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The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Chapter Four (Amina)
By Savannah

 


Chapter Four (Amina)

I picked up my phone as I passed by my bed on the way to my bathroom. It read `Text From Adrienne Armstrong'. I tapped on it to read it.

`Hey, Amina. The band just had its last show of the tour tonight. We're staying for a few days in the city to unwind. I was wondering if we could get tickets to see you tonight?'

I smiled. I loved Adrienne. She was funny and witty and smart. She played a mean `Guitar Hero', too. I checked the time. It was only 11. I sat on my bed and texted a response to her.

`Adrienne! It's so good to hear from you. Of course you can get tickets for tonight. How many will you need?'

I took my phone with me as I went out into our large kitchen. The wooden cabinets were dark and the walls were painted a cheerful dusty orange. I opened the refrigerator to look for something for a late breakfast. My phone vibrated in my hand.

`I think 6. Four for us and two for Tre and Ramona.'

I smiled. The theater always had about 20 seats available for the families of performers. If they weren't used, they were sold at the door. I called our ticketing agent and asked about tonight's sales.

“Hey, Carl, It's Amina Gregory. I was calling to see if we had tickets left over for tonight's performance,” I said, pouring skim milk onto my Cheerios with one hand and holding the phone with my other.

“Hey, Amina. Let me check,” Carl said. I could hear him checking on his computer. “We do indeed. How many do you need?”

I put the half gallon of milk back into the refrigerator. “Six. For tonight.”

More tapping on a keyboard. “Okay. Gotcha. Six tickets for tonight's performance. They'll be at the box office. Good luck tonight.” With that, he hung up.

I hoisted myself up to sit on the dark granite counter top and picked up my bowl of cereal.

`Six tickets are at the box office under my name,' I texted Adrienne. I kept eating, looking around our gourmet kitchen. Because it was rarely used, my parents never thought to fully stock it. Before I was cast in `Simplicity' and moved to the city, they rented it out. It felt really alone here. Being an only child, my parents' lives were entirely devoted to me and their work. It was nice because I had all their attention, but at the same time, they were a driving force behind me, pushing me to be my best. Whatever energy they had left over from working, they channeled into me. My phone vibrated again.

`Thanks so much! Do you mind if we come by after the matinee today? Just to hang out?'

I smiled to myself. `No, come on over. I'll get you guys a tour of everything between shows.'

I put my dirty bowl in the dishwasher and went to get ready to leave. I brushed out my dark brown hair and put it up into a high pony tail. I didn't bother with make up because Tasha, my make up artist, would simply wash it away before she started on the make up for the show. My clothes were a bit trickier. Since it was early spring, I pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a blue thermal undershirt. Neon green toe socks adorned my feet as I worked them into my Uggs. I pulled on a black African Children's Choir hoodie that I got when my parents donated a large amount of money to the organization. It was comfy and reminded me of home.

I picked up my worn military green shoulder bag. It was older than I was. My dad had carried it when he was with Doctors Without Borders before he met my mother. I added my laptop to the mix of miscellaneous things: my iPod, wallet, keys, a permanent marker, a few throat lozenges, and a packet of tea. I figured I'd show the Armstrongs some of the new things the techies were working on for the show. Glancing at my phone, I made my way toward the door.

`Thanks so much, Amina! I know we'll have fun tonight. I'll text you when we get there so you can meet us. Good luck today!'

I smiled at Adrienne's well-wishing. She was genuinely the nicest person I've ever known. After I told her about Uganda, she immediately wanted to help. I could tell that she's also a natural caregiver. She's always been interested in me and making sure I was doing alright. She'd send me little updates about the family every once in a while. It was nice to have someone caring about me since my own mother was halfway around the world caring for people in more need.

The streets of New York were busy, as usual. I walked as quickly as I could to keep up with everyone. Unfortunately, my short stature afforded me a rather short stride, which made it hard for me to keep up without running like an idiot. I waited on a street corner and hoped no one noticed me. I don't know why I was worried; the make up they use on me covers my entire face, which makes it very hard to recognize me unless you read my biography in the Playbill. Plus, the costumes were so outlandish that I really didn't look familiar to people. Most of my admirers came from the people who waited at the stage door for my autograph or a photo.

I walked with the herd across the street, enjoying the fast-paced lifestyle that was New York. The lights and sounds assaulted my senses and the chill put a bounce in my step. I got to the theater faster than I anticipated. Because my costume and make up were so intricate and detailed, I had the earliest call time in the cast. My understudy was usually there with me, just in case.

I walked around the corner of the theater and to the stage door. I used my key to get in. The halls were familiar to me and I travelled them quickly. I opened my dressing room door and flicked the light on. The overhead light illuminated the room with a soft, natural light. A soft sofa took up one wall and two vanity counters sat on the wall next to the door with mirrors on the wall. I dropped my bag on the sofa and slumped down on it. I sent a text to Tasha to let her know I was here so she could begin my `transformation'.

A few seconds later, a tall Russian woman came in, carrying a vase of wildflowers. She set them on my dressing table and turned to me.

“Those came for you this morning,” she said, her accent heavy. “And this card, as well.”

I accepted the card she held out as I stood to do some stretches before my costume assistant came to shove me into my corset. I opened the envelope as I moved to sit at the table. I smiled as I read the chicken scratch from the card's sender. I knew it well.

`Eenie-Meenie, I hope you can spare some time to hang out with my lowly self while I'm in the city. I know you're a busy little thing, so I took the liberty of begging Adrienne to get some tickets for tonight's show. You should know that by now if the little wench has done her job. If not, well, I'm coming anyway and dragging a disgruntled Billie along with me. Have a good show. Can't wait to see you, Tre. P.S: You better like the damn flowers because I picked them out myself.'

I laughed out loud and handed the card to a confused-looking Tasha. She giggled like a school girl.

“Eenie-Meenie?” she asked, priming my face with moisturizer.

I laughed at her pronunciation of it. “It's just a nickname he gave me last year when we met. He says it's because I'm so small.”

Tasha smiled, knowingly. “And this Tre, he is cute?”

I looked in the mirror. Or rather, where the mirror would normally be. Its surface was covered in photographs. Some were of the cast, some were from home. Others were famous audience members who had stayed to say hello. After eighteen months of playing the same character with the same team supporting me, I knew what I looked like. I didn't need the mirror to remind me. I plucked a photo from the frame and presented it to Tasha.

“Which is he?” she asked, holding the photo with her unused hand.

I pulled her wrinkled hand toward mine and found the familiar face with its kind eyes and funny smile. I pointed him out and showed Tasha.

“He's kind of cute, but the one with the black hair, now he's the best,” Tasha said, pointing toward Billie.

I laughed and shook my head. “He and his wife are coming with their kids tonight. Tre's gonna be here with his daughter as well.”

“Oh, well, I can dream,” she replied, handing me the photo. I placed it back on the frame and took a wild flower from the vase.

I closed my eyes so Tasha could cover my face in the white foundation that was used as a base. As she worked, I inhaled the fragrance of the blue flower in my hand. How could he have known these were my favorites?

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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