The Life and Times of Lola Fontaine: Viva Las Vegas

Here and now is where Lola decided she wanted to be. She could not let the past haunt her anymore. She was going to do something that she should have done immediately after her 347 wrong turns off of overpass 19 and into Washington Heights. She was going to leave. As she was lulled back and forth by the rickety rocking of the train, she stared out past the sullied sights into her future. Washington Heights was full of painful memories that consumed her thoughts, so she had to get away. Out of the corner of her eye, Lola saw Rizzo Sprayberry sitting and cussing at her shoes, a half-eaten bagel sitting next to her on the dirty seat. Rizzo was hissing something about how her only good pair of shoes was ruined by a pissing dog with bad aim. How awful, thought Lola, those poor, pissy shoes.
Lola went back to staring out the cloudy window just as the train lurched to a halt. She stood up and went to the door as it opened with a gust of fresh, sunshiny air. How very lovely and refreshing it was to see sun and smell air that was not filled with the suffocating dirt and fog of Washington Heights. She strolled down the splendidly sunny sidewalk toward the door to her bright future.

"Welcome to Happy Trails travel agency," a cheery lady behind a desk said as Lola entered the sparkling office.

"I need to book a trip to Las Vegas," said Lola.

"Would you like that to be round trip or one way dear?" the lovely lady asked.

"One way!" Lola said as a smile stretched across her face. "I will not be coming back."

"Okay, well that’s easy enough. When would you like to leave?"

"Is tomorrow too soon?" asked Lola.

"Um...no. That is just fine honey. You can leave as soon as tomorrow afternoon."

"I’ll take it!" giggled Lola.

As Lola left the office, she spotted an ice cream truck across the street. Now she could get her rocket pop. That would be the perfect ending to her day.
********
The train pulled back into the Washington Heights subway station. Lola licked the last drop of happiness off of her popsicle stick and saw that a storm was rolling into Washington Heights...as usual. Lola hurried back to her apartment. She had quite a bit to pack before the morning. She packed her belongings to the sound of cracking thunder and the torrential downpour taking place outside. But nothing could rain on her parade. Lola was able to stuff everything into one big bag that she would have to drag, but at least she would have everything. She fell asleep with thoughts of Vegas dancing in her head.
********
Lola was awakened by a tiny trickle of sun shining in her eyes. She couldn’t believe there was actually sun in Washington Heights. How befitting: sun on the day she was leaving, Lola thought bitterly. But then she thought perhaps the sun is just a sign of what is awaiting her. She dragged her bag out the door and left her key under the mat. As Lola dragged her bag toward the subway station, she saw the poor little Fil crushed beneath the branches of the very tree that had been his home. At least Lola thought at least he is free from the cold grasp of Washington Heights. Lola turned into the subway and did not look back.
********
Lola felt the train approach her final destination. She took a pair of beautiful pumps from her bag and handed them to Rizzo Sprayberry as she stepped into the hopeful sunshine, and the doors of the train to Washington Heights closed on her forever. Lola smiled. Here I go!

The Life and Times of Lola Fontaine: Getttin' Back the Get Up and Go

Lola woke the next morning and dragged herself to the mirror. It had not all been a horrible dream. There on her face still sat the streaked, melted, smudged make-up from the night before, and in the mirror she could see the costume still dripping as it hung lifeless on the shower rod. She turned off the lights so her eyes would not be bombarded with the sights of the night. But with her sight gone, another sense was heightened. She could smell the smoke and beer seeping out of the costume. She could smell the remnants of the sticky, red lip sick that seemed to be destined to stain her lips forever. She could feel the grime from the polluted rain that had drenched her, and she could feel the stinging burn in each place that she had been grabbed as she stood shocked up on that stage. She grabbed the phone, trembling as she held it in her hands, she looked at he glowing numbers in the dark and heard the empty dial tone. But who could she call...she had left town forever, she could not go back, would not go back. But she had to get out of Washington Heights somehow, go some where...but where?
********
Lola was jostled out of her lala land as the elevator screeched to a stop. She was staring mindlessly at the smudgy silver doors as the pleasantly, plump force that was Henrietta Flogsbottom flooded the elevator. She was mumbling something about Achilles. Was she talking about her cat or the man at the grocery store? thought Lola. She looked quizzically at Henrietta, who returned her look with and apologetic smile. Lola heard Henrietta mumble something about being in love and what a poor dear and I can’t break her heart, so I’ll just satisfy her longing with a smile. Lola was oh so confused. She had thought Achilles was a man’s name, but now Mrs. Flogsbottom was talking about some poor girl under her breath. Who in the world could that be? pondered Lola.
********
Lola walked out onto the side walk. As usual...the weather was...well the weather sucked. But something brightened Lola’s day. She heard off on the distance, the slurry song of an ice cream truck. As the tasty, treasure-toting truck rolled along playing a song that sounded like a dying cat from years of use, Lola’s mouth began to water. She flagged down the truck, but it went right past her. Well that was just not nice. But she had a thought. She remember the sweet taste of the multi-colored rocket pops. Rockets, she thought...they really go places. Lola ran toward the subway station... she had an idea.

