Casino Queen

This piece is what I call a song scene.  Basically, it’s what I see when I listen to the Asteroid Galaxy Tour’s song The Golden Age

Years before the waves of feet washed the colour from the casino carpet, she stepped out of the lift.  The tight black dress she wore, slit to the hip, was covered in swirling oriental dragons.  The diamond dipped earrings hung heavily on her ears.  A complex chaos of blonde hair framed the smile that melted the room.  Crowds parted as she wandered through the floor, and she had no doubt she left adoration in her wake.

She ordered an expensive sounding chardonnay from a familiar waitress beside the roulette table.  She wielded this graceful scepter as she held court over the long velvet table and the spinning wheel.  The players vied for her attention, until she chose a lucky loser with the good sense to bet big.  Pressed to his arm, she shone as his luck and his chips dwindled.

When her chosen champion was finished losing, she left the half-finished wine flute on the buffer, a cherry-red kiss on its rim as memorandum of her presence.  She walked through the lounge to a door you had to know to notice, and slipped into her narrow dressing room.  In the halo of the mirror, she flirted with herself, raking mascara through her long lashes, blowing kisses into wonderland.  When she was finally satisfied, she drifted into the backstage hallway, an unglamorous affair, more like an abandoned school than a star’s greenroom, to await the start of her simple show.

The man behind the piano had brilliant fingers, but when she stepped into view, he was forgotten.  She rasped smoky lust songs.  The faithful worshiped her, the men who came every night while they were in the city.  Curious heads poked into the room, and found a set.  She knew not a single one, and she adored every last one of them.  She worshiped their worship, and they warmed her to the core.

The next afternoon, a lucky winner in a rented convertible pulled up before the casino lobby.  She floated down the lift from her suite.  Her head was wrapped in a beige scarf, her eyes shaded by thick sunglasses, her form unhidden in the wrap of a trench coat.  The only soul brave enough to speak to her after her set held open the car door, and she slipped in, unnoticed by a public that wouldn’t recognize her.

They headed off the strip, to a movie theatre playing a film in which she was a minor background player.  He pretended she was the star she felt she should be, and she pretended he was more than a handsome face with a small measure of caramel coated charm.  They left to the falling rain.  He fumbled to resecure the roof while she clung to the doorway under the marque.  She laughed and smiled at the jeweled city.  He was certain he had hit the jackpot.

At the hotel, she graced him with a quick kiss before she disappointed him.  She headed back into the cacophonous din of her delusion, happy and lost in the artifice of the world she built.

Published in: on November 14, 2012 at 6:04 pm  Leave a Comment  
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