Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen (12 page)

ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH

The night before the concert was a restless one for me. Killer wasps buzzed in my stomach, wild stallions stampeded through my heart.
Stu Wolff
, I repeated over and over to myself,
by this time tomorrow you’ll be dancing with Stu Wolff…
Or talking to him. Or laughing with him. Or just gazing into his eyes with cosmic love…

Minutes passed like hours; hours dragged by like days. There were moments in that dark torment when I thought the sun would never rise again. But the day of the concert finally dawned.

It was a moody morning, grey and cold and mildly vicious. I didn’t care about the weather, of course. I was going to meet Stu Wolff. I was going to dance in his arms. A blizzard couldn’t have stopped me now. I’d find snowshoes. I’d find a team of dogs and a sled. One way or another, I’d get to Manhattan.

Too excited to go through the motions of daily life – eating and talking to my family – I stayed in my room until Ella arrived, shortly after three. There was a four o’clock train that would get us to the City by six. That gave us two hours to find tickets and wait with the bereaved but adoring multitudes for the concert to begin.

Ella was edgy and a little wild-eyed, like the heroine in a romantic novel. I made a mental note that this was a look she should be encouraged to maintain. It made her look less bland.

“This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done,” Ella gasped as she shut the door of my room behind her. “But it’s also the most terrifying.”

I looked her up and down. She had the black pouch with her pyjamas and toothbrush in it, but nothing else.

“Where’s your stuff?” I was afraid that, in her agitated state, she’d forgotten her clothes for the party.

Ella flung herself on the bed.

“I left my bag outside, under that big bush. I didn’t want your mother to see it.” I was touched by her thoroughness. Maybe she was going to be better at this than I’d hoped.

“What about your mom?” I asked. “Do you think you convinced her not to call?”

“I think so,” said Ella. “Anyway, she hasn’t been nagging me so much lately; she’s been kind of distracted. And she has some charity thing to go to tonight. That’ll keep her occupied.”

Beginning to relax a little, Ella scanned the room.

“So,” she said. “Where’s your dress?”

“I’ll show it to you later,” I promised. Now wasn’t the time to make her more nervous; I could do that when it was too late to turn back.

“Show it to me now,” insisted Ella. “We have time.”

I picked up my bag and slipped the strap over my shoulder. “I’m too anxious. Let’s tell my mom we’re going to your house after all, and get to the station. I’ll show you there.”

“You can’t be as anxious as I am,” said Ella. “Every time my mom spoke to me last night and this morning I practically jumped out of my skin.” She stood up. “And I couldn’t sleep.” As though this was enough justification for boldness, Ella grabbed hold of the front flap on my bag. “Come on,” she urged. “Just one little pee—”

Ella’s mouth held the shape of the word “peek” for several seconds, but no sound came out. Her eyes met mine.

“I don’t believe it.” She was calm like a dead sea. “I don’t believe you
stole
Eliza’s gown!”

Language is a subtle and intricate thing.

“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”

Ella pounced. “You borrowed it? You mean you asked Mrs Baggoli and she said it was OK?”

I gestured vaguely. “Well, no … not exactly…”

“Exactly what, then?” asked Ella. “I thought Mrs Baggoli kept the costumes locked up.”

I nodded, glad to be able to give a positive response. “Yeah, she does. But Sam Creek—”

“Sam Creek?!” Ella looked as though there would be no more surprises for her in life; she’d seen it all. “You mean you got Sam involved in this?
He
stole the dress for you?”

“Borrowed,” I corrected. “Sam borrowed it for me. Calm down, will you? It’ll be back in the cupboard by Monday afternoon, and no one will be the wiser.” I shut the bag. “And besides,” I concluded, “technically, it is
my
dress.”

“No it isn’t,” said Ella. “
Technically
, it’s Mrs Trudeo’s. She’s the one who made it.”

“For
me
,” I countered. “She made it for me.” For me and Advanced Dressmaking, Spring Term.

Ella collapsed back on the bed. “Lola, I can’t go through with this,” she announced. “It’s bad enough that I’m lying to my parents, but stolen goods is something else. You’re never going to get away with it.”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “You can’t back out now,” I said. “You just can’t.”

Ella’s cry was tinged with despair. “Oh, Lola…”

As many people are in life, Ella was torn between the need for excitement and the demands of terror. She wanted to go to the concert and the party; but she didn’t want to go to jail. I could understand that. I didn’t want to go to jail, either.

“Ella, please… The deed’s done. If I am going to get caught, at least let me wear the dress. At least let me have one night of pure joy if I’m going to spend the rest of my precious youth behind bars.”

Ella didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no, either.

I pushed my advantage.

“And besides,” I went on, “unless you turn me in, you’re already an accessory after the fact.”

