Sam Creek arrived in his Karmann Ghia to collect me and the dress on Monday morning.
“So?” said Sam as I squashed myself into the front seat. “How’d it go? Did you manage to get in?”
“You won’t believe what happened!” I said, too excited to pretend to be cool. “You just won’t believe it!”
I told him what happened.
“And you should have seen my dad,” I concluded. “Lots of Stu’s friends knew his books. It was really weird.”
Sam took his hands from the wheel for a second. “Hallelujah!” he shouted. “This is the day I’ve been waiting for since kindergarten, when Carla Santini used to talk me out of my dessert every lunch. I cannot wait to see her face.”
He didn’t have long to wait.
Ella was waiting for us in the courtyard, right outside the student lounge. In my old school, the teachers were lucky to have a faculty room, but in Deadwood even the kids have their own room. The student lounge has three walls of glass, a bunch of chairs and low tables, and a drinks machine. Ella jerked her head behind her as we approached.
“Carla’s already started boring everybody to death with every microscopic detail of the concert and the party,” said Ella. She looked a lot different than she had just two days before. Partly this was because she had her hair down, but it was more than that. She looked brighter, happier, sort of more vivid.
Sam and I looked through the wall of windows. Carla Santini was holding court from the centre chair, flanked by Alma, Tina and Marcia, and surrounded by a gaggle of BTWs. She must have known Ella was waiting for me, because she turned to face me and smiled.
“Uh-oh,” said Sam. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What?” asked Ella, her back to Carla.
“She smiled,” said Sam.
“Are you sure?” asked Ella.
The way they were carrying on, you’d think they were two Red Guards talking about Stalin. He scratched his ear this morning… Well, someone’s off to the firing squad…
“She’s bluffing,” I said airily. “She doesn’t want everyone to know she spent yesterday crying her eyes out.” I grabbed both of them by the arm and steered them towards the entrance of the lounge. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s watch Carla Santini eat humble pie.”
Everyone turned around as Ella, Sam and I stepped into the lounge.
“Well, if it isn’t the Great Pretender!” called Carla.
“Kill her now,” muttered Sam.
The smile that had been on Carla’s face since she saw us grew like a cancer. “Come to hear what the Sidartha party was like?” she crowed.
As if she’d said something hysterically funny, the rest of them laughed.
“Why would we want to hear what you have to say?” I asked sweetly. “Ella and I were there, remember?”
This, apparently, was even funnier than what Carla had said.
Alma started shrieking hysterically. “Oh, my God!” Tears of laughter watering her mascara, she turned to Carla. “Did you hear that? She said they were there!”
Marcia gave me a pitying look. “You know, lying’s not going to help you,” she said as though she wanted to be helpful. “Everybody already knows that you didn’t go.” She shook her head, baffled, as many of us are, by human behaviour. “How could you think you’d get away with it?” she wondered aloud. “Nobody who isn’t an idiot believed you in the first place.”
“That’s right!” chimed in Tina. “I mean, you? The only way you’d get into a party like that is if you were one of the waitresses.”
I stood there, taking their abuse, staring at Carla in shocked disbelief. She had no intention of eating humble pie; it wasn’t on the Santini menu. She was going to lie through her teeth, and make it her word against mine.
“Don’t you pretend you didn’t see me!” I was calm, but strong. I stood up straight. “I know you did.” I sent a sneer in Tina’s direction. “And don’t you tell me the only way I’d get into a party like that is as a waitress. It just so happens that Ella and I got in with Stu Wolff. After we practically saved his life.”
Carla gestured to the photographs spread out on the table in front of her. “There’s the proof,” she purred. In case I was too thick to get what she meant she explained. “Those are my pictures from the concert and the party. Lola isn’t in one of them. But Stu is.” Her smile was Antarctica with lipstick. “Now how could you have been saving his life, Lola, when he never left the party all night?” She made a helpless gesture to her audience. “Why isn’t Lola in any of the pictures?” Her expression became sweetly sly. “It’s not like she’s camera shy, is it?”
Another round of laughter greeted this insightful witticism.
“Bride at the wedding … corpse at the funeral…” muttered Alma.
I wanted to turn the tables on her. I wanted to say that she had taken a photo, but she was pretending that she hadn’t. Only Ella was there. I’d promised her I wouldn’t lie any more, and I definitely wasn’t going to when she could hear me.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” I said instead. “Ella and I were at that party. My dad and Stu are even going climbing together – sometime.” When Stu got back from finding himself in India.
