Page 24 of The Wilder Widows

“Well, I did,” I scoffed. “And you know what? He liked me—a lot. In fact, I was pretty sure he was the one. He said he was coming back for me in a few months after he got done shooting his movie. He left for the set, and a month later, I met Ed. He was here on business, and he was handsome. So handsome.” I drifted off, remembering his flashy white smile and those dark, sexy eyes. “As handsome as Harry Hayes, even. And he was smitten with me. He chased me all over town.”

“If he was handsome, I can’t imagine you ran far.” Marge chuckled.

“Shut it, Marge. I was smitten with Harry, but after a few too many cocktails, I succumbed to the passion I felt for Ed. We had a tryst. A one-night stand in his hotel room. It was nice, and I had a good time, but my heart was already off with Harry. The next morning, he gave me his number, but I left. No intentions of seeing him again. That was until the day before my big debut.”

As I told them the story, I relived it all over again. The excitement. The anticipation. Then the devastation of having it all ripped away from me.

“They were doing the final fitting for my costume, and it didn’t fit. The director screamed at me for putting on weight, and I’d noticed it too. But I had been starving myself, and still, my stomach got bigger. It was then I realized I was pregnant... and so did the director. He fired me on the spot. Said he’d wasted all his time and talent on me and told me to get the hell off his stage. My understudy took the stage the next night, and I never got my turn in the spotlight.”

“Oh, Alice. How awful.” Sylvie reached over and took my hand. “You were so close.”

“I was right there, Sylvie. I was right there.”

“So, you called Ed?” Doris asked.

I nodded. “I did. I had no money saved up and no job. And being knocked up, who would want me? I couldn’t go home to the farm, and Harry would never be interested in a has-been showgirl with a bun in the oven, so I dug out Ed’s number and called him up. He came to Vegas, we got married, and that was the end of that. The end of my dreams.”

“But you got a beautiful baby out of it.” Doris pressed her lips together and gave me her best smile.

“I did. I’m not saying I hated having a baby, and Celeste was a blessing, but I never wanted to be a housewife. A kept woman. I wanted to get on that stage in the headdress and be the star. I just wanted to be the star.”

“And you will again!” Marge pummeled the table, causing Doris to jump. “By God we’re going to get you up on that damn stage if we have to do it at gunpoint.”

“Nobody’s pointing guns at anybody,” Sylvie reasoned.

Doris shook her head. “Guns scare me!”

“But how are we going to get you up on that stage?” Sylvie stared at me.

“This time, I have something I didn’t have the last time I came here to be a showgirl.”

“What’s that?” Marge asked before enduring the last full swig of her fruity drink.

“Money.” I grinned. “This time, I have money, and I bet I can pay my way for a one-time spot in that show.”

Marge contemplated the statement. “You think they’ll let you up there? You know, now that you’re old?”

“I’m not old. And I’ve still got these babies.” I lifted my legs high in the air, giving them a first-hand look at the stems women of any age would die for.

They all took an appreciative sweep of my legs, and then Marge looked back up at me. “Yeah, you’ve got the gams, but can you still even dance? I mean, those moves looked hard. I just think we may need a gun. Percy taught me how to shoot when we were in ‘Nam. I can handle myself if we need it.”

I slammed down the rest of my horrible drink and stood with the same grace that earned me the top spot over forty years ago. Looking behind me to make sure I had room, I mimicked the dancer I’d envied on stage tonight. My feet responded to every request, and my still-agile body bent and moved with the same precision as I’d had after spending my life training it. When I finished my impromptu show, I did a high kick and watched my high heel clear Marge’s head, finishing with my calf resting on her shoulder.

“Oh, I can still dance.” I smiled while the Wilder Widows stared wide-eyed at my leg, still resting on Marge. A smattering of clapping broke out around us, and I turned to see some people passing by who had caught my spontaneous show. I slid my leg off Marge and took a bow, relishing even the few echoes of applause before they dissipated and left me standing once again at our table.

“Damn, Alice.” Marge blew out a breath. “How in the heck do you still move like that? Even though your plastic surgeons try to defy it, you’ve got to be at least sixty-five years old! Or seventy? Eighty? Ninety?” Marge kept counting higher as her eyebrows lifted. “How old are you anyway?”

“A lady never tells. Just because I’m not on stage anymore doesn’t mean I stopped dancing and training. I haven’t missed a day dancing since I was fifteen years old. And I’ll be dancing until the day I die. All the kinky sex I have doesn’t hurt my flexibility either.” I pressed a hand on my hip and smirked.

“I’ve never been able to lift my legs that high.” Sylvie stared at my legs while I stood beside her. “Seriously. Not even as a teenager. It’s remarkable you can still move that way. Seriously. How old are you, Alice?”

“None of your business.” I lifted my chin and ignored their frustrated groans. I’d never admit the number to anyone that wasn’t holding the scalpel to make me look the age I felt. “Now, if you all don’t mind, me and my gams are going up to my penthouse to practice that routine so when I take the stage, I’ll be sure to shine.”

“Do you need the video I took?” Sylvie fumbled through her purse for her phone.

“I think I remember most of the routine, but my memory may not be what it used to. I’d love to watch it.”

“Here you go,” she said after sending it to me. “Should be in your phone now.”