#also i love that richard capitalized diva

[safyresky]

in other news I am having some very good and fun interactions today.

my work wife upon me mentioning i'm gonna take a half hour lunch today for lieu time next week:

and a blinter coded richella interaction:

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #26

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Opera-phile

I had a hobby that I couldn’t tell anyone about. People like me were no rare breed.

Amongst the hobbies I had heard about from my friends until now, the one that made me think “this might be a bit hard to tell someone” the most was that keeping ice cream lids when they finished eating it. They said they would write down the date on each lid and store them in one of those clear files sold at 100-yen shops. They could only eat ice cream on special days when they were little, and they still couldn’t get over the habit of that time. The face of the person who had told me about this seemed simply satisfied in some way. Regardless, this may not have been something so difficult to say because it was revealed at a drinking party.

Now. Bringing the topic back to me.

If you were living alone in a foreign land called Sri Lanka, you could do whatever you wanted. I could get up at any time, eat whatever I felt like, study the things I enjoyed and go wherever I wanted with my Three-Wheeler. I didn’t have much, but the prices were cheap. My culinary repertoire was also noticeably increasing. Even if I danced alone in my room, no one would be watching. No, my dear dog ​​Jirou would stare at me with a bit of a strange look, but there were times when he’d eventually jump up and down and start dancing with me. Even if I listened to music at a loud volume, the same went for my neighbors.

Therefore, I was now thinking that maybe my stopper had come off a little.

I had bought the CD in Colombo, the real capital of Sri Lanka. As one would expect of the biggest shop in the country, they sold a lot of things that were unlikely to be available in Kandy.

The jacket featured a black-haired woman with a spellbound face, both of her arms outstretched. It was an opera CD with twelve songs.

I went back and forth in my room, shouting, “ah~, ah~”. What an opera was? No, I did know. It was traditional singing style – something like a musical, in which singers such as tenor, paritone, soprano and alto would perform along with a play. But something about them that diverged a bit from musicals was that the words used were old, the melodies weren’t excitable, and they were mainly either Italian or French, I believed.

I had no choice but admit it at this point. I liked opera.

Nakata Seigi had the words “I’m in love with opera” floating about in his head. I was driven by an urge to scream “gyaaah” and make said words disappear, but on the CD jacket, Maria Callas was making a spellbound face as usual, and that made me happy. I had purchased this CD after much hesitation over buying this or buying that. There was no way I wouldn’t be happy about it. Still...

Somewhere in my head, I recognized this as something embarrassing.

My dear boss was always telling me to think rationally at such times. He told me that whenever I thought my mind was moving in absurd ways, it always happened that there was some sort of timid development in me, which I either hadn’t noticed or, even if I did notice it, I’d ignore it – but once I understood it, it would stop being absurd.

Why would opera be embarrassing in the first place?

How I had come to like opera? The trigger was the radio. When I was staying at a hotel for a while back in Tokyo, I tended to feel down because I had nothing to do other than study, so I’d sometimes listen to the radio broadcast at the hotel while devoting myself to physics and English.

The singing voice I heard at that time was – how should I put it? – tremendously wonderful.

I couldn’t think that it was the voice of someone from the same world as myself. Someone was singing in a place just a few ways away, and as I listened to it, my body felt like my body was airily floating up – it was that kind of voice. I didn’t have any preferences for either male or female, and if anything, I liked both. The title of the song being streamed was written in the hotel’s guidebook, so I went to a video streaming site and searched for the same song by other singers and the songs that came before and after said piece. Faust. Madama Butterfly. Otello. Rigoletto. The Magic Flute. Don Giovanni. Whenever an opera song was used on a TV show, i became able to at least tell which prelude it was from.

And this passion hadn’t cooled down even now that some time had passed since then.

I walked around the room again, shouting, “Uuuh, uuuh”. Jirou energetically followed me from behind. It was almost as if he meant to say, “It’s fun to go a stroll even inside a room, huh, owner?”. Sorry but it’s not like I’m taking you on a walk, I thought, yet Jirou couldn’t care less, letting out a sweet voice as I held him up and rocked him, and then running off to the yard as if he had gotten excited. Just as I felt relieved, thinking about what a cute fella he was, I found myself imagining something. I could see myself at the drinking party, talking about how I liked opera. The reaction I pictured was an explosion of laughter.

“‘Opera’, you say. What’s up with that? It’s that thing where fat people raise their voices like crazy, right? You like that? Why? No way, Nakata, didn’t you just want to have a rich people hobby just ‘cause you’ve well-off these days? Like, those that feel like you’re superior. That’s exactly what opera is. Okay, I get it, but that ain’t very interesting, so how about we change the topic?”

It gave me chills.

I wasn’t creeped out by how people might talk about my hobbies. However, it was painful to have the whole genre of opera, which had saved me back when I was put in a spot like a light reaching out from the sky, be judged by people who didn’t even know the difference between Callas and Pavarotti and not be able to defend them. I had to protect what was important to me. Or else, it would get damaged. I wasn’t referring to the long-standing form of art that had been cultivated for hundreds of years. I meant my own heart. That was painful to me.

Yeah, I was somewhat aware that this wasn’t an “embarrassment”. But I was scared.

I was low-key terrified of having people pointing their fingers at me from behind with words such as “eccentric”, “weirdo” or “pretentious” for having a preference that was different from other people’s – and something that I seriously liked, no less.

With a deep breath, I took the CD’s vinyl cover. Unlike Japanese CDs, there was none of those convenient little ears that made the cover come off when you pulled it. I slowly cut it with a pair of scissors, set it on a nostalgic stereo radio and played it while referring to the table of track numbers on the backside.

Just from the intro, I already knew who was singing and what song it was.

Maria Callas’s “Casta Diva”. It was a song from an opera called “Norma”, and the meaning of it was “chaste goddess”.

What it made me reminisce to was a seriously horrible time, when I had to prepare for my death to a certain extent. Whenever this song played in the hotel’s radio program, which repeated itself over and over, this song would connect me with paradise, telling me that I didn’t need to worry about trivial matters, so I was able to leave it all aside and relax. It was that kind of song. Without a doubt, my biggest and best saver was that beautiful jeweler, but from the sidelines, opera had definitely helped me keep my sanity.

