.......     Her Dolly impersonation was the best, the spark of glitter in the lights. The sway of her hips, how her lips would purse in pain. 

            “If you’d meditate more and stop taking all those Meds,” her manager tells her. Hiding beneath her bathrobe in a dark corner of the dressing room.

            “I mean it’s only a couple of nights a week.”

            She could barely handle two nights a month; a tour would be impossible. Not at this state. Two yippy dogs left unattended and an obsessive fan sending her everything from dog treats to flowers, shoes, t-shirts, from all over the world. Apparently this guy travels. He’s an oil baron’s son, surviving on a tight trust fund. Like his father and his father’s father before him – only cigars, the finest cognac, and bridled women in leather.