Continuing with Part Seven: Divas and Drugs, Shamiso's adventure progresses to the penthouse suite inside the beautiful Langham Hotel in London. That's where, as everyone in the music world knows, her twin sister lives. Shamiso's first encounter was with a rather nervous hotel doorman who fully believed she was Rudo. No telling what she'll find when the door to the penthouse suite is flung open. Will it be her long lost sibling? Or yet another weirdo?
Continuing with Part Seven: Divas and Drugs, Shamiso's adventure progresses to the penthouse suite inside the beautiful Langham Hotel in London. That's where, as everyone in the music world knows, her twin sister lives. Shamiso's first encounter was with a rather nervous hotel doorman who fully believed she was Rudo. No telling what she'll find when the door to the penthouse suite is flung open. Will it be her long lost sibling? Or yet another weirdo?
Hello and welcome back to Season Two of Twin Paradox. I'm King Everett Medlin and what you're listening to is a SciFi trilogy I wrote four years ago under the pen name Purple Hazel. Twin Paradox follows my first podcast series entitled Deathwalker Colony, which is now a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon, along with the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series, the Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy. Go online and check 'em out!
Continuing with Part Seven: Divas and Drugs, Shamiso's adventure continues as she goes to find the penthouse suite inside the beautiful Langham Hotel in London. That's where, as everyone in the music world knows, her twin sister lives. Shamiso's first encounter was with a rather nervous hotel doorman who fully believed she was Rudo. No telling what she'll find when the door to the penthouse suite is flung open. Will it be her long lost sibling? Or yet another weirdo?
Twin Paradox is a SciFi series encompassing three full length novels, all of which can be found on Amazon.com. You can go online and purchase them, or, if you prefer, listen to me read them to you. Ladies and Gentlemen, Part 7: Divas and Drugs. Chapter 34: Army of Dolls.
Roughly twenty minutes prior to all this happening, Rudo Love’s sagacious business manager Neville Bevits had become gripped with panic. He’d been sitting in the hotel suite where the famed pop music diva had been living for the past several years when something mighty peculiar had appeared in his Inbox.
He’d been going through electronic mail messages on his miniature hand-held E-pad, and only just realized what was about to transpire. Rudo’s twin sister? The one she’d always talked about? The one she often said had died years ago? Yes, that very same person was not only alive and well … but on top of everything else she was coming to see her!
Up to that moment in time he’d been peacefully nursing his third glass of gin and tonic, sifting through a hundred messages ranging from generally positive fan mail to requests from news reporters for interviews. Many of these he’d have to politely decline. Rudo was in no condition to be interviewed after what she’d been through recently. What’s more, as of late, Rudo had become the butt of of jokes in the media, and it may be too soon to try and attempt any damage control given the circumstances. It seemed that after her latest tour disaster, the press was out for blood. Everyone wanted a “scoop” - all those hungry, desperate reporters. Wanted to be the first to interview the mysterious superstar once she felt like reemerging from her self-imposed “hiatus”. Neville knew perfectly well what they were after. Knew he needed to play his cards right. Best to make them wait – at least until his client was finally ready to face her public.
Of course that’s not all he found in his Inbox prior to noticing the more official-looking communiqué from Space Programme. There were several messages from angry executives over at the production company as well. “Alright, alright,” Neville had muttered with annoyance. “I get it. We’re not fulfilling our contract. Yes. I know. You don’t have to be cunts about it. Bugger off!”
He was referring of course to the ongoing barrage of letters from attorneys representing firms who produced Rudo’s recordings – and more importantly - paid for all the studio time required to make them. These were also the companies who footed the bill for that very same tour he’d had to pull her out of before things got worse. At one point during her most recent show, six months ago, he honestly felt she was going to collapse; and if she suffered yet another concussion he sincerely believed that would be the end of her.
Sure, the press had had a field day with speculation following the incident: Neville running on stage and throwing an arm around her shoulders. Rudo staggering like her legs were going to buckle. Her voice slurring. Her eyes unfocused like she was losing consciousness. Most suspected drugs. Many fans – and entertainment reporters right along with them - figured it was the same, sad old story: Rock star who can’t take the pressure. Can’t keep up the grinding pace of a world tour. Can’t stay sober. Can’t stay off drugs. Some were willing to write her off completely. Assumed she’d burned out; and now she’d fade away. She’s really pissed off the fans this time, they said. Soon they’ll stop downloading her music. A few predicted the end of Rudo's career. The vultures were circling.