That was amazing.

I was grateful from the bottom of my heart that this form of art, which couldn’t be classified as mainstream at all in Japan and probably overseas as well, had maintained its thread of life across the centuries. It had saved me. Would the CD sales be of any help to it? Thankfully, I had some money to spend and was probably able to buy a set of all-track CDs per month. Would that be a form of repayment of any kind? It would be great if so, I thought wholeheartedly.

“Casta Diva” wasn’t too long a piece. With a voice that sounded like it was vanishing, the song ended. For whatever reason, it made me feel like crying, no matter how many times I had listened to it. It was too beautiful. It was an impossible speculation, but if Richard turned into a song, I felt that his form would change into something very close to this one.

Once I finished listening to the track, the “aaah”s and “uuuh”s had disappeared from my head. I liked opera. Opera turned into my strength. So I wanted to cherish it.

Even if someone ridiculed me for it, the problem was with the person, not with me or with opera. And my precious, beautiful shopkeeper had stated that “no discriminating other people based on their preferences” was one of the main principles of Etranger. What was I going to do by discriminating myself?

I was going to keep buying opera CDs from now on too, I swore proudly to my heart, yet secretly decided not to write about it in my blog or talk to Richard about it. Not because it was embarrassing. But rather because I had the gut feeling that I couldn’t predict what would happen in the end if I told him.

On that day, I was busy with preparations for cooking. First Saul-san, and then Richard would come to Kandy to hear the reports about the progress of my studies. It was also like a test. But I hadn’t studied half-assedly enough to chicken out at that. Above all, thanks to the negotiations in Ratnapura, I was conscious that my eyes were well-trained, if I could say so myself.

If it didn’t go well even with this, that was fine. I was happy to find new challenges. Lots of things became easier once I started feeling that studying was fun.

And since they were coming over, they wouldn’t get angry if I prepared a bit of a feast. More than anything, being able to cook a few people’s share in this house had me overjoyed. After all, I was basically living alone, so just how many times had I found delicious-looking and cheap food but had to tearfully give up because I wasn’t sure if I could eat it all by myself?

Being surrounded by things that made you happy was extremely good for the heart.

Deciding to go for an additional blow, I set the CD in the radio. A long aria began at the end of the first opus of all songs. It was a French opera called “La Fille du Régiment”, and being fond of this one had greatly helped me when I was studying French.

The man who started to sing that he was going to marry the army was a world-renowned tenor.

In the beginning, the man sang that he was going to do meritorious deeds in the army, cheered on by his companions. Since I had been listening to the words ever since back when I could only hear them as katakana spelling, my mouth moved without any reference. Of course, my voice didn’t sound like that of a tenor, but it had the same gist as somehow trying to sing in the range of a singer from some music show. Just that was fun enough.

A fish pie was baking in the oven. There were three types of curry in the smaller pots. My Nakata-style sliced veggies pickled in soy sauce, which were a mixture of chopped coconut sambal and dried fruits, were lined up on a cutting board, and the fresh fruits that I planned to make into mixed juice were all completely ready. The only thing I had left to do was preparing watalappan for dessert. It had to chill in the fridge for a while, so it was necessary to make it in advance. However, since it was my third time making it, I had the procedure memorized. No worries.

The tenor raised his voice amidst joy. The man who sang, “Ah, I’m going, I’m going to marry the army” didn’t like the army in particular, he was just in love with the abandoned girl that all the men from the regiment he was enlisted in were raising together.

The key switched to waltz. The true value of the tenor would ensue from that point onward.

The oven beeped, indicating that the pie had finished baking. With light steps, put on my gloves, took out the whole iron plate with the pie on it and gently slid it into a white porcelain plate.

A series of splendid high Cs. This referred to when the tenor raised their voice a great deal. If the composer was wonderful in reproducing the feelings of happiness into the music so keenly, then so was the singer who sang them so faithfully, I believed. The feeling of excitement turned into the melody just the way it was.

I arranged the dishes on the table and peeled the fruits. The high Cs continued one after another. I opened a can of coconut milk and mixed the contents with nut paste. The song was approaching the end. “What a fate, what a fate,” he sang, sounding merry. The highest note was near.

The song was coming to a close while celebrating happiness with the highest note. The feelings of the singer weren’t recorded in the CD, but I could hear them as comfortably as could be.

It wasn’t nearly high enough, but I sang along at a fairly loud volume.

At the same time as the song finished with a flashy grace note, I lightly kicked the open lid of the oven. It closed up neatly. With this, everything was all set. I was going to put away the CD set before the guests arrived.

Or so I had planned.

After the peak of my excitement, I noticed that someone was standing outside the window. He hadn’t come in from the front door. Hence the chime didn’t ring.

“Bravo, bravissimo.” A beautiful man wearing a white shirt and sunglasses, said glasses charmingly pushed up above his forehead, was smiling while applauding at my stiffened self.

The test was terrible that day. I didn’t think there was any issue with the contents of my answers. However, since I was stuttering so much, Saul, my mentor who was so picky about manner of speech as well as the contents of it, pointed out that I should “act more dignified”. I knew that better than anyone. There was too much noise interference in my head with things such as, “Why did I put opera on in such high spirits? What did he think of me now? As I thought, does he think that this hobby doesn’t suit me? No, that’s definitely impossible when it comes to my teacher, so I have to take control of my self-consciousness”.

And so, this is a story that happened more than half a year after that. Something that took place in Sri Lanka in May.

“Eh?”

“Happy birthday, Seigi. Here is a little present.”

“A bank deposit transfer certificate?”

“Good job reading it. That is from the USA.”

“USA...”

“There was a seat that you would probably like, so I purchased a year’s worth of it.”

“A year”? This wasn’t potato chips or cup noodles. What kind of seat was that? Was there a truck coming to deliver it? While thinking about such things, I continued reading the A4 paper, and when I got to half of it, I roared loudly. I let out a voice that sounded like a crushed frog, I believed.

The seat that Richard had given me was indeed a seat. But at a music theatre in America, which was likely the world’s most famous. It was a one-year membership card.

