Leading Ladies #2 (11 page)

“Going where?” Buster demanded, sounding almost beside himself with frustration.

I had so many butterflies in my stomach I felt like I might spontaneously levitate.

“To talk to Benny Novak, I'm guessing,” Audriana said.

“Paulina and Benny are soul mates,” Tally said matter-of-factly. “They come from the same star stuff. They've probably reincarnated together tons of times. They—”

“Tal, please,” I snapped. “That's not helping right now.” I stood up so quickly I felt a little dizzy.

“And, Paulie,” Ivy added. “Don't forget to breathe.”

I took a deep breath and walked as fast as I could without looking like I was in a rush. When I stepped out of the cafeteria, I looked around. Benny was standing a little ways down the hallway, leaning against a wall. Waiting for
ME
. I walked toward him, trying to imagine how a person ought to walk to give the impression that nothing particularly out of the ordinary was going on.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” Benny answered.

“Are you feeling better? I mean, after the flu?” I added.

“Yeah, I am. I mean, it took a while. That was a nasty bug.”

“I know,” I told him. “At least we don't have to worry about catching it now. We're, like, safe for the year. We have Diplomatic Flu Immunity.”

Benny laughed, and I relaxed a little bit.

“So listen, I know the next bell is about to ring and all that, so . . . the Homecoming Dance is three days away, and I know it's not really your thing, but I figured you'd go since you're putting it in your next issue and all that.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah, I am,” I said.

“Okay. So do you want to go with me then?”

Wow
. That was it? He had asked me on a date, just like that. No big deal, no earthquake. I was not dead. I had not accidentally made a high-pitched squealing noise. This wasn't awkward at all. In fact . . . it was kind of nice.

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

“Cool,” Benny told me. “Then it's a date.”

One small step for mankind. One giant step for ME!

Except, what did you talk about right after the perfect guy asked you out on a date?

The bell rang. Perfect timing.

“See you later,” he said.

“Later,” I replied as casually as I could.

I turned and walked away just like I did every ordinary, boring day in school. But this time, I knew there was something extremely different about me. I was a girl with a date. With a guy I was already friends with. And really liked.

I only had a few minutes to get to class, but I doubled back toward the cafeteria, where people were streaming out. I almost collided with Ivy.

“Well?” she said when she saw me.

I grabbed her arm and opened my mouth in an enormous, silent Scream of Joy. Ivy grabbed my arm back and squeezed.

“Told you!” Ivy exclaimed. “I've got a dentist appointment after school, but I want to hear every single thing. I'll call you tonight, okay?”

“You better!”

And I added another silent Scream of Joy, just because I felt like it. Then I hightailed it to class.

• • • • • • •

“It was just so easy,” I said, repeating more or less the same thing for about the sixth time. “It was like he was asking me if I liked dogs or if I'd done my social studies homework.”

“Because you're already friends,” Ivy said. “The hard part was done.”

My ear was getting tired from having the phone pressed against it, so I switched the receiver to the other side.

“I was just so sure it would be awkward and embarrassing,” I said.

“You don't say,” Ivy remarked. “And once again, I told you so. Didn't I?”

“You did,” I confirmed. “You are a fantastic, wise friend.”

“Don't forget stylish,” Ivy said.

“And stylish,” I added. “A fantastic, wise, stylish friend. I do not know
what
I'd do without you.”

There was a pause. I didn't want to remember Ivy was moving.

“Anyway . . . ,” Ivy said.

“Yeah, anyway,” I echoed.

A chirp came from my laptop.

“Huh, I've got an e-mail,” I said.

“Me too,” Ivy said. “Uh-oh. Mine's from the Dowager Empress Shelby.”

I tapped on the
1
in my in-box.

“So's mine. Look at the recipient list—it's to the whole class,” I pointed out.

I opened the e-mail. It was an extremely colorful, not-too-adeptly Photoshopped collage of seventies stuff from
Charlie's Angels
to a cartoon of Elton John in platform shoes and massive pink sunglasses with lenses the shape of stars. In huge, bold caps in the center was text that read:

To:
Everyone

From:
SweetShelby

Subject:
Decade Day!

