Diamond Girl

Bright lights, big noise. The curtain pulled back to reveal a bevy of showgirls. They seemed to pulsate with the kind of energy one would expect from a neon sign. In a womb of dim red lighting, feather boas, and broken hearts, they sashayed from one mirror to the next. Like painters and sculpters, they applied and reapplied their lotions, powders, lashes and rouge. Covered in sequins and pearls, each girl flounced about in her costume like a bird whose wings had been clipped. The glamour was overwhelming, hitting anyone who walked in like a wave of diamonds.
There was the brunette from Missouri, apologetic and warm. Her diamond eyes fixed on the photo of her Jack before each show. Then there was the redhead from Chicago, jealous of her own shadow. She sat alone, her own reflection seemed her only friend. And then there was the blonde from Nevada, living the rhinestone dream. Both her mother and grandmother were showgirls. Her business was show business and the pressure of living a legacy of late nights and broken promises seemed to fade when she hit the stage.

When performing their bodies resembled ancient vessels carrying a king's ransom. With every choreographed turn or bow across the stage their trunks, teaming with gold, would spill open and offer a glimpse to the pirates in the audience below...

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Falling...

His eyes were like steel, looking me up and down like he just won the lottery and I was a shiny red cadillac. As the elevator door closes a warm flush comes over me. His stare was enough to make ice melt. He remains silent, but his eyes tell me he likes what he sees. The further we fall the closer he feels. I finally look to meet his stare but he beats me to it and before I can take my next breath, he has me pinned against the wall. We kiss. His lips feel like a million roses in bloom. My heart swells and my knees falter, he catches me and pulls me closer. We kiss for what seems like forever, until the doors open and the cool air from the lobby invades our space and lulls the fire.

As we leave the elevator I quickly fix the seam in my stockings and reapply my lipstick. He straightens his tie and reaches for my hand, I pull away and he stops. I keep walking until the heat still lingering from my mouth causes me to stop and turn. My mouth opens but words won't come out as he comes closer and closer. I close my eyes and wait, but nothing happens. When I open my eyes he is gone and a small red card has been placed within my left hand. Disappointed and listless, I read my souvenir...

Shades of Red...

So in walks this Blonde, all shape and no time. She orders an iced tea, lips coated with what looks like red velvet. She sits at the counter and waits. She's not from around here. The man seated to her right attempts to break his stare but his eyes won't listen. She reminds him of Lori, the blonde hair, the ruby red lips, and the uneasiness. She was the kind of woman that made him feel like everything was going to be ok. He finally looks away and the sight of his reflection in the napkin stand makes him ill.
A little girl seated to her left sips patiently on her strawberry shake. She too, transfixed by the Blonde's crimson lips, can't help but stare. She imagines that the Blonde is her mother and has come to take her to a show. The little girl finishes her shake, fixes her hair and silently hopes that the Blonde will look her way. She would teach her how to set her hair, walk in high heels, and paint her mouth with that red...

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The Lady Within...

" I advocate glamour, every minute, every second." Dita Von Teese

In a sordid fog of low rise pants, baked on tans, and the increasingly popular "sweater as dress", there is a little white flag that can be seen waving from afar. Upon adjusting my cat eye glasses I begin to focus and can determine that the flag, is in actuality, a small monogrammed hankerchief clutched firmly in the small gloved hand of a Lady, (I capitalize because there are so few left...and because I believe that they are an entity on their own). She is waving me down, and relieved that I see her, she motions for me to come closer. As I approach, she neatly folds her hankerchief back into her handbag and adjusts the red silk scarf tied perfectly around her neck. Her little black dress, fitted at the waist, bells out in a bouquet of crinoline and tulle. She clutches my arm and we begin to walk. She begs me to listen. And I did. For three hours, pearls of wisdom were strung before me one after one, gleaming with knowledge. She asks me to keep her kind alive, to become an embassador for Ladykind. "You must teach others what I have told you."

And then in a well-heeled flash she was gone, leaving behind a trail of gardenia and tuberose...