"Lawsy Lord," Odi sighed to herself as she pushed open the dressing room door. "Here we goes again." She felt the familiar resistance of something or someone behind the door and, with a final, urgent shove of her stronger-than-she-looks Olive Oyl frame, the door gave way, pushing a large pile of the days wardrobe to the side. Odi surveyed the remains of last night's revels. "Lordie, all them white movie folks. What a mess they done left for ol' Odi." As she began the thankless job of recreating order in the chaos of Fred Astaire's dressing room, she found her mind wandering to the same place it always did. She imagined her legs, bent by childhood polio, now strong and sure, moving to the rhythms of an orchestral swell, spinning and tapping her across a stage in a wild and joyful dance.
As she daydreamed, she spotted Mr. Astaire's famous top hat, normally stiff and shiny, on a chair near the dressing table where it probably spent the night crushed underneath used champagne bottles and drunken movie stars. Clsoing the door to any prying eyes of other maids who might pass by, Odi slowly reached for the famous hat, hardly believing her good luck at finding it here. Usually Mr. Astaire's wardrobe assistant, Estelle, was fanatical about her costume checklists, but she must have missed the hat under all the party debri.
Odi's curiosity and desire overwhelmed her better sense and after puffing out the hat back to it's proper shape, she placed it jauntily on her head. As if waiting for some mystical transference to take place, she gazed at herself in the large dressing table mirror, turned on the small rounded makeup lights surrounding the mirror, and willed herself to hear the distant music of her long imagined dance. Oh, to be taken in a man's arms and match him step for step on two strong legs with a life of their own, swirling in a delirious dance of grace and joy. Wearing the hat, she could almost, almost get there.
It was just one hat, all crumpled and ruined. Maybe Mr. Astaire wouldn't miss it. She reverently removed it and placed it in her large daybag she used for her change of clothes. For the first time in years at this studio, she couldn't wait for her bus ride home.
*********
Quote of the day: When I am an old woman, so that too much queerness will seem a natural thing, I mean to build a tower like it on my side of the lake, and I shall sit there on angry days and growl down at anyone who disturbs me. Marjorie K. Rawlings - "Cross Creek"Chosen because I love the image and the sentiment it expresses. I, too, have felt this freeing sensation that growing older brings. And I also am familiar with the desire to "growl down" as well. Grin.
No comments:
Post a Comment