There have been tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. From the widely known to the utterly obscure. Occasionally the brunt of jokes but always atmospheric, one way or another. And usually, encouraging us to relax in spite of ourselves.
It’s my new Go-To Dream Job. My Next Big Thing. My Scandalous Ambition.
Among the sultry singer types, there was Billie Holiday of course. Classic. Tragic. Unspeakably talented. There’s the mid-century Hollywood version of the upscale club crowd, with Sinatra in Pal Joey, kept by a delectable Rita Hayworth.
But I suspect it’s Michelle Pfeiffer as Susie Diamond who epitomizes the je ne sais quoi I’m seeking to embody – smoldering (and unforgettable) in that slinky red dress, draped over a gleaming piano, crooning.
The Fabulous Baker Boys. Fabulous indeed.
I’ll grant you I might resemble Piaf more than Pfeiffer, but you get the gist. It’s an unexpected career move, but hey – who says we don the roles anyone else slaps our name on?
There are alternatives, of course, like stand-up comics we love to hate or those we love to love. Personally, I’ll take my dose of Joan Rivers anytime, anywhere – Oh, to have seen her in her early Johnny Carson heyday! And then there’s Kathy Griffin before the D List made her A List. Not everyone’s taste, but then neither am I.
As in sprawled on my bed, on the sofa, on pasha pillows of lavish silk scattered on the floor. Sipping something. Not lifting a finger. Punctuating my requests (for service?) with ample use of “dahling.”
Very Countess Luann, don’t you think?
No crazy schedule. No stressed out kids. No role as the yo-yo alarm clock that wakes the sleeping teen every two minutes until he finally rises. No dishes to wash, no fridge to fill, no meals to make, no stack of bills, no driving lessons.
A whole lot of nothing, not that I’m particularly good at doing nothing. But maybe, with practice?
Is it burnout? Single Mother Sanity checked at the door? Must I audition?
Yup. I’m working through the details, planning my approach, sizing up my strategy – though I’m not exactly holding my breath. Nonetheless, I don’t have to budge for a day or two and that alone may furnish the enthusiasm to try out option A, slipping into a snazzy sequined something, stepping onto a smoke-filled stage, curling my kittenish fingers around a cool metal mike, and belting one out.
Move over Molten Michelle.
Baited breath for the up-and-coming Big Little Lounge Act?