Ms America and the Brouhaha on Broadway Read Free Page B

happened to Lisette was just a horrible accident.” But I get the funniest feeling as I say those words. My gut tightens in the weirdest way.
    “There’s nothing you could’ve done, Trix,” Shanelle says. “Sometimes it’s like that. You try and you try and—”
    Shanelle stops. I glance her way and am flabbergasted to see tears flooding her eyes. I launch into crying jags all the time, in private, in public, you name it. Trixie has her liquid moments as well; we just had an exhibition. But I have never once seen Shanelle cry. She is far and away the most stoic beauty queen among my acquaintance. Seeing Shanelle cry is truly shocking, like seeing Sister Frances from sixth grade hike her habit over her knees and break into a moonwalk. (True story.)
    Now my arm is going around Shanelle’s shoulders. Trixie grabs her hands. “What in the world is wrong, Shanelle?” I ask.
    Her teary eyes gaze at the theater’s rococo ceiling. Clearly she’s trying to control her emotions. “I can’t talk about it. I get too upset. I promise I’ll talk about it some other time.” She straightens her shoulders. “Anyway, what we should focus on is Lisette.”
    Of course she’s right, but now I’m imagining all kinds of disasters that might have befallen Shanelle. Marital woes. A serious health issue for her or her husband Lamar or her 8-year-old son Devon. A ruinous financial setback.
    We’re distracted by a commotion at the rear of the theater. Seconds later paramedics race up the central aisle rolling a gurney. I spy a few cops as well. The actors part to allow the medical experts to swarm Lisette. And now that the first responders have arrived, Oliver materializes on stage.
    “Can you believe that?” Shanelle mutters. “He’ll try to take control now.” She seems her sassy self again, her eyes dry and her demeanor calm.
    I can’t tear my gaze from the tableau on stage, where the paramedics have stopped moving with haste. A few sit back on their heels. One remains on one bent knee and shakes his head. Another hobbles to his feet and consults Oliver. In short order a cop joins them.
    The heroine spins away from her fellow actors, a wail escaping her throat. I can only imagine how freaked out she must be, seeing what happened to Lisette on that towering staircase. She’s the only one who ever had to navigate it. Immediately the other actors cluster around her, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. I watch as a paramedic lifts a sheet from the gurney and drapes it over Lisette’s body.
    Except for a few muffled cries, the theater is silent. Without words, we all understand. Lisette is gone. The paramedics couldn’t save her. Probably she was gone by the time they arrived.
    I close my eyes. Lisette was extremely hard to get along with, but she was an amazing life force and now it’s been extinguished. One heedless rage, one careless step, and her life is over. It’s almost too much to take in.
    Trixie rubs my back. “Are you okay, Happy?”
    It’s a moment before I can speak. And then all I can manage is a line straight from a Hallmark card. “We should appreciate every day.”
    “Amen to that, sister,” Shanelle murmurs.
    Oliver steps to the edge of the stage, some distance from Lisette and the paramedics. I see that he avoids Lisette’s eyeglasses, which are lying pathetic and broken on the boards, much like their poor owner herself. He clasps his hands behind him and bows his head. A beat later he looks out at the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says in his high-pitched voice, “if I may have your attention.”
    Needless to say, he’s got it.
    “We have all witnessed a tragedy tonight,” he goes on. “I’m asking you from a social media point-of-view to please be discreet about what happened. We want our colleague’s family to hear this terrible news from the authorities and not some other way.”
    I hadn’t thought of that. I hope Oliver isn’t making this request too