He came to her once again, shimmering. His blonde-streaked hair matched his still tanned skin as he walked closer to her. She instinctively tried to run but her legs buckled in longing for him and he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to bed.

"God loves you and I love you, Lois," he said softly to her as she gazed into his eyes.

"¡Dios! ¡Y me llama Louiza!" Her voice was still soft and breathy despite the harshness of her words as he lay her down while kissing her deeply to soothe her cries.

"Jesus died so we can live and prosper, now take His word and take my hand, Lois."

"Louiza," she whispered and the man just smiled as he caressed her jeans, slowly undoing her belt and sliding them off.

"Oh, Lois, your beauty radiates so much, you will make everyone so beautiful. God made you to clean up the world and make the world a much more beautiful place."

Her eyes close at his touch and she can only utter one word.

"Louiza."

He smiles at her as he hovers over her body. "Who is this Louis A? Do not worry, you have me now, and you have God now, and we will love you forever..."

Suddenly Louiza snaps awake in a cold sweat, somewhat overbundled for being in bed, screaming, "¡Me llama LOUIZA! ¡Ay, el puto volvió! ¡Madre de Dios!!"

To this, everyone in the Broadhurst Theatre runs to her aid.

"Not again...what did I say about brownies before bedtime?" a rather old but witty man with curly hair says.

"Murray, stop it, you know Louiza can't hear you. She's deaf to English," an equally old woman replies. Given the way she holds Louiza as she comforts her in Spanish, and the way Murray just laughs at the thought of touching a woman, the people who share their respective beds are not even in the same gender, let alone the same room.

"Deaf to English, my ass! She wrote half the score to the biggest smash of the season and finished the Times crossword in record time! She can hear me just fine. Louiza, you're safe here, no one is going to make you a sex puppet, no matter how close Lana is to your coconuts."

"MURRAY!" Lana screams in protest. "Please, you were already too old and gray...and gay... to have the machine come for you. They wanted her to be the bleach that turned all Latinos white, and they came hard after her. She still has dreams. Believe me, I have them too, but at least I can laugh them off because my love is not for men. She has to fight them every night. That's why she only speaks a form of spanish so pure even Los Metros can't comprehend it at times and has blocked her mind from hearing English; she can write, sing, and read her lines, but she can't speak it unless she's performing." Lana whispers more in Spanish. Louiza calms down and, resigning herself to the idea that she will not be getting any sleep tonight, places a freshly rolled joint in her cigarette holder and motions to her friends to leave her be while she changes.

"C'mon, Louiza, ya think someone like Lana will leave just when you are gonna put on those skimpy leathers? Man, you really don't know Broadway, and you've been here since the beginning."

"Murray, go to bed. Let me know if you need anything.." Lana replies as she walks back to her room, trying to ignore Murray's obscene triple joke. She lies down and her lover awakens.

"Someone try to make the Marijuana Madonna into Lois Lane again?" she asks sleepily.

"It's just in her head, Ash, you know that, just like I still have dreams of when I was being led into that bedroom and almost screw you in my sleep to break free. She's not in danger, just thinks she is. It won't go away, especally not her. She should have gone Hollywood. There's only one other case of someone being in the bedroom that long and not going Hollywood and she's the one spewing that filth from 30 Rock, dumb hack writer."

"I dunno, I heard she does a lot of porn with her cast members. I can see that, it's always the big girls who are the dirtiest," Ash replies with a coy bedroom smile.

"Nahh, Ash, I'm fine. I'm used to it now, and I think I'm picking up some of the Argentine accent. And if you're wondering she was in her bedroom clothes, so I wasn't staring, so don't be jealous!"

"Her sleeping in more clothes than an Eskimo yet wearing almost nothing everywhere else part of it too?" Ash asks.

"Yeah, same reason I still highlight my hair, SOME color. Some touches just linger on and on," Lana replies.

"Besides, green hair is SO God-fearing housewife! Yeah, got the name of this guy's sex therapist? I could do that to you if you needed," Ash says again with a coy, seductive smile.

