Page 30 of The Wilder Widows

“We’re going to jail! We’re all going to jail!” Doris fell apart while she paced back and forth in the dressing room. “I’ll never survive it!”

“We’re not going to jail, Doris!” Sylvie grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. “We made a promise—a pact. And we are getting Alice up on the stage, and we are not going to jail. Now snap out of it!”

Light peeked out from the crack in the bathroom door when it pushed open. “Help!” The dancer’s voice flooded into the room just before Marge slammed it back shut.

“I’m losing it!” Marge shouted. “Someone’s gonna hear her if you don’t get your ass in gear!”

Sylvie leaped to her side and leaned up against it. “Hurry up, Alice!”

I turned back to the costume and took a stilling breath. Sure, this wasn’t how I intended things to go, but I deserved to be in this costume. I deserved the spotlight. It was stolen from me, and damn it, I was stealing it back.

While they struggled to contain the dancer, I stripped off my clothes, slid on the shiny underwear, and fumbled to close the back bra. When I looked down to see my tidbits glimmering in rhinestones again, I couldn’t wipe the grin back off my face. “I still look good!”

“Hurry up!” Marge demanded.

Jumping back to get dressed, I slipped on the plumed tail feathers and reached into my purse, pulling out my crystal covered shoes. The ones I’d stolen the day they’d kicked me out, and the ones I’d held onto all these years hoping that someday I could wear them on stage again. While I slid the sparkling stilettos on, I cringed at the way my muscles screamed from the movement. I was still sore from all those hours of rehearsing this routine, but I powered through while I slipped my swollen feet into the shoes that had been made just for me.

“Ouch,” I mumbled while I rose to standing, my feet screaming for relief. But pain had no place in a dancer’s repertoire. We danced through it, and tonight I would force my feet to move even though I could already feel the straps cutting through my skin.

The lights in the dressing room flashed, and my heart stuttered to a stop. “This is it! Curtain call!”

“Let me out! Now!” The dancer pushed harder at the door, but Marge and Sylvie put their weight into it.

“I need help with the headdress. Doris, get over here.”

Doris paced the room, mumbling to herself while she chewed on her nails.

“Doris! Now!” I commanded, and she jumped at the sound of my voice. “You need to lift it onto my head.”

“Okay, yeah. Coming.” She hustled over, and I picked up the feathered headdress, carefully lowering it into her grasp. When it settled into her arms, she nearly dropped it. “Geez Louise! It’s so heavy!”

“You have no idea. Now hurry up.” I squatted down in front of her, cringing as the pain in my thigh muscles demanded my attention. But I ignored it while I crouched low and prepared for the weight of the one thing I still yearned for all these years.

I felt it settle onto my head. It wasn’t the physical weight of it that nearly pushed me all the way to the ground; it was the responsibility that came with being the bearer of the headdress that would set me apart from all the others.

“Wow,” Doris said while she stepped back, and I rose. “You look incredible, Alice.”

“I do?” I asked, then turned to see myself in the full-length mirror. Tears burned behind my eyes when I caught my reflection. No longer did a housewife, a mother, a widow, and a has-been look back out at me. The reflection in that mirror was me. The dancer. The beautiful, talented, driven woman that arrived in Las Vegas all those years ago. The reflection in the mirror finally looked the way I still envisioned myself. The reflection in the mirror was a star.

“Hot damn, Alice.” Marge whistled. “If I hadn’t just met a lady last night, I may have made a run at you myself.”

“Yeah?” I smiled and wiggled my tail feathers at her.

“Incredible, Alice. You look incredible.” Sylvie sighed then returned her attention to the door, still struggling against her.

The lights flickered again. We had only minutes left.

“It’s time.” I lifted my chin and channeled all the confidence I could muster.

“So, what happens now? You just run out on stage?” Sylvie asked.

“I need to go get in line. I’ll just keep my head down and slip into her spot. With any luck, she’s the last spot since she’s the star, so hopefully, the dancer in front of me will be too focused on herself to notice I’m an imposter.”

“And what about this one?” Sylvie jutted her chin at the door. “The second we let go, she’s getting security.”

“Can you move that in front of the door?” Marge asked me and pointed to a wooden dresser I knew I couldn’t budge.

“It’s too heavy. It would take all four of us to push it, but you two can’t let go of that door.”