Gavin Austin
Exotica
wandering
the road less chosen
a place
where the orchids
bloom in moonlight
Her girls are gone. The other two cast members that made up “Vegas Follies,” Pearl and Belle. “Haven’t seen those tarts in years,” she tells me, with a pensive sigh. I’ve seen that look before, when Sal probes her memory vault, retrieving a file of the good old days. She snorts as a faint smile rearranges the folds of her face, drawing back the drapes, to allow a glimpse of a younger, happier Sally.
Suddenly she shrieks, leaning forward and slapping both knotty knees with her old hands. “Did I ever tell ya ’bout the time Pearl fell off the bloody stage? Nearly killed four punters! Silly bitch was too bloomin’ vain ta wear ‘er glasses. Could never see the white tape edging the stage. Still, Pearl got the most applause that night. Ha! Where’s she now?”
The hoods come down over her eyes. Her lower lip quivers, and she swallows a demon before she resumes. “Yer know, we used to hang out together, us girls, even after the work dried up. After nobody wanted us anymore. We hung together.”
“Yeah… I know, Sal,” I say, trying to salve her hurt, offering my understanding as ointment. My right hand lightly touching the floral fabric covering her hunched, shuddering shoulders. I watch printed roses tremor as if stirred by the wind.
the hands
of time fading feathers
memories
adhering with wig glue
lashes and sequins
About the Author
Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. Gavin writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.