Live In London
By Xena’s Dialectic (June 2008)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy/ homage with many direct references to and drawn from Universal/ Renaissance’s ‘Xena Warrior Princess’. The grace, genius, public communications and personal choices of the professionals and characters who inspired it retain due respect and credit.
Please email any feedback to xenasdialectic@yahoo.co.uk Thank you.
Anais exited the shopping centre and took a spring drive in the Islington air. The hired X5 slid audaciously along the tarmac. The roads were smaller than the ones she was used to. Quaint.
She was humming some old theme tune and thinking of nothing in particular when she spotted a breathtaking babe from behind. The blond hottie looked like some kind of science fiction/ La Senza cross. Probably some mature student from Australia who’d met with London prices. She found herself kerb crawling out of concern.
The woman rounded on her with surprising awareness and moved to foil her by crossing the road. Their eyes met under the red light. Anais saw her hunted look. A flicker of recognition and then it was gone forever, unrecorded.
She unwound the window, Total Eclipse of the Heart blasting into the space between them. Anais killed the sound impatiently.
‘Oi!’ the streetwalker marched over to her blocking her path. ‘Who are you staring at, lady?’
The last thing Anais needed was a road rage incident. Still, it was shorter than being stopped under the local Prevention of Terrorism Act.
‘Suppose you’d like to pick me up, huh?’ The six footer rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me something new. This outfit to your taste?’
G suppressed a smile successfully. ‘Very post Catholic. Very London. But dixiecup, where I come from they’d say you were made for clothes.’
Traffic beeped and overtaxed drivers roared past gesticulating. X looked warily around. She stepped forward intensely.
‘You can swallow or not and to tell you the truth I don’t care either way, but I’ve just escaped from a bunch of real scary ladies who want to give me a hug. Name’s X. I’m going your way.’
‘You know X’ said Anais, shaking her head at the lie, ‘is acting ever the slyest form of wit. Anais.’ She rolled her eyes and revved the capable engine.
X gave her a lawless look. ‘Allrighty, let’s do this another way’ she said ferally, divesting her blond wig to the astonishment of a Moroccan café owner. ‘I’ve got 3 days in town. You look expensive and I’ll need some cash up front.’
‘What and where are the ground rules’ Anais heard herself say.
‘Hilton London Metropole, room 1625 the Tower. Days one and two my way. Day three – your way. And Anais?’
‘What?’
‘No kissing’
Anais smiled. ‘No surprises there. Perhaps we could start with politics and move on to the weather.’ The raven haired woman claimed the passenger seat with an accustomed air of success. The light turned green. ‘Third time lucky Ruby’ muttered the elderly lady in the clapped out Ford Fiesta behind. Her partner just captured her fingers mistily.
**********************************************************************
Anais screeched over to what people where she came from called the sidewalk.
’What are you doing?’
‘Getting you some clothes.’
They shopped.
‘Jewellery?’. Anais asked, lazy about priorities.
‘Can’t you tell from the way I dress that I’m a little bit braver than diamonds?’ X corrected. ‘This allright?’ X’s long form was legalised by a limb hugging black velvet dress. The shorter woman gasped. ‘Et tu, Anais?’ enquired the educated colonial accent, ‘or are you in danger of coming as you are?’
Anais gathered herself, selecting overpriced footwear from the glitzy London emporium. ‘Do these boots go with this skirt?’
X towered immovably above her in seven inch stilettos. ‘No but I’d stay with the flatties.’
**********************************************************************
Nippon Tuk was their hotel’s penthouse restaurant. It was the priciest outfit in the place. Central London strung the blackness, a light bejewelled panorama. X graciously seated Anais opposite her with her own back to the glass.
‘This must be where Gates got the name Windows Vista’ Anais remarked boastfully, enjoying her own midwestern wit.
‘Home edition?’ rejoined X charmingly. ‘That tower’s a little phallic don’t you think?’