"Good night, Ash!" Lana quickly turns out the lights but hardly falls asleep when she hears a strange recording of God-fearing music coming from below.

"GET THAT BLAB OUT OF THERE!!!" Murray screams, clutching his rifle in fear of a government raid or worse, his theatre being used for a church revival.

"It's just fucking tourists busting in and seeing a piano and trying to be the next pop star. If they knew what it took, they wouldn't be so eager!" Ash snaps, also pistol in hand, along with Lana but all they see is Louiza and the tape recorder, almost in tears at the beauty of the performance.

"¿Qué pasa?" Louiza says, startled.

Lana laughs and explains in Spanish. Louiza gives Murray a strange look and a chuckle.

"She figured if she couldn't sleep, she ought to work, so she got into the stolen audition tapes again." Lana explains.

"Audition tape? That sounded like that garbage straight from 30 Rock! No amateur could do that unless someone hijacked production equipment. At least she refrained from talking about smoking faggots like cigarettes, 'cause I've smoked both and fags taste much better than dirty old cigarettes, even the ones Louiza smokes."

"What, Murray, have we not seen talent before? Misguided talent but still talent. And with headshots like these, it's not just going to be some large singer who comes here on her own and ends up at the Met cuz no one will see her talent, just her size," Lana notes.

"And WHAT is wrong with size? 5 Emmys before the goons took over, thank you very much!" Ash says with a smile.

"Nothing, just that we have enough of those. If someone could see one of their own on stage, we'd outdraw the Palace and the theater whose name must not be spoken because it changes sponsors with every show, with the people who buy tickets at those shows."

"And pay $1000 a ticket to see those shows without a single ticket going on sale at the real price of $25 at the TKTS line. I see what you mean, but how would we convince someone like that to come here? We're good, but we're not that good," Murray says.

"We have to try. Someone like that, she could be the television herself if she went Hollywood. I just hope the agents haven't already snatched her up. It wouldnt take long for someone who sings such filth to go Hollywood," Lana cautions while Ash picks up the envelope that contained the tape.

"Especially from Ala-fuckin'-bama! Let's face it, that girl's a lost cause. Hopefully the producers will misuse her. We'd just make her life miserable, and if we want that I'd just go after some fucking tourist visiting the palace. We would have just as much success, and it wouldn't mean being up in the middle of the night."

"¡Mira! ¡Ella la escribió!" Louiza exclaims in joy.

"Bullshit! They aren't mentally capable of such things! Pssh, writing her own music! More like rearranging Richardson's speeches and setting them to old music. Excuse me, miss." Murray takes a seat at the piano and plays the sheet music that is in the envelope and is taken aback.

"It's beautiful, it's new, it's NEW AND BEAUTIFUL...now these lyrics need some work, 'cause a love song to anyone, not even God, should not mix faggot and maggot as a key part of the rhyme scheme. Wait, did I just play a piece so original it had me editing the common homophobic dreck of this age? We need to tell the president! I don't care if it's 3am! we need that kid! How long does it take to get to Alabama on a spy plane anyway?"

Louiza nods in agreement after reading the included letter and hands it to Lana.

"It's her call-back materials. She's trying to get ahead in the agent game. A meeting is set for 3:30 pm in her hometown with Warner, THE Warner. He gets his hands on her with his high budget, she could be ready for primetime before she even gets off the plane in LA," Lana says. Despite her attempts at humor it is seen in everyone's faces that behind their producer's jargon is a grave concern for this person's life. No one says anything as they pick up the materials and walk over to the stage door of the schubert and ring the bell. They are greeted by a large black man who speaks only with impending doom.

"Who dares approach at 3am? Especally the crew from the Broadhurst!" The man booms at them.

"Oh, quit the drama, Jimmy, we need to speak to the president. Yes, we know it's 3am and you must be lonely, but here, I can't even make a joke about it," Murray explains.

