Shamiso comes face to face with her identical twin Rudo Kachote after 24 Earth years. Not exactly identical due to the effects of time dilation; they nevertheless move and act much the same. Strikingly so, one might say. Setting aside nuances such as fashion choices and hairstyles, they're otherwise a matched pair. Could pose as one another quite easily and fool just about anybody. Given their dire circumstances, regarding missed concert dates and threats of breach of contract, this might be just what the doctor ordered.
Shamiso comes face to face with her identical twin Rudo Kachote after 24 Earth years. Not exactly identical due to the effects of time dilation; they nevertheless move and act much the same. Strikingly so, one might say. Setting aside nuances such as fashion choices and hairstyles, they're otherwise a matched pair. Could pose as one another quite easily and fool just about anybody. Given their dire circumstances, regarding missed concert dates and threats of breach of contract, this might be just what the doctor ordered.
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 comes face to face with her identical twin Rudo Kachote after 24 Earth years. Not exactly identical due to the effects of time dilation; they nevertheless move and act much the same. Strikingly so, one might say. Setting aside nuances such as fashion choices and hairstyles, they're otherwise a matched pair. Could pose as one another quite easily and fool just about anybody. Given their dire circumstances, regarding missed concert dates and threats of breach of contract, this might be just what the doctor ordered.
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. So let's continue. Ladies and Gentlemen, Part 7: Divas and Drugs. Chapter 36: Black Girl.
By morning, Shamiso had abandoned her fold-out bed in favor of the sofa she’d been sitting on the night before eating ice cream. She’d had just about enough of cots. It was one thing to endure them in a barracks back in Germany; back at Space Programme headquarters when they’d first arrived. There they’d had no choice … now she most certainly did. It felt good snuggling up on a big comfy couch.
It smelled a bit musty on the surface; like the cushions could use some dry-cleaning, but given Shamiso’s background and all those years getting rack time in nothing but a sleeping berth (shared by fifty other crewmen on a galactic space transport) it mattered little now. She'd stripped off the bedding from the folding spring bed and curled up on the couch. Slept like that for quite a while - before all hell broke loose.
Disoriented and quite a bit drowsy from being in bed for eleven hours, Rudo Kachote came out into the living room. It was right about half past eight. She stumbled in, staggering toward the bar to order herself some orange juice from the miniaturized food replication system provided by the hotel. This was a smaller version of ones that homes had. Mainly used for ordering soft drinks; it was capable of producing light snacks as well. She carefully approached the device so as not to fall over onto it. Her head was swimming and her vision somewhat blurry from the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows on what turned out to be a magnificent London morning. Typing her selection onto the keypad, she stood for a moment and looked out the window, then across the room toward the couches. That’s when she noticed her.
“Oh?” queried the popstar. Rudo startled for a moment, realizing she was not alone. For there was a person lying there face up - a female apparently - snoozing peacefully with a blanket pulled up to her nose. She was probably in her mid-twenties, Rudo could just barely make out. African descent. Close-cropped afro. Eyes strikingly familiar, but closed so she couldn’t quite place the face. Couldn’t remember where she’d seen the gal before.
“And what do we have here, I wonder? Did Neville have a party last night? Ew’s this little tart?“ she muttered playfully. Presently she could hear the replicator beeping; announcing her order was ready.
Below, she could see a cup filled with 'fresh squeezed orange juice' - or at least that’s what it was called. No one really believed such a thing was possible anymore; however, food replicators in many cases could produce food or drink which was much like the real article. The juice actually had imitation pulp floating on top! Only a person from the early 21st century could have told the difference. As she sipped her juice, she tiptoed over to the couch to see just who was under that blanket.
“Black girl? Oi, wotcha mate?” she called out mischievously.
No reaction at all. She tried again, this time more tauntingly, as if she were singing to a child.
“Black Girl … hey Black Girl? Who are you, little slag?” She then walked over to the coffee table and sat down, sliding over some magazines and a small bowl with a spoon in it. Apparently someone had enjoyed ice cream in her living room the night before. What’s more, the person who’d done so seemed to be lying on her couch … in her very own hotel suite. This provided ample justification for Rudo to make sport of the unexpected guest. She decided to remove the blanket and get a good look at the young woman’s face.
“You remind me of someone,” chuckled Rudo.
She reached over and slowly, ever-so-gently, pulled the covers from the stranger's face to get a better view. Rudo then stared at the young woman for several seconds. There was something about the gal that struck her as kind of … well, odd. The young lady stirred - seemed like she might awaken - so Rudo quickly moved off the coffee table and over to the loveseat. She was wearing only a pajama top and panties … curled up in the corner with her bare feet crossed. Continued gazing at the woman. Wheels began to turn. She began talking to herself.
“I don’t get it. You look so familiar. Look like someone I once knew, but I just can’t place it,” said Rudo to no one in particular. “Bugger.”