Only drugs weren’t the real problem with Rudo Love. Part of it, sure, but not the central issue. No it was something Neville had wisely kept from the public – even if drugs did indeed play a minor role and he wasn’t denying that. But Neville was quite the savvy business manager. Her third since her career began. He knew just what his Diva needed for now and that was rest. Lots of rest. Problem being that she was just about as difficult to manage off the road as when they were on the road touring.
And yet now, in addition to all that, just to complicate matters further: this. Oh yes, now he had an even more difficult challenge to face, for Rudo’s long lost identical twin sister had returned to England after 24 years in space.
“Fuck me … this is bollocks,” Neville had exclaimed as he read through Monika Steckel’s letter. “With all I have to bloody deal with ….” He got right off his backside however and immediately got to work. Flew into action when he noticed the sad state of affairs their hotel suite was in. In fact, by the time Shamiso’s van had arrived from Heathrow and Clive the doorman had greeted her out front, he’d already spent several minutes racing around the living area piling up dishes onto a tray for room service to come fetch. Picking up trash, picking up discarded clothing and dirty laundry, tossing it behind couches or kicking it underneath, hoping no one would see it; he scrambled frantically (miraculously without spilling his drink) until the knock finally came at the door. When it did, he froze for a moment, sweat beading on his brow, his shirt still unbuttoned, and with his lover Anders hollering at him from the servant’s bedroom across from the living area, beckoning Nigel to come join him.
“Sweetums? Are you coming to bed or shall I start without you?”
To this, Neville could only reply, “Not now Derz. I’ve got a bit of a crisis here.”
It’d be yet another night that business would have to come between him and his sex life. Too bad too. He could surely use a good shag right now. Then after a pause, the knocking continued - this time a bit louder - as if the person at the door believed they weren’t being heard. Nigel became unnerved.
“Alright! I heard you! Give me a moment!” he yelled down the short hallway leading to the front door. He gave the room another quick once-over. Looked around to see if things appeared presentable. Satisfied with his efforts, he slurped his gin and tonic one last time before setting it down on the wet bar across the room. He then hastily buttoned up his shirt and went over to open the door.
As Neville opened the hotel room door his jaw dropped wide open; eyes filled with dumbfounded amazement. Standing there - duffel bag slung over one shoulder and the other hand on her hip looking like a much younger version of Rudo - was the twin sister of the world famous pop star he’d been managing these past five years. They looked at one another for a second or two; like they were sizing each other up. But then in a deep, husky voice – very much like her sister’s - the young woman confidently said, “Well … ‘ello. I’m Shamiso Kachote. ‘N I’m ‘ere to see me skin and blister. Do I got the right place?” The many similarities were not lost on Neville. He picked up on them immediately. Same face, same eyes, same height, same build – she was the spitting image of her sister.
“Oh … my … God,” stammered Neville. “So you do exist. And my-my, the resemblance.” He then smiled brightly – though still slightly unnerved. “Well, please come in won’t you? I’m Neville, Rudo’s business manager. Just got word you were coming earlier this evening. It’s indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He then backed away to let her inside.
Shamiso picked up on the awkwardness of the fellow and smirked slightly by twisting her mouth up to one side, then walked into the suite, stepping around dishes piled up in the hallway on trays. Inside it smelled musty – sort of like the hygiene chambers on Santa Maria back when they were building the colony on Kapteyn B. Always smelled like gym socks or soiled underwear in that place. Shamiso started to wonder just what the hell was going on. Who all lived in this hotel suite anyway? And what’s more, where was her sister Rudo?
“Havin’ a shindig here tonight, are we?” Shamiso asked, seeing the full bar set up across the room and the half-finished glass of liquor sitting up top. She walked into the living area and dropped her duffel bag on the floor. Never occurred to her to ask if they had a room ready for her. Besides - she’d never had a “room of her own”; not in her entire life. All she cared about right at this moment was finding her long lost twin.
“Oh no … no party going on, thank the dear Lord,” replied Neville. “But can I fetch you a drink? Gin and tonic perhaps?” His breath smelled like a mixture of industrial chemicals and lime juice as he passed. Smelled much like the cleaning products they used back on Santa Maria to sterilize toilets. “How would that sound?” he asked kindly. Gin again. Yet another Londoner was offering her gin. Shamiso replied bluntly this time. There was no use trying to carry on the charade of pretending to be her twin. Reality was she had no working knowledge of adult beverages whatsoever and yet again here was someone suggesting to her some kind of liquor she figured must be named after the famous card game or something.
“No bloody idea what that is, mate,” she blurted, shrugging her shoulders. “And by the way that’s the second time tonight someone’s asked me if I wanted ‘jinn’. What in blazes is it?”