"Relax, Murray, we know you don't approach the president unless it's for a raise in ticket prices or you found new talent you need to save from Hollywood." Despite his friendly words, Jimmy's voice never changes and remains dark and forboding. "And given that you have Marijuana Madonna with you, it's the latter," Jimmy adds as he leads them upstairs to the top floor, which looks like an exact replica of the inside of the White House, and motions for them to wait outside. After 10 minutes or so he emerges and opens the door and they see a setup that is exactly like the Oval Office, complete with the desk, with the Great Seal of the Thespians Union on the flag and desk. The president turns around in her chair and reveals herself to be a woman with long black hair, of rather short stature, dressed in a very presidental looking skirtsuit.

"I am told we have a situation here?" she asks quickly.

"Yes, we do. We got the most talented and creative person any of us ever seen since we were famous in places other than Broadway," Murray explains as he hands over all the audition information.

"Brittany Carlson, Mobile, Al? Anyone with that kind of name is untouchable! You should know that. Don't ask me why but it is," the president replies.

"She writes her own music. We played it. It's good and it's original. She creates original music, we haven't heard of this since... I don't know, but it's been a helluva long while. And I know about the name taboo, something tells me that's yet another reason we need to keep her out of Hollywood," Lana notes.

"I doubt even a thespian's training is enough, but she is young. Maybe we can save her. But you do realize, Murray, you'd have to close your productions to concentrate on her all day and all night long. Lana, Ash, Louiza, you'll have to step aside from your roles. Are you committed to this kind of investment? If she doesn't go on, you will lose a lot of money," the president warns.

"Yes! If it's a success I can charge tourist prices, and with that much talent, she can do most of the production work. And I'm sure the lesser theatres will love to be able to take on my current productions, it'd be the only hits they've seen in years," Murray boasts.

"If you do say so yourself," Ash says with a chuckle.

Louiza motions to everyone to get going and they head through wardrobe looking like the common Hollywood types of the day (all blonde, with Murray in a suit and everyone else in various revealing outfits) before driving to LaGuardia and picking up the Thespians Union's private plane and flying out to Mobile. There, they pick up their rented limo and head out to the address. They all have been trained well: Murray plays the part of slick agent to the hilt, Lana and Louiza look appropriately vacant and airheaded, and Ash the part of the oversized makeup lady. Murray walks up to Brittany’s door at 11:30, well before Warner arrives. Brittany’s mother answers the door and laughs.

“Why, my Lord, it’s true, blessed be the gifts from God that come early!” she says and Murray just chuckles and gives his best impression of Warner.

“Why, I am not as much a gift from God as your daughter is. Multi-talented AND beautiful, after all. She will learn so much in Hollywood,” he says.

“And make a lot of money,” the mother adds.

“Yes, the payoff. Well, you see, she can be very big- huge even! I'm willing to give your future starlet a $100,000 signing bonus and the best actresses to learn from. I am sure you know them quite well from the Quaker Show,” Murray says with a smile.

“Natalie and Tracy? Why, I’d never guess you’d have them in the limo!” the mother exclaims, and she turns and yells for her daughter to make herself ready faster. When Brittany appears she is everything they thought she would be. They could tell she was smart from the look in her eyes when she saw the size of who she thought was Warner, and that she could tell that the two actresses were not Natalie and Tracy, but just smiled and rationalized that they were up and comers, like herself. Murray hands Brittany’s mother the check and they head off to the airport and get onto the plane back to New York.

“So, Brittany, are you excited?” Murray asked, noticing that unlike other girls he’s brought to New York, she doesn’t just blab away at Lana and Louiza.

“Sorta, a lil nervous, actually, never been away from mama. I still can’t believe God chose me. I mean, what did I do that was so special except make up songs for church? That, and I ain’t ever been in an airplane before, and well, that’s how the terrorists kill everyone... and these two girls don’t do anything but smile. Are you one of those old style creeps who drug their charges so they don’t see you taking all their money?” she asks.

Murray chuckles at the thought and winks at Lana, who begins a rather standard God and gay fearing conversation with Brittany. Brittany relaxes until Louiza brings over an Oaktree-labeled can over for both of them.