Shamiso meanwhile began coming around; responding to the sound of her sister’s voice. She felt an itch on the tip of her nose and reached up to scratch it. That’s when the young officer from Space Programme realized she had company.
She startled awake, then turned to her side to look at the person across from her. Half-expected it to be Neville! But as her eyes adjusted, she became aware it was actually a black woman of about 35 sitting there staring back at her. The woman had a curious look, like she was studying her. Shamiso yawned, then stretched a bit before propping herself up on her elbows. The woman’s eyes suddenly got wider, as though stricken with fear ... as though she wasn’t quite prepared for what she was seeing. Shamiso sensed this and spoke up first.
“Oh … it’s you,” Shamiso mumbled, still squinting from the sunlight. “How are you ‘sis?” When she said that Rudo immediately came unhinged.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!” she screamed, and burrowed into the corner of the love seat, balling her feet up under her like there were rats scurrying around the floor. “What in blazes?” she then yelled. “Who … I mean what in the world? H-how d-did you? Oh my God … Shamiso? I – I thought you were dead!”
Shamiso flinched hearing Rudo screaming. But when she saw her twin reacting so emotionally; when it became clear she was looking back at her very own dear sister after 24 years apart, Shamiso could only giggle. She glanced at her now-terrified sibling with a grin.
“Nope. Hee-hee. Ain’t dead. I’m back. Hiya 'Sis. Been a long time hadunnit?” Rudo lurched forward and planted her bare feet on the carpeted floor.
“Oh sweety, how could you be here right now … I mean, what happened to you?” asked the perplexed pop star, still not comprehending how this could be possible. By then, even Neville had stirred from his bed. He rushed out of the servant’s quarters hastily tying a silk robe together which had Chinese characters printed on it.
“Here! Now what’s all this?” he proclaimed. He stepped into the room, blinking his eyes and squinting – curious what the ruckus was about. Eyes blazing, the pop star turned to address him.
“What the fuck, Neville! When were you going to tell me? Where did she come from? Outer space?” asked Rudo. Neville snickered at hearing his client ask such a loaded question.
“Bob’s your uncle,” he replied, scratching his belly. “That’s exactly right. As luck would have it, your dear sister was on that spaceship Santa Maria all these years. Got word of it last night.” He then went over to the bar and prepared to type in his order for a cup of tea to start his day. Obviously now that Rudo was up, there’d be no use in trying to get back to sleep.
“I had her stay with us when I heard she was gettin' in late from Germany,” Neville went on to explain. “You were out cold so I had the hotel bring up a cot for her. Thought she could crash here until you woke up. That alright?”
Rudo nodded nervously.
"Well, yeah ... of course," she replied. Rudo was still flabbergasted but snapped out of it quickly once everything sunk in. Knew all about the lost spaceship - the one that had reappeared recently and all the controversy surrounding its captain. Had been in the news almost constantly. She turned her attention back to Shamiso.
“Blimey. So it really is you? You been up in space all this time with all them astronauts, ain't ya’?” She got up and walked toward her sister who promptly stood up to face her. Sure enough, it was like looking into a mirror: Rudo Kachote, a bit more aged and worn down; stooped slightly in the shoulders, a little stiffer in appearance. Shamiso Kachote, with her military decorations and khaki service uniform; standing with shoulders back, hands on her hips, just like Rudo was doing. The two were otherwise identical. "Bloody hell."
They closed in on one another and looked each other up and down for several seconds before finally embracing. Both started crying. Neville watched from across the living room; then casually grabbed his tea and went back to his bedroom. Clearly he was no longer needed.
“Well then, since it looks like I won’t be needed further, I believe I’ll take my leave.” He paused and snickered once more, winking at Shamiso when she glanced over at him, eyes welling up with tears. Her sister paid no attention to the man's sarcasm as he pulled the door shut behind him. The tearful reunion continued.
“Oh God, Shamiso!” blubbered Rudo as she hugged her neck tightly. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I thought (sniff) … for so many years I thought (sniff) … you know? I mean, no one would tell me ….” Shamiso embraced her around the ribcage; nodding and sobbing right along with her.
“I know, ‘sis. There was no way to contact you before we took off for Kapteyn B. They said I couldn’t,” she tried explaining. Oblivious, Rudo continued weeping.
“I went looking for you, I did. Asked about you. I’d go back to the orphanage and they’d say nothing. Even when I was rich ‘n famous. Didn’t fucking matter. Wouldn’t tell me a thing about you. Claimed they didn’t know. Asked where you were. Asked ‘em who them people was that took you. Uh-uh. Not a thing. Figured you were ....”
“Well,” interrupted Shamiso, “It doesn’t matter anymore; does it? I’m here now.”
The two separated after a few moments embracing one another. Continued to hold each other’s hands. Stood and looked at each other for a full minute, marveling at the realization they’d finally been reunited. It was Rudo who broke the silence.
“So … I just realized something,” she said, in an effort to change the subject. “I have no idea how long you’re staying. Do you have a place somewhere in the city?” Fair question given her twin's military attire. Shamiso shrugged her shoulders sheepishly.