Neville laughed and replied jokingly, “You have the temerity to call yourself British … and never bloody heard of gin? Pffft. Disgraceful. Been up in space that long have you?” He whisked over to the bar and grabbed a couple of bottles while Shamiso formed a grin on her face. Thought the older man was comical – almost silly – yet quite likeable. “Probably a poof,” she thought to herself. There’d been a couple of those on the crew and they’d been close friends of hers.
Yes, Neville was slightly effeminate in his movements, she noticed. Had eyeliner on, which she found rather odd. Older man, probably in his fifties or late forties, but he still had most of his hair, which was quaffed nicely for a guy his age. His shirt was untucked but buttoned up to his sternum; printed with pictures of flowers, bottles of suntan oil, palm trees, and surfboards … as though he were a pasty white English tourist on some tropical vacation. His olive-colored slacks were neatly pressed; and he had on faux leather Roman sandals. Even had an earring in one ear.
“I most certainly am British,” she remarked while giggling, “And yeah. Been up in space a long fucking time, I have. Ages.” Meanwhile Neville held up two bottles.
“Well then, let me introduce you to my two good friends here. First off: The Yeomen Warders of her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress the Tower of London – otherwise known as Beefeaters. Bloody good gin.” He then nodded and pursed his lips while furrowing up his eyebrows. “The jolly fellow in the dashing red uniform on this here bottle will take very good care of you, I promise. All we have to do is pair him off with Mr. Schweppes over here (Neville thrust out a yellow and white bottle with red lettering on it) … plus a little wedge of lime of course … and voila. Gin and Tonic. Delicious … and bloody refreshing.” Shamiso chuckled.
“Maybe later. You go ahead with yours. I’m just waiting to see me sistah. Where is she anyway? She takin’ a Micky Bliss?”
Neville processed the old Cockney expression she’d just used for urinating then scoffed, “Oh no darling, she’s out like a light I’m afraid. Room door behind you. See?” He pointed at the closed door just over Shamiso’s left shoulder. “Sound asleep,” he clarified. “Yep. Sleeping with Prince Valium tonight. Likely won’t come ‘round for hours. You might as well join me for a night cap ‘n tell me all about your jolly space mission.” Shamiso was confused at this choice of words.
“Wait, Guv-nuh. Prince who?” queried Shamiso cocking an eye and starting to look suspicious. “Ew the fuck’s that? That some new bloke she been seein’?”
Neville laughed, “Hahah. No darling. You probably never heard of it. Valium … diazepam …it’s a medication for treating anxiety and insomnia. Helps her get to sleep. Keeps her calm when she’s onstage too. She’s been taking it for years.”
This immediately set Shamiso off.
“DRUGS?!” asked a now exasperated Shamiso, “No fucking way. Seriously? My sister’s taking drugs?” She was now standing just like her twin sister often did, with a hand on her hip and index finger from the other hand pointing toward the floor. “No fucking way you folks are feedin’ drugs to me twin sister, are you?” Neville took immediate notice of her protectiveness of her identical sibling. He then clarified while freshening up his drink.
“Medication, darling,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s all. Doctor-prescribed. She uses it to treat her condition. I carefully monitor it for her just to make sure she’s being safe with her doses. Learned the hard way unfortunately with that girl, let me tell you. She can be quite a wild one when she has a mind to be.”
Shamiso shook her head with disappointment. “So it’s true then … all that they was sayin’ in them articles I read. She is a druggy, ain’t she? She is bonkers.” Neville slurped his gin and then calmly shook his head.
“No my dear. It’s not like that, I assure you.” He then walked around from the bar and across the living room toward Shamiso. Pointing past her shoulder, he indicated toward the door behind where she was standing. “Here, let me show you something, may I? Maybe this will answer a lot of your questions.”
Walking toward and then past her, he gave her a nod as he passed and cocked an eyebrow as if to say, “Brace yourself.” He walked over to the bedroom door and stopped a few paces from the threshold. “Here, love,” he said in a low voice. “Come look inside her room. Be careful you don’t wake her of course … just poke your head in and see for yourself. She’s just fine – not to worry. But go on … have a look.”
Shamiso hesitated for a moment while Neville continued to nod his head toward the door, with his hands on his hips, seeming to encourage her to come over, but patiently awaiting her. She finally shrugged and agreed. “Alright mate … I guess I could come have a butcher’s. Sure it‘ll be okay? I mean I just wanna see her – it’s been a long, long time, ya’ know?” Neville nodded confidently and turned the doorknob for her to go inside. She walked very slowly past him and into the room while he held an index finger to his lips to mimic a “shushing” gesture. She in turn acknowledged him by simply waving her hand at him as if to say, “I got this … don’t worry.”
