BB Grey–musings

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The Last Live Performance I Saw?
She was sitting three feet from me, in heels and heartbreak.

Jennifer lied the way other people breathed—effortlessly, constantly, as if stopping might kill her. You name it—family drama, mystery illnesses, secret talents. But this one… this one was award-worthy.

It started with her job being on the line again. Showing up late, blowing deadlines, disappearing in the middle of meetings like Houdini. The kind of stuff that usually gets you written up or walked out.

Instead, Jennifer walked into Ted’s office, pulled the string on her internal puppet show, and let the curtain rise.

“I didn’t want to say anything… I really didn’t. But the chemo’s starting to get to me,” she said, voice trembling like a leaf in a thunderstorm. “I thought I could handle it quietly. I didn’t want special treatment.”

Ted blinked. His mouth opened, then closed, like a fish caught off-guard. Ted wasn’t exactly a cynic. He was the kind of guy who still believed in handwritten thank-you cards and shaking hands firmly. And Jennifer? She knew it.

“My God, Jennifer… I—I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” he said, motioning for her to sit. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Please, what do you need?”

She sat with practiced fragility. A sigh. A turn of the head. A pause. She knew when to let silence do the heavy lifting.

“I’ll still go to the job walk,” she murmured. “Just… give me the morning. The nausea… it’s just unpredictable.”

Ted fumbled, wringing his hands like he was trying to squeeze guilt out of them. “Take the morning, of course. Rest. If you feel up to it later, great. If not, I’ll cover for you. Or get Gina.”

Jennifer looked out the window, glassy-eyed, and nodded. “Thank you. Really. And please… don’t say anything to the others. I just… I trust you.”

Ted’s face softened like butter under a heat lamp. “Of course. Just between us.”

He opened his office door for her like a funeral director ushering out the grieving. She walked the hallway like she had a ghost tethered to her spine. Just before opening her door, she glanced back.

Ted was still watching, making sure she didn’t crumple like a paper doll.

Jennifer stepped into her office, flicked on the lights, dropped her handbag like it owed her money, and spun into her leather chair. Her reflection winked back at her in the window.

“And the Best Actress Award goes to…” she whispered, a crooked smile creeping across her lips.

That?
That was the last live performance I saw.
Front row seat.
Standing ovation.
And not a single soul knew they’d just watched a masterpiece of deception.

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