I had no idea what “an accessory after the fact” was. It’s something they say in cop shows. But, like Mr Santini, Ella’s father is a lawyer. She seemed to know what it means.

“This better be one great party,” said Ella.

“Stop!” shrieked Ella. “I think I’ve cracked a rib.”

At the time, I was trying to find a position that would let me move enough to pull off my jeans. “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” I grunted. “You couldn’t have cracked a rib. There’s not enough room in here.”

Neither Ella (who, admittedly, had led a very sheltered life) nor I (who at least once resided in a metropolis teeming with life on all levels) had ever actually tried to dress in the toilet of a train before. If we had, we definitely wouldn’t have tried it again.

“But I’m in pain,” wailed Ella. “Can’t you move back just a little?”

I glared at her, though she probably didn’t notice because the lighting was so bad.

“Maybe we should take turns, then,” said Ella.

I shook my head, and banged it against the flimsy wall. “No. We need each other to zip up and put on our make-up.” I fell on to the toilet as the train took a sudden bend. “And, anyway, we’re already half undressed. We may as well keep going.”

We kept going, but, unfortunately, the train kept going, too. My memory of the route to the city was that it was pretty straight, but either my memory was wrong or the route had been changed to take in every bend between Dellwood and New York. It was lucky the toilet was no bigger than a broom closet or Ella and I would have spent a lot of time on the floor.

Bruised and exhausted, we finally got our regular clothes off and our party dresses on.

“What do you think?” asked Ella.

“It’s a little hard to tell when we’re practically touching noses.” I wedged my make-up bag behind the taps. “Let’s do our faces, and then we can check ourselves outside.”

As I always say, you live and you learn. Changing in a moving train turned out to be nothing next to putting on make-up in a moving train. Putting on make-up in a train that’s weaving through the sleepy suburbs at a rate of knots is like trying to eat a bowl of hot soup on a roller coaster. And no less painful. If I wasn’t poking myself in the eye with my liner, I was poking my elbow in Ella. And it was no more successful than eating soup on a roller coaster, either. In the end, we took turns bracing ourselves against the door while the other one very carefully applied the mascara and the blush.

“That’s going to have to do,” said Ella. She pulled back as far as she could to examine her handiwork. “I’m afraid I’m going to blind you.”

“Do I look sophisticated and enigmatic?”

Ella cocked her head to one side. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “You do. Of course, you also look like you’ve been crying a lot.” Mascara can really sting.

“It’ll clear,” I said dismissively.

“And the eyeliner’s not totally even.”

“I can live with it for now. I”ll fix it when we’re on
terra firma
. Let’s just get out of here before we suffocate.”

Once we got out of the toilet, we took a long critical look at each other.

“You look fantastic,” said Ella. “Even though your eyes are still bloodshot.” She nervously licked her lips. “What about me?”

It had been a Herculean task, but after months of trying I’d finally managed to talk Ella into wearing her hair down. I’d also convinced her to buy something for the party that wasn’t plain, tailored and so basic you could wear it to church in the morning and a cocktail party in the evening: a full black taffeta skirt and a black lace bodysuit. Simple but effective. The transformation was astounding. Henry Higgins couldn’t have been half as pleased with Eliza as I was with Ella. In her regular clothes and with her hair up, Ella looked like she was practising for middle age; in the black ensemble with her hair down she looked like the mysterious heroine from a gothic novel.

“You look spectacular,” I assured her. “Eat your heart out, Carla Santini. Your day of reckoning has come at last!”

Ella and I found two seats facing backwards, so that we watched New Jersey disappear rather than New York City approach.

“I can’t believe this!” Ella kept saying. She was practically vibrating from excitement. “We’re really doing it. We’re really going to see Sidartha!” She squeezed my arm. “Lola, we’re really going to see Sidartha!” She was smiling so much that even though it had started to rain, it seemed like a sunny day. “Me! I’ve never even been on a train before without my mother.”

Inside, my heart and soul were in ecstatic turmoil, but on the outside I was trying to be cool. All of the other passengers were dressed as you would expect people to be dressed on a Saturday afternoon: you know, normal. Ella and I were attracting a lot of attention. I don’t usually mind attracting attention, but I was worried that one of the anonymous women with her bag on her lap and a paperback in her hands might be a friend or acquaintance of Mrs Gerard who would recognize Ella and want to know what she was doing on a train without parental supervision.

“Keep it down, will you?” I hissed. “The whole car can hear you.”

But it was too late for caution.

The woman behind us leaned over the seat and tapped me on the shoulder.

As soon as I felt her hand on me I started thinking of excuses: my mother was in the next car, we were going to a masquerade party, Ella who?