That, unfortunately, was the wrong thing to say.
Carla went off like a siren. “Your dad? But you don’t have a dad, Lola. Ella’s mother told my mother that your father died before you were born.” She turned her lethal smile on Ella. “Isn’t that true?” she asked.
It was obvious that our adventure really had changed Ella. She recovered more quickly from this sudden attack than I did.
“If you say so, it must be true,” said Ella sarcastically but without strictly lying. “All I know is that Lola’s father is very much alive and living on the Lower East Side.”
The homeroom bell sounded.
Carla smiled. “Of course he is. He and Stu Wolff are probably climbing up some mountain in Manhattan even as we speak.” She gave Ella another killer dose of smile. “Didn’t I say you should come with me?”
Monday went downhill from there.
History, Spanish and science weren’t total hell because, though everyone darted knowing glances at me and Ella, and muttered amongst themselves, Carla wasn’t in those classes with us, egging everyone else on. But in maths, Ms Pollard sent Sam to the principal for threatening to deck Morgan Liepe because he called Ella and me liars. And in English, where we had a supply teacher because Mrs Baggoli was taking one of her classes on a field trip and we were supposed to be writing an in-class essay, Carla passed her photographs around so everyone could see the first-hand proof that Ella and I hadn’t been at the party. Hearing the hissed wisecracks and sniggers, the supply teacher periodically raised her head from the book she was reading, but as soon as she went back to it, the wisecracks and sniggers would start again.
After school, Ella went home looking down, and Sam and I got the dress out of his car and snuck it back into the drama room cupboard. At least some things were going according to plan.
“Maybe Carla really didn’t see you,” said Sam as we climbed into the Karmann Ghia. “I mean, it is possible. The party was really crowded, right? And it was late.”
I snorted with derision. “Oh, please… She saw us all right.” I opened the passenger door again and freed my cape. “You should have seen her face. She looked like she’d just swallowed her tongue.”
We pulled out of the parking lot.
“You should have taken your own camera with you,” said Sam. He shook his head. “I mean, if you think about it, it always was a ‘heads Carla wins; tails you and Ella lose’ proposition. Even if she’d taken a photo of all of you together, she would never have admitted it.”
“Thanks for thinking of that now,” I said. I hadn’t even thought about bringing a camera with us because I knew Carla would have one. The last thing I’d needed to do was lose or break my mother’s Pentax on top of all my other crimes. “And anyway,” I went on more pleasantly, “I do have proof. I have Stu’s T-shirt.”
Sam gave me a look. It was not an encouraging one.
“Have you been paying any attention to what’s happening?” he asked. He sounded as though he was worried about my sanity. “So what if you have Stu Wolff’s T-shirt, Lola? How are you planning to prove he gave it to you, or even that it’s his?”
I opened my mouth to answer. “Well … I … uh…” I closed it again. Sam was right, of course. It was like agreeing to fight a duel with pistols and discovering that your opponent had a nuclear bomb. I mean, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call playing by the rules. But then, as even Carla had tried to explain to me, Carla has her own rules, and everyone else has to play by them.
“People will believe me,” I said firmly. I wasn’t going to let Carla Santini shake my faith in all mankind. “Why would I lie about something like that?”
He winked. “Why would any of us lie, Lola?” asked Sam.
The Big Freeze had settled over Deadwood High once again. I had no opportunity to explain to anyone where my new T-shirt had come from, because no one was specifically talking to me. Or to Ella.
“Gee,” said Ella as we walked to the auditorium together after English through a sea of indifference, “seems like old times, doesn’t it?”
“I’m really starting to get tired of this,” I answered angrily. It’s one thing being humiliated when you know you’re slightly in the wrong; but it’s something else when you know you’re totally in the right. The injustice of it all was galling! “If she doesn’t back down, I may seriously have to consider killing her.”
“You’d get caught,” said Ella. “And either she wouldn’t die, or she’d just come back as someone worse.”
Enveloped in gloom, Ella came to a stop at her bike.
“All is not lost,” I informed her. “I may be down, but I’m not beaten.”
“Really?” Ella eyed me curiously. “What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to do what I promised.” I grinned. “I’m going to tell the truth.”
The mood at that afternoon’s rehearsal was nervous. Nervous and tense. I exchanged polite greetings with everyone except Carla, but that was as far as conversation went. You could tell the others were all waiting to see what would happen between Princess Santini and me.
I gave away nothing until we were ready to start.
“All right!” boomed Mrs Baggoli. “Places, everyone!”
