Henry Higgins and I peered through the curtain at the side of the stage.
On the left of the auditorium were Mr and Mrs Gerard, Ella and Sam. Mr and Mrs Gerard were both wearing suits; Ella was wearing the A-line with the pearl buttons down the front she’d wanted me to wear to the party, but it didn’t look so bad because her hair was loose and the contrast between the copper and the blue was actually stunning; and Sam was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt and his leather jacket with the bottle caps bolted to it. They looked so out of place together that a passing policeman would have arrested Sam for holding the Gerards hostage.
On the right-hand side were my mother and father, the twins, my grandparents, and about a dozen of my mother’s closest friends. My parents were sitting together, with a twin on either side, to keep them from talking during the performance.
“Corblighme,” whispered Henry Higgins in a mid-Atlantic drawl. “It’s a full house. There are even people standing at the back.”
I was too excited to comment on his hopeless accent, but I will say that it was just as well that Mrs Baggoli moved the play to America.
“Henry! Eliza!”
We jumped back. Mrs Baggoli has a stage whisper that makes the floorboards quake.
“Get in your places!” hissed Mrs Baggoli. “Three minutes till curtain!”
Henry Higgins took his place by the supermarket painted on the backdrop. I took up my place in the wings with my groceries.
Everybody started telling everybody else to break a leg, the way actors do.
“Break a leg!”
“Break a leg!”
“Break a leg!”
I looked over at Carla Santini. It is a testament to my renewed determination and resolution that I didn’t say, “Break a neck!”. I thought it, but I didn’t say it. I am above such childish pettiness. I will never sink to her level again; I don’t like being down that low.
“Good luck, everyone!” boomed Mrs Baggoli as she skittered into the wings. “Give them a show they won’t forget!”
I was scared, I’ll admit it. Now that the play was actually about to begin, panic and doubt began marching around in my heart. What if I wasn’t any good after all? What if Carla managed to sabotage me with just a whisper or a smile?
“Never say die,” I said to myself. “Never say die.”
I pictured the faces of the Ceps, the Gerards, the Kapoks, and the solitary Creek – the Gerards with their hands folded neatly on their laps, the Ceps and Kapoks pushing and slapping and shoving each other, and the Creek unwrapping a stick of gum. It was going to be all right. I would play to them. I wanted them to be proud of me. All of them, even Mr and Mrs Gerard. Even Pam and Paula. But especially Ella.
It was a triumph!
We had ten curtain calls and a standing ovation. I was dizzy from bowing so much.
Mrs Baggoli came on stage for the last curtain call, passing out a single rose to every member of the cast. When she was done she put an arm around me and one around Henry Higgins. “My stars!” she cried to the audience. She squeezed my shoulder.
Sam and Ella came backstage.
“You were wonderful!” screeched Ella. “Even my parents think so. My mom said she totally forgot it was you up there.”
Sam grinned. “Not bad,” he said. “That’s my first play, not counting the story of The First Christmas in kindergarten.”
Careless of the make-up I was smearing all over her face, I gave Ella a hug. “Thanks,” I whispered.
“We’ll wait for you outside,” said Ella. “Sam’s going to drive us to the party.”
“I’ve bet Ella that the Santinis’ butler won’t let me in,” said Sam.
I tossed my hair and flashed my teeth in a Carla Santini way. “All you have to do is say you’re with me,” I crowed. “I’m the star!”
“Lola Cep!” Mrs Baggoli clapped her hands. “Mrs Ludley wants to lock up. Get out of your costume!”
At least my success hadn’t spoiled Mrs Baggoli.
“I’m going,” I said. “I won’t be five minutes.”
The only other person in our changing room (the girls’ toilet) was Carla Santini. She was leaning over a sink, re-doing her face for off-stage life.
“Congratulations,” said Carla, her eyes on me in the mirror. “You’re a big hit.”
Such generosity demanded generosity in return. “Thanks,” I said, stepping up to the sink beside her. “We’re all a big hit.”
Carla tossed her lip gloss into her make-up bag and straightened up. For once, she wasn’t smiling. “I have to hand it to you, Lola,” she said. “There’s more to you than I thought.”
“To you, too,” I said with total sincerity. “Much more.”
Carla laughed. A rueful expression appeared on her face.
“What couldn’t we do if we worked together?” she mused. “You know, sometimes I almost think it’s a shame that you and I aren’t in the same club.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said to her reflection. “I couldn’t afford to belong to any club you were in.”
Carla laughed again. I guess she took it as a compliment.