"i've heard of affairs that are strictly platonic;

but diamonds are a girl's best friend"

---

...HAS FOUND DAPHNE'S COSTUME.

Score.

I was ruffling around in my closet looking for something remotely mink-like, when I found bags upon bags upon bags of clothes from random places I'd forgotten I had.

Can you say costume party? Spent a happy hour rediscovering old pieces: mens-style cigarette pants, lipstick red floor length gown, corduroy blazers, fedoras, floppy black sunhats.

And I found the little cocktail dress I'm going to use for Daphne.

I have the gloves and faux pearls. Now I just need the stilettos- which I shall get when I pop "around the shops!" with Maudie tomorrow.

Today's Drama was bad-good.

Bad because rehearsal was...pretty crud. Battery flat say what? Also, on top of that, I've been down with the flu, so my voice was pretty much...not.

Never have I heard Daphne sound so masculine. :/ And during one of her monologues; my voice basically upped and died on me midsentence.

Which was repellent. I mean- this is a play. Not the silent screen. Greta Garbo I am not. Miss Daphne Wray, I must be.

Lozenges, ho.

It was good, though; because after rehearsals- Jerry, Maudie, Jacko, Sam Blacker and I headed out for brunch, and had an extremely productive backstory brainstorming session.

The independent woman feeds stray cats at her backstep, the washed out old actress sees every role (acting, marital, and otherwise) of hers usurped by younger, more nubile leading ladies, the tired man sleeps in the theatre in secret and acts out his stage fantasies by night, the starlet by the end of the night is wine-drenched and laughing and hollow, and the debonair insouciant hangs himself.

...For a comedy cast; we're pretty tragic characters.

Got back home, clocked in a rather painful run (lungs, throat still hurt from the infection), did some Math, wrote the Humanities Prospectus, and then curled up to my Marilyn Monroe film.

I wish we could all live like our characters for a day.

... though I imagine it wouldn't be very comfortable, living like Daphne. Clinking glasses and rubbing bronzed up shoulders with the underground elite until 4am, till broadway baby heads back home with tired eyes and smudged lipstick. pretty heels trudge up dirty steps to little dingy hole of an apartment.

silk chemise, stained. wineglass, stained. cheeks, stained.

one more round is all it takes to come round. beautiful people have ugly fears, and for those fears we learn to take pills.

dress off, guard down, lights off, goodnight.