“Mrs Baggoli?” I stepped to the edge of the stage. “Mrs Baggoli,” I said loudly and clearly. “There’s something I have to say before we begin.”
The expression on Mrs Baggoli’s face was like a sigh. Opening night was only three days away. She didn’t want any interruptions.
“Now what?” asked Mrs Baggoli.
I held my head up, bathed by the spotlight. “Mrs Baggoli,” I said. “I have a confession to make.” My eyes met hers. “A confession and an apology.”
Someone made a gagging sound from behind me.
“A confession?” Mrs Baggoli smiled a little uneasily. “A confession about what?”
“I did a terrible thing, Mrs Baggoli.” I spoke slowly, with dignity, dragging the attention of everyone to me.
“Lola…” Mrs Baggoli laughed a little. “What on earth have you done?”
I took a deep breath, the moral torment I’d been enduring showing in my face. “I borrowed Eliza’s dress,” I said flatly. “I’m really sorry, but I honestly felt that I had no choice.”
“Eliza’s dress?” Mrs Baggoli repeated. “No choice?”
I nodded. “Yes.” I shook my head. “No, I really had no choice.”
Mrs Baggoli, to her credit, picked up her line automatically.
“But why?” she asked. “Why would you borrow Eliza’s dress?”
You could have heard a feather crash to the floor, the room was so quiet. Even Carla Santini wasn’t saying anything under her breath – for a change.
“So I could go to the Sidartha party,” I informed her.
Mrs Baggoli frowned. “The Sidartha party?”
“But you didn’t go to the party,” said Henry Higgins. “Carla said—”
I turned to him with a small smile. “I know what Carla said … but it isn’t true. Ella and I were at the party.” I clasped my hands together, looking beseechingly at Mrs Baggoli. “It was Sidartha’s last concert,” I explained. “I had to go…”
“Oh, please…” Carla groaned. “When are you going to give up, Lola?” she demanded. “No one’s interested in your lies any more. First you lied about being invited to the party and now you’ve come up with this ridiculous story about Eliza’s dress—”
“But how could you possibly have taken the dress?” Mrs Baggoli was asking. “The cupboard’s always locked.”
“There are ways…” I said vaguely.
“Oh, sure,” muttered Carla. “Now you want us to believe you’re a lock-picker as well as a liar.”
Mrs Baggoli scowled in her direction. “Carla, if you don’t mind…” She turned back to me. “And where is the dress now?”
“I put it back in the drama room.”
Mrs Baggoli got to her feet. “Well, there’s one way of settling this,” she said more or less to herself. She marched off out of the room.
Carla took advantage of Mrs Baggoli’s absence to take centre stage.
“You really are too much, you know?” she declaimed. “I don’t know where you get off, thinking you can manipulate everyone the way you do. Just because we don’t come from New York City doesn’t mean we’re stupid, you know.” She glanced around at our fellow actors, so they’d understand that she was including them in this.
“You’re the one who manipulates everyone,” I hissed back. “You treat everybody like they’re puppets. Everything you say is a lie.”
“Here comes Mrs Baggoli,” said Colonel Pickering. He sounded relieved.
Both Carla and I smiled as Mrs Baggoli came back in the room.
“Well, the dress is back in the cupboard,” says Mrs Baggoli. “But in all honesty, Lola, I have to say that it doesn’t look as though it’s been touched.” She sounded relieved, too.
“That’s because Stu Wolff had it cleaned.” I nearly laughed out loud. At last I had my chance to explain – and to an eager audience. “You see, just as we got there, Ella and I saw Stu Wolff leave the party, and we followed him. It’d been raining all afternoon, so the dress got kind of wet and dirty, and Stu said he’d have it cleaned for me.” I glanced at Carla out of the corner of my eye. “He said it was the least he could do, seeing as Ella and I practically saved his life.”
Mrs Baggoli’s eyes shifted between Carla and me. She wasn’t sure what to believe any more.
“Well, maybe you took the dress and maybe you didn’t,” she said almost vaguely. “As far as I’m concerned, what’s important is that it’s where it should be now, and in the condition it came to us in.”
“But Mrs Baggoli!” Why wouldn’t anyone ever follow the script I was using? “Mrs Baggoli, I did take the dress.” I pulled at my T-shirt. “See? Stu Wolff gave me this to wear so I wouldn’t catch pneumonia.”
Mrs Baggoli sat down with finality. “Lola,” said Mrs Baggoli, “I really don’t want to continue this discussion now. We have a lot to do before Friday night.”
