Pulling down on the string latch, the light bulbs of Roxanne’s dressing mirror flickered briefly, before steadying and building up to a dull shade of white light. Dull shadows cast along the back walls of her room, as she puckered her lips and leaned closer to the mirror, pulling the cigarette gripped between her long slender fingers closer to her mouth.
With her free hand she pulled at the edges of her lips in distaste, taking a drag from her cigarette and leaning it atop a black ashtray at the edge of the table.
Reaching for her lipstick she held it to her face, tracing the outline of her lips gingerly with her fingertips, frowning at the slight lines developing on her upper lip. Dabbing the lipstick on her lower lip and with a quick “smack” of her lips, she dragged the deep classic shade across her mouth, pursing her lips together and pulling in closer to the mirror.
Her now light grey eyes were powdered with smoky grey and black shades of eye shadow with layers of mascara generously applied to her lashes, a black netted head piece was drawn across half her oval shaped face, touching the white fur shoulder piece wrapped snugly around her upper half.
Her legs were pulled in tight together by her slim fitting black dress, pressing her hand against her stomach she attempted to breathe in deeply, struggling with the restraint her dress was putting on her lungs.
Slipping on her black high heels she grasped for her cigarette again and drew it to her face, resting it on her crimson red lips, and inhaling deeply, releasing the puff of smoke moments later, allowing it to pass through her netted head piece as the smoke twirled upwards.
Leaning back against her chair, her cigarette lolling carelessly in her hand over the side of the armrest, she tried to listen to what was going on outside her dressing room.
The deep hum of a hundred voices ran through the corridor, the constant sound of thousands of footsteps vibrated through the wooden floorboards, as exclamations of excitement and anticipation echoed through the hall as spectators made their way to their positions, she heard the excited squeal of a young girl echo through the long hallways.
Roxanne retreated her focus back to her room, at this point wary of her screaming fans and criticising new comers, wary of her monotonous existence, wary of her disappointment.
Roxanne, from a young age had dreamt of being famous and successful. Strong, independent, under strong spotlights with a Hollywood smile, loved and cherished by all who knew her; she had wanted to be a star.
This, Roxanne managed to achieve. She was beautiful; the face of Chanel’s new line of perfumes, while selling Millions of her sultry jazz records worldwide.
At the start she had had that Hollywood smile she soon became known and loved for, its sincerity however died, as her career and fame progressed, and the colours in her life began to fade.
While the lives of others existed in a world of colour, Roxanne’s consisted of shades of black, white and grey, the colours vanishing from view as the years of her life had drawn by without fulfillment, finding only empty shallow satisfaction in what she had come to, in what she had become.
It was a small poster in the local grocery store that had spurred Roxanne’s desire to, as she felt it, “Become something.”
It was a small piece of paper, almost lost among the other, much larger advertisements surrounding it.
A smiling beauty seemed to shine through the dull parchment, one eye shut in a cheeky wink. This beauty was surrounded by cheesy slogans and outdated advertisements, attempting to sell last season’s shoes, or “Mamma Maria’s Cheese bake”, But this, this star shone out like the sun peering out behind a foggy sky. This star lit something in Roxanne’s heart, as she stood there so young, clutching her tattered teddy bear close to her chest, her eyes lit up in admiration and curiosity.
“That’s Cassie! She’s great isn’t she?”
Roxanne’s blue eyes looked up, craning her neck as far as she could to see the dark figure above her, stuffing green “Refreshers” into his mouth, his jaw lolled lazily to the side.
The sun pierced through the curls of his hair, raising one hand to her forehead Roxanne narrowed her eyes in an attempt to make out his features.
Sitting now in her lonely dressing room all Roxanne could remember about him were the dark curls of his hair, the way the sunlight piercing through them blinded her, and his brown eyes.
Roxanne, too shy to ask who this goddess “Cassie” was, stared up at the chuckling young boy in silence, with a smile he understood,
“Do you know her?”
Roxanne lowered her head and shook it vigorously, her pigtails hitting her cheeks as she did so.