Neville then backed away to leave her alone for a moment as she walked into Rudo’s private bedroom inside the hotel suite. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the mostly dark room, save for a single, electrified purple orb sitting on her nightstand which created dancing lights on the ceiling. It was just a little bit bigger than a human fist. Sort of juvenile, she thought to herself when noticing it. “Odd … but kinda cool I guess.”
But as things came into focus, Shamiso began noticing even more! Looking around, she suddenly began to detect what she thought for a moment was little people standing or sitting about the room. She startled at first when she saw rows and rows of eyes upon her, then calmed back down when she could see the room was being guarded by nearly an army of … dolls.
They were girl dolls; mainly. In fact there must have been fifty … displayed along two different walls full of shelves. Some were in packages. Some were dressed up in native clothing of other countries. What’s more, nearly half of the dolls were black females. Several of them were even sitting at a small children’s table, posed charmingly as if having a tea party together. This aspect of her sister’s personal life had certainly not been portrayed in any news stories out on the macronet; that was for damn sure! And yet there was even more for the young Space Programme veteran to take in. When Shamiso looked back at the bed her twin sister was sleeping in, it became even more obvious. She looked at it for a long moment as her eyesight adjusted further then couldn’t believe what she saw. This was clearly a child’s bed! Full size like that of an adult four-poster, sure, but painted white and with a carved headboard and frilly canopy like something from a little girl’s nursery. Nevertheless, curled up on that mattress, with stuffed animals, six or seven fluffy pillows, and a lavender-colored goose down comforter decorated with silvery designs, was her twin sister Rudo Kachote.
“Okay,” thought Shamiso, “Now this is really starting to get dodgy.”
She walked in a few more steps to get a better look at her, then saw an even more unnerving sight. Oh yes, it was definitely her sister. Looked almost identical to Shamiso in every way! Only now she was an adult, and had aged quite a bit faster than Shamiso which was to be expected. What Ensign Kachote now saw was a woman in her mid-thirties. Still fit and skinny, at least it would seem, only the face had some notable differences. Lighted by the orb, which splayed swirling, sparkling dots across the ceiling, she was able to see Shamiso’s neck and lower part of her face. Shamiso could also see her eyelids as Rudo lay there snoring - sounding like steam brakes on an old freight train. She looked so much older! Skin was less young-looking and smooth. Wrinkles and dry skin could be made out in the darkness, illuminated by her fancy nightlight.
Shamiso shook her head and thought about how strange this all seemed. This was clearly a 35-year old woman she was looking at! Yet the room was decorated like some pre-teen’s bedroom one might find in the Kensington neighborhood. Everything was to scale for a grown adult. The furniture in the room was full size (except for the little play table that was hosting a tea party of course). There was a bedroom furniture set, which matched the white carved headboard and bedposts. A pair of waist-high chests flanked the dressing table which had a lighted mirror. Each of the chests were topped by large jewelry boxes, figurines of couples waltzing and – of course – more dolls. Looking back at one wall of the room she saw a rack of dolls still in their original packaging. A number of them looked like they might have encompassed the entire series from a single manufacturer. But what was strangest of all to Shamiso were all the full-size dolls along the other wall. Lifelike and human, many of them. Some were clearly meant to look exactly like a real 8- or 9-year old child. Standing or sitting on pieces of furniture – one pair of girl dolls were sitting on a love seat together for instance – these were the most disturbing to view.
“Wouldn’t want fifty bloomin’ dollies watchin’ me sleep every bloomin’ night. No fuckin’ way,” she muttered to herself. It just didn’t make sense. Why would she decorate her room like that of a 10-year old? Shamiso shook her head and grunted. “Well sis, you and me are surely gonna be havin’ a little chinwag ‘bout all this come morning.” She then turned and headed back out of the room. Neville was waiting for her.
“So now ya’ know,” said Neville in a deep whisper as Shamiso carefully pulled the door closed behind her, “Feel any better?” He’d been right outside the whole time, sitting on a nearby couch in the living room. She sighed and rolled her eyes, then turned toward the tall window and balcony just to her side as she exited Rudo’s bizarre sanctuary.
The windows of the living room looked out onto the lights of London. Looking southward, down Regent Street toward Soho, and slightly southwesterly toward the lovely Cavendish Square Guardens to the right, Shamiso could make out various familiar sights. Mayfair would be off to the southwest, she started to remember. Marylebone would be due west - Fitzrovia to the East. To her right, Hyde Park was probably still out there in the distance. The River Thames was of course far off to the left, snaking through the old British capital toward London Bridge and the Tower of London.
