Short Story: It’s never too late

Short story writing challenge #3 — It’s Never Too Late

The five words that were randomly generated for me to use are: vehicle, accompany, suit, raw, performance

Lainey looked at herself in the obscenely bright mirror one last time and her trembling fingers traced the lines around her eyes with an invisible eraser. Her face looked older, her eyes slightly less bright and her dimple was now surrounded by a little family of wrinkles to match. What was she thinking? No one becomes an opera singer at the age of forty five. No one. Andrea Bocelli had been thirty four when he was discovered, but there was a world of difference between thirty four and forty five. And Lainey Williams and Andrea Bocelli for that matter.

Her body sure loved to remind her of her age every single day. She tugged at her tight fitting blouse and pulled it out of a bit to hide any of the muffin top that threatened to show itself.  The elegant pant suit they’d clothed her in looked false somehow, like she trying too hard to be someone. Well, she was after all. She was playing a part, but in the last few months she’d felt more like herself than she had for the past twenty years. Despite her childhood dreams of becoming a singer she’d taken the road they’d pushed her down and ended up as a respectable lawyer in a respectable law firm with a respectable husband and a respectable vehicle. The only thing left from her past life now was the vehicle, but she had plans to sell the Mercedes and buy a bike.

“Lainey! It’s time my love!” Oliver floated into the green room with a giant smile on his absurdly charming face, “my god you are Audrey Hepburn as a modern day CEO!” She blushed and tried to let herself feel beautiful and confident, just for a moment.

“Oh I wish I could see myself the way that you do, Oliver.”

“Well, take it from me. As a gay man with absolutely no agenda and no desire to sleep with you, I have no reason to lie to you! You are stunning and you look the part but most importantly you have the raw talent, and you will show this first performance who’s boss and then the next one and the next one and before you know it you’ll be on the front of The Times. This part was MADE for you. Now, stop fussing in front of that mean old mirror and let me accompany you to your opening night, my lady.”

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she took his arm and kissed him gently on the cheek, “and thank you, my friend.” He squeezed her hand and led her towards the stage, his magnetic personality grounding her.

The moment she stepped onto the stage her anxiety melted away and the buzz of energy from the audience filled her with strength. Suddenly she was twenty again with the world at her fingers tips. She opened her mouth and felt the power of her vocal chords vibrating as the music whipped through her. All the naysaying voices dropped away. All thoughts of her body, her age, her lack of experience, didn’t matter anymore. She felt it before she could even think it. She was home.

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