A FINAL REMINDER FROM THE DANCE COMMITTEE—TOMORROW ALL SEVENTH-GRADERS WILL COME TO SCHOOL DRESSED IN AN OUTFIT FROM OUR HOMECOMING DECADE, THE 1970S. WE ARE IN THIS TO WIN—PUT YOUR HEART INTO IT! BEST DRESSED WILL BE FEATURED IN THIS MONTH'S ISSUE OF
4 GIRLS
MAGAZINE!

 

“The girl never gives up, does she?” I said. “And what's this about the best dressed being ‘featured' in the magazine? She can't say that—all we ever said was that we'd be putting some pictures in. Anyway, I'm totally not dressing up in some seventies outfit. I mean, you're not, are you, Ivy?”

“Nothing in the universe could get me into polyester hip-huggers and platform shoes,” Ivy said. “But even if I was willing to make an exception for Decade Day, I wouldn't dress up
tomorrow
.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because, Einstein, tomorrow is Thursday. Decade Day is Friday. Shelby got herself in such a state over this, she got her dates mixed up.”

I looked at the e-mail again. Shelby's e-mail was ordering everyone to dress up
tomorrow
. One day too early.

“You are totally right—she got the date wrong! Do you think people are going to show up in their outfits on the wrong day?”

Ivy laughed.

“I don't know,” she said. “But you know what I do know? I'm going to be sure to bring my camera to school tomorrow.”

Ivy might have noticed the Decade Day date error, but apparently not everybody did. I was at my locker before first period when Shelby, Daphne, and Charelle came down the hall in full seventies outfits.

Daphne was wearing a pair of plaid polyester pants with a superhigh waist. She had matched it with a yellow peasant blouse and a huge, gold pendant that declared
DISCO RULES
. Her purse was a bright-green nylon bag that said
LE SPORTSAC
all over it, and on her head, she wore a baseball cap covered in silver sequins. Charelle was sporting a lime-green skort with white kneesocks and chunky denim-covered shoes. A pair of enormous, white plastic sunglasses with cherry-red lenses covered half her face. But neither of them had anything on Shelby Simpson. The Head of the PQuits would never be outdone.

Shelby was wearing a pair of cream-colored satin pants that flared into massive bell-bottoms, which were covered in spatterings of blue sequins. She had a shiny jacket of electric blue that was covered with words like
BOOGIE NIGHTS
,
GET FUNKY
, and
DISCO DIVA
. Her hair had been fashioned into a bizarre style, with all the parts in front curled so they flew back from her head in rolled wings. Perhaps the most amazing thing was her shoes—blue vinyl platform shoes with a heel that must have been five inches high. It was a miracle she could even stand in them.

The three of them stood together, posing by the lockers. They looked extremely pleased with themselves. When a group of sixth-graders in their regular clothes stopped to stare at them, Shelby nudged Daphne.

“Losers don't even have outfits,” she said. “Nice school spirit, midgets.”

More students arrived, gawking at the PQuits and pointing at them. All of them were dressed in their normal school clothes.

A PQuit-in-Training dashed up to Shelby—she was wearing a shiny, gold jumpsuit and something that looked like a sombrero covered in fake fur.

“Shel, is this good? Is this okay? You look soooo much better than me!”

Shelby ignored her. Her smug expression had begun to fade as she looked around. The more kids who showed up in their regular clothes, the more confused she looked.

A tall, skinny girl with jet-black hair stepped forward and stood with her hands on her hips, checking out the PQuits from head to toe.

“I've got to say, you seventh-graders really know how to get attention,” the girl said.

“We've got school spirit, which is more than I can say for you, Norah,” Shelby shot back.

“Oh, I've got plenty of school spirit, and I plan to flaunt it. On Decade Day. Which is tomorrow!”

Shelby looked absolutely flabbergasted. Her face flushed crimson. It was pretty funny, but at the same time, I felt bad for Shelby. I have this recurring dream where I show up at school in my pajamas. When I wake up and realize it's only a nightmare, I always feel relieved.

But Shelby Simpson's Fashion Nightmare was really happening.

Shelby looked frozen in place. It was the first time she'd ever seemed to have no idea what to do. Daphne and Charelle stood on either side of her like disco bodyguards. But they looked just as shocked.

Someone else pushed through the crowd toward Shelby. It was Miko. My eyes grew wide with surprise.

