From the ether a dirgy song began, mostly bass and faint guitar.
— Let’s take a moment to remember, Maximilian said. Never forget, he told us. Never forget.
Here came my battalion of ghosts from Friday night; the boys who’d been so kind to clean up after me. The Confederates dressed and wooden sabers drawn. Serious little toys. One of them walked out of formation to stand at Maximilian’s side.
Maximilian asked, — Who might you be?
— My name is Lewis Tilgham Moore, Colonel of the 31st Virginia Militia of Frederick County.
Max kneeled because the boy looked foolish standing on his toes, off balance with the heavy scabbard at his right hip. — And where are you going?
— We are off to Harper’s Ferry, the boy said.
— And do you think there’s trouble?
— Some trouble, but nothing that can’t be fixed, I expect!
The kid was a natural actor; easy with his lines, serious without being a boob. His voice was high-pitched, but he spoke slowly and that made him seem mature. The boy rejoined the others and they marched slowly to the middle of the stage, where they turned from profile to face the crowd straight.
I wondered about this volunteer militia; not as a force, but the young men who took a rail one October afternoon in 1859 expecting nothing more than a skirmish. I’d read the newsletter their chaperone gave me. The boys went off to Jefferson County then to the federal armory at Harper’s Ferry where John Brown, with a piddling force of eighteen, hoped to spark a slave revolt; within two years there was this Civil War.
It’s only after a hundred years that crusades seem inevitable; after all that time the unjust are easily named. But in the midst of history who knows his role?
— You know folks, I’d like to take a minute to be a bit candid with you.
Maximilian was of the crowd now; he had walked down from the stage. Portable microphone held, he stood at the first row. One big but not bright light rested on his shoulder.
— Lately, he said, there have been terrible things happening to our industry. Little Pepper Miller accusing her father of wrongdoing on that Current A fair TV show.
Hearing the name Pepper Miller the whole crowd swayed backward in their seats. One unwelcome wind had come from behind the curtains to blow across us plains.
— But I want to tell you, he said, all of you. That I’ve been working pageants for thirty-five years. He smiled. That’s right, three-five. I know I don’t look it. At least I hope I don’t. Do I?
Who could resist? I wanted to applaud. We liked him.
— Yes!
— But seriously. I’ve been on this train a very long time and I want you to understand something. Tabloids and television shows come around to film us. They ridicule the efforts these young ladies make. Of the time and expense not just to them, but to the entire family. Some groups even say these young women are being taken advantage of, but let me point out that no privately run organization in the world gives more girls college scholarships than the pageants of this country.
He paused for five seconds of nodding.
— Miss Innocence has been criticized for only accepting girls who have kept their chastity. I was there yesterday, on Braddock Street. And so were a lot of you. These ladies are tired from working twice on Saturday!
Less comfortable now. Even I shifted in my seat.
He scratched his head, pulled on his bow tie.
— I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. We all go to hundreds of pageants. It’s a good system. I respect that other one. Girls should be applauded for surviving hard times, but what makes Miss Innocence special is that we honor the girls who chose to keep living good lives. Being a virgin is hard. There’s a lot of handsome young men out there. I know, because I used to be one!
He laughed and I did with him. Most of the audience, too.
— But even with the pressure in school and advertisements the forty-two girls backstage have decided not to be indulgent. There are so many things in this world that makes us feel powerless. Tonight we celebrate some young women who’ve proven just how powerful they are. That’s right. You should applaud. I will.
He tucked the black microphone under an armpit and clapped. — Yes! he yelled.
I took off my glasses because I had an itch in my ear like a riot. It was bad enough that I had to use one of the arms of my glasses to dig in there right at the drum.
My glasses back on I looked over at Grandma who was interested, but confused. She might have liked this more if she understood the words.
Maximilian motioned for the first contestant who walked out quickly, lifting her feet. She stood beside him, he put his arm around her and then let her advertise.
— Hello and greetings. My name is Karen Tiffany Haynes and I represent the lovely town of Knuckleswipe, Rhode Island.
I wondered how Ms. Haynes would look sitting next to me. As a couple. Her hand on my thigh. My arm around her shoulders. Later we’d have a lot of sex. I was sure of it.
— Good evening. My name is Barretta Watkins and I’m here from beautiful East Orange, New Jersey. Come see us!
For Barretta I imagined a beach. Her in a thong and me wearing a gray sweat suit. Even in a daydream I was embarrassed by my body. I couldn’t even imagine owning a buffer one.
Barretta coming out of the water, rubbing her eyes and then hugging me. We rolled around together. In my fantasy her little frame could support much weight. When we had sex it was everywhere. In the sand. On a rock. Standing up.
— Greetings and God bless, my name is Sareen Amber Follows. From myself and all of Tennessee, from the Natchez State Parkway to the Fort Donelson National Battlefield, we’d like to welcome you over for dinner anytime!
As each girl finished introducing herself she joined those who’d come out before her in a line at the right end of the stage. My fantasies lost focus as more young women appeared. I couldn’t make up new kinds of sex that quickly and started repeating. Demetria Shavers was also sitting next to me in an empty theater. Tiffany Murdock in the sand.
When nine or ten stood around, smiling, I just started picturing getting them pregnant. The whole row bearing my children. I wasn’t even thinking of the fucking at that point; just that very sexy time, about five months in, when the belly can’t be ignored. A hard hump that precedes her; the skin a pleasure to lick.
After Uncle Arms’s jubilee, to see the same girls on a finer platform was strange. Sareen Follows wore long gold gloves so that her skinny arms were concealed, but on Saturday afternoon she’d exposed them.
Whether or not I heard the knock I won’t know, but I thought I did. As Maximilian awaited the next girl, I crept to the double doors.
I couldn’t just stand up. I didn’t want to be noticed, remembered, described to the police.
To Maximilian’s surprise the lights went out, but not the power. His microphone still worked. In the suddenly dark auditorium, he yelped, — Spit!
Once there, I pressed the long metal bars on the double doors and heard the lock give.
A raiding party was outside, expecting me.
A road flare should be used outdoors.
This seems like practical instruction, like who needs it said, but common sense escapes some folks.
Auditorium illumination had sworn down to nothing, even Maximilian had dimmed. He needed someone else’s cue. — Hello? he asked into the microphone. What part is this?
The audience was largely oblivious. This didn’t take a very long time. One minute of darkness.
Then the road flares.
They have to be snapped before they start burning so first there were half a dozen cracking sounds.
I saw the protestors go in carrying the flares. The hallway, where they’d been waiting, was as dark as the auditorium.