JPF Home Page Forums Creative Arts Forums Creative Writing Forum "One Night In Paradise"

25. SODA SCHEMES: I've Got A Gig!

Sodaensus and Thimiannh come to Eenuh's, bring wine, food gifts. After they've gone Eenuh frets in pillow talk about cost. She says Sodaensus ensures her her fee will be nominal, and simply for Tax and Legal purposes. She says Soda finally tells her she's truly enjoying the challenge of thinking through this, that being the lawyer who argues my case for immigration, our marriage, interplanetary diplomacy, will make her career.

"She says, 'I should be paying you!'" Eenunh is quiet a moment, says, "I trust her."

We dine, sip wine, laugh a lot over the nonsense of life. Tinunh and her friends sit, listen, look, learn, become conversant in matters in general. We don't discuss our 'case'.

Sodaensus is quick to put a finger to her lips, to shush any of us who broach tactics and strategy, keep us just talking life, the life of people, making their own decisions about love and marriage and consideration for rights for families to make our own decisions, independent of what Governments do; family.

"There is precedent in the Terror Wars," she philosophizes. The south comes up and terrorizes us all, and the north comes down and drives them back. Then the north terrorizes us all and the south comes back. We're in what should be a neutral zone, respected by all sides. But a high ranking civilian in Government gets caught in a scandal, some... young fool uses that and rises to wield Government authority, north or south, and a whole new level of stupidity breaks out. Then a high-ranking military man gets ideas and makes it worse! We need the freedom to make our own decisions, not to be misled into places and conditions we don't want to be in!"

The children are growing. Still tiny children, I see their bodies maturing, see their faces become more stern, lovely when they brighten with smiles, capable of being silly, making jokes, getting jokes, but capable of having deep thoughts, and expressing them; young adults. The present, a precedent for the future, is theirs. They will inherit what we are able to give them.

Some visits... we meet Tinunh's little troupe after school and go to Soda and Thin Man's house, by invitation, and the children there too are integral to the conversation. They do their homework on the floor around the coffee table, or in the adjacent dining room. They gaze out to the east where darkness rises on the horizon, over distant mountains, while red Sunstarset light paints the desert floor, casts a black shadow of the hive... of Entemannh Garibe... across the desert to the east. Just when I think they're not paying attention, Tinunh or Eevannh, who lives here, on the east side, an upper middle class neighborhood, will come out of the dining room, or look up from the floor, and make a comment, or ask a question of such cogency that Soda sits upright, queries, back and forth. Soda picks up her yellow-orange pad, makes copious notes. I get the gist of what they're saying, and see the anthropological argument, what Soda feels is a strong line of argument, and how it links with her Legal arguments; family, love, matters beyond Government interference. She notes that people do crazy things for love. Love is powerful, and real. We love our families. She cautions Eevannh to secrecy. Eevannh agrees. She comprehends the... danger of exposing our strategy.

One day I arrive to find Sodaensus with the children, kneeling on the floor by the coffee table, showing the children the menu from the fancy-smancy restaurant. I wonder why.

I marvel. Eevannh comes to me to say goodbye, "Annh," hugs me, consistently. She's no longer sad; just reserved, serious, mature, a lady. The other two are more reserved, smiles, grins, waves, brush fingertips. Tinunh hugs me consistently, to say farewell at any juncture of separation, just as her Mother does. And... we... just live. Soda tells us, "Just live. Be careful what you say. Be careful what you do. But just live. Let the Emoilihn see you living, loving, a family. Go out. Attend school functions. Go to the restaurant at the mall. Bring your receipts and I'll put the cost on my account, to be deducted from my bill, at the end. It's a defense expense. I can write it off. I'll make my money on the back end. Now is no time to be conservative, that conservative, with money. We want the Emoilihn to know us, not just about us, but us." She turns to me one day, saying,

"Attract attention. You with your hair and your crazy arms and legs, your hairy face, those eyes; you attract attention when they see you. Keep playing your guitar. Make a circuit. Go into every pub around Entemannh Garibe. When you get back to your home pub, start another round. Get them to expect you on schedule."

I've been doing that on a smaller, local scale, playing a set list in one pub, sometimes a different set list in the next one, and a third session, repeating one of the earlier set lists in a third pub. That's about all I can get in in one evening. I haven't been all around the city, but, I can do that. Pubs are numbered. I'll keep track. I'll replay pubs where I seem to go over well.