Miko was wearing a rayon, white pantsuit and vest, under which she sported a red satin shirt with an enormous, pointy collar. Her patent leather, red shoes matched the shirt perfectly. She had several fat, gold chains around her neck and a big, round button pinned to her jacket that read
I'VE GOT SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER
in sparkly lettering.

“Girls, you look fabulous!” Miko said loudly.

Norah was laughing so hard she was practically bent over. Shelby was trying to move behind Charelle and Daphne in an attempt to hide.

But it was way too late for that.

“Hey look, everybody, I just happen to have my camera with me!” Norah announced.

Miko stepped up next to her friends and turned toward Norah. “Definitely! Take our picture!” she said enthusiastically.

Shelby was still trying to hide, but Miko pulled her forward and put one arm around her. She wrapped her other arm around Daphne. Charelle and the PQuit-in-Training, accustomed to following the others' lead, stepped up and linked arms, too.

“Okay, ready? And one, two, three, say ‘Seventies Cheese'!” Miko said cheerfully, smiling at the camera.

Norah took the picture, the flash making Daphne's silver-sequined hat light up like a supernova.

“Awesome,” Miko declared as the first bell rang. “Now we all better do the hustle, people, or we're going to be late for class!”

Everyone started moving off down the hallway toward their classrooms. Shelby stood there looking dazed, Miko's arm still around her.

“See you guys at lunch?” Miko asked. “We can have, like, a seventies-only table. You have to be in costume or you can't sit there.”

Shelby looked at Miko and her face brightened. “Yeah, that would be cool. Seventies-only table!” Shelby said. She hoisted her book bag over her shoulder and teetered down the hall on her dangerously high platform shoes, Charelle and Daphne trailing behind her.

“Nice outfit,” I said to Miko. She actually did look kind of chic.

“Thanks,” Miko replied with a grin. “I figured you couldn't get much more seventies than the John Travolta disco suit.”

We both had class on the second floor, so we walked toward the stairs together.

“But listen—Shelby's e-mail blast had the wrong date,” I told Miko apologetically. “Decade Day isn't today—it's tomorrow.”

“I know,” Miko said. “But I didn't open my e-mail until after eleven last night. By the time I noticed the mistake, it was too late to call everyone.”

“Wait. You knew today wasn't Decade Day? And you wore your disco suit, anyway?”

Miko shrugged and nodded.

“Why?”

“Shelby's my friend,” Miko said. “I figured if she was going to look silly, I might as well look silly, too. Strength in numbers and all that.”

This wasn't the first time I thought I'd figured Miko out only to have her surprise me.

“That was really cool of you,” I said.

“Well, you know,” she said. “What are friends for?”

So Miko hadn't lost her best friend after all. I was truly glad for her. There was nothing in the world like a best friend. In her own way, Miko had stepped up to be a leading lady, too.

The next day the PQuits dutifully returned in their seventies outfits for the actual Decade Day, and this time they had plenty of company. I'm still not into the whole Homecoming/school spirit thing, but I have to admit the Decade Day thing was a small stroke of genius. Not that I'd ever tell Shelby I thought so. Fridays were always better than other school days, but this one in particular was an awesome time. The fact that the winner of the School Spirit Award ended up being the eighth-graders might have ruined it for Shelby, but not for me.

Ivy took me to the mall after school because she'd seen the perfect dress for me to wear to the Homecoming Dance.

“Am I right, or am I right?” Ivy asked, standing next to me as I stared at my reflection in the mirror of the dressing room. The dress was made of soft, sweaterlike material. It was a deep burgundy-red, and it fit me perfectly. Ivy had picked out a pair of textured red-and-gold tights to go with it.

“Plus, I have a pair of gorgeous, knee-high suede boots in chocolate-brown you can borrow. They'll go perfectly,” she told me, fussing a little with my hair.

“How do you do that?” I asked. “This dress looks like it was made for me.”

Ivy gave me a wide smile of satisfaction.

“I know clothes, that's all,” she said. “It's one of my many gifts.”

My own smile faded a little. It seemed like there wasn't any moment I could enjoy with Ivy that wasn't now tinged with the upsetting knowledge that she'd be leaving.

“Come on,” Ivy said, seeing my face change. “Let's get this paid for so we can go get a smoothie. Or fries maybe. I might be in the mood for fries.”