“This smells funny, must be the airplane throwing off my senses. You know God nailed us down to the ground for a reason!” Brittany again rationalizes. She drinks the soda, which quickly lowers her into a drunken sleep for the remainder of the flight.

“She knows something is up! She’s smart, but all in the television way. We can’t keep up the act long enough to start placing in our normal distractions. She can rationalize anything to fit the mold. She even knew about the cocaine use in the old days…ahem, Ash, I said the old days!” Lana speaks with concern in her voice.

“Sorry, old habit. Wanna line?” Ash asks and gets a dirty look.

“I guess that’s why the rumor about the Hollywood screens being installed even in the limos got started. She doesn’t see her creativity and never will. And you’re right, she won’t just be able to be acted around like the others and the truth will send her running in fear. I don’t even think playing off of those fears and tricking them to think they’ve been turned gay so they listen to us will work. Sorry, Ash, I know how much Lana’s pop tart outfit turns you on. Don't get it myself, but whatever floats your boat.” Murray ponders as he sees Louiza sit next to Brittany, intrigued.

“Oh dear, just what a racist drone needs, someone who doesn’t understand English besides her standard lines. And well, we already established that she has an excuse for why the actresses are so stupid.” Lana tries to get Louiza away from Brittany, but Louiza just points out that the plane is landing and does her seat belt as Brittany awakens.

“Yawn, the pressure in here must make you sleepy!” Brittany says. “Wow, miss, do I get jeans like that when I make it to Hollywood?” Louiza flashes a huge grin and nods happily, showing off the sparkling silver top she is wearing and also flaunting her hair and breasts as if they would be altered to make them more beautiful.

“Well, I dunno about THAT, God made them quite large to start with. I guess some people are blessed with God given talent,” Brittany replies with a giggle.

“Better take her to Saks first, get her a good wardrobe. Unlike the studios in Hollywood, our checks clear the bank and our promises are kept,” Murray says.

The plane lands and hope builds as Louiza has started her scripted conversation with Brittany, until Brittany stumbles out of her seat and has to be helped back up.

“Still drunk, that’s why she’s a normal moron,” Lana says with disgust. “We can’t do that forever or we’re no better than Hollywood.”

“Right, but wait til she meets our tailor,” Murray says with a wink.

They drive over to Saks and whisk Brittany straight up to the top floor where two swish men in pink shirts walk over to Brittany.

“So what’s your name, kid?” one asks.

“Brittany.”

“Well! Oh my, I do think, yes, I do think you will rule the world some day!” he says as the other man measures her.

“Hehehe, you guys are such faggots! Why didn’t you just say you were going to make me an East Coast production? I mean, Sins and Retribution is such an excellent show and all filmed within the Asylum state. I’d still sign! A job is a job, and you would protect me. Now leave a girl alone so she can show these fags what they are missing out on while denying the Lord!” Brittany says as she picks out the shortest skirt on the rack and the tightest pink top and teases the two tailors. The rest of the group stands outside, listening to the conversation.

“Ash, how much whiskey did you put in that soda?” asks Lana.

“Just your standard Jack and Oak, honest!” Ash replies, while Louiza just sits and smiles, looking quite pleased at the way it’s going.

“I’ve never seen a person this collected, it’s like she’s rationalized her own little world,” Murray says.

“She, she, NO! ¡Ay, Dios mio! ¡Ella, ella!” Louiza was about to say something but instead runs in tears as Lana follows her.

“¿Qué crees?” asks Lana and Louiza just nods, a look of fear in her eyes. She whispers in Spanish what she is thinking but Lana cannot understand it with her limited knowledge of the language.

Lana just sighs and returns to the group after consoling Louiza once again.

“Still can’t get her to think in a language anyone can understand?” Ash asks.

“No, she rewired herself so she has a shield of not understanding to protect her. Same thing, she knows she has to tell us and she knows we don’t understand her, and she knows more English than most Americans, but whenever she tries to speak it she feels the tingles that almost made her a Hollywood type and it scares her,” Lana explains.

