Prelude to a Battle of the Blondes

Magnolia closed the door behind her as Honoré sat down at her desk. Gina had been kicked out.
“Mother.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Magnolia sighed. “Miss Honoré, then,” she said, exaggerating.

“That’ll do, Magnolia.”

“Can we just see this girl?”

Honoré looked up, and her face glowed. Magnolia studied her expression. If any of Extravaganza!’s dancers from the past thirty years had seen that smile, they would have been shocked. Miss Honoré, smiling and soft and looking happy?! Magnolia was only slightly less startled.

“What has she done to you?” she asked.

“What? Nothing.” All the accustomed hardness was back. Honoré sat back, reaching for her cigarettes and lighter. The lighter was a heavy-duty Zippo, and Honoré demonstrated the muscles it had developed in her forearm as she flicked its lever. “Sit down. Let’s go over what you’re going to ask her.”

Magnolia pulled out Gina’s desk chair and made herself at home, settling slowly and giving her mother ample time to notice her new figure. She’d lost ten pounds in the last week alone. All the curves she’d ever dreamed of having were in evidence.

There was no word from the other desk. Magnolia crossed her newly-perfect legs and watched her mother’s smoke curl around her face. “I’m not going to ask her anything. I’m going to tell her what’s going to happen. This hotel has plans for your girl, Venus.”

Honoré took a deep drag. All the tendrils of smoke around her seemed to suck in the air in unison. Magnolia felt the atmosphere getting stiff. “Maybe she won’t do it,” Miss Honoré suggested.

Magnolia shrugged. “Then she won’t work in Vegas. This is a city-wide initiative, Mother, not some whim from a minor executive.”

“I told you not to call me that. What if someone heard?”

“We’re in a closed office. And your cast knows much better than to listen at your door.”

Honoré smiled ever-so-slightly, thinking, perhaps, of the French girl she’d had deported for doing precisely that in the days when she’d been having an at-work affair with one of the stage managers.

“Even so,” she warned.

Magnolia sighed. Honoré watched her through slitted eyes. Her offspring had rarely behaved as she’d expected, ever since she’d shown up at Extrav!’s original auditions and blown away the competition. She’d been the best thing onstage till Venus arrived, but when they’d sat down on that first day to deal with the contracts, Magnolia had handed hers back with a smile that made even Miss Honoré quail, just a bit. Magnolia had said, “Thank you mother. Europe was wonderful. It changed my life. As you can see.” Honoré had looked her up and down without a word, inspecting the work she’d had done, and nodded. And thus was their new, improved relationship begun.

Honoré found Magnolia more interesting than she had Frank. She tacked one of Magnolia’s campaign posters up backstage each time she ran for mayor. But Magnolia had another thing coming if she thought she could waltz in here and dictate what Venus did on stage or even– Honoré could barely form the thought, let alone speak the words– take her away. Now, Honoré sucked on her cigarette– the smoke poured through what was left of her lungs like a derelict rattling through a tumbledown house– and looked at her child whom she’d never wanted. “What’s going on, exactly?” she demanded.

“Big things,” Magnolia smiled. “Vegas is going through a metamorphosis.”

Honoré snorted. “Another one? Since the corporations took over, it’s one change after another. Every year there’s something new. It’s endless.”

“This will be really new. And it’ll stick,” Magnolia said.

“We’ll see. What’s up with Venus?”

Magnolia’s smile quirked higher and she tilted her head to look at her mother. “You seem very taken with her, Honoré,” she said. “I’ve never seen you care so much about one of your girls.”

“She’s the whole show these days,” Honoré answered gruffly. She coughed, then sucked in the last breath of the cigarette, suffocating it. She flicked the butt into the huge, granite ashtray that took up a square foot of her desk. It landed on a three-inch pyramid of burn-outs. “You haven’t seen her, have you? You don’t care about anything else when you see her. All the other kids– they might as well go home. They might as well not show up in the first place. Maybe we’ll cut all of them next contract. Who needs ‘em? Venus is the show.”

“Interesting,” Magnolia said. “She may not be the show for much longer.”

Honoré had been reaching for her pack and her Zippo. She refused to pause at Magnolia’s words. “Don’t try that, Magnolia,” she said. “This girl is Extravaganza! You don’t want to pull her out and destroy this show and get all the bad publicity from that. Besides what I can–” She looked at her daughter, slowed the act of lighting her cigarette to a crawl, went through the motions without blinking. Magnolia looked back. …what I can tell about you hung in the air between them. Honoré didn’t speak the words.

They each had a threat to hold over the other. Magnolia didn’t understand the power of hers– why should Honoré still care who knew about her single indiscretion, or whomever it had been with?– but that would never stop her from wielding it. For her own part, the secret of Frank O’Connor getting out seemed a lot less cataclysmic since her trip to the top of the Spire. Eternal youth and beauty were wonderful cures for all kinds of anxiety. Magnolia preened a bit, and reached back to fluff her hair. It had been getting gradually blonder, all on its own, for the past week, and had grown till it brushed artfully against her shoulders.

“It’s not in my hands,” she said. “I’m just the messenger. Now let’s go see Venus and I’ll tell you both what’s up for her future.” She stood, and waited while Honoré, cigarette smoldering and Zippo clenched in bony fingers, left her chair and led the way out of the room.

NEXT POST: THE GODDESS IN TRAINING (Monday 12/14)