Saving Juliet (4 page)

***

"Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed
.
"

T
he next evening I sat in the limo as it made its way to

A the
theater for the final performance of Shakespeare's beloved tragedy. Usually my feelings of panic didn't set in until I stepped onto the sidewalk. But that night, as soon as we pulled away from the apartment building, my armpits began to produce sweat at an athlete's pace. My heartbeat kicked up two notches and dread wormed its way through my limbs.

Ever had a panic attack? You know how some people tell you to look at the bright side of things, to look at a cup as half full instead of half empty? There is no bright side to a panic attack. And I was about to have one.

The fact that I hadn't slept the night before didn't help. I hadn't been able to get that trust fund statement out of my head. I had tried to call Stronghead Financial Planners but, it being Sunday, all I got was a recorded message. If I really wanted an answer to where my money had gone, I'd have to ask the person sitting next to me in the limo.

"Your future may very well rest on your performance tonight," my mother said.

Hello? I'm
a wreck over here. How about some compassion
^?
.

I clenched my jaw and tried to block out her voice by reciting my centering mantra. "Om ya,
om
ya, om ya."

"There is no better school than the Theatre Institute." She brushed something from my coat sleeve. "In order for you to grow as an actress, you must get the very best training or you might end up on one of those horrid soap operas like your second cousin Greg."

I narrowed my eyes until she blurred, her worried face melting into her fur collar.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"You know very well what I'm talking about. That look that you're doing, right now.
That look
."

Go
away. Leave me alone. You're making me crazy.

"Mimi. Answer when I speak to you."

Here
we go.
I couldn't stop myself. I no longer cared that she was stressed out and unfulfilled. I was ready to fight her guilt trip with one of my own. "Why are you withdrawing money from my trust fund?" She played it cool. She wiped some lipstick from the corner of her mouth, then opened her purse and began to sort through its contents. "Why are you taking money from my trust fund?" I demanded, turning my voice up another notch.

"How dare you shriek at
me.
" She flicked open a compact. "I'm not
taking
your money. I'm
borrowing
it."

"But it's my money."

"And I'm your parent. The money is under my trusteeship until you turn eighteen. It's all perfectly legal and nothing for you to worry about."

"What did you do with it?"

"The theater couldn't manage the salaries last quarter. But thanks to Troy and his hungry fans, we're close to coming out of the red." So, Troy and I were financing the theater. "All the money will be returned to your account, eventually."

"Eventually?"
That didn't sound good.

Then she tried to turn things on me. "How do you know about this? Have you been opening my mail? That is not respectful, Mimi."

Neither is borrowing someone's money without asking.
Sweat broke out behind my knees. "We never talked about this. I worked hard for that money."

"You worked hard?" My mother looked like I had slapped her. "Don't forget, young lady, that single parenting is the toughest job on the planet. But I don't expect you to appreciate my sacrifices. You're too young." She reached into her purse and took out a tissue, which she pressed to the corner of her eye. "We shouldn't be arguing. You must focus on your future. Focus on your dream."

"It's not my dream," I mumbled. "It's your dream. There's a big difference."

"You're being ridiculous, Mimi. Then just focus on your performance. It's closing night."

But it wasn't really closing night, not for me. Without my trust fund, I couldn't afford UCLA or even Backwoods Technical College. I had to face facts. I would act at the Wallingford until my teeth fell out and my bones turned brittle from osteoporosis. Until my skin turned so wrinkled and papery that the next generation of Fernandos would have more to complain about than my spaghetti-thin lips.
Stage after stage, audience after audience, review after review.
I'd be buried in a Queen Gertrude costume, just in case God's a fan of
Hamlet.

As we turned the corner and the theater came into view, dread pressed on my chest. Girls were lined up, huddling together against the cold. My mother started in again. "The admissions committee and Reginald Dwill will be seated with me in the sixth row center. Don't disappoint us."

Suddenly I couldn't get a full breath of air. I clutched my knees and closed my eyes as my heart sped out of control. My mother's voice grew distant, her words decomposing into mumbo jumbo. The leather seat pressed against me, the doors of the limo closed in. The air turned into smog. I was suffocating, drowning. Where could I go to escape this sensation? What had happened to all the air?

"Mimi!" My mother stood on the sidewalk, peering at me through the open passenger door. "Mimi, why are you just sitting there?"

I couldn't move. I wanted to move. I wanted to run down the street, run as far away from the theater as possible. But I
sat,
sweat running along my spine and down my butt crack. If my heart beat any faster, it would burst through my coat.

My mother poked her head in. "Mimi, why are you breathing like that? Oh God, don't tell me you're going to be sick again?"

It's almost impossible to communicate in the middle of a panic attack. When the fight-or-flight response takes over, words are useless, thoughts are single-minded. All I knew was that I couldn't go in there. I would completely lose control. I would vomit all over the stage and forget all my lines and totally screw up my future. I would get stuck on a soap opera with second cousin Greg, where, at the very least, I'd get to
play
a doctor.

Clarissa and a few actresses walked by. "What's going on?" Clarissa asked, peering over my mother's shoulder. "Oh, is she freaking out again? Does that mean I get to go on?"

"She is not freaking out." My mother shooed them away, then stuck her head back in. "You can't be doing this. Not tonight."

I imagined myself running across the street, racing down endless sidewalks,
my
feet taking me far away from the Wallingford Theatre.
Somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
My head spun and I leaned forward, gagging.