“Speaking of getting tingles, ummm, let me file your nails,” Ash says in a stage voice so Brittany is not upset as she emerges, looking as dolled up as ever in knee-high pink boots, matching skirt and skimpy top, smiling as she exits.

“Is that good, Mr. Warner? I hope it isn’t too girlish, you know fags and pink, and I had to make them stare somehow."

“Yes, it worked quite well, I see,” Murray says with a wink at the tailors as Brittany turns around to see them properly shedding their effeminate clothes and fighting over which one she really likes. What she doesn't see is that they jump atop each other in passion as the door closes behind her. They head to the Broadhurst and cross through Times Square when Brittany demands to see the lights and they oblige and play tour guide right down to the branding.

“Wow, it’s so perfect, so beautiful... well, except for that building under construction, but progress needs to happen sometime,” Brittany says. “Well, need to go to work and write about this AWESOME day today, so home, James.”

The scene shifts back to the Broadhurst, where Brittany’s room is prepared with all the poshness that you might expect a budding diva to have. Her wardrobe from Saks fully delivered and neatly hung in the closet. A television is provided along with a computer and stereo, at which Brittany just smiles as she flips on the computer to get to work, while everyone else just looks around not knowing what to think as they move downstairs.

“Ummm, I dunno what to say. 15 years of talk show experience and I don’t know what to say!” Ash says.

“She seems set in her ways, yet she doesn’t have the normal signs, but she makes up everything as she went along,” Lana adds.

“I think it may be her defense. She is only 17 so she still sees some things the way they are but she makes them fit the messaging. We will see what she writes and if she’s still watching TV by 8,” Murray suggests.

Eight rolls around and the crew are more anxious than ever. They are used to doing their jobs, performing in front of a thousand gracious New Yorkers but not for the future, their theatre is dark and the only light they have is in the locked room. They cautiously look inside the keyhole before entering. Indeed, Brittany sits glued to the TV and they note that she watches channel 1 not channel 2, 8 or 9. They shudder at the notion, but Louiza just smiles at what is printed out on the desk and takes it downstairs as they leave Brittany to her television. Louiza smiles intently at the music on the piano and starts singing in perfect English.

“Where is God without the people, where are people without God? God is against all killing, but war he is more than willing, but where is God without the people, and the people without God?”

Murray reads the rest. “A little choppy and rough around the edges, and still pretty Channel 8 in lyrics- still has that long form of the F word in it. But, man, she has something going.”

Suddenly Brittany is heard screaming upstairs.

“Haha! I see the local insertion ad for the Dutchman’s Dam came on for once!” Ash says with a giggle as they run upstairs to see the TV off and Brittany scrambling to find what she had written.

“Good Lord! Have you no patience? I guess they don’t teach that value in the North, do they? I’ll finish the songs, then you can read them!”

“Sorry, Brit, to be honest, we have never seen such great work before,” Murray apologizes.

“Well, find more talented people like me, then!” Brittany says with a giggle and looks at the sheet music. “Have you no sense of music? This beat is way off and the lyrics, they hardly rhyme!” Brittany sounds off as she sits down to make her corrections while everyone leaves her alone.

“I just don't get it. She only was out for an hour but yet she is firm in her beliefs,” Murray says before heading back downstairs.

“Well, we’ll just have to see if she gets up in the morning,” says Lana.

“And all the rest of that stuff they have to do,” Ash adds, rolling her eyes.

They head off toward bed, all turning in early to be awake by 7, hoping she won't wake up by then. Maybe she's smarter than they thought and New York's just what she needed but her screams at 7 exactly tell them otherwise.

“Where is my morning Oaktree and Great Flakes? And who put this demonic phallic object in the kitchen? What kind of slut do you think I am?” yells Brittany as she throws a banana across the room.

“Oh, I always hated divas. Someone go down to the Gristedes and get some tourist food, quick! I'll hold her off with some smokes,” says Murray as Lana runs downstairs. “Sorry, Brittany, I thought you deserved something better than Great Flakes. We’ll get some right away.” He offers her a cigarette.