“She sang that song, you know? You know the one…” Humming to himself and tapping two fingers to his thigh he nodded his head and smiled, “You know that one?”
Roxanne drooped her head and focused her blue eyes on her red buckle shoes. Her mother had polished them that morning, spitting furiously on a paper napkin and rubbing vigorously at the dirt,
“Why do you do this Roxy?!” She had spat angrily, “So many stains, Always stains with you.”
“Do you know that song?”
Roxanne’s focus was drawn back to sunshine, dark curls and smiles. She shook her head in response.
The curly haired boy knelt down, his head now level with her shoulders, and looking up at her he smiled,
“I don’t hum it too well, do I?” he grinned.
Roxanne couldn’t help but smile and buried her head into her chest, her small chin resting on her collarbone. Her pigtails flopped down and hit the sleeves of her dress, delicately fitting into the cream creases.
With a mumble resembling the word “No” she shook her head again.
From the corner of her eye she saw him focus on her, his smile faltering at the edges slightly, his brow furrowing,
“Are you all right?” Craning his neck upwards he attempted to catch a glimpse of her face, she flinched and attempted to move her head away, however his own followed, smiling teasingly as his eyes tried to find hers.
Seemingly giving up he rummaged in his dungarees pocket and revealed a small green refresher, wrapped in blue and yellow with white sherbet seeping out the edges of the ripped paper.
Holding the sweet under her nose he nodded towards it,
“Want one?”
Her blue eyes shot up instantly, scanning his face for a shred of insincerity, briefly stopping at his own brown eyes before they crinkled at the edges as he smiled in triumph and she realised he had won, he had seen her face.
Gingerly taking the powdery sweet from his hand she nodded, and proceeded to strip the refresher of its wrapping, placing it into her mouth at record speed.
“Tanksh.” She mumbled through the gooey mess sticking to her teeth.
He nodded obligingly and proceeded to pop another into his mouth, “You like her? Cassie?”
Licking her lips gleefully and inspecting the tips of her fingers, Roxanne’s eyes returned to the red haired girl in the poster.
A fat silver microphone in one hand, the other pointing behind her where a crowd of fans screamed in adoration, she smiled gleefully through the parchment, a laugh frozen on her face,
“She’s so pretty, and so happy. And look at all those people, they love her so much.”
She stared at the almost psychotically besotted people, their arms raised in pure elation, their smiles big enough to burst.
The boy’s eyes flickered to hers while she stared at the crinkled poster, resting on her for longer than she was comfortable, looking back at him he blinked furiously and refocused his gaze on the poster,
“What’s your name?” he asked, standing up, now a head taller than her, his arms resting uselessly by his side.
“Roxanne.”
“I’m Noah,” turning to her he smiled, “And you know what Roxanne? Someday you’re going to be like her, you’ll be pretty and happy just like her, with loads of crazy fans.”
Roxanne’s eyes lit up, “With a smile like hers?”
“Better, A smile like yours, and a big fat microphone to boot!”
“Thanks Noah.” She smiled, staring at the poster in a new light, the spark in her heart lit by the mere sight of this poster, now bursting into flame.
“No problem, you just owe me a refresher when you’re famous.”
With violent urgency Roxanne’s dressing room door was thrust open, and she was pulled from her daydream. Standing there breathlessly was her grey haired assistant, “10 minutes ‘til you’re on stage Rox’.”
“Jesus Kyle, Knock next time, yeah?” Like piercing daggers her glare shot across the room, her nails instantly clinging to the wooden surface of her dressing table as the black polish glinted harshly under the white light.
With a nod and a mumble he retreated back to the corridor, pulling the door closed rapidly behind him.
With a sigh Roxanne slunk back into her chair, gripping her forehead in her hand, reaching for her cigarette with the other. With a drag and a puff of grey smoke she shut her eyes, resting her gently shaking hand on her stomach, the heat emanating from it warming the tips of her fingers as her thoughts drifted.
