The Imposter

Who would have guessed?

Hard to believe how very far she'd come. 

And in just one lifetime.

She hadn't asked for it. Hadn't really even worked that hard for it. Yet, here she was.

But what if they knew?

Her brightly manicured hand trembled as she brought an unlit cigarette to her ruby red lips.

"Kinley," she said, summoning the blonde-haired Adidas who worked part-time here between acting gigs.

He stood beside her, a bronze god, waiting for her order.

"Bring me another," she said. "And make it a double."

Where was Stanley? He promised to be here an hour ago, she mused. Just like him to leave her alone with the sharks. What did he care, as long as he got his agent's commission.

Kinley glided by her table and silently positioned the drink in front of her.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

She saw the hostess pointing her way.

And heeeere weee goooo. Show time!

"Dahling," the elderly lady oozed. "It's so good to see you. You look ravishing."

Good enough to eat, huh. She positioned her crossed legs just so, and the barracuda shifted her chair a bit farther away.

"Where have you been keeping yourself, dahling? I was beginning to think my favorite starlet was avoiding me."

"You?" she said, letting the jackal bask in her sunniest smile.

"Dahling," said the leopard, "I want to tell you . . . Oh, look. It's Allen Berkshort. Doesn't he look dreadful? To think, just last year, he was the number one box office draw. Now, his career is in ashes, and he's another forgotten, washed-up has been. Such a shame. All that talent wasted."

The lizard rubbed her gloved hands in delight.

"I mean, what did he think Zedia would do when she got wind of it?" the piranha continued. "Open the gates of the Forgiveness Palace and say, 'Where ya' been, Lover Boy? Come on in.'"

The lioness slowly turned the monstrous pile of platinum straw that masqueraded as hair her way. Thank goodness that mane was caged beneath that gaudy hat, she thought, taking another long swig from her glass.

When the old cobra smiled, the red lipstick staining her yellow fangs looked like blood. The room began to sway, and her delicate fingers balled into a fist, hidden underneath the table.

She ignored the pain of her long nails as they broke the skin of her palm. Sitting straighter and throwing her shoulders back, she faced the hyena, determined not to let the gossip columnist see a shred of fear.

"I am still celebrating my scoop on that one, you know. It garnered me another ten year contract with the papers, as well as a huge raise. I'm set all the way up until 1952! It's not often you get a line on the story of the century, dahling."

"Umm," she said.

The black mamba let the tip of her tongue moisten her top lip. Was it forked, she wondered? She took a sip of her drink, hoping to stifle the laugh that threatened to escape.

"But listen to this," said the jaguar, leaning closer and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If I'm reading the tea leaves correctly, there may just be another scandal that's about the hit this town that makes all the others seem like ant hills at the bottom of Everest."

She noted the cougar's sneer and shifted slightly in her seat.

Did the feral hog smell her fear?

Undoubtedly.

It would be her undoing.

"Now, dahling," the crocodile said, "your latest picture is breaking all the box office records. This town can't get enough of that film or of you. But I rattle on. I'm here for an interview, and I guess we better get right down to it."

"I'm not who you think I am," she said, quietly.

"Oh! It can't be! Excuse me, dahling, but I think I see Zoe Everly. You don't mind, do you? I won't be two seconds. You see, I've heard on the grapevine that the poor dear's mind is positively eaten up with venereal disease. They say she can't string two coherent sentences together, and I simply have to find out for myself."

The anaconda slithered between the tables, bowing her head here and there, smiling, and sharing a polite confidence like an Empress acknowledging her loyal subjects.

She sat there, ashen and shaking. What was she thinking? Why had she said those words?

She felt the little spark of life inside her belly flutter.

She couldn't help but glance longingly toward Allen's table. Not a chance he'd notice her. Not here. He was engrossed in some serious dialogue with a major studio head. From the looks of things, he was getting the ax. The final blow that would cut his head off and literally end him in this town.

The tatantula was right.

Allen was finished.

And to think, they didn't have the decency to decapitate him in private, she thought.

"Kinley?" she said, summoning the waiter to her table with the wave of a hand.

"You need a refill?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I need a favor."

"Anything for you," Kinley said.

"Can you give my . . . er . . .my guest my sincere apologies. I'm afraid I simply must get back to the studio. You see, I have . . ."

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Kinley. "I can take care of that iguana for you."

Kinley bent down and whispered into her ear.

She smiled.

"Kinley," she said, "you are evil."

Grabbing her purse, she rose from the table. Kinley watched her graceful figure exit the restaurant. Outside the sun bore down with merciless heat. She flagged down a taxi. As the car was pulling to the curb, she pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at the glistening droplet of sweat on her forehead that would certainly ruin her makeup.

"Sorry, little biscuit," she said, patting her stomach. "You simply can't stay in this oven any longer."

As she walked the few feet to get into the awaiting taxi, there was a lightness in her step that had not been there hours before.