Her New Place - (Day 2, Early Morning)

*Marisol…* The voice was familiar, yet strangely discorporate. She looked about, expecting to find the speaker. Yet there was none.

*Marisol…* Closer now. “I’m here,” she addressed the darkened void.

*Marisol.* She was suddenly enveloped, embraced in a warmth whose pervasive nature she could only describe as love. Emotions coursed within her, feeding into that bottomless love, only to find their way back laden with compassion and concern.

“I’m okay,” she felt compelled to share the embrace, the love of a mother, of a sister…a sister… “Lyen?” she asked. “Lyen.” As the name escaped her lips, Marisol’s eyes opened. “Lyen,” she whispered again.

She came fully awake to a gentle knock at the door.

“Marrrisol? Marrrisol,” Arturo called out. “Come to breakfast.”

“I’m on my way,” she replied sleepily. She allowed herself the luxury of a good, deep stretch, arching her back as a contented yawn escaped her lips. The bed was large enough for two, affording her ample space to contort and muss the warm blankets any way she liked. The room was small, but tasteful painting and window covering gave it a bright, airy feel. As she slipped into her robe, Marisol took in the framed art that hung on the walls. A portrait of an angular old man, in knight’s armor, pointing his lance toward a windmill as a smaller man watched from the back of a mule. A stylistic rendering of four brown skinned musicians, playing as a woman clad in a red dress embraced a microphone. The last was a portrait, obviously comic intent, of her two hosts, gaunt faced and serious before a barn as one held a pitchfork. She giggled at that, tying the knot in her belt as she opened the door.

Remy and Arturo were deep in conversation when she arrived in their dining room. “The timing just doesn’t work,” Remy was saying. “With the scene change and both costume changes, the band will need to play three…oh, good morning, Marisol,” he smiled. “Sleep well?”

“Like the dead,” she smiled her gratitude. “The bed is so comfortable.”

“Please,” Arturo gestured. “Sit down. Will you take coffee?”

“Oh, thank you.” She lifted the mug, inhaled the fragrance, and then swallowed. “This is amazing!”

“Chicory,” Remy answered the unvoiced question. “The coffee beans we import are not the best quality. We raise chicory during the growing season to add a more tolerable flavor.”

As Arturo dished up sausage, eggs, and toast, Marisol relished the flavor of the coffee…originated in an ancient place Remy called Louisiana. “It’s fantastic,” she offered once more. “Like your show last night.”

“So you enjoyed it?”

“I’d never seen anything like it,” she admitted. “The music…your costumes…and your voices! You both sing so beautifully!”

“Her first trans show,” Remy shared a fond exchange with his partner. “So nice to hear that you liked it.”

“I loved it,” she exclaimed between bites. “And your makeup? I clearly could learn a thing or two.”

Arturo dabbed a napkin to his lips. “Exaggeration,” he explained. “A pretty face needs to be pretty all the way to the last row. When you’re close, theatrical makeup often appears clownish. But no matter,” he dismissed the topic.

“If I can ask,” the woman said carefully, “is there enough business in Aurora Creek to support your cabaret?”

Remy snorted. “You heard us fighting, didn’t you?” As Arturo laughed, he waved off her hasty apology. “It’s getting better. Since the Alliance decided to frown on sly folk, New Kasmir is one of the planets where we’ve sought refuge. Aurora Creek’s got a pretty decent community building, and the locals are glad for the extra coin.”

“Carlo tells us that you were helpful with table service last night. Are you still looking for work?”

“Arturo!” Remy chided. “She’s only just sat down!”

Arturo laid a hand to his chest. “My apologies,” he offered a subtle bow of his head.

Marisol shook her head as the napkin covered her mouth. “No no,” she responded. “I’m happy to talk. I am looking for steady work and a place to stay,” she nodded. “I’ve heard the next boat doesn’t drop into town for a month.”

“And so,” Remy said, “we have a proposition for you.”

She folded her hands into her lap. “I’m all ears.”

“This festival,” Arturo began, “is truly our best earnings opportunity of the year. What we make during this week determines the sort of year to follow. Last year’s festival was…” he paused, offering a winsome smile, “not as we might have hoped. And so, this year, we’ve pulled out what few stops we could manage…”

“He means we’ve spent all our money,” Remy added.

“We’ve hired a bartender, Carlo,” Arturo resumed. “A few musicians to form a band around Jean-Jacques, our guitarist and disk spinner. Better liquor, some painted backdrops…we even bought theatrical lighting and sound equipment…”

“…Most of which arrived broken.”

“Remy! What we mean to say is this,” Arturo placed his hands upon the table. “We can offer you work, food, and the room you slept in. What we cannot offer is…”

“Money,” Remy interrupted. “Because we’re betting everything on this week.”

“However,” Arturo frowned at his mate, “there’s money to be had. I believe that you divided your tips with Carlo?”

“We did,” Marisol said. “So is all your new theatrical equipment broken?”

“Roughly half.”

“But you haven’t installed any of it.”

Remy fixed her with a deadpan stare. “You saw what my husband did to our furnace.”

“Remy…” Arturo complained as Marisol laughed.

“It wasn’t that bad!” she chortled.

“Thank you,” Arturo said, “for defending my honor to my own soul mate.”

She laughed, nodding her head. “The only other thing I’d ask,” she said, “is when that boat comes, if I’m short the cost of passage, could you spot me the difference?”

“Yes,” both men answered in unison.

Marisol smiled, extending her hand across the table. “That sounds pretty good to me. Is there any more of that coffee?”