Wish Me Luck


This was it. The promise she’d made weighed on her. If she didn’t get a callback, she’d return home. NYC was expensive. She’d go to UMD, study business, be a cookie-cutout. Fifteen years of work, dedication, dreams dismissed.


She strode onto the stage and nodded at the accompanist who played the chords of “What I Did for Love.”

“Stop. Next.”

She frowned.

“I didn’t sing.”

“Too short. Move on.”

“I have a fantastic voice.”

“Won’t make up for your height. Next.”

Panic. “This is my last chance.”

Not my problem. Next.”

To hell.

She sang: “Kiss the day goodbye. The sweetness and the sorrow. Wish me luck . . .”




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