|
|
|
|
|
 re yew here to see  's show?" she said, eyes batting like a doll I
remember my sister had, Blythe with the closing eyes. "Open your eyes to
the world of Blythe, the bright-eyed world of Blythe."
"Yes, I said, smiling back. "It's great," she said, nodding enthusiastically, taking my money as though she were savoring it for herself ( which, for all I knew, she was). She handed me my ticket with a knowing air: within an hour I'd be in full thrall of the Deb. . The Debster. The Deb Machine.
|
"And you should know," she said, her tone taking on a certain
conspiritorial intimacy, "that she signs autographs and poses for pictures
afterwards."
Great, I thought. I must have my picture with . But what to do
between now and then? Her show was an hour away. Should I get bombed in the
celebrity cafe?
|
Suddenly, the plan of action became clear. I'd check out Debbie's Hollywood
Museum. That surely would kill an hour. I headed back to the Bible Belt
blonde at the ticket booth.
One for 's museum. Of course, this thrilled her to no end. "Oh, you
want to visit the museum too. It's great. "
|
"I'm sure."
"The next show is at 1:30."
Oh. Half an hour away. A show?? I thought this would just be a walk-through
kind of thing. But I guess not.
|
|