Pink is the New Black

I sit quietly, surrounded by the lights that are reflected in the mirror. My image stares right back to me as I apply my dark lip liner. I look content because I’m in my element. My skin is smooth, my foundation shimmers making my skin luminescent. There is a scratch on the tender skin of my chin, but it won’t be noticeable under the cosmetics and bright lights.

Feathers, sequins and velvet fly around me in a whirl of colour, covering the bodies that move in a blur behind me. Voices are muted due to my ear plugs. I prepare for my performance without distractions.

My lined lips are perfect. My hands do not shake like they can some nights. I take a deep breath in and exhale. My nerves are not bad tonight. This pleases me.

My index finger touches the lipsticks in my makeup trolley. It stops on the color I want tonight--Passionate Embrace. I take out the black encased lipstick, then I carefully pull the lid off. Slowly, ever so gently, I twist the bottom until the tip peeps out of its encasement, coming out of the darkness and into the light. The color is bright and bold. Holding the lipstick in my left hand, I take a tissue in my right. I'm careful as I blot any moisture off my lips. The contoured tip of lipstick touches my upper lip. Very slowly, ever so carefully, I put on the first thin coat, making sure to stay within the lines. I wish my upper lip was fuller, but I work with what I have. Slowly, without much pressure, I bring color to my lips. It’s thickening perfectly, just how I like it. My lips transform as I leisurely create a masterpiece.

I am an artist, my face is my canvas. I stop when I'm satisfied--my lips are impeccable. I love this part of my routine, so I take my time.

I look at my eyes, my eyeliner is perfect. The stage lighting can make it seem like you are wearing nothing if you don’t put on enough makeup. The transformation from beast to beauty takes time. My eyelids are covered in a glittery silver gel that look like a fine dusting of diamonds. I have no doubt they’ll twinkle and wink at the crowd.

My manicured eyebrows make a statement with their dramatic arches. They are waxed to perfection, but I always enhance them. They match the black of my hair.

My face is perfection. My hair, that is thin and limp, is pinned beneath a net, awaiting my wig, which is long, black, wavy, flowing. I take out my ear plugs and the sound of voices roar to life around me. I take a deep breath and exhale. Nerves.

I get up, dodging a few bodies, as I go to the wardrobe where my costume hangs, waiting patiently for me. It's a strapless pink mermaid dress with a white tulle neckline. Sequinned pink shoes, with mid-range heels, sit on the floor waiting for my feet to bring them to life.

I go into the cramped bathroom with my dress over my left arm and enter the last stall. I do all my changing in the last stall. If it’s occupied, I wait. I like to follow my routine, it grounds me.

The lock clicks loudly as I turn it. I put the seat on the toilet down. I'm careful taking off my red satin robe. I move my gown to my right arm, to accommodate it's removal. I hang my robe on the hook on the back of the door. I unzip the dress, making sure to hold if off the ground, careful to keep it off the questionable stickiness that is on the floor. I raise my left foot out of my flip flop, and place it gracefully into the dress. I am very focused. I repeat. Then my painted nails pull my dress up and I hold it against my chest. Click. I open the bathroom stall door. I need to find Mistress. I weave around a couple of half dressed bodies in the bathroom and go out into the dressing room.

Beauty dances dizzily around the room in glittering abundance. Voices serenade me from all corners. The energy is high and I float around on it. Gazing around, I finally spot Mistress with her shiny red hair. She is standing in front of the full length mirror engrossed with her image. She is glamorous in her blue sequined evening gown with an open back. I watch her shoulder blades move as she caresses herself. Mistress can wear stilettos. I'm envious.

“Mistress,” I say, interrupting her admiration of herself.

“Mmmm,” she hums, not looking away from the mirror.

Her hands caress her waist line.

“Have I gained weight? I swear this dress was not this tight a week ago.”

"No, I'm sure you haven't."

Her hands run suggestively upwards to her breasts. She is going through the transformation and she is proud of all her lumps and bumps.

“Can you zip me up."

I turn my back to her. I hear a loud sigh before I feel the dress tighten to my form as the zipper crawls upwards.

“Thank you,” I say.

Mistress just hums as she turns back to the mirror to admire herself and she tunes me out. She is in her own little world, her own little daydream, where she has the starring role. I know she feels this way because I feel the same when I stare at myself in the mirror dressed as the sophisticated Francesca. And something miraculous happens when I step onto the stage under the lights, a metamorphosis occurs. I turn into a sexy siren luring my audience into my fantasy.