I hugged Alice who was holding Olivia. “I’m going to keep her occupied until your big number,” she said, “then come out and watch.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Just cover her eyes over the naughty bits.” I bent to kiss Olivia’s cheek. “Bye-bye, sweet pea.”
“Bye-bye, Mama.”
My heart clenched again.
“She’s a smart cookie, this one,” Alice said with a knowing smile. “Once she gets a notion in her head, it’s hard to get it out. Just like her daddy.”
She inclined her head at Sawyer who was last to wish me luck before the show. The rest of our people moved away and we were alone.
“She did it again with the Mama, thing,” I said. “Sawyer…”
Without a word, he slipped his arms around my waist and kissed me, the kind of kiss that never failed to steal the strength form my legs so that I melted against him. I did then, my arms ringing his neck to keep upright as his hands slid up into my hair, and then down to my cheek. He held my face and broke the kiss, his eyes so beautiful and dark as they bored into mine.
“I love you, Darlene,” he said.
“I love you too,” I whispered. “And I’m so happy with you. And with Olivia.”
“Are you?” he asked, a ragged breath chasing his words. “Truly? I know it’s a lot to take…living with a kid…”
“No, I love her to pieces, and I love you so damn much, I feel like my heart’s going to burst. But I get scared sometimes.”
“I do too,” he said, his brows furrowed. “I worry that it’s all going to go away…this happiness.”
“Yes! Me too,” I said, clutching the lapels of his jacket. “What do we do?”
He smiled, his thumb running over
my bottom lip. “We make sure it doesn’t. We hold on, right?”
I nodded through tears. “Yes. We do.”
“We do,” he said. “Together.” Sawyer kissed me again, then inclined his head at the stage entrance door. “I don’t want you to be late. You’re amazing, and I’m so damn happy your friends and family are here to see this. You deserve it all, Darlene. All of it.”
I threw my arms around him and kissed him hard, then swept into the theater, my heart full, and a huge grin on my face.
There is no slow fade. What we have is real.
I went to the dressing area, where the rest of the cast greeted me with cheerful smiles and high fives. The other Merry Murderesses—six of us who performed the Cell Block Tango to tell the story of how we ended up in jail for murdering our husbands—were like sisters to me. I belonged here, just as much as I did in my NA meetings where I was attendee and sponsor, both.
I changed into my costume—tight black dance shorts, black nylons, black knee boots, and a black halter top that left my midriff bare. I put on my dark eye make up and red lips; then a hairdresser brushed out my hair and tousled it so it looked like a man’s hands had just been in it.
The show began and I waited for my number. The Cell Block Tango. I had the first line, “Pop”, that began a series of key words from each of the Merry Murderesses, and if I didn’t hit my cue every time, the entire song would be off tempo.
But everyone I knew and loved was watching me. I didn’t want to disappoint them, and as the emcee announced the song, I felt a glowing well of strength in me. Not stiff and unbending, but molten and hot so that I could dance. So that I could tell the story with my body, and give everything that I had to it. Because I had a lot to give, and I’d finally found it.
The energy was running high for a matinee, and we danced the hell out of Cell Block Tango, and after the sound effect of a prison door slamming shut boomed across the stage, the crowd erupted into cheers that carried me on a tide of joy to the end of the musical.
As the last number ended, the crowd grew thunderous—a rolling swell of appreciation and excitement that barreled through the theatre with whistles and applause and hollering.
I stood just offstage with my other Merry Murderesses, waiting for our cue for the curtain call. “Standing O,” one said. “Not bad for a matinee.”
When it came time for our curtain call, we slunk onto the stage languidly; long-legged steps in our high heels. I slung my arm on my co-inmate’s shoulder and tried to look sexy and tough in our curtain-call pose, but the lights had come down and I found my people in the audience.
They were all there, and I wished I had Sawyer’s photographic memory; I’d have taken a thousand photos of my parents looking proud of me; my mother dabbing her eye.
Of Max clapping his hands so hard, I was afraid he’d hurt himself.