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Blessings of Salmakis - 16
🕑 Added 2024-02-18 20:07:19 +0000 UTCChapter 16: From Poland With Love
Romeo walked slowly down the street towards the studio, not feeling any great reason to hurry. Sure, Rachel would grill him for being late, but she didn’t have much wiggle room for punishments when she was already working him so hard. There simply weren’t any openings in the schedule to fill that she didn’t need open, since even Rachel Collins needed to sleep at some point.
Somewhere behind him he was pretty sure there was a bored paparazzo napping in their car, but he did his best to ignore that. He didn’t have any plans that would excite them, after all.
“Ukochany!” a voice called out from ahead of him.
He only really processed it because of how directed his way it seemed to be, though he had no idea what the word(s?) meant. Freezing in place, he then saw the blonde and curvaceous woman bounding his way from the front of the studio.
She was talking a blue streak in some sort of Slavic language that Romeo’s process of deductive reasoning guessed was probably Polish. Specifically because he remembered sleeping with the woman in front of him in Warsaw. His brain froze up on the realisation that she’d crossed an ocean to push her marriage schemes, and he soon found himself wrapped up in a hug while she continued to ramble away in a language he barely remembered three sayings of (those being ‘hello’, ‘thank you’, and ‘beautiful’).
“Oh. Oh no. I was speaking Polish… jet lag. I am sorry, ukochany,” she said.
“Hello…” he started to say, before blanking on her name.
It had been on the letter she’d sent and everything. What was it?
“I was so worried you hadn’t gotten my letter, but then that envelope showed up with plane tickets and I knew you were a man of honour,” she said, apparently not noticing he’d stumbled (if she’d even noticed he’d spoken at all).
“W—what plane tickets?” Romeo asked, looking down at her with concern.
“The ones you sent?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw an extra figure reflecting in a nearby window, but it was gone before he was certain.
“I… I am going to have to talk to my manager about that,” Romeo said, doing his best to squirm out of the Polish woman’s grip.
He proceeded to fail, but at least moved her enough he could start walking with her clung on and following him. The security guard at the studio’s front entrance eyed the pair suspiciously, Romeo answering with a tired shrug, which was apparently enough for the man. He let them pass, which resulted in the woman making a face as she passed him. Romeo could only guess how much of an argument the two must have been having before he got there.
Passing further employees, who all raised eyebrows due to his current ‘accessory’, Romeo made his way to Rachel’s office. She looked up from her computer, clearly ready to yell at him for being late when she spotted the woman attached to him.
”Is—is that Miss Sikora?” she asked.
”Tak! Yes!” the blonde replied, Romeo finally managing to escape her grip as she decided to give a friendly wave to Rachel.
”And she’s here because someone sent her a plane ticket,” Romeo said, shooting Rachel a probing glare.
She countered with any icy gaze that shot down his confidence. “Neither myself nor my father were involved in that. We had enough of a headache keeping the paparazzi from finding out about her in Poland. She’s much more trouble on this side of the Atlantic.”
”I am not any sort of ‘trouble’,” Miss Sikora said—right, Beata Sikora, that was her full name. Romeo remembered now. “I am simply here to marry my ukochany.”
”Your…” Rachel said, trailing off.
”I think you say… ‘beloved’ in English?” Beata explained. “I like the Polish better, though.”
Rachel let out a small sigh, before nodding. “Alright. Alright… have you done a paternity test, Ms Sikora?”
”Why would I need to? I have slept with no other men,” Beata replied in a confident tone.
The statement was so certain that Rachel found herself at a loss for words, instead turning to stare at Romeo. He grimaced and shrugged, before an idea struck him.
”Had any visits from angels?”
Beata blinked, a look of shock crossing her face. “How did…”
Romeo and Rachel exchanged glances, though their looks carried rather different messages. On Romeo’s part the implication was a mixture of ‘that explains her tickets’ and ‘aren’t I clever coming up with an excuse how it might not be mine’. The first part Rachel clearly accepted, but she was having none of the latter quite certain the child was in fact Romeo’s.
Not thrilled by Rachel’s sharpening glare, Romeo continued his effort to smooth-talk Beata. “I was just thinking, you seemed like a good Catholic, and, hey, what’s a better time for the second coming than after aliens attack?”