This was proof that “a seat will be reserved for you”. A seat just for me, for any performance, that I could use whenever I went there.

I felt lightheaded. Just how much had this “seat” cost him? What was he trying to do by giving something like this to someone who sat in swivel chairs sold at mass retailers? I did have such rational retorts in my head, but above that, I was so, so happy that I started jumping up and down. I could go to a theatre that I only knew about from CDs. Anytime, as long as I had the plane tickets. No matter who was singing.

“Can I really have this?!”

“Do you think I’m some sort of boorish lad who’d take back the treasure after making the other person happy?”

“No way! Uoooh, I’m too excited; that’s bad!”

“You are reacting like a dog again...”

“I’m gonna run in the yard for a bit!”

As I, with a messy katakana pronunciation, sang to myself the chorus part of the aria that had just finished while rolling around in the yard, Jirou ran over and mounted on me without restraint. “Owner, we’re going to play here, right? We’re going to play here, right? Come, let’s play,” he seemed to say, energetically wagging his tail. I was so happy that I hugged him and rolled about, but then I could see Richard laughing. The yard was on a slightly lower level than the house, so the house was wholly visible, so I didn’t think I was mistaken. He really was making a happy-looking face. This might have been my first time seeing that man laugh with such a child-like expression.

At that moment, something suddenly came to mind.

When Richard told me for the first time that he “likes pudding”, did he also think for a bit that it was embarrassing or wonder about what I was going to say? This man had thorough knowledge about the so-called “society”. There was no way that he hadn’t considered the possibility.

But he had told me about it.

Did I not say anything weird to him back then? “A man, liking pudding?” or “Why would a foreigner like a Japanese dessert?” It gave me the creeps. Back then, I didn’t have as much care as now regarding how to handle such circumstances. I just had words jumping out of my mouth like knives. This still applies even now, but I wanted to think it had gotten better, even if just a little.

Had I not said anything to him? Had I not hurt him? I didn’t have any way to confirm that now. If I apologized without knowing what I had said, it wouldn’t be a sincere apology.

But right now, Richard was looking at my happy self and smiling.

So I decided to stop thinking about these things. And from now on too, I would keep making heaps upon heaps of the things he liked.

I had to protect what was important to me by myself. But if I happened to notice something that mattered to someone who was dear to me, I wanted to cherish it too. I had no other choice.

After stroking Jirou, I went back to where Richard was and bowed to him again. He reciprocated the bow with a “you are welcome” and seemed about to start laughing again.

“That’s right, I was gonna make pudding. Wait just a bit more.”

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“You already got me a seat at the MET; I can’t go along with that flattery even as a joke. I’d be happy if you played with Jirou, though.”

“Then, I will take you up on those words.”

Rubbing my chest in relief, I went back to my room, patting my whole body to remove the dirt and dog hairs, and after washing my hands with soap, I returned to the kitchen.

By the looks of it, I was going to be able to listen to an opera in person one of these days – at least within a year’s time. Once I watched it live, all the curtains would close, right? For real? Was such a thing possible? Apparently yes. Hard to believe but it was true.

That man who was like an incarnation of the worldwide definition of “beauty”, and above that, who was a genius at pleasing me, was fooling around with my hybrid brown dog in the yard, illuminated by tropical sunshine. It seemed that the preparations for our feast would still take a while.

“What a wonderful day,” I hummed tentatively in French. A gorgeous tenor voice wouldn’t come out of my throat, but the things I liked would firmly support my heart nevertheless. Almost like a backbone for it. And there was someone supporting this backbone. Honestly, what a wonderful day. For now, I’d be making pudding. And share at least a little bit of this feeling.

[nichtaufgewacht]

Irgendwer mich liebt, Chapter 9.

Richard looked at the crowded streets in front of them. All while Francesca looked out of her window, humming to the song on the radio. Then, from time to time, she looked at Richard. She studied his features, almost as if she wanted to make sure that it was really him. Maybe he looked skinnier. Or maybe it was just her impression. She hadn't seen him for quite a while, and she had to admit to herself that she had, in fact, missed having him around. This time she was in 'his territory'. And it was actually exciting for her to see all these new streets, these new buildings and people. All while being around him.

"Can I..can I ask you something?" Richard interrupted her thoughts, and she looked at him.

"Of course."

"We were thinking of having dinner at a...nice, laid back place." He started, biting on his lower lip. "With some guys from the band, Till and Paul. Do you...you want to come?" Francesca smiled at him, and nodded. She couldn't lie to herself and admit she did not want to spend the evening with him. Alone. But yet, it would have been a nice dive into his world.

"Whatever you want." she replied. Richard sighed, relieved. His hands kept on tapping on the wheel. He was actually trying to distract himself. If she could only get inside his head, and see the chaos mixed to happiness that went around his thoughts. Every glance he had of her made his heart flutter.

"So...what are your plans? What about tomorrow?" Richard asked, as he kept on driving and he turned into a pretty busy street.

"Realize that I actually am in Berlin." Francesca joked, playing with a tuft of her pixie. "I will also try to find a job."

"Remember that you can stay at my place." Richard said, almost immediately. "You're my guest, and I want you to stay as much as you want." He repeated that to himself, almost as if he wanted to convince himself of that. Slowly but surely, he was realizing that she was there. In flesh and bones.

"Thanks, Richard." She said, placing a hand on his thigh as he drove. She could swear he had felt him tremble for a second. "I don't want to be a bother though. I will find my own place, as soon as I can." Richard smiled at her, nervously. He desperately tried not to show her that he was very nervous. He wanted to keep calm and collected, to make her see that he was a man, and not a boy that was afraid of things getting too real. He bit on his lower lip, and turned the volume of the radio up a bit.