“Excuse me,” she said, “but where are the cameras?”

Ella groaned. “Oh, my God, Lola. We didn’t bring a camera!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The woman laughed. “It’s the clothes…” She laughed again. “I thought you must be shooting a commercial.”

A commercial! Ella and me! Carla Santini was going to
die
.

THE BEST LAID PLANS OF MICE AND MEN OFTEN GET MESSED UP

I had no trouble imagining Carla Santini’s arrival in New York City. Except for the lack of ticker-tape and cheering crowds, she glided into the metropolis like visiting royalty, watching the teeming multitudes from behind the tinted windows of her father’s Mercedes while she thought about how awful it must be not to be her. The pearl-grey sedan silently slid to a stop behind Madison Square Garden. A uniformed doorman opened a solid-steel door and Carla Santini stepped out into the rainy evening, cool and relaxed, her dress unwrinkled, her make-up flawless, her press pass in her hand. The doorman held an umbrella over her head as he led her inside, lest one small drop should mar her perfection. “Miss Santini,” he cooed. “Please step this way.”

At about the same time that I imagined Carla Santini, all teeth and curls, was being offered refreshment in the Garden’s VIP lounge, Ella and I made our own, less auspicious arrival in New York.

“I’m sure I read somewhere that Stu Wolff’s a very regular, down-to-earth guy,” Ella was saying as we fought our way out of Penn Station. “His dad’s a truck driver or something like that, and he loves baseball and beer. He doesn’t like all the show-business hype. He’s a real man of the people.”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her past a few of “the people” – the ones who didn’t dress as well as Stu Wolff and who were begging for money.

I didn’t want to talk about Stu or what was going to happen any more. We were there, in my favourite place on the planet, about to meet one of the greatest – and sexiest – poets who’d ever lived. I wanted action, not words.

We hurled ourselves through a herd of travellers trying to get into the building, and then ground to an abrupt halt. It was raining a lot harder in New York than it was in New Jersey.

I let out a heartfelt moan. “Oh, no. We’re going to get soaked.”

If the storm kept up, we’d look like bag ladies by the time we got downtown. And Eliza’s gown would be ruined. For the first time I realized what incredible potential for disaster our project had. Mrs Baggoli would kill me if anything happened to the dress. And after she killed me, my mother would probably burn my remains in her kiln.

“It’s karma,” said Ella. She might look like a Pre-Raphaelite model, but she was still her mother’s daughter. “You should never have borrowed the dress.”

By now even I knew that I shouldn’t have borrowed the dress. “Thanks,” I muttered.

Ella linked her arm in mine. “Come on,” she said with her usual cheerfulness. “We’re here now. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

I looked at the unmoving traffic and the steady stream of pedestrians and the blur of lights in the downpour. I heard the horns and the shouts and the sirens weaving through the cauldron of sound. I smelled the pretzels and hot dogs and stale urine of the streets. I breathed deeply. New York City! I was back where I belonged. My fear evaporated. The blood began to surge through my veins with its old passion and excitement. Like an eagle, my heart began to soar.

“You’re right,” I said. “We’re young, we’re beautiful, we’re talented, and we’re in the greatest city in the world.” I’d been so preoccupied with worrying about the dress that I’d taken the wrong exit and we’d come out across the street from the Garden. I turned us around. “We’re going to have an incredible time!” I announced to the general throng. “An absolutely incredible time!”

The light changed. We stepped off the curb together. Ella kept going, but one of my mother’s killer heels wedged itself in a sewer grate. My body went forward, but my foot stayed where it was.

I screamed.

The man behind us cursed as he more or less flew over me.

After he’d picked himself off the street, he helped me up.

“If you’re going to have such an incredible time,” he said, “you’d better try a little harder to live to enjoy it.”

There were about a million kids milling around outside Madison Square Garden, and about half a million cops.

“Geez…” Ella whistled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one place before.”

“Come on.” I held her tightly. The last thing I needed was to lose Ella. “Let’s find someone who’s selling tickets.”

Ella glanced uneasily at the noisy crowd. “You mean there isn’t a stall or something?”

Sometimes I don’t think Ella is merely sheltered. Sometimes I think it’s more like she’s been in solitary confinement for sixteen years.

“No, there isn’t a stall.”

It took us about fifteen minutes to find a guy with two decent tickets. Because we looked like such nice kids, he was willing to give us a bargain price.

“But that’s nearly fifty per cent more than they should cost!” Ella blurted out.

Under my tutelage, she was definitely beginning to get over her shyness.

Our benefactor gave her a crooked smile in which teeth were only a memory. “Honey, this gig was sold out before the tickets were printed. You’re lucky I’m not asking double.”

“But that’s—” began Ella.

I kicked her in the ankle.

