Oh no, wait. Boris says it’s only six hundred and twenty-five.
Still. That is a LOT of people. Not ALL of them can be related to us, you know? I mean, obviously, there are CELEBRITIES out there. According to Netscape, which I checked just before I left for the Plaza, Grandmère’s Aide de Ferme benefit is sold out—donations for the Genovian olive growers have been pouring in all week from movie stars and rock musicians alike. Apparently, Grandmère’s benefit—with its musical tribute to Genovian history—is THE place to be tonight.
I could be totally wrong, but I think I saw Prince—the artist formerly known as Prince, I mean—demanding an aisle seat just now.
And what about the REPORTERS? There are a ton of them, crouched down behind the orchestra, their cameras poised to photograph us the minute the curtains go up. I can just see tomorrow’s headline emblazoned across the Post: PRINCESS PLAYS A PRINCESS. Or worse, PRINCESS TAKES A BOW.
Shudder.
With my luck, they’ll get a picture of J.P. and me kissing, and THAT will be the photo they pick for the front page.
And Michael will see it.
And then he’ll TOTALLY break up with me.
Okay, I am such a shallow person, worrying about my boyfriend breaking up with me, when he is currently going through what is probably the most painful personal crisis of his life and so clearly has way bigger things to be concerned about than his dumb high school girlfriend.
And why am I even worrying about this when I am supposed to be focusing on my performance? According to Grandmère, anyway.
Everyone backstage is REALLY nervous. Amber Cheeseman is in the corner, doing some hapkido warm-up moves to calm down. Ling Su is doing breathing exercises she learned in her yoga class at the Y. Kenny is pacing around, muttering, “Step-ball-change. Step-ball-change. Jazz-hands, jazz-hands, jazz-hands. Step-ball-change.” Tina is helping Boris run through his lines. Lilly is just sitting quietly by herself, trying not to mess up her costume’s long white train.
Even Grandmère has broken her own rules again and is smoking, despite the fact that her last meal was hours ago.
Only Señor Eduardo seems calm. That’s because he’s asleep in a chair in the front row, with his equally ancient wife dozing beside him. They were the only two people I recognized before Grandmère caught me peeking.
Two minutes until the curtain goes up.
Grandmère has just called us over to her. She puts out her cigarette and says, “Well, children. This is it. The moment of truth. Everything you’ve worked so hard for this week has all been leading up to this. Will you succeed? Or will you fall on your faces and make fools of yourselves in front of your parents and friends, not to mention any number of celebrities? Only you can decide. It’s entirely up to you. But I’ve done all I can for you. I’ve written what is, perhaps, one of the finest musicals of all time. You can’t blame the material. Only yourselves, from this point on. Now it’s your turn, children. Your turn to spread your wings, as I have—and fly! Fly, children! FLY!”
Then she says, into the walkie-talkie none of us has noticed she’s carrying until that very moment, “For God’s sake, it’s seven o’clock, start the overture already.”
And the music begins…
Wednesday, March 10, the big performance
Oh my God, they LOVE it! Seriously! They’re eating it up! I’ve never heard a crowd applaud so hard! They are going NUTS! And we haven’t even gotten to the finale yet!
Everybody is doing SO well! Boris hasn’t forgotten any of his lines—he sang the Warlord song perfectly—
Going out to kill and slay
Is what I do every single day
No other job would I request
Marauding is what I do best!
Chorus:
Riding through forests in the night
When I emerge it’s quite a sight
In villagers’ eyes, it’s fear I see
Oh, what a blast it is to be me!
And Kenny hasn’t messed up any of the choreography. Well, okay, he has, but not enough so as anyone would really notice.
And you could have heard a pin drop when Lilly sang the mistress’s song!
How was I to know
When to him my mother sold
Me, that one day I would grow
To love him so?
Though all he does is rape and plunder
To me it’s always been a wonder
That when he’s done with pillaging
It’s me he turns to for his loving.
She held that crowd in the palm of her hand! Her voice THROBBED with poignancy, just like Madame Puissant taught her! And she remembered to use only one hand while lifting up her train to climb the stairs.
And J.P. practically got a standing ovation for his smith song.
How could someone like she
Ever love a poor man like me?
When clearly she could have anyone
Why would she settle for this someone?
How could she
Ever love me?
And the song right before I strangle Boris was so POWERFUL!!!! You could hear people in the audience—the ones who are unfamiliar with Genovian history—gasp when I sang the line, “So with this braid, I make the turn/Around his neck, so he may burn.” Seriously.
Though twilight brings this day to close
What comes tomorrow none can know.
I lie here in this bed of hate,
And look to night to cast my fate….
Chorus:
Father, Genovia, together we will fight!