La Cabaret De Montagne (Landing Day - night)

The old furnace’s original problem was actually simpler to repair than the damage done by Arturo’s attempts at restarting it. Despite their mechanical failings, the two men had proven decent hosts in the aftermath, offering up a room for her to sleep, and a plate of food sitting on the warmer. “There’s your bathroom,” Remy pointed toward a narrow doorway as he hurried toward the backstage dressing room. “You’re welcome to come watch the show, if you wish.”

A good crowd had formed. From her place in an out of the way corner, Marisol noted a broad mix of people who’d taken seats at the tables. Young, old, obvious gentry and rough hewn lumber folk…all ethnicities…a well varied crowd. It actually took her a moment to realize that most of the couples who huddled together were common gender. *Oh,* she understood. *It’s a sly bar…*

A remarkable thought, that here in this remote little mountain town would reside a public house that wore its’ orientation on its’ sleeve. More remarkable still that a good two thirds of the clientele were obviously toughened loggers and lumbermen and women. Remi and Arturo played the ebullient hosts, wearing matching white tuxedo jackets and black tie as they hurried from table to table with drinks and aperitifs.

Once the show began, the rhythm of the club changed altogether. Arturo greeted the crowd, delivering a mildly comical monologue, before the band joined him in an opening song. When he finished, the crowd applauded. The band struck up a tune, lingering at it to briefly cover a slightly awkward moment as a colored background drop was lifted into place. Then, Remy took the stage.

He was seated on a wooden stool, bedecked in a white silk tuxedo and top hat. When he lifted his face to the crowd, Marisol’s breath caught in her throat. Remi had transformed…from the man she’d met into one of the glamorous women whose images adorned the walls. “Wow,” she marveled quietly as his voice rose in song over the band.

And so, the first Festival Night of Le Cabaret de Montagne progressed. Remi and Arturo took turns performing, with the band filling in during costume and scenic changes. It didn’t take much to notice that this crowd was enthusiastic in its’ support, but they were less so toward the bartender who was quickly becoming overwhelmed. With the hosts busy performing, people were leaving their seats, becoming impatient as the barman scrambled to take their orders. The growing line was beginning to snake out into the crowd, forcing some patrons to stand for the show. It wasn’t pretty, but even in this remarkably different world, it was a game she knew.

She hurried to her room, unbuttoning clothes as she slipped inside. The duffel was up ended onto her bed, belching out all her possessions. After the hasty choice of a white button down blouse and her black full length skirt, she headed back downstairs.

A tap at the dressing room door was answered by Remi, clad in a tight fitting skull cap. “I’m busy,” he muttered as he wriggled into the next costume. “Can you zip me up?”

“Sure,” Marisol agreed as she rushed in. “Got a bowtie I can borrow?”

“Over there,” he pointed toward a wall rack. “Not the black,” Remi cautioned as he pulled a wig of strawberry blond curls onto his head.” “We’re wearing those tonight…take any other you like…wait... why?”

“Helping out,” she said as she hefted the zipper on his silver evening gown.

A few minutes later, she was out on the floor, taking on the line of bar customers. “Hi, I’m Marisol,” she greeted a heavyset woman in plaid shirt and a padded vest. “Let me have your drink order. Where are you sitting?”