Larry and Lisa

#FlashFictionFeb  Day 11

Write a story about a holiday 2/11/2021 (419 words)

“Larry, I just can’t do it,” she said. “I’m not ready.”

“Lisa, stop being silly. And don’t call me Larry, I’m your father,” Larry said.

Lisa dramatically rolled her eyes at Larry’s lurid suggestion that she call him anything other than Larry. Of course he was ‘Larry’. He was Larry Lincolnton and he was certainly not her biological father. Famous actresses don’t have names like ‘Lisa Lincolnton.’ And she was most certainly going to be a famous actress one day.

“Larry, it’s sweet that you still think you’re my real dad but really, let’s stop pretending,” Lisa huffed.

“Lisa, I am your father and we’ve talked about this,” Larry mumbled around the hair pins he held in his teeth, “Now hold still so I can get your headpiece straight. And stop calling me Larry.”

Lisa continued to fidget. “Larry, I’m not so sure I want to do this,” she whined.

Larry finished pinning the headpiece in place. “There,” he said. “You’re perfect. Just in time, sweetie,” he beamed.

Lisa continued to be petulant even though Larry had spent hundreds of hours rehearsing with her, making her costume and perfecting her make-up. “Larry, I’m not doing this,” she pouted over her shoulder as they walked into the stage wing.

“Honey, it’s normal to be nervous,” Larry told her. “But you’re ready. You know the material and you look fantastic. Now go break a leg!” He gently pushed her towards the spotlights.

“No. I’m not doing it, Larry,” Lisa was immovable.

By this time, the stage director was motioning frantically for Lisa to make her entrance. Larry had had enough. “Lisa! You asked me to help you be the best Christmas Queen ever and I did!” Larry yelled. “It’s Christmas Eve, Lisa. Don’t fuck it up!” He was immediately sorry for his words, but it was too late.

Larry was standing beside the hot mic Lisa was supposed to carry onstage to perform her Christmas solo to the packed church auditorium. Every good Christian in attendance heard him tell Lisa not to ‘fuck it up’. Larry was mortified.

Lisa dramatically rolled her eyes at Larry as she grabbed the mic and covered it with her hand, “Great job, daaad,” she said sarcastically, “Way to get the crowd ready for peace and goodwill.”

She sauntered onto the stage, refusing to hurry for the now apoplectic stage director and performed her solo. And she didn’t fuck it up once.

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As a former transportation industry writer, I learned that a regular paycheck is nice, but writing about something you're no longer interested in is miserable. Apparently, I like writing more than money - so I'm back to freelancing at 52. It's not as altruistic as it sounds, I'm also cranky and difficult and refuse to fit in anymore, making steady employment pesky and potentially dangerous to my psyche.

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