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“Goodnight, Dolores.” Irene was granted a lazy wave. Her chaperone might have thought her the least troublesome of the opera company, but she remained disdainful.
No matter. Irene had cleared the first hurdle to what she hoped would be a fun night out on the town…or rather, the Beonid space station.
She retreated to the corner to sit and wait, making herself as invisible as possible as she perched on a chair. It wasn’t an easy feat. Not quite six-feet-one, she towered over many, including her male castmates. In her early years of performing, she’d often been passed over for leading roles because a number of male stars disliked being cast with a taller woman.
Then Fausto had joined the company in New York City. Over six feet tall himself and possessing a presence that tended to render even Valentina invisible at times, he’d been delighted to have Irene cast opposite him. Thanks to his approval, Irene had finally come into her own. A critic had called her the perfect balance to Fausto’s sensational bombast. She had the stature to command attention when they shared a stage. His gorgeous vocals and her ringing angelic soprano complimented perfectly, never competing but melding in what another critic had called, “the very music of heaven itself.”
Irene was no shrinking flower. She knew many considered her appearance arresting at the least, beautiful to some. She’d been described as an Amazon; “veering too close to manly for comfort” according to one detractor. Fortunately, the larger-than-life personalities of Fausto and Valentina allowed her to escape some notice when she wished.
As a dozen lucky fans who’d attended the show filtered to the backstage area to meet and chat with the performers, she thought she might be fortunate enough to slip in the women’s dressing room in the next few minutes. At least half the female members of the company had emerged in their street clothes, and the rest would follow soon.
Cries suddenly rang out. Everyone’s attention swung toward the door leading to the stage, and Irene stood to see what the excitement was about. Security was trying to push their way through the cast to reach the area, and a number of chaperones were pulling their wide-eyed female charges in the opposite direction.
“No Kalquorians!” Donald shouted over the excited hubbub.
Irene looked over the heads of the crowd to spy three men taller than herself standing just in the doorway. She gaped at the sight.
The brown-skinned alien race similar to Earthers weren’t merely towering. They were also solid walls of muscle. Their shoulders, which were visible above those between them and Irene, were wide and bulging in black sleeveless uniforms.
They weren’t bad looking, she decided. They were a long way from the somewhat sexless beauty of male models and actors sporting the current trending look on Earth, what with their strong jaws and pronounced bone structures. Unfashionably masculine would have probably been the verdict of most humans, but Irene appreciated their size and appearance of strength. Their shoulder-length black hair, which would have garnered horror on Earth, did nothing to feminize their powerful looks.
They stared down at Donald in confusion as he ordered them out. Irene wondered if they understood English. Even if they didn’t, his expression declared they weren’t welcome.
Fausto’s booming voice rang over the security head’s chant of “Leave! Out! Leave! Out!” The crowd separating him from the Kalquorians parted to let him through.
“For shame, Mr. Donald. Our performances are for all as Earth’s goodwill gesture to our fellow members of the Galactic Council,” Fausto proclaimed. “These are the exact people we wish to build bridges with. Welcome, honored guests, and you are greatly welcome if you enjoy the only music worth hearing, opera.”
As he reached the aliens, they bowed to him. Fausto’s round face beamed in delight, and he grasped the hand of the closest of them, whose uniform was trimmed in blue. He shook the Kalquorian’s hand heartily, who eyed their joined palms in fascination.
“A delight to make your acquaintance, sirs. How did you find our show? Was it enjoyable?”
A resonant voice Irene swore she could feel in her bones filled the silent and expectant air. “We were impressed. A very good story. Excellent singing. I am sorry I can’t say better, but I have too little of your language.”
“Ah, but you have more of mine than I do of yours, and what you have, you speak splendidly. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Dramok Nil. I am captain of ship taking leave of our patrol.” The Kalquorian’s smile was pleasant. “My shipmates and clanmates, Nobek Amig and Imdiko Ginef.” The men in red and green-trimmed uniforms offered second bows.
“A delight, gentlemen. Please, do come in and meet our cast.” Ignoring the dismayed expressions of security and chaperones, as well as Donald’s outright anger, Fausto slung an arm around Captain Nil and urged him further in the room. “Here we have Mark, who played Cyrus. This is John, in the role of Lucas.”
The chaperones were pushing the remaining women to the door to leave the theater. Irene wondered if they actually expected the Kalquorians to turn into the lust-crazed monsters Earth insisted they were and start grabbing every female in sight to rut. She noted Meg and her mother were rooted to their spots, gawking in fascination.
The aliens’ smiles were relentlessly polite. The one in the green-trimmed uniform appeared a little sad to note frightened women fleeing, as if it upset him to be an object of terror. The most brutish of the trio, sporting a scar on his jaw and wearing red-trimmed black, eyed everyone as if they might suddenly spring on him.
“Fausto—” Donald darted glances at his security team, as if searching for support.
Fausto reached Meg and Mrs. Hoffman. “Ah, a lovely member of our dance corp. This is Meg, the sweetest of our girls. You know what I mean?” He laughed and winked and hugged the pink-cheeked dancer.
“What you mean? Do tell us what you mean, Fausto.” Valentina’s voice rose to a near screech as she stormed toward him, halting the Kalquorians in polite mid-bow. Mrs. Hoffman wisely grabbed Meg as Fausto released her and hustled her to the back door…but she fluttered her fingers and dared a slight smile at the Kalquorians before disappearing.
“Ah, right on cue! My adored leading lady, Valentina.” Fausto’s smile was dazzling, as if Valentina didn’t look on the verge of clawing his eyes out.
Another source of Valentina’s frequent outbursts of temper: her unrequited and phenomenally jealous love for Fausto. She unleashed a string of hectic Spanish, her arms flailing as she read the chuckling Fausto the riot act.
Irene abruptly realized the drama of the Kalquorians in their midst was the perfect cover for her to make her escape. She slipped along the edges of the crowd to reach the dressing room, watching for anyone to note her exit. The sole gazes that swung her way were those of the blue- and red-trim-wearing Kalquorians. She ignored the nervous bubbling of her stomach at those sharp stares set in rather ruthless faces and hurried to the dressing area.
She nearly bumped into Emma Jones, who was in charge of wardrobe. Emma was well within the confines of the dressing room, but positioned so she could peer through the doorway and watch the backstage goings-on. Middle-aged, with her own flare for fashion and the dramatic, she grabbed Irene’s arm as if to steady herself.
“Look at the size of them. Such big, big men. Have you ever seen so many muscles? Oh, Fausto will hear it from the Church now, welcoming them here in the presence of all these women.”