The Life and Times of Lola Fontaine: Bruises and Shattered Dreams

Lola hobbled on her broken heels down the side walk as the cold, biting rain drops stung her face, and burning tears streamed down her cheeks. Chills ran up and down her spine as the wind swirled around her bare shoulders and back. As the rain poured down, the short walk back to Washington Heights seemed to lengthen. The looming building seemed to get farther and farther away with each step Lola took. At least no one will see me cry...mother always said to never let anyone see you cry or at least that is what she probably meant when she told me to shut my face and quit all that blubbering. But it would not make any difference if she cried in Washington Heights. There was no one to see or even care for that matter. The torn, ripped feathers clung to her body, and as she walked, dragging her sequined headdress, she left a shining shimmering trail of sadness. When she got up to her apartment she looked in her makeshift vanity. Seeing the melted make up on her tear- stained face, the naked headdress, the ripped bodice, the soggy feathers, the beautiful heels, something inside Lola broke, shattered, and fell apart. She took off the dripping costume, delicately hanging her destroyed dream over her shower rod to dry. She slipped on her pajamas and dragged herself into bed where she cried herself to sleep.
********
Lola found herself staring at the tattered costume that had been hanging for months on the shower rod. She could not bring herself to touch it after what had happened, so she left it hanging there limp and lifeless. The satin had been so silky, the feathers so fluffy, the sequins so shiny. Now, everything was dull and ruined just as her dreams were. She ripped the costume from the shower rod, stuffed it into a box, and jammed the box onto the tiny top shelf of her closet. She could still see a teasing yellow feather sticking out of the box, taunting her, so she slammed the door shut. Lola had to leave. The box in the closet was just like the incessant beating of a heart beneath the floor boards or a watch with no hands and a broken face continuously ticking away, reminding her of regret and disappointment. Lola closed the door to her apartment and headed towards the elevator. No one was on the elevator, just as she had expected. She felt so alone in Washington Heights, it was only appropriate that she actually was alone. As she stepped out onto the side walk she heard police sirens, and frigid sleet slapped her in the face. A strange black van rolled silently past her. "Perhaps that van could take me far away from Washington Heights. Any place would be better than here. I just don’t see how anything could be much worse. I feel so very lonely and lost," thought Lola as she stared dreamily at the mysterious van. Just then, she saw Mandi Mac exit the building with a huge, deepening welt on the cheek and bruises on her wrist. At that moment, Lola knew that life could be much worse than she could even imagine, so she turned her frown upside down and picked herself up out of the pity party she had been attending.

