Tonight and Every Night

Tonight and Every Night

You always thought it would be easier to find love as a woman; but then, you always thought it would be easier just to live as a woman.

And look at us now...

She turned away from her friend and swallowed hard. She closed her eyes to ease the sting of her un-fallen tears. As Rita sat there, staring vacantly at the mirror, coolly silent, Donna scarcely recognised the woman she once loved.

Do you remember when we first met? I hated you instantly. I'd never seen anybody more beautiful in my whole life. Even then, in all of your arrogance and all of your fear, you were radiant. Danger. Excitement. Recklessness. That's what I saw. Strange how the image we put out into the world is often so contrary to the person we really are. I was too young to know that then; I don't think I even fully understand it now.

The curtain had long since fallen and the last clients had been gone almost an hour. The theatre was left still; lifeless. And yet Donna's head pounded with all the unspoken truths and pains that she needed to share; her ears thumped with adrenalin and uncertainty. Rita's fiancshould have been here by now. He collected her at midnight every Friday. Enough time for her to schmooze with the customers after the show then shower and change ready to go home. It was almost one and she hadn't even taken off her make-up.

I hated you because I couldn't have you. I hated you because I couldn't eat, sleep or breathe because of you. But I didn't want it any other way. You took over my life; ruined everything and yet made it wonderful. I couldn't bear to be around you but couldn't keep away. It killed me to watch you with all those boys and yet there I was, at the club, every single week.

You must remember.

Everybody loved you. Of course they did. You were dazzling, talented, charming. Brutal. I'd watch them dance with you, hold you, buy you drinks. I'd watch the way you looked at them, laughed with them, made them feel special. And then discard them. I don't suppose I ever saw the hope in your eyes with each stranger that smiled at you, seduced you. Or the disappointment that surely coursed through your body after every brief encounter. I was too busy hoping that you might one day see me and want me. Too disappointed that you could never see me; never love me.

Until the night that we danced. And you kissed me...

Donna took a deep breath. It was not the memory of the kiss that left her breathless. She had never forgotten it. The kiss and the dance and the embrace had stayed with her for almost ten years. Her mouth still tingled with it, ached for it. But she realised she had never before discussed it with Rita. They'd talked about it, of course, long ago; laughed at the furore that erupted when the gay man got with the pretty little straight girl. With a casual display of indifference, they had both revelled in the scandal they had caused and Donna herself recognised that she'd enjoyed the attention almost as much as Rita; enjoyed the defeated resignation of her male rivals, and even their disdain. Especially that of Frederico, the only boy who had seemed to hold Rita's attention for any length of time.

A surge of shame rose up from the pit of her stomach every time she recalled the bitter resentment she'd had towards men she hardly knew, the incredible sense of triumph she'd felt in the months following that first kiss. She had, after all, found somebody she really loved. He was called Marc and he was a celebrated and gifted cabaret performer from the south of the city. And, in spite of everything, he loved her.

Donna turned towards Rita once again. From behind, she looked almost like a mannequin. Poised. Elegant. Soulless. The room was silent but for the faint humming of an electric fan that moved slowly from side to side, occasionally fanning the flames of Rita's flowing curls, causing them to flicker and lick the edges of her pale, exposed shoulders. It was a sticky, suffocating night and there was no window in Rita's dressing room. The fan did nothing to cool the air and the heat was almost as oppressive as the enduring silence.

Donna longed for Rita to speak. To say something about the whole thing, about how she was feeling. She wondered if Rita had ever fully understood how that first kiss had changed her whole life. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Rita even cared. But Rita didn't utter a word. Didn't turn in her chair in a fiery rage or laugh infectiously at the irony of it all. Did none of the things that Rita was known, feared and loved for. It was just as well. Fred would surely arrive soon and Donna had so much she still wanted to express.

Where is he, Rita? Why isn't he here? He knows you're waiting. Here in this hell. Forever waiting.

And when he has finished with all of his boys, he will come to collect you; his patient fianc.

This time, she couldn't stop the tears from escaping and she wiped frantically at her face as they began to fall.

