Page 47 of Love on the Main Stage
“No. It’s just… you are so beautiful,” I said. “I don’t think you realize justhowlovely you look. I’m pinching myself.”
She ran hands through her hair, fanning it as she rolled onto her back. “Says the sexy, talented songstress.”
I wanted the entire visual feast of her and couldn’t free myself from all my clothes fast enough. Betty watched, propped up on her elbows.
“Why did you change your hair?” Betty asked. “Can I ask. Like… not to be a dick, but… when we met that first night?—”
“The record execs and BBC told me to grow it out. So, now I have this stupid… whatever this is.”
“A lob?”
“A lob?” I laughed. “What?”
“Long bob. Lob. I hate it, too. And… you’re gorgeous, but the undercut really brought out your cheek bones. You have beautiful bone structure. I’m so round in the face it doesn’t matter.”
I lay next to Betty, rolling her towards me playfully. Once more, she locked eyes on me. They were so blue.
“You have a beautiful face. Shut up,” I said. “You missed it?”
“It was edgy. It was fun.” She ran her hand just above my hip, stopping on the tattoo there.
“Did this hurt?” She asked.
“Not as much as the scar it’s covering,” I said.
“Scar?”
“I played hockey in my youth. It’s covering a scar from a skate. I think it was something like twenty stitches.”
“Ouch. You played hockey?”
“My Dad was a hockey player, so yeah. I was a decent forward.”
“You’re so tiny, Mary!”
“Tiny, but mighty.” I traced her arm from her shoulder to her elbow.
“What is it?” Betty asked. “The bird, I mean.”
“It’s a Lark. My mor’s stage name was Lark.”
“Your mom was a singer?”
“She had some disco hits,” I answered. “Don’t poke fun.”
“I won’t. That’s so Swedish of her,” Betty giggled. “And does she still sing?”
“No,” I shook my head. “She passed away a couple of years ago.”
Betty’s brow furrowed in sympathy. I laughed awkwardly, unable to take her seriously in the moment.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”
“No. It’s just that you’re adorable. It’s fine. It was a relief. She was so sick in the end. I wanted something to remember her by and to cover up that scar. It used to make me so self-conscious.”
“You really don’t haveanyother tattoos?” Betty scoffed.
“No. Should I?”