“We’ll take them,” I said. It left us with just enough for incidentals, but it didn’t matter. It was going to be worth it. We might not even need a cab in the morning. Stu might take us to the station in his Porsche.

I pulled out my wallet. I opened it. All it contained was a five-dollar bill.

The tickets fluttered out of my reach.

“That’s not enough,” said the ticket seller.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We have it.” I pulled my satchel from my shoulder. Just in case someone tried to mug us, Ella and I had put most of our money in an empty film canister in my make-up bag. I mean, even in New York no one’s going to steal your make-up, are they? I stuck my hand in. Or are they?

“What’s wrong?” asked Ella.

“Nothing.” I squatted on the ground with the bag and started pulling things out. My Converse, my socks, my black jeans and black turtleneck…

“Ella,” I wailed. “Ella, it’s not here. My make-up bag’s not here.”

“It must be,” said Ella. She bent down beside me. “When do you remember having it last?”

“In the train. Don’t you remember? I put it behind the—”

I looked at Ella.

Ella looked at me.

“Sink,” finished Ella.

A great actor has to learn to take disappointment and rejection in her stride. There will always be the big flop, the bad review, the cancelled series. A great actor has to be able to pick herself up, dust herself off, and start all over again.

I am going to be a great actor. Not having a ticket wasn’t going to stand in my way.

“This isn’t going to work,” Ella hissed in my ear.

I tightened my grip on her hand as we finally started shuffling towards the entrance.

“Yes, it will,” I hissed back.

It was the old “if you want to hide a tree, put it in a forest” trick. I saw it in a movie. The hero was being chased by the bad guys, and the only chance he had of losing them was to disappear into a packed football stadium. Only he didn’t have a ticket. And, because he’d had to leave the house in a hurry and had forgotten to take his wallet, he didn’t have any money either. So he attached himself to a group of guys from out of town and just strolled right in with them.

The problem was finding a large group of very noisy and active people among whom we could lose ourselves. Most of the kids filing into the concert were in couples. And they had no choice but to be pretty orderly, because there were guards on either side of each doorway, taking the tickets one by one.

“It’s a little tricky,” I admitted,
sotto voce
, “but I think it’s possible. Just follow my lead.”

Ella started deep breathing. “I’m not going to be able to do this, Lola. I’m terrified.”

“Stage fright,” I assured her. “It’ll pass.”

More or less in front of us was a group of four handing over their tickets on one side, and a group of five on the other. Between us were two couples. It was now or never. I squeezed Ella’s hand.

“Come on,” I ordered. “Do what I do.”

I edged through the couples in front of us and attached myself to the group of four on the left. Smiling, I started talking to the back of the girl nearest me.

“I’m so excited,” I told her, inching forward. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this forever … what song do you think they’ll start with…?” Inch … inch… “I hope they do ‘Love Loser’, that’s got to be my all-time favourite…” Inch … inch… “I wish they let you bring cameras in here…” Inch … inch… “Wouldn’t you just die for a photograph of Stu on stage?”

Still talking, I stepped into the foyer. My heart was racing, my cheeks were flushed. A hand fell on my shoulder and yanked me backwards, none too gently.

“Just a minute,” said the young man in the Sidartha T-shirt with the radio clipped to his belt. “Let me take another look at your ticket.”

I don’t know where he came from. He must have been lying in wait because he wasn’t one of the guys on the door.

“My ticket?” I smiled as though I had nothing to hide. “Sure.”

I dug my hands into the pockets of my cape, but – to my horror – my ticket wasn’t there.

I smiled again. Nervously. “I must have stuck it in my bag,” I mumbled. I opened my bag and started shoving things around.

The young man didn’t smile back. He just stood there looking both expectant and bored.

“It’s not here.” My voice was surprised, innocent, confused. I looked at the ground in desperation. “I must have dropped it.”

He grabbed hold of my elbow. “Come on,” he said. “No ticket, no concert.”

“But I have a ticket!” I shouted indignantly. “I had it just a second ago. I—”

“No ticket, no concert,” he repeated, dragging me after him.

I dug in my heels as much as you can on a solid floor. “You can’t do this!” In my red satin dress and black velvet cape, I was in one of my
Gone with the Wind
moods. And, like Scarlett O’Hara, I was not about to be trifled with. I tilted my head back defiantly. “I demand to see your supervisor!”

“You can see him outside,” he said, and yanked me through the throng moving in the opposite direction and back to where I’d started.

“You really want to see the supervisor?” He held on to my elbow. He must have done this before, he wasn’t taking any chances.

But I wasn’t paying any attention to him by then. I was looking the other way, my eyes on Ella, who was standing on the other side of the entrance, staring at me with a look of shock on her face.