Read Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake Online
Authors: Jennifer Allison
Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake (23 page)
Her speech complete, Tiara sat down and casually propped
her legs up on a chair across from her, looking pleased with herself.
“That was
spooky
,” said Sheila, oblivious to Amelia’s pout of annoyance.
“Tiara,” said Gilda, “you’ve got the part.”
“But nobody else has had a chance to audition!” Amelia protested.
“Amelia,” said Gilda, hoping to squelch the argument that was about to ensue, “you will play the role of Paulina.”
Amelia stared at the script. She was aware that Paulina was the second-best role, but she hated the fact that Tiara had stolen the lead. “Okay. But it still isn’t fair.”
“Sheila, you can be Debbie.”
“Okey dokey.”
“I’ll be on the lookout for someone to play Nanette.”
“I just thought of something!” Sheila peered up at Gilda through a fringe of mascara-encrusted lashes. “Is this supposed to be about that girl who drowned a few years ago—Dolores Lambert?”
Gilda stared at the small theater troupe she had cobbled together and wondered how much she should tell them about her true motives for staging the play. Did they recognize the thinly disguised representations of three girls in the senior class?
“What do
you
think?” Gilda asked, still unsure how to answer.
“That means, ‘yes, it’s a true story.’” Tiara smiled knowingly.
“Ooh!” Sheila shuddered. “That’s creepy!”
Gilda now saw the pitfall of involving even a small cast of students in her plan to expose the Ladies of the Lake. What if they babbled the plot of the play all over school? The crucial
element of surprise would be completely ruined. She decided that, for the time being, it was safest to downplay the fact that the play was actually about Dolores Lambert.
“This play shows how being mean to someone can lead to a tragedy—something that could happen to
anyone
at this school,” said Gilda. “But I don’t want people to know what the play’s about until we perform it, okay? We want it to grab the audience’s attention and surprise them.”
The girls nodded.
Three people in the audience are going to be REALLY surprised
, Gilda thought.
REHEARSAL
NOTES
TO
DO:
COSTUMES
STAGE LIGHTS AND SOUND EFFECTS
SET DESIGN
STILL NEED A FOURTH CAST MEMBER
YIKES–I have a lot to do!!!!
Gilda mused that her worries about Dolores Lambert’s ghost and the Ladies of the Lake were now overwhelmed by worries about costumes, lighting, and whether Sheila would ever be able to stop giggling during the play. As she walked down the school hallway, she spied Marcie taping a large poster to the wall:
Don’t be a turkey and miss the semiformal Thanksgiving Dance! Gobble up your tickets in advance!
Gilda had an idea. She knew she might regret the impulse, but she was desperate for help on her play and willing to take a risk.
“Need some help?” Gilda cautiously approached Marcie.
“Oh. Hi, Gilda.” Marcie spoke in the flat, disappointed voice she now used to speak to Gilda. “That’s okay; I can manage.”
“Looks like the dance is going to be fun,” said Gilda, secretly thinking that something about the announcement made her want to stay home and watch horror movies with Grandma Joyce.
Marcie opened her mouth as if she were about to explain something, but then changed her mind.
In the old days, Marcie would have chattered away about why I should get tickets for the dance right now and what kind of dress I should wear
, Gilda thought. “Say, Marcie,” she ventured, “have you ever done any acting?”
“Why?”
“I thought you might want to play a starring role in a show I’m directing for Our Lady Arts Day.”
The posters tucked under Marcie’s arm flopped to the floor. “Having a hard time finding enough cast members, huh?” She looked red-faced as she stooped to pick up the posters.
“No,” said Gilda, helping Marcie gather her posters and feeling irritated that Marcie had correctly judged her predicament.
“I could have
told
you that would happen if you try to put on a play independently at this time of year.”
“We just need one more cast member.”
“Why should I be in your play? You don’t even
like
me.”
There was something embarrassing about this naked, direct accusation. “That’s not true.”
“Then why didn’t you want me to be your big sister anymore?”