We ended up in the food court with smoothies AND fries and a text from Tally saying she was on her way over because she needed to talk.

“You don't mind that I told her okay, do you, Ivy? It sounded like she might have something on her mind.”

“Oh, that's unusual indeed!” Ivy said, with a little wink, digging at her smoothie with the straw.

“So . . . still no details on the . . . thing?” I asked. I didn't want to know, but I hated not knowing, too.

“No,” Ivy said. “And it's getting ridiculous. My mom goes into her home office and has these major conference calls negotiating all the details of her new job—I mean it's on speakerphone! Hello, I have ears! And still, nobody has said a word to me!”

“Well, have you asked?” I probed gently.

Ivy picked up a french fry and broke it in half.

“No,” she said quietly. “And obviously I should. I should just confront them—this is my life we're talking about.”

“So . . . why don't you?”

Ivy sighed.

“I guess I'm sort of feeling stubborn now, like I want to see how long they're going to just arrange my life around me without including me in the conversation.”

“Well, you can't do that,” I said firmly. “It's gone on long enough. You have to talk to them about this, Ivy. Promise me. Promise that sometime between now and Monday you'll ask them to level with you.”

Ivy took a long sip of smoothie, her eyes on mine.

“I hate it when you get all wise and sensible,” she said. “Okay, yeah. I promise.”

“Good,” I said, relieved and not relieved at the same time. “Oh, there's Tally.”

Tally was making her way through the tables at the food court. She didn't look like her usual, bubbly self.

“Hey, y'all,” she said, sitting in an empty seat next to Ivy. “Okay, so I have big news for you.”

“Let me guess—Valerie asked you to take over Annie for her,” I said.

“Nope,” Tally said, rummaging through her bag. “I said big news, not great news. No—I found this at the library.”

Tally plunked a huge, dog-eared paperback onto the table. The title was
Professional Theater Marketplace National Directory
.

“What's that?” Ivy asked.

“It lists every actor in the country who's registered with Actors' Equity. It also lists all agents and theaters. Remember how I was trying to find Gideon Barrymore's agent?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Still can't find his?”

“Oh, it's here,” Tally said. “So is Mr. Barrymore. And so is the big, fat, ugly truth.”

“What are you talking about, Tal?” I asked.

Tally was flipping through the book furiously. She stopped at one page and pointed at it.

“This. This is what I'm talking about!”

Ivy pulled the book toward her, looked at the page, then looked back up, her expression confused.

“What am I looking at, Tal?” she asked.

Tally tapped the page with one finger.

“It's all right there. Gideon Barrymore is a liar. Gideon Barrymore is a fake!”

Ivy and I exchanged a quick glance.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “We see him every day. You found his IMDb page. We saw him on
Nebula Wars
!”

Tally shook her head.

“No, I'm talking about all of his ‘I'm a professional' stuff—his Broadway this and Manhattan that.”

“Are you saying he made something up?”

Tally shook her head

“No. I mean, yes. He's from Manhattan all right. It says so right here in his listing. Manhattan,
Kansas
! And yeah, he's done a couple of Broadway shows. At the Elm Street Broadway House! He's a fraud!”

My mouth dropped open. Ivy looked like she might laugh, but she stopped herself.

“There's a Manhattan, Kansas?” she asked.

Tally's face was red with anger.

“Gideon Barrymore isn't even his real name—it's
Barry Moore
. Not Gideon. Just plain old Barry.”

“Okay, I think we can all cut someone slack for not wanting to be called Barry,” Ivy said with a small smile.

“It's not funny!” Tally exclaimed, looking tearful. “Guys, I don't know what to do. I feel like he pulled something over on us—like he's been lying to everyone. Am I supposed to tell on him? Am I supposed to pretend like I don't know and just show up to rehearsal tomorrow and look grateful while he gives everybody his big, important actor guy directions?”

“Okay, slow down a sec,” I said, fumbling with my phone. “Let me pull up his website again.”

I found the entry on Barrymore and read it.

“Okay, Tal, it doesn't actually say anything that isn't true here,” I said. “It says he lives and works in Manhattan. It doesn't say anything about New York. And it says something about Broadway credits, but it doesn't specify . . . um, which Broadway he's talking about. So you can't really say he's a fraud.”

