My client pings straight back.
The guard will show you the way. You’ll soon spot your dressing room. The lights will come on at the allotted time. Make your appearance and give the performance of your life.
No pressure, then.
The guard shows us to a green door. ‘Stage door’ says the sign on top.
“I’ll be right here,” the guard says as we step inside and the door closes behind us.
My heart is racing as we walk along with my two cases, soon arriving at a row of dressing rooms.
The very first one has a big golden star on it, and fuck, it has my name on it. ‘HOLLY’
Josh chuckles. “You’ve made it at last,” he says.
“This is crazy,” I say and push open the door.
There’s a makeup area, with a mirror with bright lights all around it. A small shower cubicle, hair dryer, and… cans of Coke, bottles of water, and a bowl full of sweets.
“Nice,” josh says, taking one of the seats.
“I feel like a bloody star,” I say, taking the seat in front of the mirror.
My gothic makeup is already in place, but I tie a loose bun in my long black hair, making it slightly dishevelled like it would be after a long shift at the supermarket. My work uniform feels starchy over my lacy underwear. I feel encased by the old sensations of dread as I twirl for myself in one of the full length mirrors.
It’s hard to believe this used to be my life.
“Do I look ok?” I ask Josh.
“Hmm, maybe more makeup?”
I check in the mirror.Accentuate and exaggerate. “You’re right.”
I apply more lipstick, big and bright. And thicken up my catflicks and blush my cheeks.
“Too much? I look like a clown.”
“No, you don’t. You look hot as all fuck.”
A glance at the clock. It’s nearly time. I grab a couple of sweets and glug down some Coke before we set off with my cases to the wings of the stage.
I sneak a peek out at the venue, my jaw dropping at the scale of the place. I catch a glimpse of the balcony I sat at with Mum and Dad. It feels light years away.
I can do this, I tell myself.I’m performing my own story.The plot is an easy one to remember.
I’m as ready for the action as I’ll ever be when the spotlights start up and beam like beacons, so bright. I feel like a tiny mouse in my supermarket uniform as I hunch my shoulders and step out into the centre of stage. The lights largely block out my view of the seating area, but when I squint, I can see a solitary shadowy figure sitting there, right in the middle of the front row.
And so my story begins.
All over again.
My name is Ella,I say to the fake crowd.And my life is a scrabble for pennies!
With that announcement, I let myself run free and trust in the Gods of good fortune that I’m a good enough actress to expose my vulnerable self onstage.
I rush like a crazy thing as I act out stacking shelves, hurling fake insults at myself as I work like a trojan from the past.Faster, Ella! The half priced stock is still waiting. There’s a pallet in the back. Call to checkout number four! Why haven’t you unloaded the gift wrap, Ella? Where are the cansof chopped tomatoes, Ella? The shelf is almost empty! Get a fucking grip, girl!
I drop to my knees on the floor, my hands over my ears as I let out a scream that echoes around the empty theatre. A wail from the heart as I revisit the pain of trying to live up to a work bully’s expectations, while the man who claimed to love me smashed my heart to pieces and left me all alone.