“Nope. Guess I’m stayin’ here … with you – at least I think. Space Programme gave us 12 months’ shore leave, plus I believe Neville says he’s gonna move ‘imself and his boyfriend out to their flat in Peckham.”
To this Rudo cocked an eyebrow.
“Is he now?” she gaped. This was news to her; but it could wait. The rest was more pertinent. “And twelve months’ shore leave, did you say? Blimey, that’s generous of 'em, ain’t it? They ever expecting you back? Shite, if it were me I’d ‘a forgotten where I worked by then.”
Shamiso smirked. No way of fully explaining how much she and the crew of Santa Maria deserved such a long vacation after what they’d been through. No one could ever understand something like that and there was no use expecting them to. She didn't answer.
“Right,” continued Rudo with a smile returning to her face. “So what shall we do today, you and me? If I’m gonna be your host for an entire year, then I’d say we’ve got a lot of catchin’ up to do and plenty of time to do it in, eh? Wotcha wanna do first, love?”
That of course was an easy question.
Shamiso laughed and replied, “First off, let’s fetch us some breakfast; can we? I’m Lee Marvin. Can we get some bangers ‘n mash or somethin’?”
“Sure,” replied Rudo with a suspicious-looking grin on her face. It was unusual the way Shamiso was talking. Best to bring it to her attention.
“And while we’re at it,” added Rudo with an awkward grin, “You realize don’t you … that uh, Cockney shit you’re speaking … folks don’t talk that way no more, okay? Lee Marvin? Starvin' like Lee Marvin? No one says that these days. Just say you're hungry.”
“It’s just rhyming slang,” argued Shamiso. “We used to do it when we was kids, remember?” Rudo shook her head, chuckling.
“Yeah, I do. But sweety, you sound like you’re in one of them old British gangster films - like back in the early 21st century. No one uses rhyming slang no more.”
To this Shamiso remarked cleverly with, “Then if they ain’t usin’ it, no one ‘ll miss it bein’ gone, will they now?” Rudo gave in with no further argument.
“Alright, mate … have it your way.”
The pop star laughed some more, then gave her sister one more big hug before stepping back and taking charge of the situation - just like she used to when they were children.
“Then I’ll order room service for us. Bangers ‘n mash, eh? Goin’ with traditional cuisine, are we?” Shamiso shook her head. This was not exactly what she had in mind.
“Nah … not room service. I wanna eat at that fancy restaurant downstairs ... the one I passed by last night in the lobby. Besides, I wanna get out of this bloody hotel room. It smells like an old man’s bum in here.”
Rudo chuckled once again.
“That would be Neville, I’m afraid. Sorry.” Then she looked up and down at her sister’s military uniform, wrinkled from curling up on the couch. “But if we’re gonna go out, we’re gonna have to get you dressed up nice. What else did you bring to wear besides this here train wreck you’ve got on?” Shamiso looked over toward her duffel bag then back at Rudo.
“Oh, I brought some things. Back in Darmstadt, I went shopping with our counselor Monika earlier this week. Nice old bird, that Monika. Took me to some stores in town and we picked out some clothes for me to wear. Wanna see?” Rudo copped a wary look.
“Back in what? Wait … where did you say you went shopping? Dahm-schtaht? What the fuck is Dahm-schtaht?”
To this Shamiso quipped sarcastically, ”It’s a town in Germany, stupid – south of Frankfurt? Space Programme headquarters is there? Don’t you ever watch the news, princess?” Rudo was still rolling her eyes and shaking her head just like Shamiso remembered her doing as a little girl.
“Mmmm, I’ve heard of Frankfurt,” admitted Rudo. “I think we’ve played there once or twice. And I also know where the fuck Germany is. But if you’re saying you picked out a fashionable outfit back there … in Fuck-me-up-the-ass, Germany … and expect to go out on the town in jolly old London, well, screw that darling. Here … let me take you back to me closet and pick out something of mine for you to wear. Seems we’re the same size, aren’t we? God, I can’t believe how much you still look like me!”
“We are twins, aren’t we?” Shamiso pointed out.
“Yes,” agreed Rudo, “that we are. And since we're on the subject of modern fashion, we’ve also gotta do something about that hair of yours. You look like a damn aborigine.”
Shamiso took exception to this last observation. She patted her military regulation hair-do and retorted, “Wait, what’s wrong with me afro? Thought I kept it trimmed up rather nice.” Rudo shook her head and crinkled up her nose.
“No girlfriend, we’ve got to do something different. Leave that to me. I’m making you my project for the day. Come to my bedroom and I’ll make a new woman out of ya’.” She got a devilish look of excitement in her eyes while saying this.
“Now take it easy, ‘Sis,” argued Shamiso. “I’ve seen what you call high fashion ... saw some of them pictures on the macronet. That ain’t what you’re plannin’ on doin’ with me is it? ‘Cause I ain’t much for dressing like no slapper.”