Beata nodded slowly for a few seconds, seeming to seriously consider the possible revelation. Until she shook her head. “No. No. The angel specifically said that the child was yours and I should go to you. That you need encouragement to settle down and marry.”
”Ugghhh… yeah, that sounds like—listen, I still want a paternity test. But, if it is mine, I’ll happily give you any financial support you need. Maybe it could even be the start of a friendship, if we bond over the little tyke… but I’m not going to marry a stranger, ok?” Romeo replied, offering the warmest smile he could.
”Not—but you sound as if you have met the angel too? You wish to refuse divine intervention? We are clearly soulmates. I’ve never felt this way about another man,” Beata replied, moving in to cling to Romeo’s arm before he realised her goals.
”L—Listen. Be—Ms. Sikora,” Romeo stammered. “That—that wasn’t an angel. That was an ancient Greek deity. A somewhat minor one, but all the same… they’re a deity of marriage, and I upset them. So they just want to find a way to get me hitched to anyone they can.”
”I know what I saw,” Beata replied. “That was an angel.”
”Can we discuss matters of religion later? Romeo has a recording session scheduled,” Rachel muttered.
”Oh! I can go with you, ukochany,” Beata replied, nodding enthusiastically.
”No!” Rachel and Romeo both blurted.
”Y—you’ll be a distraction,” Romeo said.
”And there’s expensive equipment we don’t just allow anyone near,” Rachel added.
”It’s true,” Romeo said. “She barely lets me touch half of it.”
Beata nodded again, this time more slowly. “I will… wait in the hallway, then? I hope there is a couch?”
”I’ll have someone show you the way,” Rachel replied, forcing a smile and prying Beata off of Romeo’s arm.
As soon as the woman was out of the room (muttering to herself in Polish the whole time), Romeo let out a sigh. It felt like a weight had been lifted.
At least until he remembered he was going to be having his recording session with a very angry Rachel. She was dangerous enough when she was in a good mood. (Something she hadn’t been in rather a while.)
Not wanting to upset her any further, he scurried off to the recording booth. A technician was present, and had him run through a few quick notes to confirm no one had played with the settings. Then Rachel swept into the room, scaring the heat out as she did so.
The harsh look in her eyes told Romeo she was ready to go off on a campaign at the slightest provocation. Romeo straightened his back, ready to be a good model employee. Only to be utterly thrown by the first thing she asked from her side of the booth glass.
”You’re not seriously thinking about marrying her, are you?”
Blinking, it took him a few seconds to find a reply. “N—no? Obviously… why would you…”
”The way you were blushing… she was clearly having an effect on you,” Rachel explained, a slight hint of… was that worry in her voice?
She must have thought a relationship would distract him from his work.
”Have you seen her figure? A woman who looks like that, literally throwing herself at me? But I told you, I’m not going to marry a stranger,” Romeo replied.
That didn’t seem to be quite enough for Rachel, judging by the face she made, but she shook her head and launched into instructions for the recording session. It felt weirdly artificial to Romeo, doing it without the rest of the band, but he (or, rather, she) had been busy with a tv appearance when the others had recorded the instrumentals. So there was nothing for it but to slip his singing around the others’ performance.
Focusing on work seemed to help Rachel’s mood a little, dropping to her normal harshness in place of the extreme judgement that she had started at.
After a couple hours, they’d managed to finish up for the morning, feeling confident about the mix. They’d want Hank to give it the final approval, but Rachel’s opinions usually aligned with her father’s. She’d been doing this long enough, no longer fresh out of university like she’d been when Romeo had first joined up with the label. So it was a good time to go get some lunch.
Romeo was nearly out the door, when he froze, remembering who was out there.
”Could I have a little water?” he asked.
”Water?” the technician asked. “Oh! Oh right! Sure.”
The man then passed Romeo his water bottle. Pouring a tiny bit on his arm (while well away from any electronics, to keep Rachel from murdering him), Romeo washed the sigil off on his upper arm, and shifted forms.
She then strolled out the door, and into the hallway. A waiting Beata leapt to her feet, about to unleash another hug, before pausing as she gave Rosalind a once over.
A once over that led to a momentary blush, before the Polish woman asked the obvious question. “Who are you?”
”Rosalind Valenti. Romeo’s cousin,” Rosalind replied, happy to have practiced her lie.
“The—the family resemblance is strong,” Beata said, eyes drifting over Rosalind’s form once again.