"Ooh, I love this song." Richard commented, as Alles so einfach by The Ärzte played. "Wenn das mal alles so einfach wär..." he sang along, his clear and musical voice coming out. Francesca laughed, and took another long look at him. She was asking herself a lot of questions, for example how his friends would have reacted when meeting her. She also asked herself if it had been really worth it, to leave her job in Italy out of the blue and come to Berlin. Maybe, Richard was right? Maybe, he really was her chance to go on and make a living for herself in a foreign country? Maybe, she was just disillusional, maybe she shouldn't have fallen for a pair of magnetic blue eyes and a smile that could make love itself fall for him. Maybe she shouldn't have thought about the dimples near to his mouth that appeared every time he laughed. Maybe she shouldn't have fallen for how mature he was, for how he had shown that he didn't want to play with her, for his foreign accent, for his...everything. There were a lot of 'maybes' in her brain, and by the time she had went over all of them Richard was parking his SUV.

They were in Prenzlauer Berg, a lively neighbourhood in the heart of the German capital city. Murals, a lot of tourists and youngsters going out and about, crowding the sidewalks. Richard really felt like he didn't want to be bothered by anyone, and had put the hood of his jacket on. He walked next to Francesca, his hand timid as he placed it in the middle of her back.

"You're such a diva." Francesca confessed to him. "I love it." she whispered to his ear, as she slid her arm around his waist and left a kiss on his cheek. Richard felt his face burning, and kept on walking until the entrance of the place they had chosen for dinner.

It was a very laid back Biergarten, with long wooden tables like the ones you could find at food festivals. There were benches around them, and beautiful trees that were scattered here and there. Francesca loved the lights that were hanging from the trees, all over the place and over their heads, and let herself be amazed at the warm lights and at the lovely atmosphere created by the people chatting. They walked amomg the tables, until Richard saw a small guy waving at him at the end of the garden, near the small cabin that sold food and beer. With every step, Francesca felt like smiling like an idiot.

"What's up with the hood?" the small guy asked as Richard sat down and Francesca sat next to her. Richard pulled the hood down, revealing his head with a snort.

"Privacy." Richard looked at Francesca, and winked at her. "Paul, das ist-"

"Francesca." Paul said, holding out his hand to shake Francesca's. He widened a huge and warm smile at her, to which Francesca replied, with a little surprise on her face. "It's nice to meet you in person, after hearing all about you."

"Really?" the girl asked Richard. "I never imagined that someone could talk about me." Richard smiled, slightly embarrassed. If there was someone that knew all about her was Paul. And he really knew everything about her. In the mean time, carrying two beers with each hand, Till Lindemann had approached the table. Without even letting them down, he leant down to leave a gentle kiss on the top of Francesca's head. The girl was happy to see him again. He was a familiar face after all.

"First, a kiss." Till said, putting the tall glasses of golden beer on the table. After he had done that, he embraced Francesca with his long arms, making her seem even smaller than he was. "Then, a hug. Welcome, tiny girl. How are you?" Richard, somehow, hated how natural Till had acted towards Francesca. He couldn't have done it, and he had yet to explain to himself why.

"Good, big man." Francesca replied, as Paul chuckled. "It's good to see you, you haven't aged a single day." Till tipped an invisible hat on his head, and smiled.

"Flatterer." Till replied, offering her a glass. "How about you, princess of darkness?" Till then said to Richard, his eyebrows flicking up, as he slid his long fingers around the beer and brought it to his lips. Francesca smiled, in such a tender way that Richard couldn't help but not feel thankful for Till's stupid comment. Paul watched, definitely amused.

"Ignore him." Richard commented, leaning closer to the girl. "He'll stop, eventually." Till winked at Richard, who rolled his eyes.

"Hope you like Lager." Paul said to Francesca. "You got to go easy on beer at first, in Berlin." The girl took a sip, and put her thumb up to signal that she loved it. Paul smiled back at her, as she clinged her glass with his.

"I'm more of a beer girl, than of a wine or cocktail type." Francesca admitted. "Guess I'm a German at heart." Richard chuckled at that sentence, as the alcoholic drink started to make him feel a tad bit less nervous. He loved how she tried to go past her shy temperance, just to be with his friends. She was being adorable, and kind, and funny. And he was feeling all fuzzy inside once again.

"Have you visited Richard's place yet?" Paul asked. The girl shook her head.

"Not yet." Richard answered for her, as he took out the pack of cigarettes. He hadn't had a single one since collecting Francesca, and he was feeling a horrible withdrawal.

"Don't be scared at the...how do we call it? Single-ness of it." Paul continued, with a soft smile. Francesca with a grin on her lips, observed as Richard took out the cigarette and brought it to his lips. She had missed seeing that gesture of his. Till had his head on his hand, his elbow resting on the table. His big green eyes went from Richard to Francesca, studying them. The mechanical poetry of lovers, that was how he called it. And man, were these two really infatuated with each other. Yet, he could see how Richard wasn't being entirely himself.

"Once again, not everything these guys say is true." Richard replied, puffing out a cloud of smoke from his lips.

"I'll find out for myself, thank you, Reesh." Francesca brought the pint of beer to her mouth, letting a big gulp down. It seemed like Richard was trying to defend himself, building a wall, while the guys were literally willing to make her become more acquainted with his - and their, - world.

"The others say that they're sorry for tonight, but you'll meet them very soon." Till said, after he had spent a few minutes in silence. "Maybe I'll set something up at my house in the country."

"You have a house in the country?" Francesca asked, interested. "Wow. Don't you prefer the big metropolis?" Till shook his head, so did Paul. Almost at the same time, they pointed both at Richard.

"He's the city type." Till replied. "I like to be away from it all, when I can." Francesca nodded in agreement. It was the first time for her in such a huge city as well. She looked at Richard, hoping that he would be a sort of guide to her in that crazy, fast environment. Richard nodded slowly, in agreement. The city was his kingdom.

"I'm getting something to eat." Francesca proposed, standing up from the bench. "Do you guys want something? Richard?" Richard thought about it for a second, and then finished what was left of his beer in a gulp.

"Something else to drink." He replied, to which Francesca smiled, almost resignated.

"I'll get something for me and Till, too. Come, I'll help you." Paul stood up, making Francesca feel very grateful for that initiative. Till looked at Richard for a very long minute. He was hating his behaviour at the moment.

