Page 27 of The Wilder Widows

Everywhere I’d tried today had turned me down with laughter that had caused my face to heat up to scalding. I’d been laughed out of every show I’d tried to infiltrate today, and it seemed the producers weren’t going to budge on letting me dance my way back into the spotlight again.

Laugh? At me? The damn indignity and horror to be begging for a spot in the center stage. A spot where I belonged. Even though I’d offered them some serious dough, every door had slammed shut in my face.

I scoffed. “Too old. I’ll show all of them too old when someone lets me up there to dance.”

“Damn ageist patriarchy,” Marge grumbled. “Bastards wouldn’t know talent if it high-kicked them in the face.”

“Thanks, Marge. Damn ageist patriarchy is right. But screw them. We’ll just make our plea straight to the most important person in the show.” I paused and crooked a smile. “The star.”

With all the producers giving me a resounding no, our only remaining hope was to try to bribe the lead dancer to step aside. Now we just had to sneak in and find her.

“We’ve got your back, Alice. Lead the way.” The soldier inside Marge resurfaced as the look of determination tightened up her face.

“Let’s go.” I led the way into the theatre through the crowd gathering in the concession area. Single filed, we moved toward the backstage entrance, and I tried to keep my cool when we reached the bouncer blocking the door. I knew how seriously they took security for the girls, and even a few harmless old ladies would have trouble breaking through the barrier.

“Sorry. No one is allowed backstage,” he said as he stepped further into the opening, crossing his arms tight, which caused his oversized muscles to bulge even more.

“We’re just here to see her granddaughter, Sarah. She invited us to the show.” I pointed past him and kept walking, acting like we belonged.

He blocked my attempt. “Sorry, ma’am, but no one is allowed.”

Ma’am. Ugh. That word never stopped making me cringe. I brushed it off and looked up at him, flashing my most seductive smile. “Please, sir? It’s her birthday, and we really do need to get back there and see her. We flew all the way from Iowa, and we just have to get back there.” I dragged my fingertips along his forearm, but his clenched jaw told me he was immune to my charms.

“No one gets back there. I’m sorry. You’ll need to take your seats. The show starts in ten minutes.”

“But sir,” I said, trying again. “She’ll be so happy to see us. Please? It’s her birthday, and we’re here to surprise her.”

He only clenched his jaw tighter and shook his head. No luck. I glanced back to Marge and gave her the go-ahead.

Plan B.

“Uh-oh,” she said as she shuffled her feet. “It’s happening.”

“Oh no. Your irritable bowel syndrome?” I feigned my horror.

“The buffet,” Marge groaned. “I shouldn’t have eaten all that shrimp.”

“Don’t do it, Marge! Just hold it!” Doris pressed her hands on top of her new hairdo.

“I can’t. It’s coming. Bathroom. Now. Now!” Marge danced back and forth, clutching her rear.

“Just go in your Depends!” Sylvie shouted to her, but Marge shook her head furiously.

“I forgot them. I forgot them!”

“No Depends? Shit!” I turned to the bouncer who watched the scene play out with terror-filled eyes. “We need a bathroom. Now!”

“It burns! It burns!”

“Now! She needs a bathroom NOW!” I grabbed his tight t-shirt.

“In the lobby!” He pointed.

“It’s too far! No time! No time!” Marge cringed, tightening the grip on her pants. “Now! It’s gonna happen!”

“Holy shit! There! Just down the hall! Go!” The bouncer leaped out of the way, and we hustled Marge past while she groaned and shuffled, still clutching her rear.

When we made it around the corner and out of sight, we struggled to suppress our laughter as our snickers merged into one.