Because being around you makes me feel like I have about fifty mosquito bites
. Gilda wished she could move time backward to the moment when she impulsively and idiotically approached Marcie. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my big sister,” she said. “It’s just … I have a big brother, and sometimes he drives me crazy, too.”
“And now I guess you’re finding out how tough it can be in this school without someone to show you the ropes.”
“You’re absolutely right, Marcie.” Gilda decided there was no point in disagreeing with Marcie, especially since she had a point; Gilda really did need her help. “Anyway, we’d love to have your help with this play if you’re interested.”
Marcie sighed and looked at her posters. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
Dear Dad,
RED
ALERT:
BRAD SQUIB HAS MOVED INTO OUR HOUSE!!!!!!!
A
SHOCKING
AND
PUTRID
DISCOVERY:
I came downstairs for breakfast this morning, and there was Brad, sitting at the kitchen table and sipping a cup of coffee as if it were the most normal thing in the world–as if he wasn’t loitering on enemy territory.
I’ve never seen Brad at our house first
thing in the morning before. I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Call me naive, but I was VERY surprised.
“Good morning, Gilda!” Mom said, a little too brightly. Did she think a dose of good cheer was going to make me forget how Brad was exactly the last person on earth I wanted to see sitting at the table, slurping his coffee?
“Hey there, Gilders,” said Brad.
“My name is
Gilda
.”
“Nice to meet you.”
I
almost
smiled, but stopped myself just in time.
“Would you like some oatmeal?” Mom asked.
“No thanks; I just lost my appetite.” Brad is the thick-skinned type who never even seems to notice when he’s been insulted, so I find myself saying meaner and meaner things.
“I’d better get cleaned up.” Brad pushed his chair away from the table. “I’ve got to run out to the car to get my suit.” He washed his coffee cup and walked out the door.
“What does he need his suit for if he’s unemployed?” I asked Mom.
“Brad has some interviews lined up downtown, and he’s just staying here a few days
or so while he looks for a job. That way, it’s not such a long drive for him. His apartment lease is up, and he may have to move if he gets a job in Detroit, so …”
Mom’s voice trailed off. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on loading dishes into the dishwasher.
“Excuse me?” I said. “It sounded like you said Brad was going to be LIVING here. And I know that can’t be right. You would have to be crazy to say something like that.”
“Temporarily, Gilda. He’s already got some good leads and thinks he’ll find something as early as next week.”
“Get real, Mom! He’s going to mooch off you, and then he’ll never leave!”
“He’s chipping in on expenses while he’s here. We’ll both save a little money while he’s job searching.”
“Interesting reasoning.”
“Every bit helps, Gilda.”
“VERY interesting.”
“Just try to be nice, Gilda.”
NOTE
TO
SELF:
Worst fears are being realized at home. Solution: Try not to think about home. Just pretend you’re staying here as a kind of hotel guest–an undercover psychic detective on the road. Home
is nothing but a place to put your typewriter and make a grilled-cheese sandwich.
TO
DO:
STAY
FOCUSED,
YOU
HAVE
A
PLAY
TO
DIRECT,
CRIMINALS
TO
EXPOSE,
AND
ANGST
-
RIDDEN
TEENS
TO
HELP
IN
YOUR
ROLE
AS
MISS
PETUNIA.
Dear Miss Petunia,
I have a weird problem—a phobia of pennies. Sure, they look like innocent, brown coins just lying there at the bottom of your purse or sitting there in a jar, but for me, they are smelly, loathsome, diseased objects. I cringe from their touch.
My problem is, I can’t seem to avoid them. Cashiers don’t understand that I don’t want small change. My friends think it’s funny to touch me with a penny and see me freak out.
What should I do?
—
Tormented
Dear Tormented
,
I myself have a phobia of fifty-dollar bills (a situation that proves awkward when I’m out shopping for prom dresses), so I can understand your predicament
.
You won’t like my advice, but here it is: I suggest you use nothing but pennies in all of your monetary transactions for the next month. Only by immersing yourself in the objects of your disgust will you overcome your fear
.
As far as your friends are concerned, try to show your sense of humor. After all, your phobia is ridiculous! You might also keep some slime or hairballs on hand to return the favor when they decide to “reach out and touch” you
.
