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Shimmer took in a deep breath, and exhaled, working her way through her breathing exercises as she sat in her dressing room. She still couldn’t believe that she was here, in the backstage of Alexandra Palace, of all places. London was out there waiting. Waiting for Shimmer the Showgirl. And frankly, she couldn’t wait. Singing was like a bug, an itch under her skin. Something she loved.
It had been so long since she was performing at Omertas dive bars, scrounging for dollars at back alley stages, and busking for every last cent.
She was a long way away from the girl she once was, and she couldn’t help but be glad. Even if she wore opera gloves to cover the scars.
Her warm-up act was almost finished, she could hear the final chords of their last song through the speakers, and she took a sip of water, pulling on her white coat, watching as the gold flecks shone in the lights.
“Showtime, baby,” she whispered to herself, and went to take her place on stage.
***
The concert had gone well, and Shimmer slumped back into her chair, her glittery makeup long since smudged, and her gloves were quickly discarded onto the floor.
Then, came the knock.
“Hello?”
“Shimmer,” it was her manager, Scott. A good man, if overprotective, “A fan would like to see you.”
“No autographs.” Scott knew her policy? Why did he ask?
“She has a photo. From your old days.”
Shimmer jolted up, her eyes wide, “What.” She pulled her gloves back on, and threw the door open, “Let her in.”
Scott did so. The woman was Shimmer’s age, with a bleached Afro and dark skin that shone in the backstage lighting, “I’ve been a fan for so long!
Shimmer smiled. Okay, she seemed nice, not evil. Still. “Thank you?”
“No, thank you! Your music got me through a rough time when I was a student in the states,” she smiled, “I was so excited to hear you in my home city!!!”
“Londoner?”
“Born and bred! It’s so incredible to meet you, I can’t even!”
Shimmer smiled, “Well. How about a drink? You can tell me about my first shows, Lord knows I barely remember.”