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Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. Cast of Characters
  7. Part One
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Part Two
  28. Twenty
  29. Twenty-one
  30. Twenty-two
  31. Twenty-three
  32. Twenty-four
  33. Twenty-five
  34. Twenty-six
  35. Twenty-seven
  36. Twenty-eight
  37. Twenty-nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-one
  40. Thirty-two
  41. Thirty-three
  42. Thirty-four
  43. Thirty-five
  44. Thirty-six
  45. Thirty-seven
  46. Thirty-eight
  47. Thirty-nine
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-one
  50. Forty-two
  51. Forty-three
  52. Forty-four
  53. Forty-five
  54. Forty-six
  55. A note on the Author

“During this season of good will, please think of those less fortunate than yourselves. I am doing a sponsored walk to raise money for these helpless, afflicted babies, God’s most precious gift to us: the next generation.”

Ruby wrote down: “Star Trek.”

“Please, brothers and sisters, give whatever you can to help me help those who cannot help themselves.”

“Repetition,” tutted Ruby.

Then he went from person to person collecting money. Some studiously ignored the man. Others gave him a dollar or two to make him go away. Ruby did not give him money and she did not ignore him either. As he held out his hand, she shook her head and loudly announced, “I’m not feeling it.”

All those who had sensibly ignored him now turned her way, hissing, “Babies with AIDS!”

I hung my head in shame, staring at my reflection in my shiny leather boots. She stared fixedly ahead.

When we got out of the subway, she took my arm in hers and huddled close for warmth. Outside the theater, I asked her if she wanted me to meet her somewhere, but she told me that she wanted me to watch the audition.

Twenty-seven

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Rachel loses it

“This theater looks like someone’s apartment!” she exclaimed.

“Actually, it is someone’s apartment,” sneered the whey-faced director, cutting off Ruby’s attempt to make small talk. “I live in the basement.”

I guess, because of the note from the playwright, she had gone in there thinking the part was already hers. But the writer was not there and the director seemed to resent her very presence.

“Right, I can’t say I know your work. I’m not familiar with my local multiplex, so do excuse me.”

She did excuse him, although I wished she hadn’t.

The other actresses were skinny Lower East Side types. They looked sicker—but hipper—than Ruby. Their gamine hairdos were carefully planned and paid for, unlike Ruby’s which was a by-product of her instability. These were tough, happy chicks wearing weak, melancholic faces they spent hours in the mirror creating.

The girl directly in front of Ruby was a hard-faced little bitch who kept staring us down. She must have been five years older than Ruby but she was wearing a pink rah-rah skirt with pale pink tights, ballet slippers, and a long-sleeved thermal vest. Her tiny breasts were braless, barely denting the fabric of her top. She wore clear lip gloss and sparkly black mascara on her enviably long lashes. She looked like Edie Sedgwick without the millions.

To match her Medea reading, Ruby had opted for a Maria Callas ensemble: severe red lipstick, white makeup, and cat eyeliner. She looked terrifying. So here were two girls in their twenties, going up against each other, both rocking two types of crazy.