Rudo assured her calmly.
“No, silly, that’s not what I dress like in public. I wear considerably more clothing when I’m out on the town.” Then she paused for a moment and added, “It’s London we’re talkin’ about here, Babes. Come on – follow me back and I’ll show you what I have.”
At this point, Rudo grasped Shamiso’s hand to lead her back to her room - forcefully if necessary. But as she did so she had to ask something that had occurred to her moments earlier. Something she just couldn’t get past without remarking on. “I just can’t believe how bloomin’ young you look. Is that from bein’ in space?”
Shamiso confirmed, “Mmmm-hmmm. Travelin' through outer space you don’t age as fast, that’s all. Theory of Relativity, you know? Albert Einstein? Boring science stuff really. You wouldn’t be interested, I reckon.”
To this Rudo scoffed, “Heh-heh, you remember me well, Babes. No interest whatsoever.”
“Figures,” mused Shamiso.
Shamiso had always been the one interested in math and science. Rudo was by way of comparison the free spirit type. Never paid much attention to her studies. Never cared. Besides, as her twin sister had observed, it didn't matter anymore. They were finally together again.
********
The rest of the morning was spent getting Shamiso dressed up “all fancy and proper” - as Rudo put it - in an outfit she carefully picked out: a lovely purple dress which was sleeveless and sheer – almost see-through above the cleavage as well as below the crotch area. It was decorated with zigzagging magenta-colored patterns which spiraled around the breast area and her shoes were shiny black patent leather go-go boots with a soft rubber soul (“good for sidewalks” as Rudo noted). Rudo by way of comparison wore a Union Jack tank top and faux leather microskirt with black ankle-top Doc Martens that had a 2-inch raised heel.
"So much for dressing conservatively," Shamiso observed.
They dined downstairs in the hotel restaurant. Had a marvelous time, whooping it up. Patrons couldn’t help sharing in their profound happiness. Rudo was quickly recognized by more than a few of them too! When a fan would saunter up she’d sign an autograph or pose for a picture with them, but then she’d introduce Shamiso, her “identical twin”, which caused more than a few to give pause. Clearly the “twin” was much younger-looking than the famous pop star! No one commented on the glaring differences.
Same thing occurred when they traveled down to Soho to go shopping. Neville joined them for the day, just to keep an eye out for Rudo and her tendency toward getting into trouble. Being a pop Diva, in an eclectic part of town in the middle of the day, with lots of folks out on the sidewalks, it could get dicey if they found themselves accosted by an overzealous fan. That’s why her business manager got himself dressed in cotton slacks, a fresh shirt, and some athletic shoes to go tag along with them. The three ended up having so much fun that day, they thought they’d never want to go back! Walking down sidewalks. Ducking inside shops. Munching on batter-fried fish & chips. Checking out sexy lingerie at the boutiques and the infamous “adult shoppes” of the district. Taking a break to sit out on the lawn at Soho Square and sip cups of hot tea. Making their way over to Chinatown to get some eggrolls - which Shamiso had never tried before. Yes, they had an amazing time, all three of them.
It was only when they circled back through the old Red Light District that Neville finally broke off from the trio and chose to “fly solo for a while – let you two have some time to chat.” At the moment the twins seemed to be perfectly safe sitting in a little pub where the bartender said he’d look after them. It was located inside a covered, climate-controlled street mall area called London Walk. Neville claimed he needed to go back to one of the shops they'd passed earlier to get something nice for Anders, his partner.
“I’ll be breaking the news to him that we gotta move out, once I get back tonight,” explained Neville. “Might make things a tad easier if I bring him a new toy to enjoy himself with while Daddy’s workin’ ya’ know? Maybe a new butt plug. Or a nice rubber dick. He loves those.”
“Pfffft. That’s a little too much information, thank you!” scoffed Rudo. Her sister agreed.
“Yeah, mate … we don’t need to know about your sex life. But seriously Neville, thank you for doing this. I mean I hope it’s not too much trouble?” Clearly she was embracing her new role as Rudo's 'guardian'. Neville waved her off.
“No, no, … frankly, Derz ‘n I have been living out of suitcases for nearly a year now. Tired of it; and I'm sure he'd tell you the same. It’ll be great to get back to my flat. Miss bein’ in me own home.” Shamiso smiled and nodded. She reached up and gave his hand a squeeze as he patted her on her shoulder reassuringly. Rudo however had a little more to add. She was only being playful of course, but she just had to mention the smelly couch her twin sister had endured the night before:
“Oi. ‘N whenever we get back to the hotel tonight ... while you’re at it, would ya’ fancy gettin’ them maids to come clean the room for us? Shamiso says it stinks like an old geezer’s Niagara Falls.” She said it loud too, and by the time she got it all out, Shamiso was already swiping at her to get her to shut up. When finished, Shamiso was laughing hysterically at her usage of an old cockney expression for a man’s testicles.