Noah. She hadn’t permitted herself to think about him in years, guilt and remorse making even the mention of his name painful; his face, now a blur, forcefully pushed out of her mind, his brown eyes stubbornly remaining imprinted in her brain.
She had been seventeen the last time she had seen him, 20 years ago.
The pair had stood there in the rain, screaming at each other through the thick mass of water pellets beating against their backs, almost pulsating in time with their racing hearts.
Roxanne could feel the rain hit her head harshly, over and over again, building up in droplets at the ends of her hair, as it hung lazily across her forehead, before splashing to her cheeks, blurring the lines of freshly formed salty tears.
“What do you want from me?!” she had screamed, her chin quivering so hard her words were almost lost in the fury of the storm.
He had just stood there, staring at her with cloudy eyes, his brow furrowed in almost the same way as the first day they had met.
The day when he had offered her a green refresher, when she had clutched her tattered teddy bear under her tiny arms and he had promised her a million dollar smile, happiness, and a silver microphone; the day she had felt a heart’s spark burst into flames.
“What do you want?” Roxanne wailed again, her voice finally cracking; reduced to a whisper she edged closer to him. She watched as his face scrunched up in disgust and he dragged his feet backwards, hard against the gravel, his sneakers pulling at the rocks as he pushed back. The sound made her jaw unconsciously click.
“You know what I want. Just wait a bit longer! Wait a year!” His voice ripped through the howling wind, harsh through his gritted teeth, his Knuckles turning white while his arms hung seemingly helplessly by his side.
“I have to get out of this god damned town Noah!” Roxanne pleaded, her hands raised to the skies, raindrops cascading through the spaces between her shaking fingers, she glanced behind her shoulder, the taxi cabs’ engine still gently purring by the curb, “I’ll lose my mind if I stay here! There’s a life out there for me Noah, a real one, a future! It’s fine for you to stay and bartend for another god damned year but that’s not me! I can’t wait anymore!”
“Why? I just don’t understand. ” His eyes bore pleadingly into hers, “This never bothered you before, I just…I just don’t understand.”
His words hung uncomfortably in the air, the wind’s force momentarily picked up, pulling aggressively against Roxanne’s hair, whipping it tightly across her neck, like a noose. And he just stood there, unmoving, unflinching in the wind’s force.
“I have to get out…” Roxanne began, her drenched hands pulling at the hem of her shirt uncomfortably, swiveling her foot on the spot she turned to face the taxi cab, swaying slightly on the spot, doubt seeping uncomfortably into her stomach.
“I don’t understand. What are you running from?”
Roxanne felt her shoulders become tense and flinch up towards her neck; she permitted herself to turn back around.
His curly hair was now matted to his young face, carrying droplets of water that proceeded to hit the tips of his lashes and collide with his jutting, sharp nose.
Lowering her head she proceeded to push through the wind towards him, her hair thrashing furiously across her cheeks, leaving them with a harshly heated sensation through her skin, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling him towards her she smiled and mumbled,
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too but…” His face was so wrought with emotion, Roxanne forced herself to look over his shoulder, unable to cope with his confusion and hurt,
“Shut up Noah.” She laughed weakly, patting him on the back and releasing her grip. Her smile faltering only when she looked away from him,
“You’re just making mountains out of molehills…”
“It doesn’t seem that way…” He argued, less aggressively this time however, uncertainty causing him to doubt himself, “Am I…?”
“Yeah.” She smiled, “Now can I get into that bloody taxi before I catch Pneumonia? And for the love of god..!” She exclaimed, staring in horror at his soaked and now almost black jeans, “Get inside, you lunatic!”
With a weak shrug he nodded and smiled, “Yeah yeah ok,” with a tight warm hug, he laughed, “See you soon then?”
Squeezing Noah back, her arms locked around his chest, her fists balled up tightly while her jaw clenched, “Yeah, soon as possible right?”
“Right.”
With a brief and uncomfortable pat on the back she let go, turning quickly to face the taxi cab, refraining from running towards it, attempting to make a dignified and gracious exit.