Carla stepped up behind me. “Sure, he did…” she whined in my ear. “Maybe he gave you his class ring, too.”
Colonel Pickering and Henry Higgins chortled softly.
Driven by my righteous sense of indignation, I ignored Mrs Baggoli and turned on Carla. “He did give it to me!” I shouted. “It’s a roadie T-shirt from their last tour. Where else would I get it?”
“You got it where you get all your clothes,” shrieked Carla. “In a junk store.”
I turned to Henry Higgins, Colonel Pickering, and the Parlourmaid, who were all standing a few steps from Carla and me with their mouths open and their eyes wide.
“You believe me, don’t you?” I demanded. “Carla’s the one who’s lying, not I.”
The Parlourmaid looked at Carla, and said nothing. Henry Higgins looked at Mrs Baggoli, and said nothing. Colonel Pickering looked up at the lights and shrugged. Mrs Baggoli clapped her hands. “Girls! Please!”
I returned to my argument with Carla. “And anyway,” I screamed, “I’d rather have my wardrobe than yours. If you couldn’t read you’d never be able to get dressed in the morning.”
“Your jealousy is disgusting!” sneered Carla. “You’re so pathetic I almost feel sorry for you.”
“You feel sorry for me?” I laughed hollowly. “You’re the one who’s pathetic. Poor little rich girl who can’t stand not to have everything her way. You’re not even big enough to admit that Ella and I did go to the party. Because of who we are, not because of who our fathers are.”
“Girls!” Mrs Baggoli was back on her feet. “Did you hear me?” Mrs Baggoli appeared at the foot of the stage. “I don’t know what’s going on with the two of you, but it’ll stop outside that door.” She pointed to the main entrance. “Am I making myself clear?”
I nodded. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. It was all so unfair! Hot tears of self-pity welled in my eyes. But no one noticed.
“I mean it,” said Mrs Baggoli. “All of us have worked very hard for this production. I’m not having it ruined by you two. No more. Do you understand? We’ve all had enough.”
“Have you, Lola?” whispered Carla. “Have you finally had enough?”
Have you, Lola…? Have you finally had enough…? Carla’s words echoed in my mind for the rest of the day.
All through rehearsal, even during Eliza’s big showdown with Henry Higgins, I watched the others watching me – the rest of the cast impassive, Mrs Baggoli frowning critically, Carla looking bored – and thought, Have you Lola…? Have you finally had enough…?
At supper, my mother brought up the play.
“We’re all really looking forward to it,” said my mother. She smiled at her youngest as they snuffled at their food and kicked each other under the table. “Aren’t we, girls?”
“What?” asked Paula, through a mouthful of potato.
Pam lobbed a piece of broccoli at her twin’s head. “What’s it about?”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to play with your food?” shouted my mother. “Pam, you get down on the floor and pick that up right now.”
Have you, Lola…? Have you finally had enough…? asked the voice in my head.
It whispered to me while I did my homework; it hissed at me through the splashing of the shower. Have you, Lola…? Have you finally had enough…? Have you, Lola…? Have you finally had enough…? Enough…? Enough…? Have you finally had enough…?
I didn’t know what the answer was. All I knew was that I had seriously underestimated a couple of things, only one of them being Carla Santini. I hadn’t realized what the limits were to what people would believe. The man in the ticket store had believed my improbable – but possible – story of a dying sister. The bus driver had believed my improbable – but possible – story of a sister with a broken foot. The bouncer had believed the improbable – but possible – story of my sudden illness. Ella had believed in the deaths of my father and Elk – both possible but not all that probable. The one story I’d told that was both probable and possible was the one that was true. And no one believed it. Not even Mrs Baggoli. I’d always thought it was possible to control your life, but it seemed that it wasn’t. To everyone in Deadwood, there was no way I would ever get into the Sidartha party, and so I hadn’t.
Have you, Lola…? Have you finally had enough…?
“You know what really gets me?” I said to Ella that night on the phone. “What really gets me is that Sam’s right. We could never have won. It’s like playing cards with a river-boat gambler. The deck’s marked. You couldn’t win if you played for the rest of your life.”
“What does it matter any more?” asked Ella.
“What does it matter?” Was this the same girl who only weeks before had been begging me to stay out of Carla’s way?
“Well, we know we went to the party,” said Ella. “We know we met Stu Wolff. I mean, that’s what really counts, isn’t it?”
Have you, Lola…? Have you finally had enough…?