Chapter 1 I used to be a beauty. You know the sort of woman--she walks into a room and heads turn. Oh, I don't mean just male heads because, believe me, women look too. Maybe they do it a little more inconspicuously, as if they're just checking out the latest shoe styles. But usually, they're comparing, inventorying, mentally tallying up who's the thinnest, fairest, trendiest. Who can turn more heads. It's the game we all play but no one ever admits to--a game that ends too quickly. Because, despite our efforts, age creeps in, beauty fades…and along with it, the limelight. I am a testament to the temporary rewards of beauty. I sit alone in this sorry institution where no one comes to visit and no one gives a whit that I, Claudette Fioré, a woman who once made heads turn and broke hearts, have lost everything. No one knows who I am or who I used to be. No one even cares. It is no wonder that I tried to end my life. And yet I couldn't even succeed at that. Just one more notch of uselessness on the weighty belt of old age. Of course, there are those fools who think that simply because I am old, I also must be wise. They assume that all these many years of life and experience have somehow broadened something besides my flabby backside. But I fear they are mistaken. I am nothing more than a silly woman who has grown unbearably old. A misshapen and withered shell that holds little more than wounded pride and faded memories. And yet I still manage to deceive a few--but only those willing to be tricked. Like that silly volunteer girl who comes in here twice a week. I suspect she is performing community service, although she will not admit to as much. Her name is Lucy, I believe. Or is it Lindy? Or Lulu? Oh, how am I supposed to remember such trivia? "You're looking fine today, Mrs. Fioré," she told me this afternoon. It's the same thing she says every time I see her. Why don't they train these girls to use a variety of greetings? But then, what can you expect from a place that uses a rotating weekly menu with entrées like Salisbury steak and liver and onions? "Fine?" I rolled my eyes and ran my hand through my thinning hair, sadly in need of professional attention and white as cotton since they don't allow me to tint it here in the "home." I've considered asking this girl to help me escape to see André, my hairdresser, to get it properly done, but why bother? Who cares? She smiled as she straightened the pictures on my bureau. Sylvia, my faithful cook, brought them to me, along with some other things from my home. I suspect she was trying to cheer me up. Most of the photos are of me. Naturally, they were taken when I was younger, prettier, alive. However, one photo is with Gavin, and another is with my younger sister, back when we were speaking to each other. She's an intelligent woman but plain faced and frumpy. We make an odd pair, since she wasn't born with the looks that came anywhere close to matching my own, and she never learned how to make the most of what little she had. But all the photos were purposely selected to show me at my best, my prime. Why would I not be? "So, how are you feeling?" She came over to peer into my pale blue eyes. They were once bright and clear…bluer than the Pacific on a cloudless day. Fiery blue, I was once told by a man who thought he loved me. Now they are faded and weak, and despite laser surgery, I must squint to read her name tag. Lindy, yes, just as I thought. "As well as can be expected for someone locked up in a place like this." My usual retort to her usual question. But still she smiled, undeterred by my nastiness. It was part of the game we played. Excerpted from Limelight: A Novel by Melody Carlson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
