Catie Disabato - The Ghost Network

Leaving behind the wildest conspiracy theorists, most people argued over whether Molly Metropolis had been kidnapped, killed, or had left of her own volition. Various broadcast news reporters and Internet commentators fought out these three opposing viewpoints until they had nothing new to say.

On January 8, Molly Metropolis was scheduled to play the first of two shows at the United Center, the heart of Chicago’s ice-covered Near West Side. Despite a windchill of ten degrees below freezing and system-wide delays on the L, ticket holders arrived early and in droves. Girls and boys — the most conservative dressed in leather and leotards, the most ostentatious in full costume as Molly Metropolis herself — lined up outside of Will Call, giggling and jostling each other with excitement. The dance floor was crowded by 5 p.m., with sweaty teenagers jockeying for the spots closest to the stage.

Molly performed songs from Cause Apocalyptic , at the time still unreleased, as well as all the singles from Cause Célèbrety , to a gyrating crowd of three thousand Pop Eaters, as her dedicated fans had christened themselves, riffing off an interview Molly gave to MTV. com: “I want to live in a world where the only thing you need to drink is music and the only thing you need to eat is pop culture.”

The show began with the projected image of a glowing black-and-white skyline, not specific to any city. A “chopped and screwed” version of the opening melody of “Apocalypse Dance” then played, as the projected city started to degrade and crumble. The sound of a pre-recorded intro filled the room: “My Pop Eaters. The ones who eat pop for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You are the city kids. The ones who ran away to the city, the ones who are born there, the ones who dream of it. I’m not talking about L.A. or Chicago or even New York City. My name is Molly Metropolis”—here, the recording pauses for a burst of applause—“and I’m the city where you live. And in my city, we live every night like it’s our last.”

The recorded voice faded and the fallen city turned translucent to reveal Molly Metropolis in a dress of bronze metallic lace sparkling against her light brown skin, her arms reaching toward the sky in a V. The music cut out, and she belted the opening lyrics of “Apocalypse Dance” a cappella : “Tonight / might be your last chance / t-t-tonight / to get one last dance.”

As the Chicago Tribune ’s music critic Bran Hollis Brooks pointed out in his review of the show, when a concertgoer is used to the pop shows of artists like Britney Spears, Rihanna, and Christina Aguilera, seeing Molly Metropolis perform is an aurally surreal experience. At the time, most other pop stars lip-synced to album cuts of their hit songs while devoting their stage energy to dancing — but Molly actually sang while she performed. The airbrushed, autotuned album might be more conventionally beautiful, but nothing makes a concert feel more like a concert than hearing someone sing live. In the years since Molly Metropolis debuted, most new pop stars have followed her model.

As with all of his Molly Metropolis coverage, Brooks spent a good portion of his review (published before her disappearance became public knowledge) re-examining the “phenomenon of Molly Metropolis” and attempting to draw some satisfying conclusion about the nature of her appeal, though obviously flummoxed by his own appreciation of her. Like a dog staring confusedly at his own reflection, Burns wrote, “Perhaps, in a long year of job loss and economic decline, America needs an oddity to gawk at like Depression-era Americans visiting freak shows. Molly Metropolis is no Bearded Lady, but she scratches the same cultural itch.” e

After the concert, Molly Metropolis held an after-party at the Peninsula Hotel on the Miracle Mile with a small group of dancers and friends, including Nicolas Berliner. They kept the hotel bar open until 3 a.m., two hours past the usual closing time, after which Molly retired alone to her private suite.

On January 9, Molly woke just after 9 a.m. and ordered a breakfast of fruit, yogurt, granola, orange juice, coffee, and the Peninsula’s signature Truffled Popcorn. At 11 a.m., her driver took her to the concert venue for a brief rehearsal with her choreographer. That afternoon, Molly decided to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA), again with a group of dancers and friends that included Nicolas Berliner, as well as her assistant Regina Nix and several other members of her close-knit group of creative collaborators. Although the museum was less than half a mile from the hotel, Molly insisted on driving herself there in the sporty convertible she had rented for her thirty-six hour stay in Chicago. She asked Berliner to ride shotgun. According to Berliner, Molly initiated an emotional, personal conversation in the car. She told her friend that she treasured the few minutes they were able to have together, apart from the rest of the crew, and that she wished they were able to spend more time alone. She even asked after Berliner’s imprisoned girlfriend, Marie-Hélène Kraus, a subject Molly often avoided. She proposed a “weekend getaway” for Berliner and herself after the tour was over.

At the MCA, Molly had the opportunity to view pieces by Jeff Koons (including “Pink Panther,” “Rabbit,” and “Three Ball Total Equilibrium Tank”), as well as “The Unicorn Tapestries,” on loan from The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. She also signed autographs for fans and art lovers. While they walked through the galleries of the MCA, Molly convinced her bodyguards that she would be fine driving from the museum to the venue by herself. She craved “space to think.” Apparently Metro, as all her bodyguards called her, left her security team behind as often as she could, whenever she felt safe, especially in cities like Chicago where the paparazzi was considerably less present than in New York and Los Angeles. Molly left the museum alone at about 2:15 p.m. That was the last anyone saw of her.

By 3:15 p.m., Molly’s tour manager, Florence Tse, began to get worried. Molly had a phone interview scheduled for 3:20 p.m. and they couldn’t find her. By 5:30 p.m., when Molly was late for her call time at the venue, her staff and colleagues were on high alert. Despite her flashy, indulgent persona, Molly was a punctual person, and when she didn’t show up on time, she called ahead. According to Tse, Molly “never arrived for anything more than five minutes after she said she would be there.”

Tse called Molly’s cell phone multiple times. Several of her dancers called or sent text messages; no one received a reply. Nix was also M.I.A. and didn’t pick up her cell phone or Molly’s. An hour and a half before Molly’s set was scheduled to begin, the doors opened and the audience quickly filled the theater. Minutes before the Scissor Sisters’ opening set was scheduled to start, Nix arrived at the venue, breathless from exertion, emotionally overwhelmed, and in possession of Molly’s cell phone. Nix had conducted an exhaustive search of the hotel grounds and nearby boutiques, working herself into an anxious fit before hurrying to the theater. Nix had left both her phone and Molly’s on silent, and in her rush to find Molly she had forgotten to check her missed calls and messages. f

Smelling disaster, Tse instructed the theater manager, Lilia Greene, to speak to the audience before the second opening act, the singer-songwriter Lissie. Greene informed the well-dressed throng that Molly Metropolis was suffering from food poisoning and the price of the tickets (minus processing fees and shipping costs, if applicable) would be refunded. Tse called SDFC. The head of their in-house pubic relations team, Kelly Applebaum, immediately issued a press release. Quoting the release, The Hollywood Reporter called Molly’s absence “a sudden illness,” and published Tweets from fans angrily leaving the venue. Someone logged into Molly Metropolis’s official Twitter account using the iPhone Twitter application and wrote: “To all my amazing Chicago monsters. I would give anything in the world to be with you right now and not cold & alone.” g