At the top

     She was up there, leaning on the rampert of the top floor of a New York building. From up there, she could actually muffle the sound coming from the busy streets, even though it was just about to get dark. It did not matter, though. New York was, after all, the city that never sleeps. But neither did she. She could not sleep for a while now. Thoughts just kept on striking her mind as fast as things were changing for her.

     From up there, she could see Lee’s Institute, where she learned how to improve herself, where she tried to become a better person, a more professional person. It was where she tried her best to be worthy of getting the respect she so hardly struggled for. It was where she was coached to be more than herself, more than she could ever think of. Then, why was it so hard to earn that so worked-for respect? Why would people not take her seriously, even though she put all of her effort into it?

     She blinked her eyes hardly; trying to make those bad thoughts fade away.

     She could, but she knew they would come back.

     They always did.

     Trying to keep her mind busy and to delay another wave of sadness overcome her, she started to look for another building, the one where she had the most fun nights of her life. And there it was:  El Morocco, a small, secluded, but very high-profiled club. It was the place where she felt alive. She remembered her laughs with Truman. He was a piece!  She remembered him saying he would write something especially for her when it would become a movie. She had never felt so special and so overwhelmed. He was, after all, a great writer. But she didn’t take him seriously. Why would he write something for her? She was just… an actress.

     But the dancing, oh, the dancing! She was feeling a little flushed from champagne and he, being way shorter than her " and she was in stilettos! - kept spinning her around the dancefloor! She giggled then and now, alone, at the top of that gray building. She didn’t have that fun anymore. She didn’t even go see Ella anymore.

     Ella, an adorable woman. A great voice, hidden away because of prejudice! It was not right. How brave she was, talking to that manager, saying if Ella did not sing, she would never come back. She did come back and Ella did sing every Friday night.  Ella told her she would be forever grateful for that.

     “- How could I ever repay you?’’

     “- Just keep on being marvelous, dear, and I’ll repay you by listening to your beautiful talent.”

     It was starting to get cold.

     She hated the fall. It reminded her of how cold things were still going to get and how lonely she was going to feel. That fall in particular, was going to be ther hardest one so far.

     Leaning forward on the rampert, she could see it: the corner of Lexignton and 52 Street. It was where her biggest dream had fallen apart.

     She was there, he was there. Thousands of other men were there, too. Seeing her, desiring her, objectifying her. She did like the attention, but that was not what she wanted. She was too nervous and she just wanted to get it through. Somehow, she couldn’t.

     That feeling of not being good enough hit her again, as the strong wind on the top of that building was similar to the artificial one that made her skirt lift up so many times in a row, making men cheer every single time it did.

     She liked the attention, but she did not like it when he was there.

     He did not like it either.

     “ " Joe, I love you. With all of my heart. But this is my job. And I love my job, too.”

     “ " So marry it, instead. I won’t stand here watching all of those men lusting you. Where would my reputation be?”

     “ " So marry your reputation, Joe.”

    

     She didn’t think he would leave her. But he did, just like everyone else.

     Those bad thoughts were back.

     She was up there, alone. Quite a metaphor. At the top of that building and  being the most famous woman on Earth, but alone. Alone on that building, alone at the top, sleeping alone. People do say you can’t have it all. But oh, how she desired she could. She wanted to be happy.  With what she did and who she would be with.

     She started to hum a gloomy version of When Love Goes Wrong, Nothing Goes Right and she thought of Jane. How she would be grateful to her help and confidence. In a world people give you fifty cents for your soul, she did gamble on her.  But did she win?

     Her hands were starting to get really cold. She wanted to be held tight. Tears were starting to form, but they did not come down.

     She did.

     She took a deep breath, had her last glance of her lonely top and headed down to the city she loved and hated at the same time. She started to wander without noticing where her feet were taking her, and that’s where she stopped: the bookstore. The same one, where she went undercover and those two girls helped her keep her façade¹.

     She smiled.

     Wasn’t she always in disguise? Wasn’t she always the sexy one? Wasn’t she the one with a fake name and fake blonde hair? Wasn’t she disguising the fact that she really enjoyed reading? Wasn’t she disguising her loneliness with pills?

     It’s a world of appearances.

     All that matters is that she kept on smiling, even when there was nothing left to smile for. Even when you’re dying on the inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

¹  Three Girls, By Joyce Carol Oates. 2004.