‘I was thinking something more man made. Something that twists and glitters, and feels kind of specific round the tip.’
‘Oh like say … a katana sword?’
‘Less edgy.’ Their eyes duelled for sacred moments. It was a draw. Anais wiped her mouth with cultured elegance.
‘Anais’, X observed with a sense of affection, ‘We haven’t ordered yet’.
The courses were delectable. The sushi disposed of with sparring etiquette, an after dinner silence fell.
‘So, are you named after that perfume?’ complained X sarcastically.
‘No it came out when I was sixteen,’ said Anais pleasantly, injecting flirtation into the words. Their knees touched and Anais felt her blush rise like the smooth Tower lift. ‘Ooh.’ X said without moving another visible muscle. ‘Dessert.’
1625 suffered from not one but two double beds. ‘It’s just not right when so many people are homeless’ dwelt X, distracted from the immediate considerations. The end wall was simply another window and Anais swayed giddily at the drop beneath them. ‘I’ve gotcha’ whispered a mock American voice in her ear. Anais turned pluckily in her arms.
‘Do you have a problem with who I am?’
‘Do you think I’m too white bread to be doing this?’
‘I’ve always hated the vain conceit of the professions.’
X raised a concessionary eyebrow. ‘Dignity standing up to beauty.’ She moved round the bed like a cat. ‘I’ll take this one.’
The women were clad in Japanese pyjamas, one at the window, one in her duvet. ‘That Eye thing reminds me of a circular sword I saw in the British Museum.’
‘You study archaeology?’ asked the rich woman nostalgically.
‘No I was hitchhiking Europe at nineteen. You know what I do Anais?’ X turned away hiding her face in the night sky.
‘Take good pictures,’ remarked Anais absently, photographing the silhouette with her gaze. ‘Ever considered modelling?’
X placed capable hands on her hips with implacable annoyance.
‘You know Anais, you should try meditating once in a while. There’s as much point posing for a fellow meditator as posing for the moon.’
‘That’s your authenticity?’
‘I’m the real deal Anais’. Her eyebrows winced at the epicentre with a goofy honesty.
‘The number one attraction’ Anais whispered back.
The London Eye roved behind them.
*****************************************************************
Anais awoke to find X posed magazine - style in nothing black with a red apple poised in her bite. An image fled across her mind of a charcoal camouflaged assassin with a dagger gripped between resolute white teeth. She resisted the impulse to fall back panting into the dream that, she had to confess to herself, had rivalled the image before her. But not for shock value she judged fairly.
‘Been there, done that’, she merely said, pulling her silk gown over exotic peach pyjamas. ‘Like I said, I’m a photographer.’ She crawled slowly onto the commonwealth’s canopy and suddenly tongued the russet breast. ‘In my line of work we start with a proper breakfast.’ A breath later the en-suite door clicked shut and an apple fell where Einstein would have been happy to have his head busted for the rest of history.
X emerged from the shower untowelled like a mermaid unchained from Poseidon’s spell. Downstairs her audience buttered neat squares of toast.
X cadged a free paper from the hotel’s pretentious lobby. They left by the taxi entrance to sample the smells and contrasts of the Edgeware Road.
‘London mayoral election results are in.’ she remarked browsily.
‘Where were we last night?’ smirked Anais carelessly.
‘Hey there are people here who grew up gay under Thatcher’ X reasoned. ‘I try to take a global interest.’
‘Can you vote?’ asked Anais, strangely shy about asking her inexplicable companion to reveal her origins.
‘I can put an X in a box’ she frowned defensively.
‘I meant…’ There was a screech of tyres and powerful hands insisted on the short woman’s life. ‘Damned BMW drivers’ she fumed ironically. She blushed, ‘Well’. X dusted her off.
‘Sorry I got distracted there by the infuriating result. Yeah,’ she continued ‘I would have thought you were more of a Prius kind of girl’.