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Warner, but I can't smoke before breakfast. I guess everyone else around here eats snails and shrimp for breakfast? I am a simple country girl, after all,” Brittany says with pride for her home state. “So, when do the acting classes start?”

“Nine,” Murray says as Louiza enters, saying nothing as always.

“She don’t say much, does she?” Brittany asks.

“That’s the way MOST actresses live. They only are there to say their lines. YOU, on the other hand…” Murray senses his opportunity and tries to instill some reality into the head of Brittany.

“Have every talent in the world, yes, I KNOW that, Mr. Warner. That’s why you HIRED me in the first place. Now if you could just remember to get me breakfast on time, it would be even better!” says Brittany as Lana moves in with the Channel 1 groceries.

After breakfast is acting class yet they are just in awe at her talent. Every one of her lines is flawless as she plays an excellent Juliet, even conveying the proper meaning of “wherefore”, which trips up Murray since that is his normal cue to make with the deprogramming.

“Did you know Juliet was only 14, younger than even you?” Ash says with a smile.

“So? You can fall in love at 14, and they STILL waited until they were married. Hey, if a man has enough income to support a woman, why wait til a random number? As it was, she showed she wasn’t mature enough by drinking that Satanic liquor and acting like she was dead. Of course the guy would kill himself. Besides, what was he doing falling in love with a gook, or a terrorist, or whatever they were fighting in the name of God? The priest knew what was good for them in the end,” Brittany says as everyone tries not to laugh.

“They were fighting each other,” Murray says gently.

“Well, asylum states do have their drawbacks. I must say New York is free of the nuts here. Great job at keeping this block nice and safe, Mr. Warner. I’m glad I signed with you instead of the Hollywood producers,” Brittany notes as goes to change out of her costume.

“She’s more hopeless than I thought, she can defend anything. She’s past the contradictions. Get the president, she’d know what to do.”

The president comes over and speaks to Murray. “Giving up so soon?” she asks.

“She is so smart she has her own world and can fix any contradiction. I mean, she even thought she was supposed to be too good for American food and didn’t bat an eyelash at Louiza’s dumb actress schtick,” Murray explains.

“I see. Bear in mind it’s only been a day,” the president reminds them.

“Yes, but she’s barely lost her cool, yet she’s not breaking out in the too smart for America way either. I gotta take her to the hole today,” Lana notes.

“You do that, but after that I’ll arrange a dinner at Sardi’s. That should break her world,” the President says and everyone is aghast. Thespians dine at Carmine's, the few actors and actresses from the government theatre dine at Sardi's.

“And HOW do you pull that off? And seeing the actresses that up close, who knows what she may think? Maybe later on, but this sounds crazy,” Murray protests. “Besides that, it’s never been done! We don't mix with their kind!”

“I trust your skills. As for how, the Bronx Society owes me. From what you describe, she knows the imperfections and has to make up more lies. Show her the unpleasant truth and it may just wake up her mind even more. Besides, you haven’t even used any drugs on her yet. Afterwards would be a perfect chance; she'll likely beg for booze.”

Brittany comes down the stairs in a rather racy black dress and signals to Lana that she is ready to go tour downtown as she is led to the limo sitting outside. Inside Lana can’t help but notice her beauty and is caught staring at her legs.

“Envy is a deadly sin, Lana,” says Brittany in a motherly tone. “Not like you are so bad yourself.” Lana can’t believe it. She almost thought of kissing her, trying to fool Brittany into thinking she was now a lesbian and therefore had to obey Lana, not God, but she knew she was too smart for a trick reserved for the jokers at the Balasco.

“So when do you think the world will bow to Brittany?” Brittany asks. The question sends chills down Lana’s spine, but she can say nothing and instead gives a rational answer.

“In a few months, after they see how well you can do live, it’ll be a shoo-in for you to do movies. IF you want to do movies,” Lana cautions.

