clapping made everyone turn toward the improvised stage as Stan Wynkowski, a big solid guy in charge of rehearsals, shambled up to the microphone. A ragged silence fell. I still hadn't figured out how this show was actually being put together, or who was in charge of what. So far I had seen only bits and pieces of it, since I was one of three or four accompanists who volunteered time and patience to get this show up and running by the fall. It was a huge effort, and I had seen little to give me faith it would all come together this side of paradise. I could certainly understand why it was not an annual event.
Stan began by welcoming Glori back home with enough hyperbole to satisfy the biggest ego. As Glori preened beside him, I noticed the skinny queen in the acid green dress had found her music and now held it clenched in one beringed hand as she made her way to the platform. Bob tried to catch her arm, but she shook him off.
"Remember me?" she cried shrilly. "I'm Bianca Bombe, star of the Velvet Box Review." She held out one hand to Stan, the great rings flashing in the sunlight. Sweat gleamed on her forehead.
"Oh puleeze," said Glori.
"Me and Luna, we go way back," Bianca said, ignoring Glori. Her wide smile split her pale face with a gash of cruel color.
"Of course I remember you," said Stan, taking her hand gallantly. Bob moved up on Bianca's other side. "I remember when you and Luna La Dame and Glori Daze all appeared together back in the '70s. Great show."
"I'm going to do some of the same numbers here," Bianca said. "In your dreams," snarled Glori. "Bianca, you were washed up and thrown out with the rags twenty years ago."
" I'm not the one who was paid to leave town!" shrieked Bianca. "Luna and me stayed right here and founded the Trillium Court and—"
"Because no one wanted you anywhere else!" shouted Glori.
"Liar!"
"Ladies, ladies, that's enough." Stan's voice easily cut through the shrieks. "Bianca, this show is already cast, but I'll take your name down for the next one. Look, I'll make a note in the official production book right now." He flipped over a few pages on his clipboard and flourished his pen, then began to write. "We need stars like you, Bianca, for the next show. See?"
She watched his moving hand as if mesmerized by the letters flowing from it.
"The star," she said, nodding. "That's right."
"That'll be a first," said Glori.
Without warning, Bianca leapt forward with a scream. "Bitch!" Her purse flailed, her long, bony fingers reached for Glori's carefully made-up face. Glori grabbed the black wig just as Bianca's heel caught on the raised platform and she toppled backward. "Bitch!" she cried again. Tears streaked her makeup. Bob was struggling to lift her up as Stan bent over to help. Jaym patted Bianca's arm, his eyes pained. He took the wig from Glori's hands and put it back on Bianca's nearly bald head. It sat there uneasily, slipping to one side as she struggled to her feet.
Stan and Bob exchanged glances. "We'll call you a taxi," Stan said, steering her toward the door.
" Was she a star?" Ellis asked, looking at me.
I shrugged, watching the little group lurch its way into the hall. The steady hum of conversation had broken out again, growing louder as the doors closed behind Bianca and her entourage. Bianca Bombe. The person I remembered by that name had nothing to do with this wreck. She was vibrant and sexy, a loud, laughing vixen who loved practical jokes. She couldn't dance worth a damn, but her personality made you forget this while she was on stage. She must have been around Ronnie's age, which would make her about forty-two. She looked a lot older. "Me and Luna, we go way back ." They had just begun to hang out together when I left.
"Ready when you are, Michael." Stan's voice pulled me back to the present. Glori was ready to launch into her first number. Her dusky, gravelly voice, roughened with decades of smoking and booze, brought back a few memories, too. She was still a good female
Stan began by welcoming Glori back home with enough hyperbole to satisfy the biggest ego. As Glori preened beside him, I noticed the skinny queen in the acid green dress had found her music and now held it clenched in one beringed hand as she made her way to the platform. Bob tried to catch her arm, but she shook him off.
"Remember me?" she cried shrilly. "I'm Bianca Bombe, star of the Velvet Box Review." She held out one hand to Stan, the great rings flashing in the sunlight. Sweat gleamed on her forehead.
"Oh puleeze," said Glori.
"Me and Luna, we go way back," Bianca said, ignoring Glori. Her wide smile split her pale face with a gash of cruel color.
"Of course I remember you," said Stan, taking her hand gallantly. Bob moved up on Bianca's other side. "I remember when you and Luna La Dame and Glori Daze all appeared together back in the '70s. Great show."
"I'm going to do some of the same numbers here," Bianca said. "In your dreams," snarled Glori. "Bianca, you were washed up and thrown out with the rags twenty years ago."
" I'm not the one who was paid to leave town!" shrieked Bianca. "Luna and me stayed right here and founded the Trillium Court and—"
"Because no one wanted you anywhere else!" shouted Glori.
"Liar!"
"Ladies, ladies, that's enough." Stan's voice easily cut through the shrieks. "Bianca, this show is already cast, but I'll take your name down for the next one. Look, I'll make a note in the official production book right now." He flipped over a few pages on his clipboard and flourished his pen, then began to write. "We need stars like you, Bianca, for the next show. See?"
She watched his moving hand as if mesmerized by the letters flowing from it.
"The star," she said, nodding. "That's right."
"That'll be a first," said Glori.
Without warning, Bianca leapt forward with a scream. "Bitch!" Her purse flailed, her long, bony fingers reached for Glori's carefully made-up face. Glori grabbed the black wig just as Bianca's heel caught on the raised platform and she toppled backward. "Bitch!" she cried again. Tears streaked her makeup. Bob was struggling to lift her up as Stan bent over to help. Jaym patted Bianca's arm, his eyes pained. He took the wig from Glori's hands and put it back on Bianca's nearly bald head. It sat there uneasily, slipping to one side as she struggled to her feet.
Stan and Bob exchanged glances. "We'll call you a taxi," Stan said, steering her toward the door.
" Was she a star?" Ellis asked, looking at me.
I shrugged, watching the little group lurch its way into the hall. The steady hum of conversation had broken out again, growing louder as the doors closed behind Bianca and her entourage. Bianca Bombe. The person I remembered by that name had nothing to do with this wreck. She was vibrant and sexy, a loud, laughing vixen who loved practical jokes. She couldn't dance worth a damn, but her personality made you forget this while she was on stage. She must have been around Ronnie's age, which would make her about forty-two. She looked a lot older. "Me and Luna, we go way back ." They had just begun to hang out together when I left.
"Ready when you are, Michael." Stan's voice pulled me back to the present. Glori was ready to launch into her first number. Her dusky, gravelly voice, roughened with decades of smoking and booze, brought back a few memories, too. She was still a good female
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