Dear Miss Petunia,
Maybe you can help me with a problem. I have two best friends, and we’ve always been really close. We always have so much fun together. For example, we spent practically the whole summer on the beach together because our families go up north and we have so much fun. People even say we kind of look alike. One girl even asked if we were sisters, and we thought that was crazy. Then we looked in the mirror and realized, “Hey! We do look like sisters!”
But lately, my two best friends (I’ll call them “Sarah” and “Jenny”) have been acting strange. I know for a fact they’ve been making plans to do things together without inviting me. The worst part of it is, they aren’t just sneaking around behind my back; they actually seem to want me to know that I’ve been left out, just so I’ll feel bad. I bet they’re talking about me the whole time they’re together. It’s confusing because they still act like we’re all friends at school, but then I hear of these little secret get-togethers they’ve had without me.
The weird thing is, I can’t think of a single reason they’ve suddenly decided to shut me out. I didn’t do anything stupid like get a bad haircut or a perm or try to put highlights in my own hair. I wear cute clothes; I don’t
have bad breath; I didn’t steal anyone’s boyfriend; and I don’t brag about myself. I’ve thought and thought about this, but I just can’t think of anything—but there must be something I did wrong.
There were a couple mean postings about me on the Our Lady of Sorrows message board from “Ponygirl” and “Spanky”—screen names I’ve never seen before—and I’m wondering if “Sarah” and “Jenny” are responsible. I asked them point-blank and they said it was probably someone else who’s jealous of me. I don’t know what to think.
Should I try to talk to them about this? What should I do?
—
Confused
Dear Confused
,
Based on the screen names “Ponygirl” and “Spanky,” I’m guessing that these two hoodlums are in fact your “best friends” and that they are having a laugh at your expense. Your choices
:
- Talk to them about your feelings honestly, but be prepared for them to talk behind your back right after you air your many grievances. They’ll most likely say you’re “whiny.”
- My personal preference: fight fire with fire. Post a scathing reply to “Ponygirl” and “Spanky”—something like, “Your pornographic screen names aren’t fooling anyone, because we all know who you really are. Let’s face it: your imbecilic writing style gives
you away. Why don’t you cut the crap and say it to my face if you have any backbone?” Then, in case they do say it to your face, have a squirt gun handy so you can ruin their hairstyles. (I’ve heard this works well with disciplining cats, too. It will end the friendship, but you’ll have a satisfying sense of closure.)
REHEARSAL
NOTES:
Marcie showed up for rehearsal today. She declared herself “stage mom,” but nobody minded because she brought cupcakes.
She took me aside and said she had some “concerns” about the subject matter of my play. “Maybe it’s because of that black magic you’re dabbling in, Gilda, but I think this story is too frightening for everyone–especially the freshmen.”
I told her that anyone who scares that easily shouldn’t be let out of the house each morning.
As far as I can tell, Marcie hasn’t picked up on the references to Nikki, Priscilla, and Danielle in the script. I bet some people will never believe the truth about the Ladies of the Lake, no matter how much evidence turns up.
After we ran through the play a couple times, Marcie got everyone working on the sets. She has a friend who takes
Mr. Panté’s tech theater class who’s going to help us with lighting and sound effects.
I never thought I’d say this, but:
THREE CHEERS FOR MARCIE!
OTHER
NEWS:
The
Petunia
came out today, and the “Miss Petunia” column caused quite a stir in English class:
TIARA: Miss Petunia sure is feisty these days!
SHEILA: Who IS Miss Petunia, anyway?
TIARA: I think it’s Mr. Panté.
AMELIA: No way. Miss Petunia is way too immature to be a teacher.
ME: What do you mean, “immature”?
AMELIA: A teacher wouldn’t tell a student to ruin someone’s hairstyle with a squirt gun.
ME: Miss Petunia isn’t immature. She has TONS of life experience.
(Everyone in the room stared at me.)
ME: And she’s really good-looking, too.
ASHLEY: Does anyone in here wonder who “Confused” is? I mean, who do you think wrote the letter to Miss Petunia?