slipping through my fingers

one

***

Blood pounds in my ears, I feel faint. The spotlights gliding across the room as Ant and Dec continued with their opening burn not only my eyes, but my skin, which feels on fire; as does the rest of me—like someone had poured molten lava into my bloodstream.

I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking me out of my state of panic. But when my eyes meet those of the person behind me, I almost drop dead all over again.
"You're going to do just fine, Kid—" God, when will people stop calling me 'The Kid'? When I'm thirty? "—and if it makes you feel any better, I think you're funnier than that duo up there." The Gary Oldman smiles at me warmly, creating butterflies in my chest with every word he says.

A literal Hollywood legend, standing here telling me I'm funnier than two very well known British celebrities? God, strike me now. This is how I want to go.
Before I can even blink, I hear the cue from one of the sound guys telling me Ant and Dec are almost done with their set. I apologize to Mr. Oldman—"Please, call me Gary," he says—waving me off, full of understanding, wishing me luck with a pat on the shoulder before taking his leave.

I turn to the body-length mirror propped up against one of the backstage walls, chaotically picking and pushing little details of myself and my outfit to make myself 'perfect,' but really, the anxiety is just bubbling up my throat, and I can't stop the quickening of my breath and flushing of my cheeks as I hear the two men on stage say:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for. Why we have an American hosting this evening, we still don't understand—" the crowd laughed, and I don't know if it makes me feel better or worse, "—but either way, please put your hands together for our favorite American, [Y/N] [L/N]!"

My legs, which feel like complete Jell-O, move forward anyways, one foot at a time. My black heels click the ground with each step, the red bottoms gleaming every time my foot left the ground.

As the lights on stage hit me, my matching black dress came to life, each piece of glitter flickering and sparkling with each move of my body.
My hair is bouncing around my shoulders, the loose curls tickling my neck as my bangs swish.
My eyes, which held cat-eyeliner and two layers of mascara, hit the crowd as theirs hit me.
My lips, covered in lipstick matching the bottoms of my shoes, pull into a smile as the audience seemed to collectively gasp, in what seems like awe of me, making my legs shake even further.

They seem to realize they missed the obligatory round of applause, so they made up for it tenfold. The house erupted in enthusiasm, and I heard not only clapping and cheering, but whistling and various compliments scattered across the audience. I am completely taken aback, tears almost forming in my eyes. I put a hand over my heart and slightly bow in thankfulness when I arrived at the center of the stage.

"Wow! Thank you all so much for that overwhelming welcome!" They cheer again and my smile grows wider.
"I am so very honored to be here this evening with you all. When the BBC reached out to me to host their annual Christmas party, I said, 'Wouldn't you prefer someone a bit more... European?'" The crowd laughs and that seems to affirm my legs to stop trembling.

"I'm serious, though! I am but a twenty-year-old American-Southerner who is relatively new to the game." I say in a dramatically posh-British accent that gets a round of laughter.