Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [52]
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