The Opening Act
She sat propped on a cold wooden stool in complete darkness. The paint was chipping off in some places, weathered and worn from over the years of fancy singers sitting in this same spot. She knew it, because the coating kept cutting under her fingernails as she scraped the bottom of the seat, her hands holding the rounded edge like so many others before her might have, as if it might help her breathe to sit so still.
She wasn’t nervous though.
She didn’t have enough care to be nervous.
Besides. She could sing. She just didn’t like to.
They were preparing to introduce her. The crowd was shuffling restlessly in the quiet on the other side of the curtain, curious to see who would open for her son, an already famous pop-star the girls wildly adored. She thought back to a few minutes before.
”You look hot, Mom,” he’d told her backstage with his daddy’s smirk on full display when he’d caught her smoothing the fabric of a skirt far too short like it might suddenly decide to grow into a size that actually fit.
It didn’t.
She was all dolled up. Her thick, black lashes matched the inky black of her little heels, strappy enough to show off her tanned skin. Her slender legs were left completely bare, disappearing beneath the bottom flare of the tiny dress. It was lined in white fur, and her lips were painted a bright enough red to match. The front was laced up purely for looks, exposing far too much cleavage before precariously depending on the tiniest damn straps to hold the weight of her breasts. She swore those vital little threads were going to snap the moment she moved.
Hair plain brown hair cascaded in waves from a complementary fur-lined little Christmas hat that probably looked completely ridiculous. She probably looked completely ridiculous.
”I mean it,” he reassured her, reading her thoughts. She sighed.
Well, it was a bit much for her, but she was already cinched up in it all, so whatever. She’d then given him a brief flash of an empty smile. She’d do it for him. He’d asked and had provided this ridiculous outfit. And he’d only grinned with delight and mischief in his grey eyes when she thought that too, making her blush and look away from him.
Teenagers were impossible.
And then it was her time to shine, so to speak.
He’d sing soon, the announcer promised. Her son, he meant. The gorgeous pop-star. But first, a rare new voice they hadn’t heard yet. And they weren’t exactly booing her off stage yet, but it was clear that her boy was the one they wanted. Completely understandable. He was the spitting image of his father.
They kept the stage in darkness as the red curtains drifted in a soft whisper across the worn wood floor, a musical tinkling beginning the start of the song. She breathed, taking a slow breath. And then she sang, her vibrato clear in her throat, lifting into the quiet darkness.
“I.. don’t want a lot for Christmas..”
She really hated this song.
She’d do it right though, as she took her time with the slow notes.
For her boy, she would do it.
“There is just one thing I need..”
The lights gradually raised a little brighter, revealing her soft brown hair and candy-cane-red lips. The holiday tree behind her flared to radiant life. Good. Maybe it would distract them from staring at her. She hoped she didn’t know anyone in his crowd of fans, or rather, that they didn’t know her. This was a lot to ask of her. But she’d do it.
“I don’t care about the presents,
Underneath the Christmas tree..”
She let herself drift into the song, into the words, her body gently swaying as she warmed to it. Her eyes remained closed as she felt through the notes with deft fingers, her lashes on her cheeks and her hand wrapped around the smooth metal of the microphone. She let herself feel it, really sing it. She’d do it right.
And she felt it too deeply.
“I just want you for my own,
More than you could ever know.”
God damn, her precious boy for choosing this one. He’d done it on purpose, but she couldn’t imagine to what purpose it would serve him. It certainly wasn’t doing anything good for her.
“Make my wish come true…”
It’ll never happen, Lacey.
Her eyes opened, the dark liner making them look a lighter brown, making them pop in the overhead light.
“All I want for Christmas,
Is you..”
The music keyed up higher, and she really didn’t care at all for any of this. She played her part, though, adding a little energy in the way she moved. Her attention was solely on her voice, on singing this damned song for him and doing a damn good job of it. Maybe he’d never ask this of her again if she did well enough.
She wasn’t really aware of the crowd’s reaction, nor did she care. She swept through every emotion she felt, sometimes smiling wider than she has in years, her eyes shining with the promise of a young, naive heart. Then dark with old hurts, a life stolen away, a life denied. A softness befitting of a real mother, full of love for her children despite how terrible of a parent she was for them. She’d do anything for them.
More joy lit her face, winning out the battle of brilliance warring between her pleasure and those twinkling lights, singing her foolish heart out and fine, enjoying it. She cried out these stupid things she’d never speak of, taking expert breaths between refrains and letting them out so boldly in the melody with the authority of a stupid girl that had lived them. It was probably just a simple song to them, but every word was genuine to her, felt so deeply, and maybe that’s what made her performance so damn good.
Her boy was truly cruel.
And maybe too all-knowing.
When a glance showed her he was part of the band, playing the music for her, taking a background part when he was such a center-of-attention boy, her eyes watered at the rim. He was staring right at her, playing the drum set (though he knew just about every instrument there), and grinning ear to ear with that dazzling smile. It reflected in her face to see him smile that way, to see him happy. To know it was because she was finally enjoying herself.
He was a little too all-knowing.
She could nearly feel his laughter at her thought, but her eyes went over the crowd, sharing openly the end of the song and her sad story buried within it. It was meant to be a happier song, she was sure, and she was smiling.
But it was a tragedy she told them.
When the song ended, the delight faded slowly from her face, her chest heaving gently for breaths. Tears of joy, and of sadness, still held tightly to her eyes as she dropped her gaze. Her shoulders slumped in just the slightest, so subtly, and she turned her face to the side, her arms down. The lights dimmed and she walked away, passing the microphone to someone she didn’t really see, her damned broken heart in her chest bared so nakedly for all of them.
Her boy was so cruel.
