Dirty Rotten Tendrils by Kate Collins

say in her breathless voice, “I hope you’ll come see me in it.”
    That started a new round of applause, along with some wolf whistles.
    “Now, then—are you ready to call a code?” Cody shouted, as Lila backed away from the center of the stage and stood just beyond the reach of the lights.
    The crowd went wild and began chanting, “Code Blue!” as he picked up his guitar and put the strap around his neck.
    “Don’t forget,” Cody yelled above the racket. “Signed copies of my Code Blue CD will be on sale after the performance at the tables set up behind the stage.”
    He was about to launch into his song when he seemed to remember the whole purpose of the event. As though rushing to get through it, he said, “I’d like to dedicate this evening to the late Ken Lipinski and to the family and friends he left behind.”
    There was a smattering of applause as people in the crowd glanced at each other as though to say, Is that why we’re here?
    “Cody didn’t even mention that Lipinski was his attorney,” Kathy said to me.
    Cody strummed a few opening bars to whet the audience’s appetite. “Here it is—what you’ve been waiting for—my winning song!” As the crowd hooted and cheered, he began to sing, “My heart belongs only to you. If you leave me, just call a code blue.” Then he hit a loud chord and took off in a wild frenzy, shattering the air with his electric guitar, leaping around the stage, setting off nearly every set of female lungs in the audience. He pumped up the volume even higher, until I could feel the vibrations through the soles of my shoes. And although my ears were ringing, I found myself dancing with the crowd, caught in the spirit of the music.
    “Can you see why ‘Code Blue’ won the contest?” Kathy shouted in my ear.
    Cody waited until the crowd quieted to introduce his second number, a song he had just written, he announced proudly. And although the girls still screamed as he performed it, and those decibels still stabbed my eardrums, the music was bland and the lyrics repetitive and uninspired. I wondered if the missing ingredient was Andrew.
    Before Cody could begin his third number, a figure suddenly leaped onto the back of the stage and grabbed the mic from Lila’s hand. Before the cops or guards realized what was happening, the young man yelled, “Cody Verse is a fraud! I wrote the words to ‘Code Blue’!”
    The cops had managed to scramble onto the stage after him and now grabbed his arms and forced him off the platform. It didn’t prevent him from yelling, “You know what you did, Cody. You know you’re guilty, man! You can stall the lawsuit all you want, but I won’t let you get away with it!”
    He struggled but finally gave up as the cops folded him into a squad car.
    “Who was that nut?” Kathy asked, as the car took off, lights flashing.
    “I’m guessing the nut is Cody Verse’s former songwriting partner, Andrew Chapper.”
     
     
    After the interruption, or maybe because of it, Cody ended his performance, which didn’t thrill Tara and her group or the other teen girls in the audience. Cody brought his agent onstage, who thanked him for the great performance, then introduced Cody’s new attorney, Scott Hess, Ken Lipinski’s only associate, who wanted to say a few words in tribute to his late boss.
    Hess was a thirtyish, brown-skinned man of slight build and average height who seemed elated to be onstage with Cody. After repeatedly shaking his hand and then Lila’s hand, Hess finally took the portable mic from her and proceeded to give an effusive tribute to his deceased employer, whom he credited for hiring him when no one else would.
    After he spoke, the mayor took the mic, thanking Cody for generously giving of his time in memory of such an upstanding attorney, while in the background Cody and Lila ducked into their limo and were driven off. As soon as the fans saw them leave, they jumped up and raced for the tables to buy Cody’s CD,