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?
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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.
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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.