She wasn’t sure if he was driving it home or trying to give her hope when his first song struck up strong, his voice ringing out better than hers ever could as he sang Last Christmas.
And of course the crowd went wild for him.
She wasn’t nervous though.
She didn’t have enough care to be nervous.
Besides. She could sing. She just didn’t like to.
They were preparing to introduce her. The crowd was shuffling restlessly in the quiet on the other side of the curtain, curious to see who would open for her son, an already famous pop-star the girls wildly adored. She thought back to a few minutes before.
”You look hot, Mom,” he’d told her backstage with his daddy’s smirk on full display when he’d caught her smoothing the fabric of a skirt far too short like it might suddenly decide to grow into a size that actually fit.
It didn’t.
She was all dolled up. Her thick, black lashes matched the inky black of her little heels, strappy enough to show off her tanned skin. Her slender legs were left completely bare, disappearing beneath the bottom flare of the tiny dress. It was lined in white fur, and her lips were painted a bright enough red to match. The front was laced up purely for looks, exposing far too much cleavage before precariously depending on the tiniest damn straps to hold the weight of her breasts. She swore those vital little threads were going to snap the moment she moved.
Hair plain brown hair cascaded in waves from a complementary fur-lined little Christmas hat that probably looked completely ridiculous. She probably looked completely ridiculous.
”I mean it,” he reassured her, reading her thoughts. She sighed.
Well, it was a bit much for her, but she was already cinched up in it all, so whatever. She’d then given him a brief flash of an empty smile. She’d do it for him. He’d asked and had provided this ridiculous outfit. And he’d only grinned with delight and mischief in his grey eyes when she thought that too, making her blush and look away from him.
Teenagers were impossible.
And then it was her time to shine, so to speak.
He’d sing soon, the announcer promised. Her son, he meant. The gorgeous pop-star. But first, a rare new voice they hadn’t heard yet. And they weren’t exactly booing her off stage yet, but it was clear that her boy was the one they wanted. Completely understandable. He was the spitting image of his father.
They kept the stage in darkness as the red curtains drifted in a soft whisper across the worn wood floor, a musical tinkling beginning the start of the song. She breathed, taking a slow breath. And then she sang, her vibrato clear in her throat, lifting into the quiet darkness.
“I.. don’t want a lot for Christmas..”
She really hated this song.
She’d do it right though, as she took her time with the slow notes.
For her boy, she would do it.
“There is just one thing I need..”
The lights gradually raised a little brighter, revealing her soft brown hair and candy-cane-red lips. The holiday tree behind her flared to radiant life. Good. Maybe it would distract them from staring at her. She hoped she didn’t know anyone in his crowd of fans, or rather, that they didn’t know her. This was a lot to ask of her. But she’d do it.
“I don’t care about the presents,
Underneath the Christmas tree..”
She let herself drift into the song, into the words, her body gently swaying as she warmed to it. Her eyes remained closed as she felt through the notes with deft fingers, her lashes on her cheeks and her hand wrapped around the smooth metal of the microphone. She let herself feel it, really sing it. She’d do it right.
And she felt it too deeply.
“I just want you for my own,
More than you could ever know.”
God damn, her precious boy for choosing this one. He’d done it on purpose, but she couldn’t imagine to what purpose it would serve him. It certainly wasn’t doing anything good for her.
“Make my wish come true…”
It’ll never happen, Lacey.
Her eyes opened, the dark liner making them look a lighter brown, making them pop in the overhead light.
“All I want for Christmas,
Is you..”
The music keyed up higher, and she really didn’t care at all for any of this. She played her part, though, adding a little energy in the way she moved. Her attention was solely on her voice, on singing this damned song for him and doing a damn good job of it. Maybe he’d never ask this of her again if she did well enough.
She wasn’t really aware of the crowd’s reaction, nor did she care. She swept through every emotion she felt, sometimes smiling wider than she has in years, her eyes shining with the promise of a young, naive heart. Then dark with old hurts, a life stolen away, a life denied. A softness befitting of a real mother, full of love for her children despite how terrible of a parent she was for them. She’d do anything for them.
More joy lit her face, winning out the battle of brilliance warring between her pleasure and those twinkling lights, singing her foolish heart out and fine, enjoying it. She cried out these stupid things she’d never speak of, taking expert breaths between refrains and letting them out so boldly in the melody with the authority of a stupid girl that had lived them. It was probably just a simple song to them, but every word was genuine to her, felt so deeply, and maybe that’s what made her performance so damn good.
Her boy was truly cruel.
And maybe too all-knowing.
When a glance showed her he was part of the band, playing the music for her, taking a background part when he was such a center-of-attention boy, her eyes watered at the rim. He was staring right at her, playing the drum set (though he knew just about every instrument there), and grinning ear to ear with that dazzling smile. It reflected in her face to see him smile that way, to see him happy. To know it was because she was finally enjoying herself.
He was a little too all-knowing.
She could nearly feel his laughter at her thought, but her eyes went over the crowd, sharing openly the end of the song and her sad story buried within it. It was meant to be a happier song, she was sure, and she was smiling.
But it was a tragedy she told them.
When the song ended, the delight faded slowly from her face, her chest heaving gently for breaths. Tears of joy, and of sadness, still held tightly to her eyes as she dropped her gaze. Her shoulders slumped in just the slightest, so subtly, and she turned her face to the side, her arms down. The lights dimmed and she walked away, passing the microphone to someone she didn’t really see, her damned broken heart in her chest bared so nakedly for all of them.
Her boy was so cruel.
She wasn’t sure if he was driving it home or trying to give her hope when his first song struck up strong, his voice ringing out better than hers ever could as he sang Last Christmas.
And of course the crowd went wild for him.