Francesca and Paul took the few steps towards the wooden cabin that sold food and beverages. She looked at the menu, and opted for an oven baked potato. Paul made the order for both of them, and insisted on paying. After almost ending up in a fight with him, she decided to give in to his chivalry. There was a moment of silence in which Francesca just enjoyed the sight of the cooks inside the cabin preparing their meal. The noise of the sausages on the grill and their smell made her forget about everything else for a few seconds, until Paul started talking again, almost abruptly.

"Forgive me for saying this, I shouldn't be nosing in your business." He apologised. "But if you bear with me one second I'll make this evening less unpleasant to you." The girl furrowed her brows, and crossed her arms.

"Alright."

"You see, he's not entirely himself at the moment." He hinted at Richard with his head, their table far enough so that him and Till couldn't hear what he was saying.

"I noticed that." Francesca sighed.

"He's just...afraid." Paul continued, his finger playing with his earring. "You broke into his life, and he didn't expect that. And I'm not saying that in a negative way." The girl listened, carefully.

"I just hoped he would welcome me...in a warmer way. Do you know what I mean?" She replied, as Paul smiled at her. He was a reassuring presence, and despite not knowing him he had already proven to be a nice guy to have around.

"As I told you, he's afraid. And nervous."

"What do you suggest?" Francesca replied, as she glanced at Richard. He was lighting up another cigarette, and in that moment he looked particularly adorable as Till had made a joke, and the two men had started laughing. There they were again: butterflies.

"Give him time." Paul said. "He cares about you, more than he's showing at the moment. I'm sure he'll reward you with his best self in some time." She heard his words, and realized that maybe he was right. She had to ease into Richard's life slowly, giving him time to adjust himself to the situation. "And by the way, he's...fallen head over heels for you. I really hope you know that. He doesn't want to blow this up, that's why he might seem an asshole tonight." He added, making all of Francesca's tension disappear in a moment. In love. Richard could be, or so it seemed, in love with her. She didn't expect that, she actually didn't know what to say or think, even. She took the plate the cook was lending her, and looked at Paul with a stupid, happy expression on her round face.

"And I...I hope you're right." She answered to him. "Otherwise, I'd have wasted money, time and...most of all, feelings." Paul chuckled, and as he took his order he gently rubbed a hand on her upper back.

"He's a tough one to be around. But...when he gives, he gives his whole being." Paul said, as they started walking back towards the table. "Have faith for me. Will you?"

"I will." She said. Paul winked at her, and she felt incredibly thankful for the chat she had just had with him. As they sat back down on the benches, Richard had a puzzled, curious look on his tired face.

"What's up?" He asked her. She adjusted the bangs of hair on her blonde head, and shook her head.

"Niente." She said. "Guten Appetit, I guess?" She nervously added, shrugging her shoulders and passing him the other beer he had ordered.

Richard opened the door to his apartment, and entered first. He had drunk at least three beers, and despite being used to drinking he couldn’t help but feel a bit tipsy. Francesca got inside, dragging her carry on suitcase. She looked around, following Richard.

It was a beautiful, scandinavian style loft. Her boots walked on a wooden floor, and what caught her sight the most were the huge windows that faced the balcony. There was a modern steel kitchen on the left side of the room, with an island and a couple of designer stools in front of it. There was a long raw wood table in the center of the space, on which books and vinyls rested. She noticed the enormous amplifier that rested against the wall made of visible walls, and a guitar rack that comprehended guitars of all shapes and sizes. Not far from the window were two armchairs, and a long sofa made of grey fabric, in front of a high-tech fireplace. On the wall above it, was a flat tv-screen.The light that Richard had flicked on was warm, and it gave the place a homely feeling.

She watched as he took off his coat, and left it on a chair. He opened his arms, almost as if he wanted to show the place off.

“I guess this is it. Mi casa es tu casa.” He said, visibly trying not to look too drunk. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.” Francesca got annoyed by that word. ‘Your room’. But then again, maybe it was the right thing. It was not like she had moved to Berlin to start living together with him. She followed it as they turned around the kitchen and went through a corridor. He turned the lights on in a room in which there was a large double bed, in that same minimalist style of the rest of the house. The wall behind the bed was dark grey, and on it rested a few photographs in large frames. There was a big square window and under it was a chest of drawers. It wasn’t bad, and it was almost as big as the entire living room of her house in Florence.

“Thanks for having me.” Francesca said, getting her suitcase in the room, and looking around. “I owe you.” Richard shook his head, nervous.

“Don’t even say that.” He replied, with a smile. “Let me give you some towels. I bet you’d like a shower.”

“I’ll just go to bed, actually.” Francesca said, taking off her leather jacket.

“Ugh. Yeah, of course. But, maybe you want to take a shower tomorrow morning.” He said, as he opened the wardrobe in the room and took out a few towels. He tried to place them orderly on the bed, and almost tripped as he did that. Francesca fought to keep a laugh in.

“Thank you, again.” she replied. Richard nodded at her and then, before walking out of the door, he stopped.

“Gute Nacht.” he timidly left a kiss on her cheek, shyly looked down at his feet and left her alone. Francesca stood there for a good minute, pondering. She sat down on the bed, and brought her carry on closer to her feet. She reflected upon her decisions, about the weird day and the weird feelings she was having in that moment. Anger, dismay, fear. She almost felt her eyes watering. Yet, she brought herself back to reality and decided to lay down and get some rest.

A pressing headache woke Richard up from his slumber. With some difficulties he managed to sit on the edge of his bed, and stood up. His bare feet on the wooden floor as in between the pain in his head he grabbed a sweatshirt and got out of his room. His stomach was a little twisted, and he wanted to get some air. He looked at the time on his smartphone, and hissed at it. It was about four in the morning.

Wearing nothing but his boxers and a plain black shirt over which he had the sweatshirt, he walked back to the kitchen. It took him a while to notice that Francesca was sitting on an armchair, facing the glass wall that opened to the balcony. Her legs were crossed, a cigarette resting between her fingers, and she had slightly opened the window. There wasn’t any breeze coming in, but there sure was some fresh air getting inside the loft. She seemed to be focused on the skyline of Berlin over which the apartment looked from the balcony. And she didn’t hear Richard approaching her. Or did she?

