The Magic Box, Saturday Night
Showtime. Rita couldn't keep the nervous shiver from her spine, every time that curtain went up. The band was warming up, and the tables were starting to fill.
She held her cigarette holder out (in one elegant gloved hand) for the nearest gentleman to light. Her dress was perfect, and so was her hair. She herself didn't take the stage until last, which gave her time to mill about the crowd and mingle.
The bubbly being poured was just soda, unless you knew the right palms to grease, and the lookers on stage were just singers, unless you really knew the right palms to grease.
Welcome to the Magic Box: where the magic happened.
(Wait for the OCD!)
She held her cigarette holder out (in one elegant gloved hand) for the nearest gentleman to light. Her dress was perfect, and so was her hair. She herself didn't take the stage until last, which gave her time to mill about the crowd and mingle.
The bubbly being poured was just soda, unless you knew the right palms to grease, and the lookers on stage were just singers, unless you really knew the right palms to grease.
Welcome to the Magic Box: where the magic happened.
(Wait for the OCD!)