The compact mirror held to her face closed with a snap, and now Sapphire was there again, alone. She took her mind off of her internal dialog and back to her curtain call ensemble. The makeup artfully applied, with thick black cat’s eye mascara. Her false lashes bloomed out of the bouquet of red eyeshadow and rosy blush like shadowy lilies. The magic was done, and Sapphire fought the urge to once more stare and scrutinize her reflection as she adjusted her corset. The squish of her breasts made the oh so pleasant slurping sounds that only a concert of silicone and leather produced when tightly pulled together, sending unnerving yet strangely satisfying vibrations through the mouth into the teeth. Two fingers reaffirmed that her tuck was secured by the pieces of duct tape pulled up between the behind of her, and her platform heels reaffirmed Sapphire’s already towering height as she trotted toward the dressing room door. Today, she’d won an argument many years formed. Today, she filled herself with all 4 of those women Nina sang for. No one could shame her for the parts she lacked, nor the life she lived. The pumping bass queue of music, and the cheers of a crowd not far from the door, solidified the words of her spirit. Sapphire was full, she reminded herself; she no longer hungers.
“All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts”
Shakespeare may have made the quote, but Sapphire lived it. Her gyrations could turn from sensual provocation to action packed acrobatics, then into a full modern ballet interpretation- all the while perfectly syncing her lips to a Madonna tune. Like a chameleon that had mastered every palette of the rainbow, She moved through her audience and wowed them all into roaring applause or silent catharsis at her whim. Indeed, she knew her craft, and how to sell it to eyes of her gazers. This night was like any other at Giovanni’s Leg Lounge, another curtain call from chanting patrons. It wasn’t until Sapphire re-entered the brightly lit stretch of stage, her now trademarked “Queen-of-England” smile and wave routine brought to a halt, did she notice a difference. In the haze of forms and noise, a pair of eyes too familiar to pass unnoticed- too cold not to freeze her- nearly glowed from the back of the darkness of the bar. Habit brought her attention to his glare, so used to receiving a lovers embrace from the distance; a final acknowledgement that permitted her to be worthy of the praise her drunken disciples poured onto her. The stare was no longer one of permission. It sat on her like two boulders blocking the exit to a cave, and stilled her movement in the pitch of its malice. Awkward as it was, amidst a crowd still oblivious to her present circumstance, Sapphire locked eyes with her misery, removed her mind from her present, and traveled back in time; back to her contouring away the bruises and bite marks on her face in her little mirror. “Sapphire was full”, the mantra leaped out in a whisper. The words held back tears and re-formed her smile. A gesture to the MC for a mic, as she usually did to express gratitude to her adorers after a short returning number, came a little too early for her audience. Cheers transitioned to chatter, yet Sapphire knew how keep them: a strong step forward with an angled hip, her pose accented by a hand on the hip while the other perched the mic firmly to her her lips. still staring hotly into the beyond, Sapphire spoke “a towel, please, Nikki”. The MC quickly served a more-or-less clean towel to Sapphires once hipped hand, and with the calmness of a hurricanes eye, Sapphire began to speak.
“So he said: you ain’t got no talent, if you didn’t have a face you wouldn’t be nobody”, and as the spoke she wiped her cheeks and eyes, exposing teeth marks and bruising. The audience heaved a gasp; every mouth fell silent. “and she said: god created heaven and earth, and all that’s Black within them”. Her smile never left, though her inner mantra was losing its grip on her tears. They welled up, and yet her voice kept strong. This moment was hers. She had to complete this. “So he said: you ain’t really no hot shit, they tell me plenty sisters take care better business than you. And she said: on the third day he made chitterlings, and all good things to eat and said: “that’s good”. A little chuckle here and there from the audience, and then Sapphires voice began to boom. “So he said: if the white folks hadn’t been under yo skirt and been giving you the big play you’d a had to come on uptown like everybody else”. a bit of silence, just to clear the laughter and let her words set in. The eyes she leered at winced, its glow dimmed. “She replied: then he took a big Black greasy rib from adam and said we will call this woeman and her name will be sapphire”. The crowd erupted with ringing cheers as she proclaimed herself. Her adversary now a shadow lurching out of the door whose light made his silhoet. Sapphire continued as she reviled in her victory, “and she will divide into four parts, that simone may sing a song”. The tears were flowing freely, from both performer and audience. The MC rushed to the stage and held Sapphires free hand. By now the towel had fallen to the floor, laid between them like a bloody rag holding the sacrifice of all it took to survive her abuse, to become whole again. Sapphire cleared her throat, and with a voice choked by tear, yet calmed by release, she finished: “and he said: you pretty full of yourself ain’t chu”. The audience did laugh again, the kind of laughter that supported as much as it enjoyed. Sapphire had to smile herself. She closed her eyes as she did, holding tightly to the MCs two hands in hers. “So she replied”, she pronounced, giving each word a prayerful pace, “show me someone not full of herself and i’ll show you a hungry person”.
The last line echoed into the minds of each listener, then was replaced by the reverberation of hollers and claps, and name chanting. Sapphire still had her eyes closed, now cradled in the arms of her presenter. No sound was louder in her ears than her own inner voice, still proclaiming her selfhood.
“Sapphire is full, she no longer hungers.”