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his eyes still almost completely squeezed because of how tired he was. Francesca let out a puff of smoke, and shook her head. “Me neither.” He went to grab a chair from near the table, and brought it next to her. He had to admit to himself that he was astonished at the sight of the city he loved so dearly at that time of the night. He had lived it, but he had to give in to his peaceful ambience. Francesca lent him the cigarette, which Richard gladly took. He brought his thumb and his index to his mouth, and inhaled. His eyes inspected her figure. Her legs were fleshy, soft and inviting. Her entire figure gave him a sense of peace. She was wearing a tank top with the Motörhead logo on it, and the tattoo she had from just above her chest was showing. It was a spiral wave of water, that arrived right on her shoulder. It was made in relaxing shades of blue, and it felt very realistic. He passed the cigarette back to her, and adjusted himself on the chair.

“Aren’t you cold? If I’m correct you’re quite sensitive to it.” Richard spoke hopeful, trying to initiate the conversation. Francesca shrugged her shoulders.

“No.” she said. Just that glacial monosyllable. Richard sighed, and stood up; he walked up to the sofa, grabbing the wool blanket that was resting on its edge. He went back to her, and placed it on Francesca’s shoulders. She didn’t expect it, and flinched a little as she had felt the warm fabric on her body. It was a good sensation, that was sure. Richard sat down again, crossing his arms and looking out. It was still dark, with tiny dots of light scattered on the panorama of the city. The girl inhaled one last time from the cigarette, before turning it off in an ashtray that she had found on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Throwing the blanket around her body, she stood up from the armchair. Richard watched her moves, in silence. He held it in, until she finally decided to open her mouth to speak.

“Good night again.”

“No, that’s not a good night.” Richard replied. He stood up, and looked directly into her eyes. His headache was driving him crazy. “Listen, I know. I know…I know I’ve been an idiot the whole time.” Richard spoke, not being able to hold his thoughts inside anymore. “I’m hurt, my brain is exploding, and I still feel sick because of all the beer I drank in the hope of making things easier, but…yeah.” He said again, as Francesca had stopped on the way to her room, listening. “What I’m trying to say is that if you want to give me a taste of my own medicine, I cannot blame you.”

He got closer to her, just a few steps separating them. As they were both barefoot, he was about ten centimeters taller than she was. Francesca looked up at him, keeping the blanket tight to her shoulders.

“It’s…it’s just that you’re here. You’re…really here, for God’s sake.” Richard felt a spontaneous smile climb onto his lips as he spoke and said those words. He gesticulated so much, he ended up nervously fiddling with the hair on the back of his head. “You took your chance, you…came here. And there’s a part of me that is insanely happy at the thought that you might have decided to come here because of me.”

He explained, Francesca breathing very calmly as she lent her ears to him.

“The other part though, is insanely scared that you might have come here because of me.” Richard was feeling very nervous, like a school kid reciting his love confession to his first crush. “I need you to…to have a little bit of patience with me. I will realize it, I will accept and love the fact that maybe you came here because of me. I’m an old, bitter, delusional man that is too afraid to act like a real man and give you what you deserve.” Francesca could feel all of his words get straight to her tired heart. She was trying to keep herself together, without bursting into tears. It was very difficult to be a grown up woman, and not a protagonist of a corny love story. “So I’m sorry, again and again. I truly hope you will…give me another chance to prove I’m not the asshole a lot of people think I am.” He let his arms down, finally, and felt it very relieving. He had said it all, everything he held inside. “I’m…I’m going to bed. If you want to, you can…you can join me there. If not, good night anyways.”

Richard took a shy step towards her, and leant in to leave a long, long wanted kiss on her cheek. With a defeated expression, he went to his room without looking back. He got back into bed, turning on one side. He sighed, and finally closed his eyes in the darkness. He felt drained, actually. Drained of all the emotions and the forces he had. It didn’t take long before he heard muffled and insecure steps on the wooden floor. He felt the covers behind him moving, and smiled to himself as he felt Francesca’s arm slide on him, to rest on his stomach.

“Take all the time you need.” she said. Her voice soft to his ear. He placed a hand on hers, and interlaced his fingers with hers.

“Thank you. I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

“Shh. I’ve missed you, you chatty old man.”

[ladystylestores]

Decoding the Chinese Tai-tai Style – WWD

https://ift.tt/2OQQBup

LONDON — Tai-tai is a colloquial term used to describe wealthy housewives in China and in Chinese-speaking regions such as Hong Kong, Taiwan and Singapore. Kevin Kwan’s “Crazy Rich Asians” trilogy has lengthy and hilarious descriptions of these consumers’ spending habits and fashion styles.

Most of the time, Chinese netizens are obsessed with teen idols and what they are wearing and show little interest in women beyond a certain age. But recently, because of the reality show “Sisters Who Make Waves,” where 30 female celebrities over 30 years old fight to get into a five-member girl group, and the hit TV drama series “Nothing but Thirty,” Chinese Tai-tai style has been in the spotlight.

Several celebrities in “Sisters Who Make Waves” married into immense wealth. As the crew films their family life, the public gets to witness the kind of luxurious lifestyles many consider beyond imagination.

For example, Shengyi Huang, 37 — who kickstarted her fame by starring in Stephen Chow’s top-grossing film “Kung Fu Hustle” in 2004 and who is married to Zi Yang, heir to Juli Group, a conglomerate valued at $3.2 billion with businesses across rigging equipment, alcohol, new energy, property development, and multimedia — bought a smaller mansion just for the show because she was worried that the size of her real home would scare the audience.

Her ability to pull off looks on the stage and on the street and her diva moments on the show have cemented her as a new fashion icon for many Chinese Tai-tais. She frequently shares her styling tips, skin-care routine and family moments on Chinese social commerce platform Xiaohongshu.

Huang and others in the show — such as Christy Chung, Ning Jing and Annie Yi — are progressive role models of what a modern-day Chinese Tai-tai can be. They are talented, beautiful, have their own careers while being a caring mother and a good wife.

“Nothing but Thirty,” meanwhile, offers a more realistic and sarcastic commentary on the social hierarchy among Chinese Tai-tais.