Her shaking hands lost their grip on the door handle, with a grasp she reached for it again, tore it open, and shut the door behind her, the pounding raindrops now numbed, its rhythmic beats now gently thudding against the car roof, as the engine’s gentle purr revved up to a deafening roar.
“Roxanne!”
Kyle stood breathlessly at the door of her dressing room, beads of sweat clinging desperately to his forehead, his eyes wide in panic,
“On stage! Now!”
With a resigned sigh, Roxanne pressed her hands against the arms of her chair, lifting herself up, releasing the cigarette between her fingers into the black ashtray and made her way to her dressing room door, her mind slowly regaining its focus on the present.
As she made her way through the corridor the screams of her fans grew louder, echoing towards her, the chants of hundreds crying her name hit her as weakly as a rain drop falls. She had become desensitized to what should have set her heart racing, her knees buckling, and her legs shaking.
She could remember the first time she had performed professionally, it being one of the greatest memories of her life, it was hardly glamorous.
Minutes before going on-stage she had thrown up behind the back of a trailer, a makeshift dressing room filled with second hand clothing, due to her racking nerves. On finally making it to the stage she had been greeted by a flock of skeptical viewers, waiting eagerly to judge, she had tripped on one of the black cables running along the stage floor on making her entrance, fell to the floor before picking herself up and nervously laughing into the microphone, “Hello New Jersey!”
Her first performance was, in fact, in Wisconsin.
In the end she burst out laughing, not sure what was attributing to her unbreakable good mood, with her being either petrified or in shock, she burst into song, grasping the microphone tightly in her hands, pulling it right up to her lips and belting out notes of pure elation.
Luckily for Roxanne the venue was small, situated in the upper floor of a local bar, and most of her spectators were considerably intoxicated, by the end of the night they were screaming for an encore, however it came out in the barely decipherable and memorable words, “Acorn! Acorn!”
By the end of the night the exhilaration running through Roxanne’s body was like electricity coursing through her veins, she felt, not that she was floating, but that she was rooted firmly to the ground, a sense of belonging leaving a smile on her flushed face as she finally experienced the feeling of having found her home, the experience of pure, indestructible joy and accomplishment, she had become something, someone.
And now, she was walking down this dark corridor, thirty seven, living with the regrets and mistakes that brought her to this moment, her black high heels clicking against the linoleum flooring, surrounded by her body guards, a cage of black moving suits. She elegantly made her way closer to the screams, numb and emotionless, a mask of insincere happiness printed on her face, concealing the truth, of Roxanne Barish.
Roxanne, the woman adored and revered by her fans, for her class and elegance, her beauty and talent, for her compassion, for the happiness she had bestowed on so many, for her music.
Roxanne Barish was not the strong independent sultry woman her image portrayed, she was not the brassy individual singing those songs of love, betrayal and victory.
She was fragile, broken down, torn apart, she was regrets, and she was mistakes, she was a longing for acceptance, she was a longing for love, she was the remnants of a seventeen year old girl, irrevocably in love with her best friend.
That warm fleeting hug was the last time she had been close to him, heard him, even seen him.
Digging her heels into the podium steps she pulled herself up the stairs, her manicured nails clinging to the silver rail, the crowd burst into uproar at the sight of her.
Ill fate resulted in numerous cancellations each time Noah and Roxanne attempted to visit each other, all the while, her feelings grew, slowly consuming her, governing her.
Finally, in late January she sent him tickets to her next gig, and he had sworn to come. She remembered standing at the centre of that stage, her microphone clutched desperately in her shaking hands, craning her neck to see over the numerous smiling figures, searching, desperately trying to find him in the crowd.
Stepping out onto the wide stage, she was forced to raise one hand to her eyes, squinting under the harsh lights, like stars peering out from a black mass, she reached blindly for the microphone, the crowd hushed in anticipation, the tension almost tangible in the hot hair, she was unable to see to the end of the crowd.
