Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [75]
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