Shengyi Huang is now considered a new icon for many Chinese Tai-tai, because of the reality show “Sisters Who Make Waves.”  Xiaohongshu/ Screenshot

A clip from the TV drama went viral last week when the lead character got cropped out of a group picture because she carried a Chanel bag to a gathering while the rest came with their Hermès Birkin and Kelly bags. Influencer Mr.Bags’ analysis of who wears what in the scene became a trending post on Weibo. The show also generated wider discussions around materialism, social inequality, and what should women really prioritize after they enter adulthood.

Regardless, many applaud the show’s accurate portrayal of the current Chinese Tai-tai style. It isn’t as flashy as it used to be, but these women still dress in a way to make sure everyone knows that they are wealthy, at least within their social circle. One could call it the “Middle Money” style — not too new, yet not so old.

“I try to make them look like ‘gift boxes.’ Chinese Tai-tais love embroidery, beading, silk and stiff fabrics, and they all have identical objects that come with hefty price tags,” said Yikai Li, a costume designer and the stylist of “Nothing but Thirty.”

Li added that the life of a Tai-tai is extremely competitive in China, just like the rest of the world. “They rival each other by who has the best jewelry, the most exotic bags. Even their husbands could be used as an object in order to prove that one’s lifestyle is more superior than others,” he said.

He had to borrow a good number of Hermès bags, and rare jewelry and timepieces from his rich friends to accurately reflect the characters’ social status in the show.

In the clip, the lead Tai-tai, who considers herself “old money,” carried a Himalaya Niloticus Crocodile Birkin, while the new entrant to the group carried a purple crocodile Kelly to prove to the rest that she was their equal. One less-rich Tai-tai later confessed that she had to buy a secondhand Birkin in order to fit into the group, however.

One Xiaohongshu user posts pictures of her social gathering where attendees have to wear Chanel tweed jackets, Richard Mille diamond watches, Van Cleef & Arpels rings and carry Himalaya Niloticus Crocodile Birkin bags.  Xiaohongshu/ Screenshot

Fashion influencer Zheng Yu, founder of the Weibo account Fashionmodels, who often meets Tai-tais at fashion events, said some of them can be even more flashy and over the top in real life. They would wear the latest haute couture pieces to the Dior repeat show in Shanghai, and have Tai-tai gatherings where attendees have to wear Chanel tweed jackets, Richard Mille diamond watches, Van Cleef & Arpels rings and carry Himalaya Niloticus Crocodile Birkin bags.

Yu also observed that the older generation of Chinese Tai-tais prefers jewelry made of jade stones, over diamonds or other precious materials, compared to the younger generation.

“I remembered there was a time I went to a Chinese New Year gathering, and saw the head Tai-tai wore a whole set of jade jewelry to match with her crocodile Birkin. That’s the moment when I understood our ancestors’ old saying: ‘Gold has a price, but jade is priceless,’” he added.

A China area manager of a Parisian luxury house told WWD that the brand’s VIPs — the majority of whom are Tai-tais in their 40s and 50s with husbands busy with the family business and children abroad — love any bags that come in crocodile. In order to capture this group of high spenders, brands usually have little to no price differential between China and Paris for exotic skin bags, while the monogram versions are usually 15 to 30 percent more expensive in China.

One of Bing Xu’s Tai-tai clients pairs her Hermès wool coat and Hermès Kelly 28 Sellier Barenia bag with a pair of bespoke Bing Xu loafers with Indian silver embroidery.  Coutesy Photo

Some homegrown designers are looking to capitalize on the rising fashion influence of Chinese Tai-tai. Bing Xu, founder of his own shoe label and chief shoe designer at Shanghai Tang, and a fixture of the Chinese high society, said his shoes have been rather popular among his Birkin-carrying Tai-tai friends, and luxury brands’ China heads. Because of this, his shoes sell well without any advertisement, and a few European luxury brands are also looking to work with him to improve their footwear offerings in China.

“Many of my Chinese Tai-tai clients told me that they prefer my shoes because the design is based on a Chinese foot shape, not a European foot shape. Once they feel how comfortable the shoes are, they tell all their Tai-tai friends, and that’s how I built my business,” he said. “Comfort and material are the most important elements. If you manage to combine understated design and new ideas that embrace both East and West, Tai-tais will fall in love with your design instantly.”

With regard to the public’s newfound interest in Tai-tai style, Xu thinks “Nothing but Thirty’s” depiction of these women and their obsession with Hermès is a bit one-dimensional.

“It’s for a dramatic effect,” he said. “Those real Chinese Tai-tais I know have far better taste than what you see on TV. Usually, when I see a woman carrying a Himalaya Birkin, she doesn’t have a good taste, whether it’s in China or Europe. True tastemakers always go for Barenia or Box leather.”

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from World Wide News https://ift.tt/3hvQvEK

[londontheatre]

Sedos Priscilla

Winter is definitely with us. It’s cold, windy and the shops are full of Christmas tat. This is the time of year that the world needs something spectacular to bring a bit of happiness and raise the spirits. And, right now, the brightest show in town is Priscilla Queen of the Desert which has just opened at the Bridewell Theatre.

Sydney, Australia and drag queen Mitzi Mitosis (Richard Upton) needs a break. Luckily, he has received a phone call from Marion (Natalie Harding-Moore), the manager of the Alice Springs Casino. Among other things, she wants Mitzi – real name Anthony “Tick” Belrose – to come and perform at the casino. Tick leaps at the idea and ropes in fellow drag queen Felicia Jollygoodfellow (Ian Thiele-Long) and Trans woman Bernadette (Alexander McKinven) to join him on the epic 1,723 miles (2,773 kilometres) journey. Bernadette and Felicia – real name Adam Whitely – really don’t get on with Adam’s scathing comments about Bernadette’s trans status and her believing Adam is a talentless show-off, but the three of them embark on their road trip in their bus – the Priscilla of the title. Along the way they meet some of the inhabitants of Australia’s more remote towns and Priscilla gets a complete make-over. They also pick up mechanic Bob (Mark Macey) whose wife Cynthia (Romana Mass) has the party trick to end all party tricks.

