I waited in the wings just like I had before my first fashion show, only a few months ago. Back then I was scared to walk; now I was scared to speak. I heard my cue and stepped out onto the stage of the Brooks Atkinson Theatre. I felt my breath being pushed out of my body. My first line was coming, and I was sure I would manage nothing more than a whisper. But as I spoke something completely different happened. I became my character. I became Daphne Beauregard.
I was her, fighting for my sanity, fighting my horrible husband, fighting not to be sent away for the lobotomy that I knew was coming. When I cut myself with the pieces of the broken Niagara Falls snow globe during the second act, the gasps from the audience were audible. They were there with me. With Daphne, I should say. All except the three women sitting in the house seats in the third row. My mama, my sister, Carly, and my grandma at their very first Broadway play.
They were there with me.
Women’s Wear Daily, claiming to have discovered me, wrote a story on it. The writer shared it with me that very night at a little celebration thrown in my honor at Sardi’s.
In a rag (trade)-to-riches story, Alabama native Sally Ann Fennely went from the runway to the Great White Way after just a few months in New York. After debuting in the pages of Women’s Wear Daily, Miss Fennely caught That Southern Play producer Earnest Cooper’s ear with her beautiful southern accent at Sardi’s last month. He brought her in for a reading, and the first-time actress snagged the lead. It is said that Cooper was angry and fed up with Hollywood divas on Broadway after Jordana Winston left the show without cause or warning. He is quoted as saying, “Why cast a star when you can create one?” He is delighted to have discovered what he feels is a true southern delicacy, Sally Ann Fennely. From the rousing applause and the buzz in the theater following her debut, it’s safe to say the audience and critics were delighted as well. Ms. Winston, who is in Japan shooting a diet soda commercial, could not be reached for comment.
CHAPTER 37
Finale
By Luke Siegel, M.D.
I picked up Samantha Schwartz the next night, brand-new Max Hammer dress in hand. She changed into it and came out looking absolutely stunning. It was an odd thing to be surrounded by your whole family on a first date. I was especially dreading the introductions. I mean, what did I really know about her except that she had lousy taste in men? The generic “How did you two meet?” was bound to come up, and I wasn’t sure how I would answer. But the night was so filled with toasts and dancing and wonderful stories about my grandfather that no one really paid us enough attention to pry. And the pretty girl by my side was like kryptonite to all the meddling yentas in the room.
My grandfather’s young associates spoke of everything he had taught them and the honor it had been to work so closely with him. They vowed they had learned more from him than any single professor at RISD or Parsons or FIT. Samantha was clearly in awe. They spoke of the Yiddish words they’d picked up, and some even worked a few Yiddish expressions into their toasts. One said his biggest compliment at work to date had been when my grandfather had called him a mensch. One woman talked about my grandfather’s sense of humor, his endless teasing and witty observations about their generation. With tears of love in her eyes, she told of how he had happily learned to text, but when emojis became popular he was really up in arms. She imitated his Polish accent: “It took me so many years to master the English language, and you are right back to communicating with hieroglyphics like cavemen!”
There were seven or eight speeches. The room was filled with the celebratory sounds of laughter and cheers, tears of happiness, and applause. But the room fell silent when Andrew, Max Hammer’s son, asked my grandfather to say a few words.
Morris Siegel, my grandfather, told the story of being saved by happenstance by Max Hammer himself at the age of thirteen on a boat to America. He spoke about their early years in this country and the importance of making a life that counted enough for all those they had left behind. By the time he was through there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Being a doctor can sometimes make you feel like your job is so important, with people’s lives hanging in the balance, depending on you. But my grandfather’s life and his explanation of what it meant to him to make dresses for women humbled me.