The Life and Times of Lola Fontaine: Up on the Bar, Down in the Dumps

Exploring her new neighborhood, Lola came across an ominous man. He was in an involved conversation with another man, with not-so-lady-like ladies hanging on his arms, eccentrically dressed: a wide brimmed hat with a feather, a gaudy, cheap suit, and a cane. The ominous man shooed the feathered-hat man and the trollops away as he caught sight of Lola’s questioning glance.
"Haven’t seen you before...that’s strange. I know everybody and everything that goes on in this city. I own this city."
"Goodness gracious," Lola thought to herself "I must be talking to the mayor or something."
" I am Dominic Roberto Machelli."
" Ooooh, what an exotic name," pondered Lola.
The trusting and naive Lola poured out her heart about why she had come to Washington Heights and how she was trying to be a showgirl.
"Well I own the bar. You can come and show anything... I mean any time you want," he said with a smirk.
Her chance meeting of Dominic Roberto Machelli had resulted in this gracious offer to "give her a shot" at being a showgirl in his bar. The oh so optimistic Lola thought a bar would be the perfect practice to prepare her for performances in the lovely lounges in Vegas, so she eagerly accepted.
********
Lola’s lively prance melted into a dragging shuffling of her feet as she neared her stage. She was not feeling so good about this show any more, but Dominic had been nice enough to let her give her routine a try. The red, smokey light hid everything but the hungry, glossy, glassy glances all awaiting her show. As Viva Las Vegas began to blare though the busted bar speakers, she timidly began to strut her stuff. "Take it off" she heard. "Oh how fortunate! They must want me to take off this dreadfully heavy sequined hat." She tossed the headdress onto which she had painstakingly sewn the sequins. Then she was comfortable. She was really moving now, but the people were still telling her to remove something. Lola was very confused. As she pondered what they could possibly want her to remove, a roaming hand slid up her stocking as another one ripped her feather boa from around her neck. She swatted the hand, and fumbled as she lost her balance. What kind of place is this. She looked around for some comforting glance, but she was only met with angry clouded eyes of boozed-up men, the laughing eyes of Molina Rose, and the disappointed yet amused stare of Dominic. As she stood petrified on the stage a sneaking snake of a man had slithered behind her and began to loosen her corset. Lola ran, her costume sliding off of her as her tears rolled down her cheeks. Back in the refuge of the bar bathroom, she gathered her possessions as she tried to pull her costume and herself back together. She blew past Molina Rose and tried to hurry out past Dominic. She didn’t know what he might do to her. Too late he had already seen her try to leave. He did not move, he did not look up from trying to clean grimy glasses Lola simply heard him chuckle as she left in tears: "Hey kid for a show girl you sure didn’t show much of anything!"
********
The wind blew wisps of Lola’s hair as walked toward the thrift store. She shuddered as the cool breeze sent shivers up her spine. The memory of that night in the bar haunted her. The yellow feathers, that flew as she tried to escape strangled her thoughts, the heels that she broke when running back to her lonely apartment matched her broken heart and dreams. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat and looked up at the sky for some tiny ray of sunshiny hope. Nothing. Just clouds, clouds, clouds, and cold, dreary, drippy wind. Wasn’t it ever sunny in Washington Heights? She received her answer as she entered the thrift store and saw the lackluster shoe selection. "Oh fiddle sticks...they don’t even have any heels to cheer me up. It is never sunny in Washington Heights never. This place is just not very lovely at all. Lola stood in front of the sorry excuse for shoes and shed a tear.

The Life and Times of Lola Fontaine: Cleaning Day

Lola pressed her back against the cold, hard door in the dumpy bathroom of the bar. Sliding to the floor, her face fell into her hands. What was she doing here? Not even her eternal optimism could illuminate the shadowy corners of this bar. She wanted to be a show girl, but something was just not right at all about this situation. As she sat propped against the door, it suddenly swung open with such force that Lola went toppling head over heels into the toilet. A lumbering, but exotic figure pushed into the bathroom. Her clothes were falling off of her, heavy make-up sat smudged on her glistening face, but even the make-up could not conceal the sadness and bitterness in her eyes. She smelled of cigarette smoke, the spilled beer, the wasted hope. But, this woman, this juggernaut was dripping with dollars. She did not speak, but Lola watched her form where she sat crouched beside the running toilet. The woman slipped money into an envelope labeled Molina Rose and started to remove the inches of thick make-up: circles of blush, false eyelashes, slick, red lipstick, the works. Molina Rose looked over at Lola with a look of disgust, pity, and a hint of amusement. "If you’re gonna go out there , you might as well go ahead kid. They’re good ‘n drunk now, so they’ll be um... more friendly " she smirked as she turned back to her task of removing her painted face. Lola scuffled to her feet, put on the pumps, the feathers, the sequins, stood up straight, and pranced out the door. The lovely Molina Rose said the people were friendlier now, and the oodles of money they had given her sure was nice, so the people really must not be all that bad...right?
Lola stared out the window watching the rain fall on Washington Heights. The window began to Fog up where she breathed in and out. Remembering that night at The Bar brought tears of regret to her eyes. It was a good thing it was raining, then noone would notice her tears. She watched as the people on the side walk ran for cover. Clio Ford brought in her lovely flowers and began to lock up her shop. The strange woman who owned the stuffed animal stand sat patting each animal then placing it out of reach of the rain. Opened doors of the shops began to close to keep the rain out. How unlovely this day was proving to be. Rain was like tears from the sky, a lovely thought, but why was the sky sad? thought Lola. Then she had a thought that dried her own tears and brought back her ever glowing smile. The rain was giving Washington Heights a quick tidy up, just what it needed. That was just what Lola needed, a pick-me-up. So she left her apartment to go and try to find a new pair of shoes. As she came out onto the sidewalk she could see just one shimmering ray of sunshine peek form behind the clouds. Lola smiled.

