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“No hablo ingleés.”
Lucy shot her a murderous glare.
The announcer gave the woman with the clipboard a helpless look. Lucy called up from the bottom of the steps, “She’s from Hollywood, California. And you can’t kick her out of the contest because I already paid ten dollars!”
“We won’t kick her out, young lady,” the announcer said in the unctuous voice of the microphone-infatuated. He turned back to Nealy. “Who is it you think you look like, Number Eleven?”
“¿Qué?”
“She looks like Cornelia Case!” Lucy exclaimed. “The First Lady!”
“How about it, ladies and gentlemen?”
Gooseflesh broke out all over her as the crowd applauded.
“We’ve got a real contest going here, folks. Who are you going to vote for? Because it’s time to pick our finalist
s.”
The other ten contestants were a mixed lot: male and female, child, adult, one teenager. None of them resembled any celebrity she knew, certainly not like she did.
The announcer asked everyone to form a line along the front of the platform. Nealy’s feet felt as if they’d been dipped in concrete. He stepped behind the contestants. “Support your favorites with your applause, and don’t forget that this contest is brought to you by the wild and woolly WGRB-FM 1490!”
He held his hand over the contestants one at a time. Dread made her heart hammer. The lady with the clipboard checked the applause each person received on a small meter sitting at the edge of the platform. As he came up behind Nealy, she dipped her chin and tried to look like someone who only spoke Spanish. The applause was much too enthusiastic.
Finally the voting was over, and the woman handed a note with the results to the announcer. He glanced down at it.
“You’ve chosen our three finalists, and here they are!” He indicated a gaunt woman with bleached blond hair. “Miss Joan Rivers!” The crowd clapped. He moved to a potbellied elderly man with a full white beard. “Santa Claus!” More clapping. Inevitably, he stopped next to Nealy. “And First Lady Cornelia Case!” Big applause.
The announcer began a long-winded promotion of the radio station’s “wild and woolly” programming. Nealy kept her eyes on her feet.
“And now it’s time for our final round. It’s up to you, ladies and gentlemen, to select WGRB’s Celebrity Look-alike Champion!”
Nealy caught sight of Mat and Button off to the side. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.
“Let’s hear it for Joan Rivers, Mrs. Janine Parks!” A scatter of applause for Janine, whose plastic flip flops dampened the Rivers illusion.
“How about Santa Claus here? Clifford Rays!” The applause was much louder.
“And our final entry. Brandy Butt, First Lady Cornelia Case!” She tried not to wince as someone actually whistled.
The woman with the clipboard checked the meter, then called the announcer over to whisper in his ear.
He returned to the center of the platform. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!” Dramatic pause to heighten the tension. “The champion of WGRB’s Wild and Woolly Celebrity Lookalike Contest . . . and the owner of a brand-new nineteen-inch Zenith TV is . . . Mr. Clifford Rays!”
To her astonishment, the announcer began shaking hands with the potbellied, bearded man at her side.
She’d lost! Stunned, she stared out at the crowd. Mat gave her a go-figure shrug, and Button clapped, mimicking the applause she heard around her.
A chill shot through her as she spotted a photographer lifting his camera. She ducked. Then she began sidling toward the edge of the platform.
“Wait a minute, Brandy. You’re our first runner-up. We have a prize for you.”
She pretended she didn’t understand and darted off the stage. People made way for her as she pushed through the crowd to Mat.
“Aren’t you going to claim your prize?” he said when she reached him.
“I just want to get out of here,” she whispered furiously.