“Niagara Falls … good one ‘Sis.”
Nevertheless, Neville agreed, and with no offense taken.
“Right. Needs a go-over. I’d be first to admit that. Leave it to me. Well, you two birds have fun. Monty will keep an eye out for weirdos; nothing to worry about there. I’ll be back in twenty. Ciao.” They happily waved goodbye to him while they waited for their beers. It was as good a time as any to talk ….
Twenty minutes alone, maybe more ... the din drowning out anything they might say to each other ... this was a golden opportunity. Shamiso realized this and not long after Neville left, she made a move to try and get to the bottom of a few things; things she needed to get her head around – specifically the nature of her sister's condition which Neville had discussed with her the evening before. Sensing they wouldn't be overheard, and after a short pause, she opted for a more serious tone.
“Sis, I need to ask you something,” began Shamiso. “Something that I know might make you uncomfortable and perhaps I'm a bit out of line so please don’t be offended, okay? But I have to know, and what’s more I need you to know first off that I love you … and that you can trust me. You’re the only family I got, right?
Rudo leaned forward onto her elbows and nodded; eyebrows raised.
“Must be something terribly important, Miss Astronaut. You come all the way back from space just to ask me about me personal life?” she quipped. “’Cause believe you me, my life’s an open book. There’s shit out there on the macronet that frankly even I didn’t know about myself.” She then chuckled naughtily.
“No, it’s something more recent,” replied Shamiso.
“Oh?” asked Rudo.
“Yes. ‘N again, I hope you don’t mind me asking this … but basically I need to know if you’re … uh … crazy … like crazy in the brain or somethin'?”
Rudo almost choked on her own saliva, tempted to laugh boisterously but catching herself. Up to that moment, she’d been concerned that her twin sibling would ask about their mother – something she hated thinking about. Shamiso was quick to clarify.
“See, from what I been hearing, you took a bit of a knock on the head. It was a while back, when you was rehearsing for a show, Neville told me. He also said you’ve taken a few blows since. He says it’s affected you. Says you’re not right in the head at times. Says you been havin’ spells … episodes he also called them. Says you just up and forget yourself at times. Is that true?”
Rudo was getting the picture. This was Shamiso’s attempt at a little Come to Jesus with her. Sort of like an intervention. The kind where the caring family member tries getting in between the hopeless addict and their drugs and tells them how much they love them – how their drug abuse is going to ruin their health someday. Only this time it was the one where the loving sister tells her identical twin, “something’s wrong with you and I’m here to help”. She found it adorable nevertheless. Didn’t find it invasive or even slightly uncomfortable. Not in the least. Merely shook her head and reached out to grasp Shamiso’s hands to give them a squeeze.
“Yeah. All that’s completely true, Love. I won’t hide it. Neville told you right. Things are not well with me Uncle Ned. Me brain – it’s uh – let’s just say it took a few too many shots over the years. Things ain’t workin’ like they used to, I guess. Been takin’ stuff for it, sure, but … I guess they can’t fix me. Not with pills anyway. Ain’t much they can do for an 'ole slapper like me, you know?”
She then patted Shamiso’s hand and continued.
“Don’t worry yourself though. Valium helps me get by. Helps me get on stage and rock it out for an hour, maybe 75 minutes." Yet after saying this, her face grew darker. Seemed there was more to the story. "Only problem is, it wears off ‘n I get faintly. Can't finish the show. It’s just so frustrating, you know? And yeah, I hear what the public is sayin’ – or at least all o’ them asshole reporters out there lookin’ for a story. All o’ them punters at the tabloids too. They’re always looking for shit like that to put in their articles. But I sure ain’t no doper, let me assure you of that. Ain’t no drunkard neither. This beer we’re havin’ tonight? It’s the first drink I had me in weeks – well, days - 'n I only take Valium ‘fore I go onstage. Or to help me sleep. I take it then too.”
Rudo’s expression now turned to caring concern for how her sister might process such revelations. Shamiso felt satisfied nonetheless. Didn’t sound like her sister was in any more trouble than she’d suspected. Just unable to find true love, what with being a world-famous entertainer and the lifestyle she led. That’s what bothered her most. Traveling so much out of the year? Concerts? Interviews? Likely she’d never find a decent partner. Not again – unless it was someone incredibly patient and remarkably understanding. Someone who couldn’t care less about her being a media celebrity. Someone who accepted that she’d be gone a lot; or if traveling with her have to play second fiddle from time to time. Maybe there’d be a guy like that out there. Maybe that’s just where Shamiso could help her famous sister. She could only hope anyway. Shamiso listened as Rudo rambled on.
“But God, I’m just so afraid, ‘sis,” continued Rudo. “Afraid I won’t be able to get back on that stage. Afraid Neville won’t let me; for fear I’ll fall and hurt myself. It’s just that the kids – the fans I mean – they expect so much from me. I set those expectations sky high and I sure as ‘ell aim to meet them. Problem is I just don’t know when 'n where me Down the Drains is gonna shut down. Scares me; really does.”
