THE SHOW MUST GO ON.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A WOMAN DANCER AND LIFE AND THE CABARET.

Submitted: January 24, 2013

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Submitted: January 24, 2013

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The show must go on, Frogmore

says, and Lottie sits and has

a quick drag on her cigarette and

sips the foul coffee from the

drinks machine. Legs ache, head

banging, back stiff. She inhales

and thinks of Frankie and his

coming to her place the previous

evening and wanting to stay over

for the night. The cabaret takes it

out of her. The eyes on her, the talk

going on while she and the other

girls do their bit. Frankie such a

sweetheart, such a Mr Softy, curled

up on the sofa, his huge overcoat

as a cover, his head sunk into a

cushion, sleeping. She watches the

smoke rise from the cigarette, she

lifts it and the smoke rises in short

circles, like her father used to do

when she was a kid sitting on his

knee. Watch the smoke Kid, see

how it rises like some kind of message

to the gods. And he laughed about

that back then. She felt safe on his

knee even when he used to let it rise

and fall like some kind of riding horse.

Now it is just the cabaret and the lonely

nights and Frankie on the sofa because

his old lady threw him out and he won’t

sleep with Lottie because he’s a good

Catholic boy and anyways, he said, it’d

get too confusing and he’d just lay there

on the sofa on those nights and she’d lay

alone wanting company and maybe someone

to hug her real close. Hey, Frogmore says,

you in this next dance or what? What do I

pay you for, huh? Sit about and smoke

yourself to death? You want to die do it

in your own time not mine. She stubs out

the cigarette butt and drains the foul coffee

in one last gulp. The music has started up

their theme bit for her and other girls and

out there in the audience drinking, eating

and talking, maybe Frankie staring or her

father with his latest flame without beauty

or brains or nice figure or remembered name.


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