Ridgebury’s Gift

Spot lit microphone and stand on an empty stage

With a calculated gait she eased toward the open mic. Her soft pink lips moved closer to the cold steel end of the amplifier as the audience hushed their noise. The waitresses stopped serving drinks. The drunken businessmen focused on her with rapt attention. The bartender’s rag stopped in mid-swipe, as gently her hair moved across her face on its way to her chin.

She glanced out at the crowd. She knew what was happening to them. She’d seen it before. She’d experienced it herself, although it seemed a million years before. She knew the talent she possessed and she knew how to use it to her benefit. Long after she’d mesmerized them with her song, they’d want her. Want to be near her. Want to touch her. Want to own her talent, her swagger; her promise.

She sang at this same gay bar every week, and every man in the place wanted to be like her. Desirable. Longed for. Unique. She never allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to crawl inside their skins, though. Her calling was of another bent. She served another Master. She worked for a different kind of “high.” She’d have it too, that promised reward, after this gig was done. For now, she gave the gift He’d sent her to give, a melody so sweet and enchanting it moved even the most hardened heart to beg for more.

It all began with that first moist note, and she sang it low and slow…

 

 

 

 

Copyright Lori Hoose, April 4, 2018

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