Who: Lizzy Raleigh and OPEN (monologue+open thread) Where: Her condo to Pure What: Lizzy needs to dance. When: Wednesday night Rating:TBD but nothing you wouldn't do in public.
She was starting to feel old.
Three years ago, a Wednesday night didn’t mean coming home to a stack of files and polishing off a bottle of red wine while checking the journals for any clue that maybe Felicia or Ben were around. Three years ago, Lizzy would have been doing karaoke night at the Aquarium, or maybe even crashing the VIP lounge at Pure. She was, after all, the daughter of a semi-famous retired football player, and that was usually enough clout, along with her good looks, to get her in anywhere she wanted, at least on the Las Vegas circuit.
Now she was sitting home, staring out the windows of her condo, wondering what the hell she was doing with her life. Everything was comfortable - she had a nice condo, a good job that allowed her to do volunteer work, and whatever it was with Benji. She had a younger sister who adored her, and a father who would move the moon and stars to keep her in his life, and in Las Vegas. Still, she wondered what happened to the spitfire dyke who wanted to save the world, force gay marriage to be legalized, and never wore a bra. Okay, maybe some things were improved, because Lizzy was vain enough to not want to have too much sagging, but for the most part, she was starting to feel old, too settled.
It didn’t help she was lonely. How long had it been since she’d seen Benji? Felicia? She’d never managed to have that lunch with Adam. The excitement in her life had been more negative than positive, and it was causing restlessness to creep over her like the orange tones of the setting sun crept over the Las Vegas skyline. Finishing her glass of wine, there was only one cure for this ache. She needed to feel beautiful, she needed to feel young, and she was craving the validation that only complete strangers can give you.
Slipping into her bedroom, it took a good ten minutes to find the perfect little black dress. She curled her hair and painted her face until she looked five years younger, and a lot more dangerous than a property lawyer. She phoned a car service and then slipped on her dress along with a pair of pumps that were almost too high for her to walk in. A coating of shimmery lotion and a spare swipe of mascara for luck finished her ensemble, and she looked into the mirror with a critical eye. Somehow, in the space of half an hour, she had transported herself back to just after law school, when her friends were still restless and carefree, not changing diapers and complaining about mortgage rates. Lizzy couldn’t relate to them anymore.
The car took her to the strip, and between the limo, the short dress and her last name, there was no wait to get into Pure. It was a Wednesday, so the VIP room was another cinch. She needed some liquid courage to get on the dance floor, but after an NFL player she vaguely knew bought her a few shots, she was ready to go. Even for an off night, the dance floor was packed, and it was easy to find the rhythm of the crowd, the undulating strangers pressed into one giant mob, moving to forces greater than themselves, ancient pulses that cried out. She thrived on the attention, the men who wanted to dance with her. It made her feel a bit less lonely, a bit less like she was getting older - instead she felt powerful and beautiful, two things that could be toxic, because it was the exact thing her mother thrived on, however unlike her mother, she’d go home alone.
But for now, Lizzy was going to dance until she couldn’t feel anymore.