“Don’t worry about a thing. Baby, you’re gonna be a star!”
“…and we won’t look back. Don’t worry about a thing. Baby, you’re gonna be a star!”
She’d been doing this for hours. The same scene, over and over. Classic movie, big stars, huge sets, glorious costumes, three Oscar nominations… Who knew that anymore, though? Now it was just ‘some old black and white’, some old, dusty bit of of Hollywood sorcery, forgotten by the ages.
“We’ll gun that engine and we won’t look back. Don’t worry about a thing. Baby, you’re…”
She swallowed hard. Dry mouth.
Syd was slumped low in a broken, overstuffed old recliner, one hand clutching the remote control. A little joint had burned out at her fingertips ten minutes ago, and it had been half an hour since she’d refilled her glass. Her mouth was acrid, and she could taste gin and vermouth as she wriggled her tongue around the backs of her teeth. That was ok, though. The bottle still sat beside her, right where it belonged, and it was still half full. She could last for hours, yet.