She fell silent as Shamiso sat and waited patiently for her to elaborate. Shamiso continued to say nothing. Just nodded understandingly; withholding observation until she was sure Rudo was done.
“It's like, there’s so much I still wanna do with my stage show. I sit there in me room designing choreography for the dancers and score music for the next show. Can’t wait to get back in front of a cheering crowd, you know? Feeding off them. Seeing my name in lights. Thousands chanting my name and cheering me on. It never gets old. It’s what I live for.”
Now it was getting interesting.
“And them fans,” she further emphasized, “that paid to come to see me perform? Lord love a duck … I just can’t let 'em down. Won’t consider it. Once you’ve gained a reputation for giving your all, they expect it from you – every single night. And nothing less than spectacular will do. They get what they came for whenever I perform ‘cause they deserve it. That’s always been me motto. Everyone who works with me knows it, too.”
Then she sighed, looking away toward the bar after planting her chin on the palm of her hand to prop up her head.
“But now,” she added, subsequently returning her hands to her lap, “they’re starting to doubt me. I hear about it all the time. ‘N every week - every month I’m out of the game, I can just feel that door closing forever – like a lid closing on a coffin. I gotta get out of that bloody hotel room and get back on the fucking road! You understand don’t you?”
Making that last comment almost caused her to break down and cry, but Rudo got control of herself as she noticed Monty the bartender approaching with their beers. She sat back and dabbed at her eyes by touching long fingers (with even longer purple and silver nail extensions) to the lower part of her eyelids. The kindly bartender alleviated the situation with some well-timed humor.
“Hey now, don’t cry Missus. Didn’t dilly-dally with your drinks, did I?” he joked. This cut the tension and prompted both women to burst out laughing.
“Hahahah. No, not at all mate,” replied Shamiso. “Timing couldn’t have been better! So how much are we into you for?” The expression she used didn’t quite make sense, but he got the gist of it.
“Actually your beers are being paid for by a certain handsome, suave, debonair sorta gent … up at the bar. Good friend of mine.” The girls looked past him to scan the faces of customers sitting along the railing of the drink counter. Wondered which 'handsome, suave, debonair' fellow he might be referring to.
“Oh?” asked Shamiso naively, “’Ew we talkin’ about? Is he single?” She was torn between the desire to find a male prospect for her lonely sister; and the urge to finally spend her own money on something. Money she’d earned from a job – something she’d never experienced before. Rudo had paid for everything else that day and never let her pull out her wad of Euros. “Which bloke are you referring to?” she clarified.
“Me, of course,” cracked the old bartender (he was only 41, but to Shamiso he seemed like an old man). He then reared back and put his hands on his hips, standing proudly, with his belly bulge and dishpan hands from washing glasses and fixing drinks all day. “And what’s more – if you play your cards right – you might get another round out o' me. Just don’t push your luck for a third. I got a business to run.” Then he laughed some more and turned to head back to the bar. Rudo by now had gotten herself together and was able to laugh right along with Shamiso at the bartender’s kind gesture – not to mention wittiness.
“Thanks Monty!” she called after him. He waved backward over his shoulder as he walked off, nimbly dodging people in chairs and folks in the aisles. “Good egg, ain’t he?” she muttered to Shamiso, then got back to what she’d been talking about previously.
“But there's more to it, you know?” continued Rudo. “My problems are far more complicated than just drugs ‘n blows to the head. I got obligations that require me to finish 30 performances in 12 months to promote my most recent album. Hell, we coulda – shit only a few years ago maybe – back in the day I mean – we coulda cranked out forty bloomin' shows in a year and never batted an eyelash. Now I’m … well, let me just have a sip of me beer, may I?”
She picked up her pint of ale and slurped down a few gulps.
“Wet me whistle a bit, right?” she quipped, but only after one of those long breathy sighs that often follows a swig of ale. “Now where was I?” she said … as she set her glass down and sat back in her chair.
“Oh yeah. I remember. So that’s my dilemma, dear sister. I need to get back … get back on that stage before it’s too late. Before they sue me for breach of contract for one thing, the greedy bastards. I’ve made ‘em millions. Don’t know why they can’t let it go. But then again, it’s not just them. I need to get back up there or it’ll drive me bonkers. Even if they weren’t hounding me day after day to finish them shows, I’d still be craving it. Don’t you see?"
Once again, she grew quiet.
Shamiso tried appreciating what Rudo was saying, really did, but could not. Why was Rudo trying so hard to hold onto what was obviously killing her? Singing her heart out in front of roaring crowds? Jumping and cavorting about for two, sometimes two and a half hours? Costume changes? Stage sets? Light and sound shows to wow the crowd during and between songs? That was wonderful, yes, but not in terms of a lifelong career. How could she demand such things of herself? It would be like expecting Ozzie’s brother Ranger to go back out and compete despite his body being too old and broken down. In Shamiso’s mind this was something for younger people to try and do. Rudo simply wasn’t being realistic.
