by Paul Smith
Harlem's Deck 7:A Night at the Opera.
By Paul Smith.
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Harlem's Deck 7:A Night at the Opera.
Paul Smith
Copyright 2014 Paul Smith
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people, places or events is purely coincidental, and bears no malicious intent.
ISBN: 9781310874239
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'For anyone who has cried as the fat lady sings.'
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Author's note:
If you have come across this interlude and would like to find the rest of the book, please visit my galleries on those sites:
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Thank you.
7:A Night at the Opera.
Whilst Jaret conducted interviews Elliot went to the gym. Karl was absent at the moment, away with his latest protégé on retreat at the spirit lodge. So he worked the circuit, before doing a few of rounds in the ring with a couple of the regulars he knew. When his brother rang to say he was going to be delayed he took it as a hint and went for a dip in the dojo's pool.
Though it was, yes, the home of one of the city's three kya training centres, the Three Winds Dojo opened its doors to all. Karl's philosophy on the matter was simple: A Nu Shakya did not work in isolation from the rest of the world, therefore they should not train in isolation either. The open door policy provided a multitude of sparing partners, as well as allowing for the possibility of fresh inspiration walking in, not to mention fresh talent. It was traditional that the families choose their scions protector from amongst the poor and destitute of the city state's various orphanages and hospices, but that wasn't to say that it was the law. The practice had more to do with the level of dedication needed to fulfil the position adequately: it required total focus, to the exclusion of almost everything else. There simply was not the space in there for family ties, let alone a spouse or partner.
That wasn't to say kya were expected to be celibate. Far from it (as Ruffio would be proud to tell you). But any relationship they might ignite was expected to take a firm second place to their responsibilities regarding their charge's immortal soul.
So the dojo welcomed any and all, with classes catering for the very young right up to those who'd seen the best and worst of life.
As the exorbitant fees a family coughed up for the spiritual and physical training of their new chattel more or less paid for the place, it also meant that the cost of membership was kept right down. Again allowing the broadest spectrum possible to walk through the doors, short of casting them open to every comer. Elliot had once had the temerity to ask Karl why he and his fellow sensei didn't do just that.
“You would sully our space with the unmotivated? Those seeking the easy road?”
Elliot had taken one look at the other man's face and realised quite how far off the path he had trodden. With Karl, everything was about cause and effect, action and reward.
He had not raised the point again.
Clambering from the pool's cool waters he padded across the black marble tiles to the wooden bench where he'd left his towel and phone. As predicted, there was a message from Jaret waiting that said simply 'done'.
Grinning, and imagining his brother now propped outside the back door of campaign headquarters with a fag hanging from the left side of his mouth he grabbed his towel. Nodding to Hirochi and the pool's other occupant, he padded out between the twin Buddha that sat somnolent to either side of the doorway. From here it was a short walk past the jacuzzi and sauna rooms to the changing area and lockers, where he'd left his gear.
Dumping his towel and phone on a bench, he shed his trunks and headed for the showers. The dojo laid on gel and shampoo, and as a result the steamy atmosphere always smelt faintly of oranges over the deeper musk of sweat.
Elliot took his time soaking himself down, knowing Jaret wouldn't be in any hurry to go anywhere. They were supposed to be putting in a series of 'impromptu' appearances at various public amenities this afternoon, and he'd had to work hard into talking his brother out of cancelling out right following the events of the last few days.
“People will still expect to see you. Not showing up will be taken as a sign of weakness. Come on Jay,” he'd pleaded, wishing Annalise were there to offer her support. (The conversation had, unfortunately, taken place after she left for the children's ward at St. Catherine's, to follow up the flowers from the gala.) “You know how Jones will spin it.” He mimed the older councillor's stentorian tones: “Anyone would think Mayor Roscan is incapable without someone there to hold his hand.”
Jay had relented, but only on the proviso they keep the appearances short, arguing they could rely on Annalise to put on the brave public face and blame his need to replace 'the great man' (phrase to be used in a press release) for his adjusted time constraints.
Elliot bowed to his greater wisdom.
Finishing up, Elliot wrung his trunks out over a drain and then made for the lockers, towelling his hair down absently as he went. He knew Jaret found his easy nudity a little off-putting, referencing a variety of comedy sketches on the subject when drunk, but Elliot always managed to shrug it off. It was one of the dojo's tenants: comfort in one's own skin.
A little more circumspection was of course practised around the zephyrs, as the younger visitors were known.
Aside from that, however, the rule was generally: if you don't like it, don't come in. Again, it was another of sensei's ploys to ensure only 'the right kind of people' walked through the door. Elliot was never convinced it was entirely effective for the right reasons, but he had to admit it did drive away at least a portion of the bigots and body fascists.
He smiled fondly as he dressed, remembering Bailey's teasing on the subject.
“Who wouldn't be happy with a body like yours to show off?” she'd purred, lying back amongst the pillows with a cigarette held elegantly to one side. Grinning as he struck a pose at the foot of her bed. “My very own David.”
The nickname had confused him until she showed him pictures of the famous statue.
“...apart from the hair...”
“What's that bro?”
He glanced up, shaking his head. “Sorry Kaiden,” remembering the name of the other swimmer as he walked in. “Something an old squeeze said.”
The electrician grinned, nodded at the sword. “Back to work after this?”
Elliot rolled his eyes, pulling on his tee. “Don't I know it. And they're off to the Opera this evening.” He shook his head. “Why they can't be like any normal young couple and go clubbing I'll never know.”
Kaiden grinned. “The joys of being rich.”
“Too true,” Elliot sighed. “I just hope it's not the one about the lady's man they drag off to hell.”
“It's not,” put in Maria, wondering through with a towel piled about her mane of red hair. “It's the one about the mail order bride who knifes herself.”
Both men raised an eyebrow.
“My other half got us tickets,” she explained. “We'll be in the upper circle. You'll be able to see me, I'll be the one with the matchsticks holding my eyes open.”
“Oh, well, that's much better then.” Elliot slung his sword and bag over one shoulder, tucking his jacket under the opposite arm. “I'll keep an eye out for you at the bar.”
“Oh I'll be there. No way I'm sitting through the seco
nd act anything less than half cut.”
Elliot smiled, raising a hand in farewell as he stepped out through the connecting doors that led out into the corridor down to the lobby. The air here was chill compared to the gym's balmy interior.
That'll be our summer over then.
Pausing by the rock garden, he unslung the sword and pulled his coat on before shouldering into the scabbard again and slinging his messenger bag across the top. The receptionist looked up from her magazine with a smile as he walked past and out into the chilly afternoon sun.
Annalise returned from the hospital in an unexpectedly buoyant mood, arriving at campaign headquarters just in time to exchange a kiss and a few quiet words with her husband who had (thankfully for all, Elliot felt) not been smoking.
They left for the afternoon's engagements riding the resultant high.
As such, it turned out not to be the trying affair that Elliot had prepared himself for, and by the end of it even the most hard hearted of the reporters were smiling at the stunts Jay was pulling. It helped, he suspected, that the man had made a decision regarding