Olivia chokes back another wave of nausea as she fidgets nervously in the back of the limousine. Darkly tinted windows shield her from the madding crowd. Hungry hordes of adoring fans and rabid paparazzi push and shove together in a frenzied dance; all ready to steal an image of her beauty.
Her long manicured fingers register a slight tremble as she retrieves a mirror from her diamond clutch. A final check of its content reveals a small gold spoon attached to a crystal vial of coke. Olivia hastily secrets the stash in a hidden side compartment of the bag. She will need it during frequent visits to the backstage lounge.
Illuminated by the headlights behind her, she stares at her reflection in the tiny mirror. She is pleased with the image. She is Olivia…not Edna. Edna Foltz, from Camden, not Philadelphia as her carefully crafted bio touts. Edna, the defiant terror, bounced around from detention center to foster homes for most of her youth. Edna, the white-faced goth who fancied herself a vampire in search of a fresh kill. Edna, the runaway who got her first taste of Mexican smack at age twelve, and turned her first trick at age fourteen. Edna, the girl who refuses to die, waits patiently to come out, when the hour is right; after Olivia’s fans are gone.
Satisfied with the make up her stylist chose, she gives the hair a final pat down. Charles, her personal hairdresser, out did himself this time. With golden curled extensions knitted carefully, no trace remains. Only Charles, her confidant, knows of the jaggedly hacked mess that grows below. He and a discreet house cleaner are the only ones that saw the pile of hair on the marble tiled bathroom floor; hacked away by Edna in the throes of a drug induced psychosis.
The silent driver inches the limo forward as they advance in the star-studded line. Olivia slides on long silk gloves to accent the full length formal gown hugging her curves with strategic precision. Her fingers brush over the fibrous scar tissue, hidden by make-up, on her wrist. Like the purple bruising of collapsed veins on her feet, only her most valued assistants know the truth that lies below. Sufficiently squared away, she drains the glass of watered down Belvedere. With a carefully rehearsed smile glued in place, she is ready.
Eager for a misstep or wardrobe malfunction, the photographers crowd the curb in anticipation of her emergence. Olivia, the box office queen, extends her hand demurely toward the doorman. With practiced precision she unfolds herself in stately beauty. Hesitating at the curb, she waves to the adoring throng, head turned slightly from the blinding flash of hungry photographers. With grace reserved for the royal few, she glides along the crimson carpet, pausing briefly to promise an exclusive to an eager journalist whose future rests on her words. In a breathless moment of euphoria she is gone. Adoring fans hug themselves in the afterglow.
Broadcasting remotely from the red carpet, the gushing E! News anchor leans toward the camera. “That gown was simply stunning! More of what we have come to expect from Olivia. She is truly the icon of elegance and grace. People will be rushing to buy that gown tomorrow!” Turning to her co-host, “Don’t you agree Jason?”
“Oh yes Katt! That’s why every man wants her and every woman wants to be her. She is truly the biggest star in the world.”
Daily Post Keyword:Elegant