‘So speaks Miss Aritifice’ rebounded the spanked blond aggressively. ‘When this is all over you can keep the car.’
’Oh I lii-ike you when you’re angry. Don’t some women just go wild after a near death experience?’
They came to a wedding dress boutique and donated a glance to the white hideosities.
’Considering the like a virgin theme, since I met you I know why Madonna wanted to live in London’ murmured X. She changed the subject. ‘You know, my mother was a Buddhist.‘
’That big in Australia?’ X tuttted at the cursed mistake.
‘I never said I came from Australia. She used to have a bumper sticker that said enjoy your life it could be your last.‘
‘Really? My aunt was a Hindu. She eloped at 22 with her guru to run a try before you die stall at the market in Varansi. No one has heard from her since. My memory of her is kind of entombed in ice.’
‘Well, I never got wet in the Ganges’, smiled X, ‘but hows about a little coffee talk on the Thames?’
They lunched like ladies do. The world famous set was irrelevant.
‘Is this for real?’ said Anais wistfully.
‘The play’s the thing’ teased X.
Anais rose to the challenge. ‘I know. I’ll be the director. Now, what stereotype shall I pick for you?’
‘Yeah I bet you’re used to girls looking for better parts’ X drawled disinterestedly.
‘I’ll miss playing opposite you’ Anais tried a little flattery.
‘Characters just ain’t what they used to be’, X agreed, mistress of not taking the bait.
‘Ever seen that show - Warrior Princess or something. Never thought I’d see anything so progressive in my lifetime.’
‘Yeah, but that’s a decade ago and sci – fi’s more my type.’
Anais ignored the uninteresting fact.
‘There should be a new theme tune for that warrior show. What’s that Bonnie Tyler song – Holding Out for a Hero?’
‘Holding out for a mini series more like.’
‘I’d settle for the film. A three part blockbuster.’
X shook her head. ‘Let’s hit the hotel. I’m through with screen kisses.’
********************************************************************
The door opened at their bidding, ‘Ground floor.’ They stepped into the lift.
‘Hey, why is Xena such a good actress?’ challenged Anais, continuing the debate.
‘Is that a koan or a riddle? I love riddles.’
‘No, just a little game of truth or dare. Now let me guess … what star sign are you? Ohh – Aries, of course.’
‘Well If I’m the god of war you must be the fussy little virgin.’
‘I expect you have many skills but spelling is apparently not one of them. Can you sing?’ Anais took a breath of anticipation.
‘Not a bloody note’.
How does she manage to talk so down home yet sound like royalty? It’s like being sentenced to a weekend indentured in her court. What’s the recovery period?
‘My turn. How many people have you slept with?’
‘Nobody!’ Cried Anais in exasperation. ‘It’s day three and I forgot to count.’
Anais decided to go for the jugular. ‘If you only had thirty seconds to live, how would you want to live them?’
‘Looking into your eyes’. They breathed together. X yearned forward. The lift pinged opened.
‘Ground rules’ moaned Anais and ran from the battle.
Damned ambiguity. The tension had given her a nosebleed. Blood gathered and trickled at the base of her beautiful nostrils. X regarded herself in one of a million Hilton mirrors.
‘I made it through the wilderness,’ hummed Anais, squirting herself with the pseudonymous scent. She lay cheek down on her bed ass rolling like an Amazonian hill. X’s watering eyes traced imaginary stretchmarks like paths across a known world. ‘Have you found your way?’ Anais quipped, her green eyes shifting seductively under her bold companion’s regard.
‘Not yet.’ X admitted. ‘And now I suppose you want me to frac you’ she got around to with feigned boredom.
‘No I want to finger your tightness forever.’
‘But I don’t come Anais you do’ she said dangerously, mopping at her nose. Anais was undaunted. ‘Yeah I guess that’s what you tell all the girls.’
‘A true fan would respect my teasing for the gift that it is’ the black haired beauty scolded haughtily.