Granted: it was unfortunate that she’d fallen and cracked her skull. That was tragic ... couldn’t be helped. The husband who beat her? That was also unfortunate - and unforeseen - even if some early warning signs should have been identified, according to Neville. But the inevitabilities of aging and declining health? These had to be accepted as fact - as undeniable. No one is immune, not even rock stars. Rudo needed to explain to those music company executives that she could not perform anymore due to health reasons and let that be that! Yes, it would expose the truth about her head trauma, and the possible effects of multiple concussions. Yes, her fans would mourn the sad news of her departure and wish her the best. Her critics would turn to praising her accomplishments as if they’d been supportive of her artistic endeavors all along. All of those things would occur following her retirement.
And yet ... even though she'd been in space for twenty-four years, Shamiso was not completely naive to the realities of show business. She could easily foresee what might happen later on ... much later ... years after Rudo exited the limelight. Didn't need to be a seasoned talent agent like Neville Bevits to know what might transpire next. Gradually the public would write her off … forget about her slowly but surely. She’d produce a few compilation albums over the years and people would wax nostalgic about what an amazing performer she’d once been. They’d buy them – not many – and she’d achieve respectable sales numbers on the first one or two no doubt. But then ... interest in the aging pop star would inevitably die out. She’d start showing up on macronet sites entitled “What Ever Happened to Rudo Love?” Such an inauspicious ending ... to such a stellar career ... would be intolerable to a woman like Rudo.
Now it made perfect sense. Now she understood. How in the world could a dedicated artist like “Rudo Love” ever live with such a fate? Fading away like some forgotten teenage dream? People no longer recalling her name? Folks hearing her songs years from now trying to remember who originally sang them … when once upon a time her name was 'everywhere'?
Shamiso finally spoke up.
“Yeah, ‘Sis, I get it. You need to. You want to. You have to. But it’s too risky to try it, so you’re stuck with your thumb up your ass wondering when you’ll get well enough to bang out ten or eleven more performances … ‘n finish that bloody tour you started nearly a year ago.”
She then shifted in her chair and leaned forward before continuing.
“Neville doesn’t think you’re ready. I have no bloody idea and you’re not sure yourself. Meanwhile you’re bored to tears living in that fancy hotel room wasting away and spending all your money maintaining a lifestyle that will all come crashing down if you don’t finish them bloody shows. Miss anything, did I?” she queried bluntly.
Rudo shook her head and laughed. “No, Babes. That just about sums it up, I reckon.”
Still on a roll, Shamiso then added, “But here's what I do know. I know Neville cares for you - as your business manager but also as a friend. Rest assured he only told me this so that I could try and help you. You know that, don’t you?”
Rudo confirmed with an agreeing nod, eyes blinking but fixed on her much smarter – much younger looking twin. Shamiso certainly had that part right. Neville had been nothing short of amazing these past five years; keeping her career flying high, getting her songs promoted so she could continue dominating the international music scene. Did what he had to do, just so she could remain a star. So that she could make millions. So she could live the life of pampered luxury. What’s more it was also poor Neville who had to deal with those music company executives breathing down their necks.
“Yes, I know he loves me – like a big brother sort of. I know Neville is always watching out for me whatever I do,” admitted the diva. “Couldn’t have made it through this without him eyeballing my every move.”
Coincidentally, it was right about that time that Neville himself was essentially doing just that – from a bar stool less than 20 meters away ….
He’d returned to the pub from his trip to the adult toy store, which in reality took no time at all. It had all been a diversion of course. He’d just wanted to get the two talking and let them have some time to catch up on things. Let the beer loosen them up a bit after exploring the streets of Soho all afternoon. By now he’d ordered and was awaiting his gin and tonic - his first of many that night - just about the time Rudo was saying how he was always watching out for her. She was right of course. More than she knew. Intervened whenever he could so to keep her from self-destructing after that terrible fiasco with her first husband.
He'd thought about it from time to time. What he’d done for her – whether it was all worth it – and what she’d put him through. No question it was. Thoughts like these pervaded his mind as he sat and watched the two sisters chat it up. He’d never seen the woman happier - not in all the time he’d known her. Thought about how fortunate they'd been – to have Rudo’s identical twin sister show up - quite literally out of the clear blue sky. But then other thoughts crossed his mind.
He began ruminating over what he was seeing going on at that table. Was there perhaps more than meets the eye? Was there a possible solution to their troubles within this joyous reunion? It started coming together for him – so gradual and yet expanding and evolving like an answer to a mathematical equation. Like anyone else he saw two black women sitting at a table, conversing inside of a pub. Then his vision expanded. He now saw two grown twin sisters speaking to each other, their mannerisms almost identical in the way they moved or expressed themselves. And yet, how could this truly be occurring? How could they still be so much alike? They hadn't seen each other in over two decades!