No, she was absolutely not feeling better about things. Not in the slightest. This disturbing scene had made her wonder if perhaps her rich and famous sister might be slipping off the edge of reality. Had she gone mad? Had the fame and excitement – the insane lifestyle of a big name rock star – had it all driven her crazy? Shamiso finally spoke. “I had no idea, Neville. Really I didn’t. Is she … barmy? I mean seriously – is she a loony?”
“Oh heavens no, love.” Neville was quick to correct any of her initial observations and concerns which at first blush might have painted a rather dire picture. “No doubt it does look rather extreme.” He then uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “But it’s nothing more than a pretty black girl in a big city like London getting rich way too fast and with nothing else better to blow it on. She just up and decided she wanted to collect dolls one day - when she started making money that is. That’s basically what happened originally. It grew into something widely known about her too. Half the dolls in there – more than half actually – came from fans or other famous people as gifts. Media used to love talking to her about them … earlier in her career that is.”
Shamiso was already shaking her head by the time he finished saying all that. Still staring out the window. Still looking back at him via his reflection in the window glass, then looking out into the lights of London, she finally interrupted him. “Not just the dolls mate, what about the rest? How ‘bout that furniture? It was like a little girl’s bedroom. She even had drawers underneath the frame of her bed … what are they for? Doll clothes?”
Neville nodded and rolled his eyes. “Yes, pretty much. And some more dolls of course,” he replied, and to this Shamiso gave out a long groaning:
“Oh God … this is getting really fucking weird.”
But Neville was unfazed. She needn’t worry about a thing. Her sister was not crazy, no. She just missed out on having a childhood is all. Shamiso being taken from her was only one of many unfortunate events in the woman’s life which shaped her adulthood – and subsequently her rather stellar career.
“Tell you what, love,” said Neville patiently, “how about you and me – how ‘bout we have a little chit-chat. Why don’t you sit right down on that sofa there. I’ll make you something; and we’ll talk. You ready for one now? Ready for a stiff drink? Bet you are by now anyway.” Shamiso turned and nodded silently; with a look of both concern and emotional defeat. Neville saw this and chuckled softly. “Nah … not to worry darling … you just have a seat right there and let your buddy Neville here make you a Shirley Temple. It’s lemon lime soda with grenadine and maraschino cherries. Would you like that? Perhaps a bit easier on your tum-tum than gin, eh?”
Shamiso nodded some more; smiling ever so subtly this time. She absolutely loved cherry flavoring – though had long forgotten what the real fruit looked like back when she was a child. That said, sweetened, gelatinized, maraschino cherries were unfortunately about as close as she was ever going to get to the real thing anymore. Especially in Galactic Age England. Fresh, unprocessed fruits offered in restaurants or grocery stores were largely a thing of the past.
Just then there was a knock at the door and a woman saying “Room Service!” in English; but with a thick foreign accent – one that Shamiso couldn’t quite place. She was out in the hallway at that very moment holding a tray with a small bowl of something concealed under a globe-shaped stainless steel cover. This was Clive’s little favor promised to her from earlier: a bowl of Neapolitan ice cream – his own personal preference, and quite popular with Londoners.
The woman brought in the food tray and set it on the coffee table in front of Shamiso - after Neville had gone to let her in. He gave her a generous tip, then instructed her in slow, meticulous English – just in case she wouldn’t understand him – that he also needed a fold-out bed to be brought up for his new guest to sleep on. Used a lot of hand-gestures to explain himself, and these Shamiso found rather amusing.
When all this was done, and Shamiso was now kicking back and enjoying her ice cream, Neville made his way back to his seat on the love seat across from her. He slumped down on the couch with a deep sigh, leaned forward to grab up his Gin and Tonic, then held it out in front of his face for a moment examining it. Seemed to be contemplating whether to make himself another or just finish this one and call it a night.
After a moment he apparently made his decision. He took one more sip, set it down on his thigh with his fingers wrapped around the base, then began to talk. Shamiso meanwhile savored her combination strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla ice cream as she listened to Neville explain the painfully complicated situation regarding her sister Rudo.
This concludes tonight's presentation of Chapter Thirty-Four: Army of Dolls. I hope you enjoyed it. Watch for Chapter 35, which I'll be posting very soon.
Also, and don't forget, my latest full length novel, Deathwalker Colony, is available for purchase right now on Amazon.com, along with the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series: The Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy. A link to these is included in the transcript for this episode. Go online and check 'em out!
I'm King Everett Medlin. Thanks for tuning in.
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