I was wearing a black dress with whitestars across the fabric and ruffles at the neck and cuffs, a purple cloth faux-belt, a tall black top hat, pointed black high heeled boots, a sensible amount of make-up, and lacy red underwear safely covered by all of it. I was a tough, sexy broad who was not to be trifled with.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, if you don't have a ticket, I can't let you in."
I was currently being trifled with. It was a young man acting as valet for the theatre. It was a showing of
The Woman With A Thousand Outfits And Nothing To Wear
. I had the chance to buy tickets for months, but I intentionally chose not to. The game of winning tickets simply by throwing my weight around was too exciting.
I took a moment to prepare myself for the joy of every word of this sentence: "Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Sorry, ma'am, I don't." If he was exasperated by the cliche, he held it back.
"I am Megan Bandini." I relished the look of horror on his face. I use my family's money to fund theatres, restaurants, musicians. A well-placed word from me and I could destroy a career - certainly this fool's career, something he could have avoided if he'd recognised me.
"Oh lord! I'm sorry, Miss Bandini," he said, his face turning white.
"I should think so," I said, mentally planning on putting a bad word in for him.
"Which seat would you like?" he asked, pitifully unaware of the fate that was waiting for him. My secret plan made me feel powerful. His desperate flailing to please me was only funnier knowing his destruction was inevitable and imminent.
"A box seat, please," I said. My polite but firm tone was practically arousing. I was toying with him! I and I alone controlled his fate.
"Megan Bandini?" said a man's voice behind me.