The trailer was becoming cluttered again. Last months check had arrived and it appeared that the residual report was suggesting that viewership had dropped significantly again. She would have to call the agency again when she could get it together sometime this coming week. The fucking network lawyers were trying to play their little games as usual. The southern Indiana winter this year had been snowless but cold. A series of unrelenting gray days promising only rain storms had taken their toll. The subsidiary effect of same had progressively exposed many issues of defect with her thrifty single wide than she had heretofore been aware of. Each successive storm seemed to expose one more draft than she had ever experienced before. Maybe it might have been her though. The years of drinking hadn’t done anything useful for her own circulation in her legs. She got cold very easily now. No longer the long-legged ingenue golden child star discovery from the Hollywood hills. Her perpetual tan had long faded leaving a default of freckles and sun damaged skin. She didn’t like the face that stared back at her each morning int he mirror. It looked like a sad wasted approximation of the aging mother that TV luminary that she had once been.
The swig of Schnapps from its almost emptied bottle next to the bed a few minutes earlier hadn’t erased that same old nervous morning fidgety feeling. She sat on the edge of the bed trying to focus past the growing obstacle course of boxes of old clothing and knick knacks that had been rescued from the storage locker the previous week. The scarcity of morning light throughout the room that pressed strongly from the outside against the drawn yellowed window shades provided little solace. The squalor of her current existence remained as painfully evident as those long lost beautiful sunny Los Angeles hills had been all throughout all her former life. A small twinge caught her sunken chest as she took another swig from the now near to depleted contents of that same bottle. It was insufficient. Just like her life had become. Sunken into the hinterlands of some no where place waylaid to an anonymous portion of the Midwest as if she had been exiled to some barely mentioned foreign land by the unrelenting ire of some Old Testament god. She looked over at the beat up looking carton at the bottom of a stack of others that bore a roughly applied magic marker scrawl, “photographs.” She might have been looking at her own casket for the knowledge that it contained so many of those old images of herself in better happier days. Now she was old and her whole body showed it.
There were a couple of locals in this podunk town that knew about her former reputation as being that special perky bright eyed teenager that so many decades back had helped inspire collectively high national ratings of nightly viewership. The VHS version of the series had long fallen out of currency and there weren’t any of the last two formative generations who could even pick her out of a crowd in the street. That suited her fine as a rule when she wheeled her shopping cart up and unloaded a few more bottles of vodka and a bottle of mint flavored schnapps on the conveyor of the local food mart. She had long foregone the necessity of sunglasses to hide her identity from the locals. At this point no one was any the wiser and she had lost the desire to tell them. She was just another old broad to the young stock boys whose flagrant youth seemed to burnish in the fact of the lack of her own. It was hard to remember the last time a pair of male arms had held her tightly within a clinging embrace. The wedding shower that she had attended some several years or so ago had afforded some renewed familiarity. She looked casually down beside the bed near a rumpled pair of panties haphazardly discarded a day or so before at the black plastic Power Play Bullet Vibrator that it half covered. She pondered a mental catalog of for an instant of the various types and sizes of female pleasuring tools. She wasn’t fond of stuffing anything to large into herself to occasion the requisite gush of pituito-serous juices that afforded her a bit of momentary escape from the unrelenting burden of the fact of herself as she now was.
Her life had now been diminished to little more than a big closet that was contained with barely 400 square feet. She along with the varied material contents packed somewhere in a collection of corrugated storage boxes was stirred now and again by the restless wind. Whenever a big blow rose up rattling empty bottles and dirty dishes on the counter as it vibrated everything within her sanctuary with each progressively stronger gust. Some old song by a German guy sung by an old Hollywood actor that one of her old costars used to occasionally sing in jest haunted her mind now and again. “It’s a long long while from May to December and the autumn turns the leaves to flame . . .” it was a minute of two before she returned from the emptiness of her muse. The last thing she needed was a man! Two husbands and a fucking money grubbing shyster agent had burrowed deeply into her more romantic sentiments. They had stripped her of any illusions that had not been carried away by the existing whirlwind of her now long bygone career. Nobody gave a shit about anybody in this goddamn forsaken jungle known as the human race! She tipped the last of the bottle still in her grasp and throttled its neck to shake out the last drop of its liqueur. The dull sound of it hitting the wall opposite was lost upon her as she sat barely balanced leaning forward in a fetal crawl.
She could smell her own sour sweat from each sleeve of the stretched out old cotton T-shirt that was serving as her peignoir. She needed to pee and though she rued passing before that damn mirror in the bathroom it was obvious that the only other choice was to fling herself back under the rumple of battered covers. Another gust rocked the trailer back and forth and she pulled down her shirt to interrupt the draft from reaching between her legs. She had passed out sometime in the middle of the night again without pants and it was time to gather up the bedding to erase the stigma of a dried series of nocturnal leakages. She ran her hand over the dry crust of several of her spots. Being human was tough enough but as a woman there was always something amiss going on with your plumbing. She had run out of pads and would have to pick some up if she could scrounge enough without hitting her dwindling savings again to take care of more groceries, the laundry and of course a couple more fifths of Leroux’s Peppermint Schnapps. It was now or never and she grabbed at both sides of the mattress to push herself up. But suddenly slipped on her ass straight down to the floor. That fucking dizziness again! How could a woman in her mid-fifties be in such bad shape? Another twinge, this time like a sharp parring knife.
The room seemed to spin a bit as she turned her head a bit. The dizziness in her head seemed to swish past the back of her eyes taking away the clarity of her sight for a moment. She leaned back with her elbows against the sag of he edge of her mattress and box springs. Her T-shirt was pulled up from sliding on the carpet and there was a big expanding wet spot was progressively expanding under her now. What the fuck was happening as she began to spin as if caught up in another whirlwind of past and former experiences whipping by. She sank backwards and slid a little further down one elbow dropping off the edge making her twist over into an awkward attempt at a fetal position. This time the pain in her chest was like a hot needle taken straight from the fire and plunged deep. The room was near to pitch black now int he vicinity of her eyes, What would people say when they found her she wondered? Would she get a big write up on air? The renewed momentary glare of the spotlight of former fame switched on for another instant? Its blinding light providing a beacon to help guide her back to that lost moment of perfect youth on that final journey to long missed loving arms of fame back home.