Inner Secrets
She closed the door quietly behind her and switched on the light. Kicking off her shoes, she padded across the carpeted floor and into the bedroom. A small lamp on the dressing table was the only light she would allow in her room right now as she didn’t want to see the ravages of time on the tired face that was reflected in the mirror. Not that time had been unkind. At forty-eight she could still pass for late thirties, even younger when the light was right. Like now.
Unclipping the ruby earrings, she placed them gently into a crystal bowl and leaned forward, inspecting every furrow and line. Her mascara was smudged and it made her look like she’d been crying, not a lot but enough to make her curse under her breath. No wonder the taxi driver had kept checking her out in his rear vision mirror. He probably thought she’d had a row with her lover or something.
“None of his bloody business anyway”, she thought, moving even closer to the mirror.
“Jesus, I look a mess. Even the lippy is bleeding.”
She tried to disguise the offending red stain at the corners of her mouth with the tip of her little finger then realised she was wasting her time.
“It’s two o’clock in the bloody morning and nobody’s here to see or care!” she said out loud.
Anyway, the party had been ok. She had met a few people, had a few drinks and filled in a few hours. The main thing had been to get out and mingle, be who she was among people with whom she could relax, just to have a few hours of fun and feel ok with herself and the world. She had spent weeks planning for this night out, deciding on what to wear and how to accessorise. She had been happy with the hairstyle too. This time it had been a pageboy – black and dramatic with the pale, almost white makeup and vermillion lips, a la Liza Minnelli, an actress she adored.
She stood up from the dressing table and slipped the shoulders from her black silk dress, letting it drop to the floor in a sensual rustle. Half turning in the dim light, she gazed at her slim, almost boyish figure in the mirror. “Nothing wrong with that, old girl,” she thought, pleased that she looked sexy without looking too feminine – no big boobs and curvy ass, just straight up and down but classy, just like Liza.
“Ok, that’s it for another year,” she thought as she plucked the pageboy wig from her head and plopped it onto the polystyrene dummy. She slid several rings from her fingers before stepping out of her slip then removed her bra and panties and moved towards the bathroom, dreading the next stage in what she always called the ‘deconstruction’. Under the harsh light of the vanity, she peeled off her false eyelashes and began applying makeup remover to her face and neck, wiping it off with wads of tissues.
She ran the shower and stepped under the warm soothing stream of water as she began to hum, “The party’s over, It’s time to call it a day…” and her mind wandered back to the time a few years ago when there was someone who would have been there to soap her back, kiss her neck and caress her shoulders and make it all seem alright. Someone who knew her inner secrets and understood her needs, the needs she hardly understood herself. She was aware of the thick soapy suds sliding over her nakedness and revelled in the sensation. “Divinely decadent,” she laughed, recalling one of her favourite Minnelli lines from the movie Cabaret.
Towelled dry and cocooned in a fluffy dressing gown, she wandered into the kitchen and, as if not wanting the night to end, she poured herself a double scotch, returned to the lounge and slid onto the couch. She pressed the remote and a dreamy jazz number began playing from the sound system. The scotch soon began to take effect and she drifted in and out of slumber, carried on the strains of the music seeping through the air. Faces floated in front of her, the one who knew her inner secrets, the kids she hadn’t seen for ages, teachers, army mates, and many more.
She awoke with a start and was alarmed to see the time was 3:25. After downing the dregs of her drink, she headed towards the bed and stopped by the closet where she removed the uniform that she’d already pressed ready for duty the next day.
“Thank god it’s a late shift tomorrow,” she murmured to herself and hung the blue uniform on the back of the door, more from habit than anything else.
Tomorrow she’d report for duty at the City Police Headquarters as she’d done almost every Monday for the past eighteen years for Sergeant Jack Perkins was a respected and highly valued member of the Force where no one knew or would even dream of his inner secrets.