On January 21st 1990 a two car collision occurred just out of Missouri, involving a female driver and two other passengers, and a single male driver.
In a deep confident voice she smiled, her red lips projected behind her on colossal flat screens bigger than her childhood home,
“Hello New York.”
The crowd screamed in unison, their ferocity, like waves violently beating off a cliff face, seemed to go on forever. Hundreds of banners were held up, and swayed gently above the heated, intense crowd.
From where she stood, Roxanne could see a young girl, sitting on her father’s shoulders.
Her small hands wrapped tightly around his forehead, while her fingers seeped into his hair. A red balloon was intertwined with her fingers and hung lazily over her head as she smiled uncontrollably, and her father swayed under her weight.
“Thank you all so much for coming here tonight.” She smiled politely again and nodded towards the crowd, maintaining her composed posture.
The crowd cried out again in ecstasy, a teenager near the front of the stage was reaching out wildly, her hands flailing above her head,
“I love you!” She screamed, as Roxanne’s eyes flickered in her direction, her voice almost lost amongst the thousands of screaming spectators, its sheer manic pitch just barely making it audible over the uproar.
While the female driver survived she suffered serious injuries, multiple contusions, fracturing multiple ribs which then resulted in a punctured lung, ambulances on the scene were able to assure her survival
With a turn of her head, she nodded to her drummer near the back end of the stage, lifting up one of the drumming sticks he signaled he was ready, mouthing silently through his lips “One, two, and a one two..”
The beat began, rhythmically beating through the crowd, the base guitarist chimed in with a heavy melancholy chord,
“This,” she smiled angelically, “Goes out to all my fans.” The screams reached further heights, as she began to tap gently against her thigh tuning in to the beat, humming it silently to herself.
The backseat passengers had to be cut out of the car by the fire brigade on scene, and while suffering from near fatal injuries they survived, having to undergo counseling due to post traumatic stress after the incident.
“All of my fans that have stuck with me, through so much!” Roxanne smiled, as the main guitarist picked up the beat.
The male driver involved in the crash suffered serious head injuries, various contusions and upon being taken to Missouri University hospital underwent numerous and extensive surgeries in an attempt to save his life.
“This is my cover of ‘Strings’,” Roxanne smiled towards her audience, “I hope you enjoy it.”
Pulling the microphone towards her, Roxanne shut her eyes, and inhaled deeply, the crowd roared, the ground beneath her feet quaked gently.
At 8:32 in the morning, January 22nd Noah Madison of Missouri was pronounced dead.
Dr. Anthony Dawson, Missouri University Hospital’s chief neurologist, on being questioned in relation to Noah Madison’s tragic death stated,
“We did all we could. Unfortunately Mr. Madison’s extensive injuries were not compatible with life. We wish to express our sincere regret and condolences to his family and friends. ”
Any further questioning was prohibited due to the ongoing investigations into Mr. Madison’s death.
Roxanne, oblivious to these tragic events, had called his house phone that January morning, leaving numerous disgruntled voicemails, followed with the demand to call her back.
Putting down the phone in an exasperated sigh she had switched on the television, resting her feet on the stained coffee table and leaning back in her couch. And that was when she saw it, blurred images of silver shrapnel, footage of torn up and twisted car frames, a blonde pristine presenter solemnly reading out the day’s news,
“…further questioning was prohibited due to the ongoing investigations into Mr. Madison’s death.” She continued, as Roxanne’s silent tears dropped into her coffee, her white knuckled hands gripping the mug, those Doctor’s words spinning in horror in her head as through her lips she found herself whispering over and over,
“No, No, No.”
Flicking back a hand to her hair she swayed gently to the music as the crowd roared, closing her eyes, the cold metal ribs of the microphone pressing against her crimson red lips,
“From the wrinkles on my forehead, to the mud upon my shoes, everything’s a memory…”
Her voice echoed through the crowd angelically, as her fans began to sing with her, their hands raised in unison, swaying slowly,
“…With strings that tie to you.”
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