mother had suddenly pulled a gun out over supper and shot her in the heart.”
I shook my head, trying to take it all in. “My God … they’d been friends since forever.”
Sam laughed. “Forever’s not that long for Carla Santini. She swanned around for a couple of weeks, hanging on to Mike like he was a helium balloon, and then she dumped him. But not before she’d totally humiliated Ella. You know, making sure Ella saw her and Mike kissing and crap like that, lording it over Ella every chance she got. It was enough to make you puke.” His face had been intensely serious, but now he smiled. “So,” said Sam, “if you ever need my help in your war against the Santini, all you have to do is ask.”
I stood there, staring at him. I now had more reason than ever to show up Carla Santini. I had to go to the party. I
I smiled. “Well, it’s funny you should say that,” I said.
We waited till Friday, the day before the concert, to take the dress. Sam said that the best time to liberate Eliza’s gown from its prison would probably be during rehearsals. There were too many people around during the day, and if we waited till night there was the problem of the alarms. While I was in the auditorium, my eyes firmly fixed on Mrs Baggoli, Sam would slip into the drama club room, open the cupboard, take out the dress and put it in the binbag I’d provided, and then wait for me in his car. The following Monday, we’d repeat the procedure in reverse. Mrs Baggoli wouldn’t be in on Monday, so the dress would be back long before anyone realized it had gone.
I didn’t say anything to Ella about borrowing the dress. All I said was that I’d found the perfect thing to wear. I decided it would be better to present the liberation as a
Crime has never really appealed to me as a way of life. True, you get to do a lot of acting, but it’s stressful and repetitive. I was, however, willing to step outside the strict boundaries of the law because this was a good, a just, and a noble cause.
Nonetheless, I was a wreck throughout the rehearsal on Friday. To begin with, Carla did nothing but talk about the concert whenever she could. “Are you as excited as I am?” she kept asking me. “Have you decided what you’re going to wear?”
During our first break, she made a big deal of saying, “Don’t worry, Lola, I won’t forget the camera. I know everyone’ll be dying to see the photo of you and me together.”
One of the stage hands choked back a laugh. “Are you kidding?” he muttered. “We’re making bets.”
Besides being wound up like a toy by Carla, I kept thinking I could hear footsteps behind the stage and doors banging. I forgot my lines; I missed my cues. Carla could only have been more pleased if I’d resigned from the play.
“Why don’t we take a five-minute break?” called Mrs Baggoli. “I’m feeling a little cold. I think I’ll get my sweater from the drama club room.”
I practically fell off the stage, I jumped so fast.
“I’ll get it for you, Mrs Baggoli,” I offered. “You just wait right there. I’ll be back in a second.”
“That’s all right, Lola.” Mrs Baggoli held up her key-ring. “It’s locked.”
Locked! My heart had been moving faster than a zebra with a lion on its tail all afternoon, but now it stopped suddenly. What if Sam couldn’t get into the drama club room? What if it took him a while to get it open and he was still inside? I raced from the stage to cut off Mrs Baggoli in the hall.
“Mrs Baggoli!” I screamed, charging down the stairs and falling into step beside her. The drama club room was only a few yards ahead of us. “Mrs Baggoli, I was wondering if I could ask you a question about that last scene.”
Mrs Baggoli gave me a “not-you-too” look.
“There’s no need to shout, Lola,” said Mrs Baggoli. “You’re not on stage now.”
How wrong she was!
I went on as though she’d said yes.
“It’s Henry,” I said, sliding in front of her. “I’m not sure I really understand his feelings about Eliza.”
“Really?” said Mrs Baggoli. “I should have thought his feelings were an open book to all of us by now. We’ve been through them enough times with Carla.”
“I mean his deep, inner feelings. His—”
Mrs Baggoli put a hand on my shoulder. “Lola,” she said, “would you please get out of my way so I can get my sweater?”
I threw myself against the door. “I know we’ve discussed it before superficially—” I began as I danced backwards into the drama club room and almost fell over.
Mrs Baggoli didn’t even ask me if I was all right.
“That’s funny,” she said, looking puzzled. “I was sure I locked that door.”
A great actor has to be able to recover quickly from minor setbacks – like a fluffed line, or not knowing that the door wasn’t shut properly. I recovered quickly enough to notice a bit of red satin sticking through the crack in the cupboard door while Mrs Baggoli was checking that nothing had been taken from the desk. I hurled myself in front of the crack.
“You probably did lock it,” I assured her. “We have a lock like that at home. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.”
Mrs Baggoli shut the bottom drawer. “Well, nothing seems to be missing…” She removed her sweater from the back of the chair. “Maybe I didn’t lock it after all.”
“So, Mrs Baggoli,” I said. “What do you think of Henry’s feelings?”
Mrs Baggoli gave me a look that was very similar to the one my mother always gives me when I confuse her.
“You know, Lola,” said Mrs Baggoli as she shoved me out of the room, “I think maybe you’ve been working too hard. There’s no rehearsal until Tuesday. Why don’t you really try to relax this weekend?”
It was raining by the time rehearsals were over. Heedless of the tempest kicking up around me, I streaked across the parking lot to where the multicoloured Karmann Ghia was waiting. The engine started before I reached the door.
“Oh, my God!” I cried as I dropped – more or less literally – into the passenger seat. “I was really scared for a few minutes there.”
“You?” Sam laughed derisively. “I was just about to stuff the dress in the bag when you started shouting in the hall. I felt like I’d been caught by the cops.”
I looked around, enquiringly. There isn’t much room inside a Karmann Ghia. “Where’s the dress? In the boot?”
“The boot’s filled with junk.” Sam jerked his head towards the rear. “I put it back there.”
I looked behind us. The binbag had been crammed into the rear seat that had been provided for people who only give rides to very small children.
“Let’s get out of here,” I ordered, snapping my seat-belt. “The sooner I get it home, the happier I’ll be.”
But instead of putting the car in gear, Sam rolled down his window. I looked over his shoulder. Mrs Baggoli was running towards us through the downpour. Of course, who else would it be?
“Oh, no…” I moaned softly. We were doomed. No wonder they always say crime doesn’t pay.
Sam leaned out the window. “What’s the problem, Mrs Baggoli?” he asked as though there were nothing on the back seat at all.
It’s amazing how many people who have no interest in the theatre can act.
“It’s my car,” gasped Mrs Baggoli. She sounded fraught. “It won’t start.”
Sam went with Mrs Baggoli to see what was wrong with her car while I waited in the Karmann Ghia. I kept glancing behind me to make sure the dress was still there – and still in its bag.
