“Prum-pum-pum, prum-pum-pun,” she snapped her fingers, every muscle taut. In her mind’s eye, her body was a NASA rocket ready for launch. The jets of fire whirled under her feet. Ten-nine-eight—a series of blasts in her ears kept in tempo with her Prum-pum-pums. Five-four—heat enveloped her, radiated from her. Her fingers kept snapping to the rhythm of the band’s opening notes as she hopped in place and her body swung. The roar of the crowd was the ignition she needed. Two-one! She sprinted onto the stage.

Moments later, all else was forgotten. It was only she and these people whose hearts she filled with rapture. The stage was her natural habitat. Moving about, the microphone an organic part of her, her dress sensuous around her back and thighs, she felt like an exotic bird hopping from treetop to treetop in the forest canopy.

The crowd cheered, clapped and rose to its feet when she sang “We All Share The Feeling Of Love.” She twisted, twirled, tapped her feet, and flipped her head from side to side.

“We are tall, we are short, we are black or white,

We are blessed or are cursed by fate or birthright.

But if our beliefs are different, our opinions don’t mesh,

We still feel the same, on the inside or in flesh.

Because the world over, peace is the color of dove,

And we all share the feeling of love.”

Through her ecstasy, she glanced to the right of the stage at Lulu, and the brightness illuminated all corners of her being. Whether or not her parents were watching from above no longer mattered; the bewilderment of the orphan had vanished. Nola's chest broadened. She loved life, she loved her audience, and she loved Lulu.

She rested while the dance troupe dazzled the crowd with its brilliant costumes and its play of limbs, jewels and lights. She took her time changing into a red bodysuit, shiny and smooth as a car hood. The outfit hid as much as it revealed. Over it, Leslie tied a sequined black-lace sleeveless tunic with ankle-long tails. She launched the second act with “Superstitions” to pull the audience back into the rhythm of her performance. She had reached the song’s finale when she saw them.

Three soldiers in fatigues conferred with Wade on the far side of the stage, gesticulating. Fatigues? Nola had seen plenty of uniforms this past week, but none right out of a war zone.

Yoram argued with four other Chinese.