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- 06/02/2011
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2011 - Summer - Walk on the Wild Side Entry
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2011 - Summer - Walk on the Wild Side Entry
Rachel Wells - 1. Chapter 1
Rachel Wells, by bugeye.
Rachel Wells sat at her dressing table, the club’s dressing table, with her face in her hands. It was the “star’s” dressing room. Really, it only caused drama among the other performers. Most of the regulars and the try outs got ready in the larger room just outside her door. Concrete block walls painted pink with honest to goodness white, brocade curtains hung in the four corners, tastefully draped and swagged. The antique vanity itself was large and distressed from real years of use; but lovely, having been painted over and over many times. It was an odd shade of green in this reincarnation with hand-painted motifs. The central mirror was beveled and encased in a carved frame, the two side mirrors were on hinges creating a triad of realities. This regal throne to show biz of sorts was set in an alcove of spot lights, but they were turned off. Only one vanity light was on. Rachel wanted it that way.
The face in the mirror studied its duplicate face in the world. What beautifully, strange eyebrows. Masculine on the feline face. Feminine on the angular face. Just one of those dichotomies in a life of dualities. Such large eyes so deeply set, almost hidden in the fluttering wings of long lashes. Rachel had been thinking a lot lately. Mostly about the past. And a little about the future. The future.
Mr. Harold, he insisted on this title, was the club owner and was forever complaining of the bottom line and the headaches and the bitches. Mr. Harold thought of himself as a decorator and he was; he was also a long time friend or maybe the only family left to Rachel. The Club was his masterwork, he would say as he added another piece of Blount glass to the displays in his oversized office. Rachel was sitting here now mostly for him. She owed him almost as much as she owed Connie.
Rachel had decided to perform a tribute to her favorite artist tonight. She wasn’t worried about her voice. That was pitch perfect. She wasn’t worried about projecting Annie’s persona. That was nailed after weeks of practice. And her dress, why worry, please. She had made it herself. She knew it was magnificent. A formal gown with a sparkling blouse top with long sleeves… and a very full, floor length skirt just like thunder clouds. She wouldn’t wear any jewelry and the only makeup would be lipstick and black powder around her eyes. Her hair was already slicked back. Connie had taught her to sew and to sing and to perform. Was it from love that she excelled at these things? But mostly, Connie showed her how to live and be happy just by her own example. So why all the questions now?
Connie had been gone now for a month, just today. Cremated as per her final wishes. Rachel raised her eyes and looked into her mirror again. Raphael, she whispered. It was her true name. Years ago, she had run away from everything in her young life that could no longer be bared. She ran and ran because there was no hope. Until suddenly, she fell into Connie’s world. Her Constantine. Out of nowhere, a hand reached toward her closer and closer and stopped, with palm up. She remembered. Raphael had taken the hand and stared at the angel that stood above him. It had been and to this day was still a miracle. To Rachel.
Instead of dying that night, she remembered waking up the next morning on an old and very fluffy couch in a living room, the kind that had a huge, oversized picture window framing a different world. It was all so green and full of flowers. Raphael’s clothes, washed and neatly folded, were on a chair across from the sofa. That morning so long ago, he had been wearing a kind of “nightgown” for lack of a better word for it. Connie had simply said think of it as an oversized T-shirt. There was a note on top of the clothes.
Sorry, but I just had to go to the fabric store this morning. I made promises and I have to deliver on them. There is breakfast for you in the oven or cereal and milk if you prefer. If you choose to leave before I get back there is money in your jeans pocket. The best I could do at the moment. If you choose to stay, we will find a way to hide you.
And Raphael had stayed. He ate his breakfast and washed the dishes and fell asleep again on the oversized sofa. He was still so tired and confused. Connie was true to her word and did find a way to hide Raphael. It never occurred to either of them that the way was a bit unorthodox.
Constantine Wells had been a costume designer full time back then. Once, Connie performed also, but best not to dwell on the past, she always would say. The fabric sale was fabulous that day. Not only did she find everything she needed for the immediate jobs she was working on, she also found some fabric that she knew would have her clients fighting tooth and nail over. If only she knew what to do about the boy who had stayed.
Connie always had been to the point and definite in her decisions. There was no question or doubt but always room for… love. She raised Raphael as a girl, Rachel. And never looked back.
Next to the old dressing table was a shopping bag. Inside was a pair of sneakers, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a long sleeved shirt. Rachel had bought them at Goodwill. Why spend good money on something she was not so sure of? Tonight after the midnight show, she was going to walk out of this dressing room as Raphael.
Maybe.
6.2.11
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2011 - Summer - Walk on the Wild Side Entry
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2011 - Summer - Walk on the Wild Side Entry
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