‘Sorry it won’t happen again.’ Anais recoiled from the bitter suite. They stared into each other’s eyes. There was nothing else in the room after all. ‘X?’
‘What?’
‘Have you ever died of being someone’s best friend?’
‘No. It’s the friendship that makes desire bearable. You acknowledge me with a twitch of your arse and you expect me to drop everything to be with you?’ X stood and pulled her to her fiercely.
‘Is that how you plan to infiltrate my feelings?’ The green eyed woman riposted, clinging on gamely. She poked her in frustration. ‘What’s with the meditation?’
‘You’ve been meditating on me.’
‘Definitely consciousness – raising. Let’s dance’ she declared giddily. Almost immediately and to her dismay Anais stamped on the taller woman’s foot.
‘Ow! Where did you learn to move?’ X scowled incredulously. ‘Some gay club?’
‘Hardly the Meow Mix’ Anais admitted dryly.
‘Pardon?’
Anais waved her hand ‘Oh, just an Americanism’.
‘Try me. My mother always believed I was destined for international things.’
Anais didn’t miss a beat. ‘Then don’t be shy your mother wasn’t’. She wasn’t disappointed. Without warning X dipped her dizzy.
‘Last chance’ she hissed hotly, whoring a Hollywood grin.
‘Flawless,’ Anais squeaked.
‘And you remind me of someone I miss.’
‘Who?’ Anais husked. The passion and power of a past life crossed X’s face. ‘She was my pope.’ She looked into eyes patient for confession. ‘It could have been years. It could have been yesterday’.
******************************************************************
The women dined inexpensively in the hotel’s main restaurant.
‘Penny for your thoughts.’
‘What? said Anais. ‘I was thinking about missing my grandmother’s 88th birthday today.’
‘She having a cake?’
‘Y – yes. Of course.’
‘Get the fire brigade on standby.’ Anais wiggled her hips involuntarily. Darlin’ you have no idea.
She continued. ‘You know, she went on the game convinced it would help her find her soulmate.’
‘Your grandmother became a prostitute to conduct a missing person’s enquiry?’
‘Why did you become a prostitute?’ Anais shot back. X just looked at her sadly.
‘I told you Anais, I’m not.’ They looked at each other for a beat. ‘Did she ever find her?’ Anais found herself lost in a blue sky framed by lashes.
‘She never did.’
‘Anais? Why don’t you want to know the real me?’
‘Truthfully?’ X nodded. ‘Because your career is all the intimacy I need’.
X stood with a straight back. ‘Then I guess it’s time for you and I to retreat to our private lives’ she rumbled with a practised nobility she didn’t feel. She wouldn’t expect anything less of herself.
************************************************************************
X awoke alone in her red kimono splayed on sterile sheets. She pressed a finger inside herself and carried moisture to solitary lips.
‘Gabrielle’ she sobbed aloud. A pile of crushed sterling reflected in the dressing table mirror.
A knock at the door brought her reeling to her senses.
‘Bloody room service’ she cursed, recalling Anais’ late night order.
The waiter smiled at the door bearing a cluttered tray.
‘For a friend in need’. He coughed a little and glanced at the table.
‘Help yourself to a tip’ X said nonchalantly. He disappeared as swiftly as he had come, but X didn’t notice. She had dismissed the steaming latte and was cradling a small Grecian urn. The dark haired goddess momentarily deprived the world of her perspective and kneeled in prayer. Then she lifted the lid.
Inside its hollow was the key to the X5 and a post - it note: ‘Parked by Argos. All yours.’ Her world detonated with the explosion to end all explosions.
*******************************************************************
X briefly considered driving into a wall. But she remembered the secret of success. Mutability. London, she sighed, turning over the engine.
The X5’s integral sat nav gleamed into life. A female American voice stated: ‘Destination. Home. Would you like to continue the route?’
X found herself blinded by tears and tried to wipe them on her wig. She gazed at the blessed map.
‘To the North Star,’ she whispered.