Soda arranges for me to show up at the restaurant, in the middle of a day. It is the 9th day, a day when no one works, the 9th day out of three 9-day weeks, 27 days in a lunar month. She tells me to dress in my blue suit, black pants, black cowboy boots, wear my cowboy hat. It's not so much a cowboy hat as just a men's white summer hat. Eenunh read one of my books about cowboys.

I go; we go, Eenunh and I. We walk in, order a lunch meal. I have my guitar case, as instructed, set it on the window sill by the shutters, my stenciled website on the lid, facing out into the room. I wonder when the inter-planetary-wide-web (i-pww.com) will get here.

We gaze out to the north where a darkness as of an overcast seems to be.

"It may be smoke from the Terror Wars in the north," Eenunh says. "They flare up from time to time. But we shouldn't be able to see it from here. The nearest city, Casah Sagribe Garibe, is far from Entemannh Garibe."

Nothing dampens our mood. Eenunh is resplendent, resplendently beautiful, her hair tied behind her in a bushy pony tail. She is quite lively, humorous, affectionate. She reaches to dab at my mouth with a leaf, laughs, strokes my cheek, makes me want to bite her, but I don't.

I see her look up behind me, wonder who's coming. We've eaten. Perhaps the waitress is coming to see if we want something more. She doesn't need the table. There are only two other couples at tables, the dozens of tables with their white table cloths and white cutlery wrapped in lavender leaves awaiting diners.

Eenunh's smile brightens her face. I hear Sodaensus, inquiring about my guitar. It's a question she knows the answer to. I stand, we brush fingertips. Soda is behaving oddly, as if we're just meeting.

"Will you play your instrument?" she asks. I agree to. Never ask a Song-Writer to play for you unless you expect him to do it. Show-offs, we are easy prey for anyone who expresses a desire to listen. I play along, pick up my case, set it on a raised area there where there are only two tables in a raised alcove, like THE special tables in the room, a roughly triangular space, simply going out with the shape of the cliff, I think. It occurs to me a large grand piano would fit the space, perhaps with no room for the player to sit! I'm able to look down on the desert floor, through the windows. I know on the east side I could look down into the plant nursery where Eenunh works. I turn my chair, there on the main floor, not the foot-high raised floor with the special tables. I sit, begin to play "Blackbird" by The Beatles, an ancient song that still resonates in the ears and minds of Humans back on Earth. I play through it, instrumentally. I play with the chord positions, incorporating my own composition. I end.

Soda asks, in Emoilihn, the answer she already knows, "Are there words?" She's heard them before. Her waitress looks to hear me answer, "Neh!"

I sing. The waitresses stand at the bar and look and listen.

A maitre d', dressed in his blue sport-coat and black pants, comes up from behind the bar, from what must be a lower floor, stands, joined by Blueboys, Bluegirls, just four, a bartender, but forming a crowd at the end of the bar, listening. I end my song and Soda, applauds. No one else does. Eenunh does.

Soda turns, motions to a waitress to come, orders a drink, and begins looking at a menu. She sits at a table, the second table away from us, nearer the bar, commands, "Play some more." I do.

In the middle of the song I see The Machinist! He, his lovely girlfriend, her two children! Out in the hall. I think to stop and go to them, invite them in, treat them to a meal, but they come to the doorway, stand looking, listening. I'm playing a full set of his strings now!

The maitre d' goes to them, leads them to a table. He is dressed in common clothes. His girlfriend is in a knit dress, and so are both the children. He asks for another table, closer to us. The maitre d' seems glad to accommodate. The people at the other tables are finishing their meals. The maitre d' goes to the other tables, turns each time from the conversation there to look at me. The people are looking too. My song ends. I play another. Eenunh applauds. Soda is served and dining, stops to applaud. The Machinist and company applaud. I can't help grinning.

Tinunh and her three friends are out in the hall!

I look at Eenunh. She is aware! She glances at me, stands, raises her arm to greet them. They come in, met in the middle of the room by the maitre d', Tinunh gestures toward our table, smiling with charm, extends her hand, brush fingertips. He spins his arm toward us, grinning, lets them by. They're all wearing knit dresses, looking like a little cheer-leading squad of ladies. They greet us with hugs, those who hug, others with smiles, brush fingertips, take seats, laying their school satchels on the tabletop. A waitress comes. They order from the menu. They're quick to determine what they want. As if they've seen this menu before! And they have!

