying "I don't know why you're being so inconsiderate and rude when I'm trying to do the right thing and help you." I took over the emailing over the next couple hours while we mingled after the show at a local Leather-Daddy bar called The Bolt where the safest place to pee was the corner of the backyard where they keep firewood. I placated until I got him to leave the items under a car at an address in Midtown. Danielle and I convoyed to the stated location and retrieved the items.
Mission accomplished.
So I thought.
The next day when I went over to hang pictures for the girls' new apartment, I asked Danielle if she'd sent him an email thanking him for returning her items to her. She looked at me with a look half of sheepishness and half of incredulousness. I took her phone from her and sent a very polite but conclusive email thanking him for taking the time to return the items and apologizing for the miscommunication the night before.
Unfortunately, he took too much heart from this email. Later that evening Danielle received an email from him to the effect of: "Hey - no problem. I really feel like we've bonded during all this. Are you on Facebook?"
I was left with no choice but to track him down and learn a bit about him to determine whether or not Danielle should respond to the obviously desperate attempt to connect with a female, even a faceless one. Nevertheless, I would be remiss to deny you, my readers, a peek into the life of this man:
Name: WITHHELD
Gender: Male
Occupation: Southwest Airlines since 1996
Education: BS in Physical Education, Portland State University 1990
Approximate Age: 44 years
Assumed Relationship Status: painfully single
Sorry Patrick. Access denied.
