Page 80 of Make Me Laugh

Slipping into a black sweater dress, I adjust the top to fall off my shoulders. It’s a tighter fit, showing off the swell of my hips and not long enough to cover most of my thigh tattoos. My boots are black leather, cutting off just below my knee. They’re simple, but the platform adds to my height. I’m closer to six feet in these than I’ve ever been.

I decide to forgo any stockings or tights. I’ll be inside the theater for most of the night, and it’s not a far walk from the hotel. My coat is long enough to cover my legs, and the boots cover whatever it can’t.

If I can survive clubbing in my early twenties during Boston winters, I can walk a few blocks on a windy night in October in New York City.

The last sip of my martini goes down smooth. I dance around to a song I haven’t heard in what feels like a million years, gently taking the curlers out of my hair. Giving my head a good shake, I run my fingers through the bouncy curls and then douse my hair with a lightweight hairspray.

Spritzing with my favorite perfume combo in the mirror, I watch the excitement l’d felt while getting ready fall from my face, the light in my bright eyes dimming. Weeks ago I would have been excited to make a Hex video before going out—probably already had multiple planned out. Right now, I can’t find it in me.

My phone vibrates on the dresser beside me, and I stare until the screen goes dark. When I finally pick it up, I find three texts from West.

West

Have fun with Frankie and the founding fathers! Say whaddup to George for me!

Frankie should start a band called Frankie and The Founding Fathers

I’m texting her that right now so you don’t take the credit!

He manages to get a smile out of me, pulling me from the depths of my mind.

Me

Which George?

West

Uh idk, the one who sings?

I hum a laugh through my lips and glance up at myself in the mirror again.

Jesus Christ, Jo. You’re too hot not to document this.

So, I do. I get out of my head, grab my headphones, and pull a simple mask out of my bag. I wasn’t able to bring anything too big or fragile on tour, but this one has always been a favorite with rhinestones raining off the end to cover the bottom half of my face.

Propping my camera up, I angle it to shoot my reflection in the mirror, keeping it out of sight.

Hex and her masks have always felt like an escape—a way for me to forget about everything in my life and just become someone else.

It’s like watching Frankie play different characters on stage.

Or like West becoming West Parker during a set.

I become Hex.

The creative energy takes over, and I get lost in the fun of making content and talking about books like I used to. I’m not sure when I’ll get this feeling again, so I don’t rush it.

Eventually, I glance at the time on my phone, realizing I’ve only got thirty minutes to get to the theater. “Shit!” I toss my mask on the bed and grab my coat and small clutch I’m using for the night. I shove my phone, ID, some cash, and my credit card inside.

On my way out the door, I check to make sure my straightener and curling iron are unplugged—even though I didn’t use them. I back up, see my lip stain’s still intact, and practically walk like those Olympic speed walkers… except not like that at all, but I do feel like I’m moving that quickly.

I get into an elevator full of people, mixed with many different stares as I step in.

A man in a nice business suit gawks at me like I’m a snack he’d like to take back up to his room. I don’t shy away from his stare. I raise an unfriendly brow at him, actually.

He averts his gaze immediately.

The elevator opens to a busy lobby, voices from the bar in the center echoing off the tall ceilings, creating a vibrant atmosphere. Somehow, over the noise, I hear my name. “Jo!”