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known many—a few in the biblical sense.
    The congratulations bubbled on. Taking her turn, Mary Jane threw her arms around Neil’s skinny neck and said. “Oh, Jughead, I couldn’t be happier if it happened to me. You deserve it.”
    Neil managed to scoop her up and gave her a little twirl. “Thanks for all the rehearsal time you gave me,” he said. “How ’bout a French kiss?” He planted a loud wet smack on each of her cheeks. The crowd laughed; he bowed, then turned back to her. “You’re next, you know.”
    Mary Jane smiled wanly at this. In all her years of trying to get jobs as an actress in New York, every time someone else made it, he or she always said the same thing to her: “You’re next.” But she never was. She thought that Jack and Jill had been her shot, but the phone wasn’t ringing off the hook.
    Sam, the only one who hadn’t crossed the floor to Neil, did so now. “Good luck,” he said, extending his hand. Neil took it—reluctantly, it seemed to Mary Jane. They weren’t great friends, but had always tolerated one another, if only for her sake. Sam smiled at Neil, his eyes cold. “We’re all very happy for you, Neil. Now, if no one objects, let’s get back to work. I have an idea for a short skit for the show. A magic routine.”
    Everyone groaned. Magic! Mary Jane thought. Well, I guess it could be worse. It could be a mime act.
    “Hey, this is a democracy. I’ll let you all judge. Then I’ll decide.” Everyone laughed. “Mary Jane, Beth, Neil. Front and center. I’m going to walk you through it.”
    Sam outlined the blocking of the skit to each of them. Neil was the magician; Beth and Mary Jane were to play the obligatory assistants. Neil, always ready to take center stage, gave up his moment of glory and, stripping out of his coat, did the walk-through, not knowing where it was going. As Sam directed, Neil placed Mary Jane in the imaginary box and said “Ta-da.” Mary Jane did the classic one-arm-in-the-air, one-on-the-hip gesture of the magician’s assistant. She got a laugh. Sam grinned at her. At the cue, Neil threw a sheet over the box. Then, ad-libbing, Neil went into an abracadabra spiel, playing to the crowd. Selling it. Meanwhile, Sam grabbed Mary Jane’s hand, pulling her from behind the sheet. Without urging, Bethanie quickly took her place.
    Then, with a big flourish, Neil pulled off the fabric. Bethanie perfectly aped Mary Jane’s ta-da movements. The members of the troupe sat in silence for a moment, then erupted into laughter. At the sidelines, Mary Jane stood still. She wasn’t certain what had happened. But fear flickered somewhere around her stomach. What was the joke? Then someone said it out loud. “I get it. ‘Before’ and ‘After.’”
    Mary Jane stood as if rooted to the spot, stunned by the realization. Her cheeks reddened with humiliation; tears stung her eyes. She was afraid to look at Sam, or anyone. How could he? she thought. Why? Why? Sure, she was a trouper about her looks. The part of Jill was that of an unattractive woman. Everyone knew it. She herself made self-deprecating jokes. But this was different. He knew how she really felt. Was that cheap joke worth her pain? Sam couldn’t be so insensitive as to think that this wouldn’t hurt.
    She forced herself to scan the throng. They’re my friends, she thought, my family. And they’re laughing at me.
    But not everyone was laughing. Molly Closter was looking at her with pity. And now so was Bethanie, who blushed and turned away. Mary Jane also felt a hot flush of shame. Pity felt worse than ridicule.
    Then Neil Morelli held up his hands and called out Sam’s name. The group’s reaction calmed. Sam looked over at him as the group followed suit.
    “I don’t get it, Sam,” Neil said. “I mean, what’s so funny?”
    Sam opened his mouth, but before he could explain, Neil interrupted. Mary Jane could see he wasn’t having any of it. And he was starting a roll. Oh, no, Neil, she