Kelsey
The ensemble dressing room is three flights below the stage. It’s got a low ceiling, white-painted
cinderblock, and vanity bulbs blazing around mirror after mirror. The PA box on the wall has just
crackled the one-hour call. I’m in my favorite costume of the show—full-on fringe and sequins. A dresser
works on my hair. Francine is eating chips and trying to convince me not to hire a boat after the show to
drive out to his yacht and throw stones at the thing.
“It will just make matters worse,” she says. “So what? How could it be worse? Fuck him!” “I get it.
You need to express that to him,” Francine says. “But there’s a little thing called property damage. Also a
thing called police.”
Mia comes barreling down the row in her first-act costume. “I have five minutes until they pull me
away from here. What’s the emergency?”
“Did you know about this plan of Kelsey’s?” Francine demands. “Know about it?! I wholeheartedly
approve! You don’t get to dump a person after telling them that you love them for no apparent reason.”
She turns to me. “I saw a nice little collection of rubble in a recess next to a stoop on West Forty-Sixth.
Perfect projectile size. I say we nab a heavy- duty garbage bag from utility and gather it up.”
“Perfect,” I say. “Are you two listening to yourselves?” Francine says. “He’s not worth it. He was
raised by wolves and lives on a yacht that he runs like a prison
camp. Magic eight ball says you dodged a bullet.”
The dresser moves to the other side of my head. “I just need to see his face and for him to know how I
feel.” I glare at the counter in front of us, strewn with makeup and to-go coffee cups. “To have me
investigated! What is that?”
“He had you investigated?” Mia says. “After you asked him not to,” Francine points out. “You’re
better off without him.”
I catch the dresser’s eye in the mirror. Clearly, she agrees. “He had the tiara thing investigated. He
gave me the r eport on his way out.”
“What did it say?” Mia asks. “What do I care? I didn’t take that thing and anybody who doesn’t
believe in me can fuck off.”
Francine grins. “That’s why we love you, kid.” “What did it say?” Mia presses. “It was my cousin
Meredith.” “Where does she live? We should take some of the rubble to her.” “One crime at a time,”
Francine says. “So you go out there in your boat and break a few yacht windows or whatever. He comes
out. What do you say?”
Even imagining him coming onto deck, my heart skips. But what would I say?
Francine sets a hand on my shoulder. “He had you investigated, and he dumped you. He’s not worth
it.”
“Yeah, but...” Three pairs of mournful eyes look at me in the mirror. My mind goes back to us being a
team at the wedding. With Adrian. Everything we told each other over long summer nights. Every
magical afternoon taking tea at the Lowell hotel. That visit to his mother, finding out the truth. My mind
is a fool. Fuck him.
“Yeah, forget about the rocks and the boat. He’s not worth it.” “There’s my girl.” Mia grabs my arm.
“Listen, we’re going to go out for drinks after this, and we’ll read the PI r eport and plot creative
vengeance on Meredith. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Francine brightens. “I’m in!” The PA crackles: Places.
I’m not the kind to do vengeance, but I do love plotting creative vengeance over drinks with friends.
Though even that doesn’t hold the sparkle it once did.
“I’ll think about it.” I stand up and straighten the fringe on my costume. The heels of my tap shoes are
solid under me. That’s enough to start with.
I go do the show.