There's Thin Man and two other men! Out in the hall! They come to the door, blue blazers, black trousers, sharp-dressed men! The maitre d' hurries to them, brings them to the middle of the room. Thin Man gestures to come one table closer, still out in the middle of the room. I play. Others come, common people in common work dresses and shoes, canvas pants. The maitre d' seats them. One man is gesturing at his pants and shoes, seeming to indicate he's coming from work and unclean. The maitre d' gestures to the bar. The man goes there, sits, is served. Two other men come by, out in the hall, stop and come to the door. The man at the bar waves to them. They come in, sit at the bar. The place buzzes.

I play an instrumental composition, followed by several songs I sing. I play this pattern, instrumental, songs, instrumental, several songs. The applause is still just my friends, but others seem to notice. In a while more clap their hands at the ends of songs. I hear Eenunh pay our bill with my account number, gesture to me, talk to the waitress. She gets up, strides with grace and confidence toward the maitre d' over at the end of the bar. They talk. She turns to look and listen. He stands and looks, and listens. I'm pretty sure I read his lips saying 'Ass oomam!' She talks to him. They brush fingertips.

Soda comes to our table, brushes fingertips with Eenunh. I end the song I'm playing, she comes and brushes fingertips with me, turns, and goes to the maitre d'. Now, she's coming back. She tells me,

"You should go home and rest now. You can come back here and play for the evening meal, and make a living!"

She's excited! I can see her enthusiasm. Just as quickly, she hides it. That's my lawyer!

"I have negotiated a nice base pay for the evening. And you can solicit the audience directly by displaying your account number! It will be a wealthier crowd, more... economically secure, able to pay, this evening. I think today's crowd shows a general interest. We used to have music. They want to hear music again!"

She hides her enthusiasm as I stand and she turns a little toward the bar where the maitre d' stands watching. She turns to brush fingertips with Eenunh again.

"I told Eenunh I was going to make a contract to represent you, to manage your earnings. I hope we can get together some time soon, tomorrow," she grins, specifying, "to negotiate that and get it on record." She grins, waves at Eenunh. She walks away, ignores the grinning Thin Man, walks past him with a sling of her left hand to tap his back by his left shoulder. I saw that!

The girls had brought out their homework, were doing it at the table. They all look up, grin, get up, put their things in their satchels. Eenunh rises. I stand, put my guitar in my case. There is applause. Soda stops at the exit, turns, applauds, looks toward the maitre d'. He's watching her. She waves. He waves.

He comes to me as we start walking through the tables, brushes fingertips, turns and announces to the crowd that I will be back this evening! Some applaud. We brush fingertips again. He turns. I go. Thin Man stops me to talk.

"Isn't she an amazing woman?" he says, eyes a'flicker. I assume he means the amazing Sodaensus, MY lawyer. My... manager.

"Yes," I tell him. "I have always thought so!" We grin at each other. He starts to shake my hand, interrupts and simply brushes fingertips. The other men are looking, golden irises flicker, smiles, grins, lofting their mugs in a toast. I say, "Thank you," in Emoilihn.

"She'll make a great Mother," Thin Man says.

"What?" I inquire.

"Sodaensus is pregnant!" Thin Man says. His grin is now ebullient. "She decided," he says. "She decided. She wants to have a baby now. It's all those children in the house. Tinunh, her friends. Soda wants to have her baby before we get much older. I'm going to be the father of a beautiful little girl, or a beautiful little boy. He... or she... is going to make me old before my time, and I'm going to love it!"

This demands a human handshake of congratulations!

I go on toward the door. Strangers speak to me, praise the music. They don't want a long conversation, and I work my way to the door, wave to The Machinist and his girlfriend. Out in the hall I walk past the shops. I think I'm grinning like a demented man. Soda set this up! I'll bet she's the one who 'notified' The Machinist. I'll bet some of these people are her friends, his friends. Thin Man brought two friends.

And... Dude! I've got a gig!

In the hall I see Eevannh's mother walking away toward the east side with her and the other two girls.

Almost at the end of the corridor down the west side I see the prettiest two girls on planet; Eenunh and Tinunh. Perfect white teeth and golden irises can be seen from here. They wait for me, let me gently crash into their hugs. Eenunh kisses me gently, hands on my cheeks, says, "I can say I knew you before you were famous!" Tinunh laughs, hanging on us, glorious little up-turned face, eyes a' flicker, joyous!

I've... never... been happier... in my life.