A Final Bow

Image via Wikipedia

I am ready for this performance.  I rehearsed for days.  I picked out the right dress , have my lines memorized and have made sure a good crowd will attend.  I was nervous at first, but now that I have carefully planned my presentation I have become suddenly rather calm. 

Yesterday I was told my career was over.   They’re wrong.   I’ve been an actress for 40 years, stage, screen, small parts and important ones. I’ve been at the sets on time and get along well with my co‑workers.  Now they say there are no roles for someone my age, that there is no place for me in any film that anyone knows about.  I have tried all the studios and get the same response.  I’ve had an agent my entire career, but she can’t get me a part.     That’s when I decided on this performance.  They will write all about it in the morning, and I will get great reviews.  I will be talked about in all the theatrical circles and certain to be on prime time news. 

I have to make sure I am at my best for this performance.  My hair has been carefully combed.  I have assembled my finest jewels and selected the ones that will complement my attire and impress my audience as well.  I must uphold my status as the star.  After all, that’s why the crowd has assembled.

I step out onto the small platform.  The people have gathered below, more fans than I expected.  I don’t have much to say; it is the drama, the feeling, the presentation that makes the difference.  I hear them clapping, yelling, calling out my name.  I see the lights flashing all around and wait for that moment, that special moment when all eyes are on me, and I can make my entrance onto the stage, then take my final bow.

I see him off to the right moving towards me.  He’s wearing a matching jacket and trousers and a short brimmed hat.  He speaks to me, as the audience listens and watches for my response.    I smile and nod.  I understand.  He is to help me with my lines, but I don’t need any help.  Maybe he has a part in the play I don’t know about.  He must be new to this as he seems uneasy in the presence of an actor of my distinction.  Now he steps forward, onto my scene.  I protest, but he keeps on coming.  Maybe I’ve seen him before, but likely in a minor role.  Well, I won’t be upstaged by a beginner so I am stepping forward right now into my scene.

Monica Cardel, once famous star of stage and screen, plunged to her death from the 14th floor of the Plaza Hotel at 1:30 p.m. at the height of the afternoon business traffic.  A policeman tried to persuade her not to jump, but the crowd that gathered kept shouting and cheering so, as was the custom of a great star, she responded to her audience requests, without encore.