“Indeed, God made me capable of more than just a few lines at a time. I guess that’s why they took me to Broadway first,” Brittany says. She looks out at Ground Zero and falls into a total state of depression. Lana looks at her, eyes closed in total prayer, and realizes that she is indeed still like the rest of them. She stands guard to ward off any thieves, gropers or snipers while Brittany stares blankly into the abyss that is Ground Zero (or, as the New Yorkers have taken to calling it, the Big Fucking Hole in the Ground). After about a half hour she turns around and follows the flock into St. Paul’s Church. The great black minister gives his sermon about rebuilding and forgiveness, and Brittany walks out and finally leaves the pack.

“Wow, there are so many people the priest has to record his sermons just so he has time to eat and sleep. That’s dedication for you!” Brittany says and all Lana can do is sigh as they head off to Sardi’s for dinner. Louiza is all decked out in her sexiest as she and Murray lead Brittany into the hall of empty faces and emptier minds.

“Hmph, they are so stuck up. I will never be like that ever!” Brittany says as she takes her seat, Louiza smiling blankly next to her. "You know, for a channel 5 woman, Louiza, you sure know the customs and the way of God!” She smiles, and Louiza nods with a scripted giggle. She looks out over the empty faces and sighs. “I guess they still use drugs here. It’s a shame, I guess that’s why they end up in New York when their star fades. Well, if I get launched from here, I’d be better than anyone.”

After dinner they return to the theatre.

“Well, I told you she would become frightened at her own kind and break out,” the president says.

“No such luck. She just thinks they're junkies sent to New York,” Murray sighs. But Louiza smiles and follows Brittany up to her room where she sees her writing with the TV on beside her. Louiza allows herself a nod of satisfaction and goes to bed.

This continues for a month. Brittany remains herself, a total diva who bends everything the way of God and writes God-fearing lyrics for everything she hears. Hope seems lost as they realize more and more, despite their efforts, that the same pattern takes place each day, just like a normal American family. Everyone despairs, except Louiza. Finally Lana confronts her as she sees Brittany writing.

“¿Qué pasa?” Lana asks.

Louiza cannot bring herself to say it in any language and just turns away.

“¿Qué pasa?” This request is firmer, angrier.

“No sé,” says Louiza, but she's on the brink of tears.

Finally Lana demands an answer.

“She…she sees…AY NO!” Louiza hides herself.

“You can’t hide forever! You have to tell us! You know how to keep Brittany safe, don’t you? It’s what kept you safe. And it isn’t language. You've been using that as your excuse for years, but there's something else to it, isn't there?”

“She- no!" Louiza crosses her legs, trying to hide the feelings running through her body.

“Louiza, please, I know you can hear me. What keeps her following America despite having such rebellious thoughts like writing and self-worth? What can we do to bring her to understand her true God-given talents? Can we?” Lana pleads urgently.

“She thinks for herself. She has her escape, it’s her writing. Her education keeps her focused on the American way and her arrogance keeps her numb from any danger, either from America or from us. Take that away, and her fear will come out. She will then stop making excuses and see the lies that are planted in her brain. And then she will hide in a coat of her own rebellion,” Louiza says, tears running down her face as she runs into Lana’s arms when she finishes, her hands trembling after the English words.

“But if we do that that will make her resent us. Oh my, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Lana gasps before calling in Ash, Murray and the President.

“It’s murder! Plain and simple!” Murray says. “Who knows if she isn’t just reverting back to her old ways and wants to go Hollywood and bring Brittany with her!”

“What if she’s wrong? All this hanging around Hollywood types, I mean, even I’m getting the nightmares,” Ash says.

“You said you were never touched, that you were already damaged goods to Hollywood for coming out decades before,” Murray reminds her.

“They promised me another talk show if I'd take it back. I don’t remember much, just a feeling of wanting to put people in hiding, or worse. I'd never give someone we’d taken back even if we think she’d rebel. I'd rather just have her be a diva chorus girl than risk happening what would happen to her. And she would just go Hollywood, you KNOW how she gets at the Big Fucking Hole or the statue in the harbor.”