Eventually, the quartet arrives where a special young boy by the name of Benjamin (Evan Huntley-Robertson / Matthew Cise) and a large red rock will bring Mitzi, Felicia and Bernadette’s trip to an end and start the three of them on a new journey into the unknown.

Priscilla Queen of the Desert is one of my all-time favourite films and I saw the London production more than once and loved it every time. So I went to the theatre expecting an OK night but also prepared to be let down slightly. Oh boy, I could not have been more wrong. From the moment the lights went down and the Divas (Victoria Greenway, Carin Miller and Skyla Loureda) it was obvious that Sedos had put together a fantastic show that really brings the story – by Stephan Elliott and Allan Scott – to life and, while remaining faithful to its origins is a superb production in its own right. Don’t be fooled though, Priscilla Queen of the Desert isn’t just a sparkling story of three gays in a bus. There is actually a deeper story of friendship, love, understanding and companionship along with dream fulfilment at its heart that is often sweet and tender and acts as a perfect counterpoint to the more lively sections.

So, where to start with what is right with the show? Let’s go with costumes – Sequins and glitter ruled the day with the drag and Diva costumes sparkling under the lights. But it extended to more than the glamorous costumes, all of the others were perfect as well – particularly the various costumes of the nations used in the tourist scene, not to mention the rainbow cactus which, while I’m sure was really uncomfortable to perform in, looked great from my seat on the front row. I think for me, one of the highlights of the costumes was the funeral scene where, whilst everyone was in black, really epitomised the sort of thing a bunch of LGBT people would wear at a funeral – you’ll have to go and see the show to really appreciate what I mean here. By the way, if anyone is thinking about Christmas presents for me, then I would love either Adam’s boots or Tick’s green sequin lined pajamas. Let’s turn to the set and, at the heart of Priscilla Queen of the Desert is a single decker bus that has to transport everyone across Australia and at some point in the show turn pink. Without giving away too much, Designer Steven King gives the set everything it needs in faultless style. You will see a massive bus, you will see a casino, and you will see Ayers Rock. Before moving on, I would like to give a massive shout out to all the backstage crew who did a sterling job in transforming men to drag queens and back again in the blink of an eye as well as helping with the costume changes of the sixteen-strong cast.

Acting-wise, our three leading men were truly awesome. I’m going out on a limb here, but I reckon a lot of guys would, just once, like to dress up as a drag queen and perform to an adoring audience – no? Just me then – but it was obvious that Richard, Alexander and Ian were absolutely revelling in their roles as Tick, Bernadette and Felicia respectively. And I was right there with them every step of the journey. I laughed when they laughed and cried when they cried. Like Bernadette, I got infuriated with Adam but learned to love him as the show went on. There was a real chemistry between the three leads that flowed into the audience and made the preposterousness of the overall story seem something that was actually possible. All told, there were no weak links in the cast, with everyone from the ensemble to the leads looking great and moving nicely. Director Angus Jacobs and Choreographer Eloise Horton make the cast work hard and cover every inch of the stage in some really impressive dance numbers.

Overall, then I guess it’s pretty obvious I enjoyed Priscilla Queen of the Desert. Sedos have put together and delivered a first-rate show that is fun with a capital ‘F’ and entertaining with a capital ‘E’ from start to finish. The perfect start to the Christmas season, if you don’t leave the theatre at least humming one of the songs, then just pop off and change your name to Ebenezer. If I had to sum up Priscilla Queen of the Desert in one word it would be this FAB-U-LOUS!

Review by Terry Eastham

Sedos presents a new sell-out production of the award-winning musical Priscilla Queen of the Desert at the Bridewell Theatre, off Fleet Street, from 22 November-2 December 2017. The musical, which has book by Stephan Elliott and Allan Scott, is based on the 1994 Oscar winning Latent Image/Specific Films Motion Picture distributed by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Inc.

The critically-acclaimed stage musical version of Priscilla has played to packed houses all over the world during its 11-year journey since its premiere in Sydney in 2006. Sedos’ new production of Priscilla promises a vibrant and energetic production – with a cast of 25, many of whom are featuring in their first Sedos production.

A colourful and vibrant spectacular featuring all-time dance and pop hits from the 80’s and 90’s, the story follows the adventure of three friends brought together under unique circumstances. They travel in a wonderfully quirky bus from the glamour and sparkle of Sydney as they ‘Go West’ into the heart of the Australian desert continent. The production has direction by Angus Jacobs, musical direction by Ryan Macaulay and choreography by Eloise Horton.

CAST Tick | Richard Upton Adam | Ian Thiele-Long Bernadette | Alex McKinven Diva | Victoria Greenway Diva | Corin Miller Diva | Skyla Loureda Bob | Mark Macey Miss Understanding | John Bainton Marion | Natalie Harding-Moore Shirley | Rowena Turner Cynthia | Romana Moss Frank | Andy Macpherson Jimmy | Claire Linney Farrah | Alex Magliaro Pastor | Chris Warner Benji | Matthew Cise and Evan Huntley-Robertson

Ensemble: Sarah Berryman, Lauren Coffey, James Franey, Matt Madeley, Emma Morgan, Tashan Nicholas, Caroline Scott, Ben Thiele-Long, Rebecca Weymouth and Josh Yeardley.

PRODUCTION TEAM Director | Angus Jacobs Musical Director | Ryan Macaulay Choreographer| Eloise Horton Assistant Director | Laura Graham-Matheson Producer | Lizzie Drapper Set Designer | Steve King Lighting Designer | Olly Levett Sound Designer | Adrian Jeakins Stage Manager | Andrew Laidlaw Committee Liaison | Stephen Beeny

LISTINGS DETAILS Priscilla Queen of the Desert The Musical

Book by Stephan Elliott and Allan Scott, and based on the Latent Image/Specific Films Motion Picture distributed by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Inc.

Wednesday 22 November to Saturday 2 December 2017 Evenings at 7.30pm, Saturday matinees at 2.30pm Bridewell Theatre, Bride Lane, off Fleet Street, London EC4Y 8EQ

The whole run is sold out, but returns may be available from the theatre box office, which opens 30 minutes before the performance. More info: sedos.co.uk

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