“He's making himself look like something he's not,” Tally said. “Isn't that dishonest?”

“Okay, wait,” Ivy said. “First of all, Paulie, she does have a point. I lived in New York City all my life until we moved here. When someone says Manhattan, people are going to assume they mean New York. And when an actor refers to Broadway, people are also going to take that as New York. I mean, if someone told you that they were an astronaut, it would be logical to think they meant that they took rockets into space, right? So if it turned out that astronaut was actually just the name of their bowling league . . . that is kind of lying. Or at the very least, it's making yourself out to be someone you aren't by using false pretenses.”

“That's what I thought,” Tally said. “I sent him the interview by e-mail like you said, and the whole thing is done. But now I know this! How can we put the interview in the magazine now?”

“But at the same time—” Ivy continued, holding one hand up to quiet Tally, “you said those are listings of members of Actors' Equity, right?”

Tally nodded, frowning.

“Okay, well Actors' Equity is a professional organization. My sister Nat dated this guy a few years back who did a summer internship at Equity. I'm no expert, but I do know that you can't just sign up to be a member. You have to have some kind of professional credits—you have to qualify. So you can't really say the guy is
pretending
to be a professional actor.”

“But . . . you said . . . you . . .” Tally looked desperately confused.

“Okay,” I said. “Let's just think this through. You're right that Mr. Barrymore has kind of created some misleading ideas about himself. That's definitely not good. But with all the time I've spent watching you guys get this production together, from everything I've heard people say, the guy is a decent director. Everyone seems to like him, and it looks to me like he's been doing a great job. Am I wrong about that?”

“I
thought
he was,” Tally said grudgingly. Then she tapped the book again. “But this changes all that.”

“No, it doesn't,” Ivy said gently. “Either he's a good director or he isn't. I don't think you can attach conditions to that. His story isn't what you wanted it to be, or I guess what he wanted it to be. So he's a regular guy who messes up just like anyone else. But how has he treated you, Tal—how has he treated everybody he's working with here?”

Tally took a deep breath and looked at the floor for a moment.

“He is always respectful, and he is always professional,” she said firmly.

“Okay,” I said. “So I think we should do the same. The interview is about
Annie
and about why he became an actor, right?”

Tally nodded.

“So it's fine then,” I told her.

“So we should just keep that interview with him in
4 Girls
, just like nothing ever happened?” she asked.

“Nothing
did
happen,” I pointed out quietly. “Except that he let you down a little.”

“But then . . . do I tell people? Do I keep it a secret?”

“That's up to you, Tally,” I said. “I guess you just have to ask yourself if it would affect Mr. Barrymore, if it would affect the actors actually, if you spread this around. Are people going to lose confidence in him? And if they do, will they lose confidence in the showcase, too?”

Tally stared at the book in front of her for several moments. Then she closed it.

“You're right,” she said. “Mr. Barrymore is still a good director and it's still a great show and that's all that matters. I'm not going to breathe a word about this.”

Ivy clapped her hands.

“Good for you, Tally,” she said. “And for the record, you're showing some pretty amazing investigative reporter skills there.”

“Am I?” Tally said, her eyes shining.

“Oh yeah,” Ivy said. Her phone, which was on the table in front of her, buzzed.

“Don't answer that!” Tally said quickly.

Ivy shot me an amused look.

“It's a text message,” she told Tally. “But just out of curiosity, why didn't you want me to answer my own cell phone?”

“Because there are three planets coming into alignment this week, and if you happen to be talking on a cell phone at the precise moment the alignment begins, you can jump out of phased time.”

Ivy was holding back a smile. “Which means . . . ,” she urged.

“Which means you'd start falling behind everybody else, by just a couple of seconds every hour, but it adds up. After a week, it would be three for you, but four o'clock for everybody else! Eventually you get trapped in your own past! Seriously, y'all, it's true! I saw it on the news!”

“I am deeply grateful that you've alerted us to this,” Ivy said.

Tally nodded, her eyes growing very round and clear.

“I know, right?” she murmured. “I was stuck in the past once before, and believe me, y'all, it is no fun!”

It's so nice to know that some things stay the same. No matter what else went on in the world, life with Tally Janeway meant there was never a dull moment.