"You're doing this on purpose," she accused.
"Just to hurt me.
After all my hard work, after inviting the admissions committee here.
This is all just an act, isn't it, Mimi? You don't really have stage fright, do you? Well, this is the best acting you've done yet."

I shook my head.

"Don't lie to me. I know melodrama when I see it. I'm the queen of melodrama." She got back into the limo and shut the door as the driver waited politely on the sidewalk. She took my shoulders. "Most people go through life without the kind of opportunities that you've been given. And life goes by very quickly, Mimi, believe me." Her voice, though stern, grew a bit softer but she continued to squeeze. "You don't think I remember what it was like to be seventeen? You don't think I remember all those feelings and desires?
All the uncertainty about the future?
I'm trying to save you all that uncertainty. Face it, Mimi. This is the only thing you know how to do. Your future is here, right now, and it will be glorious. You just have to pull it together. If not for yourself, if not for me, then do this for your father."

Desperate for relief from the panic, I was willing to grasp at anything that seemed rational. Her voice was strong and steady and she wrapped her arms around me like a life ring. She was right. Acting was the only thing I knew how to do. I'd probably flunk biology as soon as they made me dissect something. I couldn't even watch when a nurse drew my blood. I couldn't even take the skin off chicken breasts. Who was I kidding?
Pre-med?

Somehow I willed my legs to climb out of the limo and walk to the dressing room, where my gold and lavender gown waited, fresh from the dry cleaner. Somehow I managed to sit still as Fernando curled my hair and camouflaged my dark circles. He gave my shaking hands a tender squeeze but didn't say anything. Clarissa circled me like a vulture.

"You don't look good," she whispered. "I don't think you can do it tonight. Why not let me go on instead?"

"Go away," I hissed. Fernando raised his eyebrows.

Clarissa leaned in close. "I hope you blow it," she said. "I hope you blow it,
Wallingford."
She slunk away.

Fernando dabbed my face with powder. "You're so sweaty," he said. "Stop making all that sweat. Juliet is supposed to glow, not drip."

The curtain rose as I made my way to the wing where the little chair waited for me. But I felt way too anxious to sit. I paced as the narrator delivered the opening lines.

"Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene."

Troy came and stood next to me, massaging his temples. "I partied all night with the band," he mumbled. "I feel like crap. I think I'm the one who's gonna puke tonight." Nurse and Lady Capulet stood across from us. The Prince did knee bends.

My mother hurried over to check my condition. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at my necklace.

"Aunt Mary gave it to me."
Totally the wrong thing to say.

She pursed her lips. "It's not a period piece. You can't wear it. It's not part of the costume."

I tried to tuck it into my bodice but the chain was too short. "I'm wearing it."

"The wardrobe master will insist that you remove it."

"I'm not taking it off."

"Could you keep it down?" Troy complained, still rubbing his temples. "I'm trying to focus over here. God, I can't wait to get the hell out of Shakespeare land."

My mother put her hands on her slender hips. "Give it to me," she whispered. "Everything has to be perfect tonight."

"No."

She made a
humph
sound,
then
hurried off, only to return moments later with Garth, the wardrobe master.

"That's got to go," Garth informed me. I wanted to swat them both away like flies.
Leave
me
alone. Everyone just leave
me
alone.

"You're violating the wardrobe code," Garth said.

"I don't care."

"Shut up," Troy moaned.

"If you don't take it off, I will take it off for you," my mother threatened.

Suddenly, that moment stood for everything wrong in my life. That necklace belonged to me and no one else. I didn't get to choose my food, or my college, or even my career, but I was damn well going to choose my own jewelry. "You just try to get it!" Both Nurse and Lady Capulet shushed me.

My mother reached for the charm but I pushed her hand away. Determined, she reached again. I stepped back, bumping into Troy.

"What's your problem?" he asked. "Just take off the stupid necklace."

"I won't."

"You're acting like a child," my mother said. She darted behind me and grabbed the chain at the back of my neck. She tried to get it over my head but it got caught in my hair. She kept pulling and the chain tightened across my larynx.

"Can't breathe," I uttered, struggling to loosen her grip. She was going to kill me, just like a Shakespearean tragedy.

"You're choking her," Troy realized, pushing my mother aside. He tried to loosen the chain as I gasped for air. "Oh crap!" He struggled as my throat started to burn. "I can't get it free." He grabbed the glass vial and pulled. The chain snapped.

And so did
I
.

"I hate you!" I yelled at my mother with my very first breath. "You had no right to take my money!"

"I had every right."

"No you didn't. I'll find a lawyer." I couldn't believe what was coming out of my mouth. "That money was for college. I made plans with Aunt Mary."

"Damn your aunt Mary!"

The director ran backstage. "Dear God, we can hear you in the audience. Keep your voices down."

"I won't! I'm sick of everyone telling me what to do all the time!" The other actors backed away, except for Troy, who was still holding the chain. "I'm going to Los Angeles just like I planned. And I'm not coming back."

"You wouldn't dare leave. You couldn't survive without me." My mother's voice had risen to a screech.

"Oh really?
I think that you couldn't survive without me." I was screeching as well.
"At least, not without my money."

"She's out of control," the director said, shaking his head. "Someone go and get Clarissa. She'll have to go on tonight."

"Oh no she won't,"
my mother said. "No one takes Mimi's place. This is a very important performance."