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circumstances, accidents, fate, whatever you reach for

to save you will not change one moment of a poor

performance. Audiences are unforgiving and the

critics couldn't care one iota about our personal issues.

Once we're on stage, our lives, our real lives, are

forgotten. We can't use them to help us or protect us

or excuse us. The curtain rises, and when it does, we

must be ready to give the public what it has paid for and what it has a right to expect. After the curtain

falls, it is over, ended, a fait accompli.

"I told you, all of you, every moment you're in

this house, studying with these fine teachers, you are

on stage. Is there any part of this you still don't

understand? Well?" she asked, pounding her cane. "No, Madame Senetsky." I looked down at the

table. I'm disappointed. If I had to choose one of you

who would fail me first. I would never have chosen

you. I thought I had made the reason clear to you the

other day," she added. referring, I'm sure, to her

telling me about her daughter.

I looked up at her, my eves so glazed with tears.

I felt as if I was looking at her through a veil. I started to say I was sorry again, but quickly

choked back the words.

"I do not permit many mistakes. Honey. Be

warned," she concluded, smacking her cane to the

floor again and standing. I stood quickly, too, my eyes

down again.

"You're excused," she said. and I hurried out of

the dining room.

I felt the tears break over the dam of my lids as

I pounded up the stairway. How disappointed

Mommy and Daddy would be if I were sent home in disgrace. How would I ever face Uncle Peter's