The Life and Times of Lola Fontaine: Out and About in Washington Heights

She slid the shiny, smooth stockings over her long, lean legs. She shivered as she felt the satin of her corseted bodice hug her curves. She gasped for air as each closing inch of the zipper forced what breath she had left in her frail, shaking body outward. The yellow toe-pinching pumps stared at her from the corner. The fluffy feather boa rested on her chair like a python awaiting its next victim, and the elaborate head dress onto which she had painstakingly sewn four thousand twenty two shimmering sequins sat waiting in its garish oppression. She had waited for this moment, but this was not how she had pictured her debut at all. She had wanted the luxurious dressing room of Hollywood starlets with the multi-bulbed lighted vanity mirror and sumptuous costumes draped around the room. Instead, she was in the sketchy bathroom of the bar down the street from the looming Washington Heights apartment building. Faucet-dripping, light-flickering, dirty, smelly, gray insanity was closing in around her. She opened the creaking door into the rancid bar smelling of spilled beer and wasted hope. The lurid light flooded into the bathroom and she slammed the door closed strangled with anxiety.

Lola snapped out of her dreamy flashback as the imitation rain shower began to drip brown, cloudy water on the fruits and vegetables in the produce aisle of Manny’s Grocery. She was picking yellow pears, or at least what was supposed to be yellow pears, and she watched curiously as a woman she knew from her apartment building, Delilah Plunk, delicately selected five and only five red apples. Lola had never heard this woman speak, but she seemed so lovely. To Lola, everyone seemed lovely. Lola marveled at her adorably plump fingers as they caressed each red apple before gingerly placing them into the bag. Delilah glanced Lola’s way, but Lola quickly averted her eyes, batting her long lashes. Lola grabbed her grimy pears, and scampered away to pay for them.
Lola made the short trek from the Manny’s back to Washington Heights avoiding the strange and disturbing stand housing a stuffed tabby cat. She waited on the uncertain elevator, optimistic that today it would not stall in between two floors. The doors opened, already this was a good sign. Standing there in the elevator was another lovely person. Lola was speechless. This woman was breathtaking. Her bright red lips, full and pouty, matched perfectly her beautiful red pumps. Lola had to know this woman’s name... and perhaps where she had purchased such gorgeous shoes.
"Hello there... um my name is Lola," she said sheepishly."

"Lemme guess. Are you a showgirl?" the woman said with a smirk as a flood of wine-scented fragrance filled the elevator.

"Oh my goodness gracious, however did you know?" Lola giggled.

"Lucky guess, I suppose," the woman said rolling her eyes. "Anyway, my name is Nicole Lee Carmine," she slurred.

"What an absolutely lovely name," said Lola as she clapped giddily.

The elevator screeched and lurched to Lola’s floor, and as she bounced off with her yellow pears in one hand, she excitedly waved goodbye to Nicole. "Wow." Lola thought. "What an interesting woman, and she seems ever so friendly. I bet she’s a movie star. Oh fiddledede, I forgot to ask her where her shoes were from."

The Life and Times of Lola Fontaine

She could feel her throat closing. She could feel herself slowly suffocating with each passing second. Beads of sweat began to roll down her body. Feathers, Feathers, Feathers. The feathers were everywhere. Yellow, fluffy, delicate, delightful feathers were floating up her nostrils, crawling into her throat. Each fluffy little finger wrapped itself around her windpipe, tickling her tonsils, toying with and taunting her. Then, the flashing, bright lights in every direction. Now she was blind... she must be dying...
Lola woke up in a cold sweat...again... screaming "I will be the best damn showgirl there has ever been. I WILL!" She shook off the dream that had haunted her ever since...ever since...the incident. It had been months, but she remembered it vividly, but no, she mustn’t think about it now.
She was going to be the best showgirl anyone had ever seen. She had been practicing for years, perfecting her high-heeled walks and routines in her room at night as her mother poked at the ceiling with a broom while screaming for her to knock it off. On her eighteenth birthday she got in her car and began her journey to see if she could make it big in Vegas. Poor Lola had never been out of New Amsterdam, Indiana, so 347 wrong turns later she exited the ramp off overpass 19 into Washington Heights, Baltimore instead of Vegas.
Already lost and utterly exausted, she decided she would stay a while in Washington Heights. If she could dazzle the people in this town, so much bigger than her own, she could dazzle the people of Vegas... or so she had thought.