Chrysalis Days & Butterfly Nights [Wattys 2023 Shortlist]

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37

There seemed an even bigger buzz surrounding this night than for the formal closing. This time, for everyone who had worked at Butterfly, they knew that this was the true final night. After this, the place would become empty and eventually fall to ruin, or become converted to flats losing any semblance of the world it had once held. A world gaiety and excitement. A world where people across the spectrums of gender, sexuality and romance could find a home for themselves. Safe. Welcomed. Accepted.

Butterfly and, more specifically, Helen and Krystal had shown that world to Lucinda. It came at the right time and it had embraced her when she needed embracing the most. Butterfly had comforted her and helped her to navigate her own feelings, her own fears. She knew it had done as much for many others. Point a finger, throw a stone, and any person so touched would have a tale to tell not much different to Lucinda's.

She had come to love the place. Its crumbling walls, peeling wallpaper and paint. Its creaking floorboards and ancient carpets that may once have held colour and patterns but now lay upon the floor in varying degrees of greys and browns. A testament to the hundreds of thousands of footsteps that had passed across those threads. Lucinda had known the place for a few weeks, months at the most, but it now held an indelible mark upon her heart.

"You can't put it off any longer, love." Annalise tucked Lucinda's hair over her ear, thought about it, then let it hang loose again. She had watched as Lucinda had applied her make-up, giving advice where needed. "Do you remember the words? Of course you do. It's fine. Isn't it fine? It is. Fine."

"It is." She held Annalise's hand, holding it to her chest and smiled. "It's not the words I'm worried about, it's the actual singing part. Everyone else seem to have such good voices. Except Nick, but he's a stage manager, not a singer. And I'm worried about Helen. She's going to kill me for not telling her about this outfit."

"You look beautiful." Annalise stood, cupping Lucinda's cheeks in her hands before kissing the top of her head. "And Helen will think so too."

They had slipped away as others sang to change from the dress she had worn for the first part of the party into the Neo-Regency outfit that Clarisse had given her. The Empire line outfit felt snug in all the right places, the high waist of the skirt giving the impression of that Regency style, but with a flared open from showing bare legs from a little above mid-thigh. Lucinda had had her leg hairs removed especially for this. A razor not quite good enough for this night. She had added the Greek-style shoes, platforms with a five inch heel, with straps that wrapped around her calves and had styled her own hair to cascade in a mixture of ringlets and straightened strands.

A knock came to the door of the changing room. Even now, the stage hands still performed their age-old duties of calling people to the stage. Annalise's hands dropped to Lucinda's, squeezed, and then she stood aside, leaving Lucinda the path to the door. Heart pounding, she opened it and stepped out. The corridor seemed far tighter than she remembered it, the sounds of cheering reverberating along the close walls and Lucinda couldn't help but wonder if Helen had ever felt this terrified as she had walked these very same footsteps. Of course not! It was Helen! Lucinda doubted she ever felt terrified.

Near to the very end of the corridor, she saw the black, velvet curtain, that had seen far better days, that fell from the low ceiling, almost touching the floor. At any other time, she would have continued on, through that curtain, out into the main hall of Butterfly, but not this time. This time she needed to veer off to the side, into the wings of the stage and there to wait for the DJ, who she had never actually found out his name, to call her to the stage.

Her mouth had gone dry, but they had already thought about that. A table, to the side, held dozens of bottles. Some were empty, dropped upon the table for the dribbled remains of the contents to create tiny ponds upon the surface. Lucinda didn't care about the empty ones. She grabbed a full bottle, almost ripped the cap off and took a long drink. Her head pounded almost as much as her heart as she waited, tapping the cap against the clear plastic of its parent bottle. Then, in horror, Lucinda realised she needed the loo. Or did she? Was it a real toilet emergency, or simply nerves getting the better of her?