Sure, the way they sat was markedly different. Shamiso was more ladylike and plain-looking, wearing a silky dress Rudo had produced for her, but nevertheless sitting with legs together and arms crossed. Rudo was by way of comparison far more sultry and sexy. The way she positioned herself was more like she was doing a fashion photo shoot. Nevertheless, that’s not what intrigued him most. It was the facial expressions, the angle of the head, the raising of the eyebrows, the crinkling of their foreheads as they changed from glaring seriousness to happy laughter to muted conversation. All these traits matched up perfectly. It was almost uncanny! And it was not “monkey-see/monkey-do” either. These women did all of those things naturally – clearly it was spontaneous.
“Good Lord. If they can mimic each other this well,” thought Neville, “without even knowing they’re doing it - not giving it a passing thought, then blimey - just imagine what I could do in a rehearsal studio – with a bit of coaching? Maybe a month or two working out with a dance instructor … then trying her out on a soundstage … with backup dancers?”
It was already starting to sound good, even when accounting for all the difficulties in explaining to everyone just how they’d go about it. Worse, it smacked of fraud. But he knew he could pull it off by simply having them both out there together at the same time. At least sort of. He explored how he could accomplish such a feat as he sat sipping his gin. Pictured it something like this:
“If I could get Shamiso to learn all of the choreography – all of the dance moves. If I could get her to memorize them well enough to convince those dancers she’s really Rudo - and boy do I know that ain’t gonna be easy ... them kids are pretty sharp - they always seemed to know when Rudo was gonna be out of sorts on the night of a show … picked up on it whenever she was about to flip out during a concert ....”
He took another sip and thought some more, murmuring to himself so that no one could hear him.
“Yeah … if I could get ‘ole Rudo to go along with it. That’s the key … get her to let Shamiso upstage her. But what if I convinced her? Man … just have that ‘ole gal, with her beautiful singing voice, stand back there ‘n have her belt out all her hits? Meanwhile it’s Shamiso out there shakin’ her ass, lip syncing to the music, doin’ all them stunts, jumpin’ around that stage like a kangaroo in lingerie. Hmmmph. We could sell it to ‘em … with a bit of luck, I bet we can. Those folks out there in the audience … they’ll buy it. I just know they will.”
He paused to look around before continuing.
“Of course we gotta teach Shamiso all them fifteen or twenty songs we do,” he added as he took yet another sip. “That’s gotta be rehearsed over and over again. ‘Til we got it just right. ‘Til it’s perfect.”
Neville’s eyes burned with excitement. He was seeing it unfolding in his imagination. This is what he was good at. This is why he had the reputation for managing difficult performers. His specialty? Making them think that it was they who had the idea in the first place. That was his secret. It was a far better way to convince a talented artist to try out a bold, new idea. Far better than trying to give them direction.
“Yeah, that’s how we could do it. Rudo ‘n me. And her twin sister Shamiso. The one that no one ever knew about. Not in the media. Not in her whole bloody life. Never any public knowledge of her existence. Only folks who's ever seen ‘em together would be me and all them people in Soho today. ‘N that likely ain’t an issue. Besides … half ‘o them wasn’t payin’ no attention, were they now? I doubt it’ll make a hill of beans three months from now once we’re back on tour.”
But how to present it to the two twins? That was the remaining challenge.
“Come tomorrow I’ll try it out on ‘em. Run it up the flagpole. See what they think. Not tonight of course. By morning they’ll be all caught up. Learned all about each other’s lives since bein' apart. But come tomorrow, yes, I’ll pay ‘em a little visit. I’ll take ‘em for a little walk and spring it on ‘em. Let ‘em tell me it’s a load o’ bollocks. Argue and bitch at me that I’m off me rocker.”
He chuckled and smiled, picturing how this might go down.
“But I’ll give it to ‘em straight, I will. ‘Look,’ I’ll tell ‘em, ‘it’s only gonna be eleven bloody shows and we’re done. ‘N when we’re done it means no more litigation. No broken contracts. Obligations met. We can ride off into the sunset and live off our bloody royalties for years.’ Yeah, that’s just how I’ll present it. Eleven bloody shows. Three months to prepare - gotta be that long to get it right. And then, well … we’ll go out there and blow everyone away. That’s just how we’ll do it!”
He started laughing out loud and some folks nearby, thinking he was reacting to something they’d said, gave him an odd look as if to say “Wotcha lookin’ at, y’old Bummer?” He merely averted his eyes and continued with his train of thought, not skipping a beat.
“I just hope I can talk at least one of them into it. Seems like if I get one to go along, the other ‘ll follow.”
When he’d thought it through he stopped and smiled happily. Indeed; if he could somehow pull this off – this switcheroo that hopefully no one would detect - and hopefully one that fans in England and for that matter the entire music world would accept - all their problems would be solved.
This concludes tonight's presentation of Chapter Thirty-Six: Black Girl. I hope you enjoyed it. Watch for Chapter 37, 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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