He doesn't love you, Rita! You know that! How could a man like that truly love a woman? He might have loved you once but not like me. Not the way I loved Marc. Not the way I love Rita.

She stood up quickly from the stool and wanted to run from the room or to embrace Rita. She did neither. Instead, she moved slowly to the clothes wrack in the shadowy corner of the room and ran her quivering, tired fingers over the garments hanging there. Every one of them designed by Rita. And every one of them sewn and stitched devotedly by Donna. Amidst all the sequins and chiffon, leather and silk, she found a familiar gaudy, feather-trimmed ivory peignoir.

I can't believe you kept this. It has to be ten years old.

She smiled fondly.

You used to wear this, right in the very beginning. Way before Fred. Way before the procedure.

Her smile faded.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if, just for a short period, we could live those days again? That's what I want. More than anything.

She held up the robe and then pressed it to her face. After a moment, and as if without thinking, she slid the robe over her arms and wrapped her weary body within its delicate folds.

I miss those days. I miss Marc. Marc was incredible with Rita. Rita is nothing without Marc.

She lowered herself onto the stool again.

I should've seen the signs when Fred reappeared after all those years. I should've walked away. But how could I? You'd done so well to forget him. And I know you did love me. We might even have married.

Yes. We might even have married.

She thought she heard Rita sigh, as if to respond in some way, and looked to her with fear and remorse. But there was nothing.

None of this is your fault. You've been nothing but a loyal friend to me. I should've known you could never truly love me. Not really. Maybe I did know. Maybe that's why I agreed to the procedure; that's why I gave you the money. I was going to lose you to him anyway. Maybe I gave you what you wanted because I couldn't give you what you needed. It was the only way I knew to keep you.

And that was the day I lost you.

A sudden movement caused Donna to start. With terror in her eyes, she looked to Rita but Rita did not stir. Donna waited a few moments, stock still. Her head spun and her racing heart made her sick. And then, in the quiet darkness of the room, something sparkled. An occasional glimmer in the corner of her eye. It was as if Rita were using the dim lamps of her dressing room to communicate with Donna in some elaborate Morse code. Her left arm was hanging loosely at her side, fallen from the arm of the chair, and as it swayed almost imperceptibly back and forth, the extravagant ring on her third finger caught and reflected the light from the dressing table.

Donna stood then, gathered the peignoir around her, and stepped closer to Rita. Gently, she lifted Rita's arm and examined the ring. Her engagement ring. Three white gold bands encrusted with seven incredible diamonds. Bought by Donna as a gift to Rita and Frederico shortly after the proposal. Neither Fred nor Rita could have afforded such an expensive ring but the sight of it had made Rita's eyes sparkle with life in a way Donna had not seen before. It was the least she could for her best friend. One last selfish act of generosity.

Donna removed the ring with ease and rested Rita's arm back in her lap. As she closed her own hand around the ring, she could see in the dim light the bruising and lacerations to her fingers and knuckles. There was a cut on the back of her hand where the ring had dug into her during the struggle and there were chafing marks around her fingers from the scarf.

Slowly, and without emotion, Donna looked up and into the glass of her friend's dressing table mirror. Rita's eyes, like two lifeless emeralds, glistened back at her but they did not see. The fiery curls of her hair framed the angular features of her face but the features seemed drawn somehow. Her head was tilted back slightly and the bruising around her throat was clearly visible despite the twisted scarf that still hung about her neck. In the yellow light of the mirror's lamps, her ruby red lips, parted slightly but silent, seemed darker somehow. Not coloured by expensive paint but by the gentle haemorrhaging from her nose caused by the strangulation.

The reflection in the mirror resembled Rita, of course, but there was none of Rita's vitality or exuberance; Rita had gone. Donna knew this instinctively and it brought her a sudden sense of calm. She was able to look at the body, at death, and feel nothing. There was no pain, no suffering. No more heartache. Rita was gone and Donna was at peace. Even the sound of a door closing heavily somewhere in the bar did not startle her.

Silently, she moved across the room and turned off all the lights. As darkness wrapped itself around her, she positioned herself beside the door and waited patiently for Fred.