Lucille
This is the beginning of a story my friend wrote. We were just wondering about feedback. Any changes or criticism is greatly appreciated!
Lucille
By: Laura (Not me)
Preface
"Class. I never really knew the meaning of my name. Broadway always seemed to sparkle it though. The bright luminescent bulbs shone over the city saying "Lucille Class as Lady Night" Ha. Now it seems only like yesterday. I was an actress, a singer, and a dancer. I was known for being a star. I had men, money, and a whole lot a fame. I could be a tramp and a bit of a slut, but I was known for being the one star on Broadway who was, in fact, the best. I had a sparkle in my eyes and a kick ass smile. I gave autographs and had diamonds on every finger. I sang every song there ever was to sing, and other performers would be ashamed to be in my presence. I was everything the world wanted. I was sexy, scandalous and sour. I always was that way and no one ever mentioned it. I was never poor and had a hell of a career. I drank, partied and cursed at the press. Sure I was a show-off but, that's who I was. Wasn't it? "Lucille Class: The mod girl for generations" I thought my fame would never go away. I was seventeen and had the world in my palm, what more could I need? According to my standards though, a whole lot more."
Chapter 1. The Music of Broadway
Skanky dresses, overdone makeup, the lights, the noise, the music. Broadway. I live to hear its heart beat. Every show the room becomes alive and I am not an actress any more. I dissolve into the "clicks" and the "clacks" of heels stomping madly on the stage. Then at the end of the performance, you can even hear the audience rise. Thousands of people shouting your name and applauding till midnight as you bow with professionalism with not a care in the world. This is what I live for. Broadway.
Lucille's dress flew violently around her ankles, twisting and turning at every knee bend with the beat of the music. “Bend, Clap, Snip, Snap, Clap, Clack, Band, Tip, Tap, Toe, Snip, Snap.” The lights blur your vision and all you can see is yourself performing on the stage. Alone. Then, once you are alone no one can stop you. The spotlight pours down on you like hail. Your skin tingles. The room vibrates. Your heart pounds so loud, you swear the whole city can hear it. I've never known anyone who had experienced the feeling I had. It struck you like a lightning blot in the middle of the street, and no one, no one, could take that away from you. Lucille danced on all through the night. She was dripping sweat, dehydrated, and radiant. Her long curly red locks danced around her shoulders, continuing to marvel the invisible audience. The heels on Lucille's shoes were worn down and torn, and were wearing down with every step she took. The layers of sequined fabric sparkled with color as her ankles spun and stopped without frequency. Some once told me that Broadway was just a stupid fantasy. The music. The lights. It captured you and held you in her arms. She sang to you and danced for you, just to make you smile. Then, slowly but surely, she faded away, and then everything well,…it meant nothing. “Why waste time in a useless fantasy, when there is actually reality?!” someone once told Lucille, but she spat in their face. There was something that was in Broadway. Something that was more than a passion, more than a career. Then Lucille stopped. It was the first time in hours that she had breathed. The silence was unbearable. Then someone screamed and she collapsed.
“Her pulse is racing, she needs a doctor,…fast! Move people!” Lucille awoke to clashing and dreaded she could hear anything at all. There were lights flickering and she had a slight feeling of nausea. The room was spinning and people from a hospital were shining lights in her eyes saying “Lucille, what year is this?" or "Lucille, how old are you?" But they were fading. The nurse was shouting "We're losing her!” she slapped Lucille's face “She's crashing! She needs help! Lucille! Lucille!” Then Lucille drifted into unconsciousness"
*Snap! Click! Snap!* When I first woke up there were dozens of shots being taken of me lying in a partly translucent hospital gown and laying in a bed controlled by a remote. Obviously these people were reckless paparazzi who were trying to earn their minute of fame. “Come on Princess! Give a smile Sweetheart!" the yelled mocking her. Lucille flashed a killer grin and cursed them. Then there was a knock on the door and a pair of dark red stilettos emerged from behind the flashing doorway. Then a familiar face hidden behind thick locks of red hair held up by three small pins. Ice cold hazel eyes. Thin pink lips with a crooked smirk across them. Her mother. “Ha! You've really outdone yourself this time, Lucille! All this fake crap of collapsing at one o'clock in the morning! Although, nobody knows you like I do.” She pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette. “I came up here from New Hampshire to see you sitting in a hospital bed earning your way to total fame? Yes, of course that's it! Little Miss Class needs her daily shot in the paper. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, with your luck you'll have twenty. So what finally made ya decide this trick? Or did my little precious angel really have a wittle bit of a scare?” Cynthia. Cynthia Class. Her curse. Her nightmare.
Her mother. Lucille bit her tongue and prayed her temper was gone, yet after a night with needles being stuck in her skin for observation, she thought, “I deserve to have a little fun.” She grinned and said “Why mother, I never knew you cared. Was is finally that you got fed up with New Hampshire? Or did you want to come here to wreck my career and drink? Hmm? That's what I though. After all, last time you came to visit me you ended up drinking to many shots and nearly shooting me. Yet, I suppose we both know each other better than anybody.”
Cynthia took a deep breath in then let a trail of smoke escape from her mouth. She leaned in close to Lucille and whispered
"I advise you to be careful Lucille. Venturing into deep waters is often hard to find a way out, some even end up drowning."
Then it was quiet and all you could hear was the sound of stiletto's clacking on the floor, vanishing from the concealed hospital room. Then the intercom above the scanner beeped.
*Beep!* "Lucille, Dr. Capshaw will be with you in five minutes."
But Lucille didn't want to wait for five minutes, is a matter of fact she couldn't wait at all. The paparazzi was still crowding the room and yelling rude comments. Lucille wouldn't wait any longer. She pulled the needle out of her arm and pulled back the cover on her bed. Her bare feet were so completely and utterly shocked by the coldness of the floor, she jumped. Then strutted towards the bathroom in her room. "Looking glamorous of course." she thought. The she closed the bathroom door and said, "This is it."
Then Lucille screamed. The lights turned off and the door's latch locked.
There was a quick sharp breathing sailing down her hospital gown. The hairs under her thick hair stood up. A hand gently stoked her cheek. Lucille sucked in too much air and nearly choked.
"I know what you did and I know who you are."
"You don't know anything."
"Then what was with the sudden collapse the night before? Why were you the only one there? Who was it who called 911? Surely not the night janitor, he'd locked up hours ago. That mask will be revealed soon, princess, and there's no where you can hide."
Lucille punched the man hard in the gut and screamed "Help! Help! Please! Anyone! Can't anyone hear me? Help!!!"
Then she heard the trigger of a gun click.
Lucille felt a wisp of wind clash into her. She screamed. Her hand trailed down to find bright red blood racing down her hips and her legs. Her knees locked and her legs grew numb. Lucille pounded on the door one last time. Then slid down the doorway and drifted into unconsciousness.