“Besides that, who says we could get her out if she did fight it off?” Murray adds.

“Enough!” the president interrupts. “I know it’s hard to fathom, but I've seen the writings, and I haven't seen this much originality since I was a girl. Not a note is recycled. Yet she has lured you all into a pattern, and that includes me. Her complaints, her explanations, her reactions, we are playing off of her. We are no better than the flock. Set your watch by it and you'll see what I mean. But if someone tried to make her the one who was dominated… it would be different. Regardless, we’ve done all we can do ethically. I warned you about the name taboo. Even if she ends up in Hollywood, it’s only ethical to let her go.”

So they decide, and tell Brittany to go to the Palace for an audition, one they know she'll pass. She gets into her sexiest denim skirt and pink top and gpes over there while everyone all but cries back at the Broadhurst- everyone but Louiza, who just stands outside, smoking her joint in the alley, eyes locked on the front doors of the Palace, as if she’s waiting for something.

Inside the Palace, Brittany is sat down in the film room. An hour passes and she feels him as he massages her shoulders. She relaxes and then she sees him, the most handsome thing she had ever seen in her life.

”They say your name is Brittany,” he says.

“Yeah,” she replies.

“That is one powerful name,” he says, running his hand up her leg.

“Yes, it’s mine.”

“It is that of the Lord who creates everything,” he answers.

“Yeah, but with his help, I'm not a bad writer.”

He places his hands up her skirt and then pulls them back out and holds her gently, kissing her softly as he leads her to the bedroom.

“Don’t forget my creations,” Brittany says softly.

“God is here now, put all your faith in him and all will be great. God loves you and I love you.”

”So you know God,” Brittany says longingly.

“To have a daily relationship with God is true happiness. I will teach you that and so many other wonderful things. Do you take me to be mine?”

“Yes,” she replies as he softly lifts her top off and lowers her skirt.

”Your beauty will support God so much, you will lead with him, at His and my sides. Pure beauty.”

“But I want to show you something first!” Brittany coos.

“Shh, let God show you everything, as I show you everything.” The man disrobes and Brittany goes limp on the bed, mindless smile on her face.

We see Brittany in the film room, cooing and moaning as her eyes become glassier and glassier as her fantasy becomes the only world she knows. Suddenly, she gets up, yet the men in the control booth seem unconcerned.

“Let her go, she will be back, she’s pure actress.”

They open up the door for Brittany- to go to the bathroom, presumably- but they hear her music from the piano and try to lead her back. She slaps them away and sings again, this time the God-fearing giving way to her original thoughts before finally slipping into an old standard.

”What I am is what I am!” Brittany screams this and flies out the door. A lone shot stops her in her tracks as she ducks. It strikes the man chasing her from behind. She sees the wasteland now and she smiles.

“Hey, stupid, try the other side of the building!” Brittany exclaims. The figure atop the building walks over and sees the actresses coming out of Sardi’s and opens fire. Brittany chuckles and walks back to the Broadhurst.

“Mr. Warner! Why are you still dragging ass? We got a goddamn show to write! Ash, get some goddamn props ready and I don’t mean the ones you're using with Lana- at least not most of them! Louiza, muchas gracias!”

“You’re welcome,” Louiza says to everyone’s shock.

Two weeks later the show opens to the greatest reviews given by Channel 1 for a show not produced by Channel 1 (and thus panned by New Yorkers everywhere).

“Britney! The Musical- Starring Britney!”

By 2020 it was in the Winter Garden, proudly drawing tourists day and night for 3 shows a day, most being placed on the verge of madness at the final line of the final number.

“And if you wanna be yourself…Just Believe…If you wanna be yourself…Just…be…ME!”

On dark days Brittany and Louiza go back to where it began, sharing a Spanglish that only the two can understand.

“Porque tenemos such a hit?” Louiza asks.

“Because es la verdad, and they know it. They just will never admit what they know, solamente what they feel.”