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 Well (By: Marie)

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Posts : 5140
Join date : 2008-12-13
Age : 61
Location : Urs Buhler, The man of my dreams!!
Humor : I found it and as always the joke is on me!!

PostSubject: Well (By: Marie)    Tue Dec 21, 2010 5:06 pm

“Well, that is the most horrendous thing we’ve heard today.” The line was delivered flatly, yet with the acerbic touch that was so typical of the man. And it was the “royal we” being used as he was the only person in the room.

“The peasants are revolting!” The messenger had the temerity to repeat the offensive statement.

“Peasants are always revolting,” again a flat statement and not necessarily with the same connotation with which the messenger had presented it. “It happens periodically within certain barbaric elements there. I have lost all hope that the Hinterland will ever become totally civilized. Well, what is it the rebel rabble want now?” King Cowell was not amused, he was not going to be amused and he had no intention of pretending to be amused.

By now the messenger was not sure King Cowell would abide by the old adage, “Don’t kill the messenger.” He gauged his distance from the door as he mumbled, having lost his bravado from his first announcement, “They are demanding that Il Divo come to perform a concert just for them.”

“What?” It was a roar. It was succinct, which was unusual for Cowell. He calmed. He deliberated. He mused. He smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. Perhaps this was just what was called for—and the plan began to take shape.

***************

The castle was magnificent—it was their home when they were forced to put on their most professional attitudes and paste on their most public smiles and make the most frightening of their appearances. “It will be alright,” David spoke with less conviction than the others might have wished.

“Of course it will,” Seb, the eternal optimist, quickly added.

“Definitely,” Urs was stoic.

Carlos spoke, probably naughty words, in Spanish and arched his eyebrow until it risked colliding with his little curl.

“Bailey to the rescue,” if that was the attempt at reassurance by the man who had just joined them, it was doomed to failure. “Ok, let’s try this again. What if we go a week early, hole up in our rooms and then everyone will think we are staying elsewhere and give up and haunt other places.”

A nod from Urs spoke for them all and so it had come to pass that they came to the castle individually and heavily disguised by their cleverly talented make-up artist and wardrobe mistress and had been in their rooms several days before the hoards had begun to mill around in the public rooms below.

“Friedliche Zuflucht,” Urs breathed quietly. Truly his tower was a tranquil refuge with its cool colors and peaceful décor reminding him of the crispness of winter in his beloved Alps.

“Fuego de verano!” exclaimed Carlos as his tower was decorated in the fiery colors of summer.

David’s tower was stylized spring. Techno music filled the rooms and as he looked at the modern paintings of landscapes he pronounced it, “Ah, good.”

The gentleness of autumn surrounded Seb. “It would be perfect if only my family were here,” he sighed.

They agreed that their virtual imprisonment had not been too hard to take. They had been able to move freely between towers by secret passages. They were never present in the lounges when food was delivered so there was no chance of staff being coerced, bullied, tortured or granted sexual favors in exchange for information.

They were gathered when Bailey came to give his daily report. He was not yet well known in these parts so was able to move about relatively safely with a minimum of disguise. “Guys, I hate to tell you this, but there is a small contingent that refuses to give up the vigil. Not only that, they seem to have imported some mercenaries. I don’t want to alarm you, but their sharp eyes darting here and there and boring into anyone they consider suspicious are making me nervous. Sound check is in two days and they show no signs of leaving.”

“Do they seem interested in any one of us in particular?” David’s question was hopeful—hopeful that he wasn’t the one of interest.

Bailey shook his head, “I’m afraid I’ve heard all four names bandied about. I’ve also heard, “chains” and “handcuffs” and if I were you, I would take the stairs—don’t get in those elevators.” The last comment caused four faces to blanch—a small space—grasping, hands—too frightening to contemplate.

“But where are my Divas, the ones I can always count on to be respectful—laugh at my jokes—go, ‘awwww,’ and talk about how cute I am?” David was puzzled.

“And the Sirens, my shimmering Sirens who take fabulous pictures of me—where are they?” Seb could not contemplate desertion.

“And now that I am single, should I be prepared to run as fast as my little legs can carry me? Might they pounce on me from behind pillars?” pondered Carlos.

“And my UGM would never willingly forsake me,” mused Urs, thinking of the kindly, respectful ladies who were ever so conscientious of protecting his space and his person.

In the end, the Divos had slipped out one by one, much as they had arrived, and made it unscathed to the sound check. Lame excuses were bandied about as to why they were just going to remain at the theater until show time—no going back to the castle.

“They’re here!” David, who had been peeping from behind the curtain, announced. “Divas at two o’clock!”

“Flanked by Ubers on the right,” crowed Urs.

“And Sirens on the left,” sighed Sebastien.

“And a whole battalion of Cuties,” boasted Carlos.

On the whole it was a civilized concert. The malcontents seemed pretty contented and they had cleaned up rather nicely—the vocabulary was still going to need work though. Women cheered, swooned, sighed, tried to remember to breathe, crowded around the stage and did the rest of the usual things the women always did at Divo concerts.

Carlos wiggled eyebrows, Urs blinky-winked, David outdid himself hip wiggling and Seb dodged killer curtains and did not forget his lines even once.

Silence reigned in the people carrier on the way back to the castle. Each Divo was thinking about the possibility of having to run a gauntlet inside the public area. And it would be a dash up all those flights of stairs—no risking an elevator.

At their arrival, one could swear the castle was suddenly bathed in glorious light and triumphant music played in the heavens—all was as it should have been—the Divas, Ubers, Sirens and Cuties were in place, waiting to greet the returning heroes—Divos breathed, “Thank you,” silently in their various languages. They made their way through the great hall with their usual aplomb. They retired in peace to their respective towers.

*********

“Simon, you planned this all along, didn’t you?” His companion asked the rhetorical question.

The King smiled, “Well evidently it worked, did you notice how the radical element seemed to start following the regulars around, watch, take note, and begin to try very hard to fit in? I noticed they were beginning to sound like other Divas, Ubers, Sirens and Cuties—indulging in Divo fantasies and planning their next concert encounters. And the Divas, Ubers, Sirens and Cuties were wearing pleased smiles because after all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Simon, you are devious,” she knew he was proud of this trait that some would have eschewed.

“Well, my dear, I simply remembered that ‘Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast,’ as it is oft misquoted—I do know it’s ‘breast,’ but with all those women involved…,” his smile was pleasant.

And so the Divos continued their tour—uniting the world in love and music, being appreciated by their fans, and appreciating them right back.

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Well (By: Marie)
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