Coco

Her reflection gleamed. I’ve done it, she thought with a smirk. Coco pouted as she applied her lipstick. To think that she could finally make her own choices, pave her own way, live her own life, away from that monstrous bitch Tilly and her minions.

A shudder ran down her spine.

Ostrich feathers and perfume filled the dressing room. Behind manicured hands, giggles, gossip and pre-show jitters filled the air. One breath after the other, Coco thought, a steady heart meant a good show.

“10 minutes, ladies…less chit chat and more make up please” Gina clapped.

Coco snapped to attention and hurried herself. Mascara…a bit more rouge…that should do the trick. 

“Yes, Ma’am”, the girls answered through their flutters. 

Gina’s warm bosom rested on Coco’s shoulder; her commanding presence could be felt a golden mile away. 

‘Shine bright tonight, love, we’ve got a big crowd. ' Gina blew a cloud of tobacco smoke into the mirror. 

“I always shine bright, ma’am”, Coco winked.

Their shared smiles fed Coco’s confidence. It was nice to have a loving woman nurture her, build her up. A far cry from the abuse and manipulation Tilly dished out. 

“You’ll be the next Lotus Thompson, my darlin” Gina huffed out another billowing smoke cloud and hobbled back through the crowded dressing room. 

“8 minutes!” she coughed. 

And with that, she was gone again, probably off to check on her beloved whiskey barrels, no doubt. Fondness filled Coco’s heart as she smiled and shook her head. 

Gina was right. It was a particularly busy night tonight. Side stage, the girls' chatter had lost itself to last-minute costume adjustments and low-key dance move rehearsals. Coco scanned the crowd from behind the velvet stage curtain: a few regulars, a few new faces, lots of clinking glasses and boisterous energy. 

Sweaty palms.

Deep breaths.

Breathe Coco breathe. 

Ba-da-da-da-da-ba-ba-bada-ba-da-da-da. 

A wash of calm.

The band's intro always did that. 

“5,6,7,8” 

Freedom from the sweaty palms.

Freedom from the nerves.

Each pocket of space is ready to catch her next move.

Freedom from cares.

Freedom from memories.

Each beat propels her body into a state of weightlessness. 

Eye contact with Charlie in the front row.

A little wave to Marty up the back.

Turn.

Head cocked to the left.

Wave of the finger. Not today, sir!

Wink. 

Step ball change across to stage left.

Hold pose. 

Catch my breath.

Eyes up. 

Tilly Devine. Front row. Glass raised along with one eyebrow. 

Heart in throat.

Music lost to dullness.

Stomach turned.

Body tightened. 

“Come on, sweetheart…you’re 3 steps behind the rest”, Tilly calls out. 

Obnoxious bitch. 

Blurred vision and bitter memories. Wild resentments. Racing mind. Fuck. 

Find the beat.

Tah-dah!

Fin. 

Backstage, Coco slumped down into her seat in front of her mirror. It was less than 15 minutes ago, her spirits were high and she was feeling proud of her new life. 

Coco’s eyes shifted from melancholy to angry slits.

“I’ll get you Tilly…if it's the last thing I do”.

By Aqua Tofana