”I’ve heard people say that,” Rosalind replied, before starting to walk off towards her dressing room.
“Is… is Romeo still in the booth?” Beata asked, a worried tone in her voice.
”Oh, uh… no,” Rosalind said. “He… he snuck out a window? Yeah. Slippery when he wants to be.”
Beata’s lips began to quiver, tears welling in her eyes. The woman seemed on the edge of a breakdown and Rosalind was suddenly washed over with guilt. She’d expected anger, not blubbering.
“Hey, hey now,” she said, hurring over to the other woman. “There’s no reason to—he’s not worth it.”
Sure, that stung to say, but she was also pretty sure it was true. She was hot in either form, but she was also a disaster who was incapable of commitment and she was certain Beata could do better. Heck, she was pretty sure ‘being single’ counted as ‘doing better’ with how much of a disaster she could be.
Her words did not seem to be working, however.
Panicking a little at her failure (and the attractive woman tearing up in front of her) Rosalind nudged Beata off towards her dressing room. Opening the door, she led the other woman over to the couch, while Beata continued to blubber in Polish. Or, at least, mostly Polish. Some of it was likely heavily accented English.
Looking around for something that might distract Beata from her current emotional strain, all she spotted was a box of crackers. Still, it was better than nothing, so Rosalind grabbed it.
”Here. You might need salt after all that crying,” she said, hoping that made sense.
Judging by the face Beata made, it might not have, but the absurdity of it seemed to work as a distraction. The blonde took the box of crackers, before offering a somewhat wobbly smile.
”Th—thank you for trying to cheer me up,” she said.
Rosalind nodded, glad to have managed to do something. “No worries. It’s my idiot cousin’s fault you’re this bad… let me put a bra on and then you can complain my ear off about him.”
Blinking, Beata one again glanced towards Rosalin’s chest, and the way the loose t-shirt hung upon it. “I had wondered… why are you not wearing one?”
”Oh, uh…” Rosalind mumbled, suddenly on the spot. “Well, when you’re not moving around much, some of them are more uncomfortable than they’re worth?”
“Ah… I suppose that makes sense,” Beata said, her eyes not moving from Rosalind’s chest.
Not even when Rosalind started to take her shirt off, and began to hunt around in her wardrobe for a bra. Curious, Rosalind decided to let Beata see things, whenever it was practical. Was there some hope of giving Beata a gay awakening?
That would fix everything, since then she wouldn’t want to marry ‘him’ anymore. It wasn’t like Rosalind was properly a woman after all… just part time enjoying exploring the part.
”Aren’t you wearing the same thing as Romeo?” Beata asked, as Rosalind clasped her bra up.
”Uhhh…” Rosalind started, her brain not coming up with a good explanation. “I do it to annoy him?”
That probably wasn’t the best explanation, but Beata nodded, seemingly ready to accept that. Taking the win, Rosalind then flopped beside her on the couch, offering a smile.
”So, time to complain about Romeo,” she said, trying to steel herself against how much it was likely going to hurt.
”What is there to complain about?” Beata said. “Besides the fact he clearly does not think I am good enough for him? Is it… am I too… ‘easy’, I think is the phrase? I should have never slept with a man before being married… I thought he was the one…”
”Woah, woah,” Rosalind replied, placing a hand on Beata’s shoulder. “You’re not—if anyone’s too easy, it’s Romeo. He’ll sleep with pretty well anything with a pulse, if they flirt with him. Honestly, probably single handedly responsible for a lot of people thinking bisexuals sleep around too much.”
Beata blinked, turning to stare are Rosalind. “B—bisexual?”
”Oh, uh, he swings both—likes men and women?” Rosalind said. “And anyone else.”
”I am aware of what it means,” Beata replied. “What I mean is—my Romeo has fallen down that path?”
”… Fallen?” Rosalind asked, a defensiveness slipping into her tone.
“Clearly the angels have chosen us to help one another… Heaven is so much more forgiving than the priest in my home village made it seem,” Beata said, her eyes seeming to start to sparkle.
”Can—can we get back to the ‘fallen’ bit?” Rosalind asked. “What’s ‘fallen’ about being bisexual? There’s nothing wrong with it?”
Beata turned to her, fear in those large and still wet eyes. “My mother warned me that going to Canada could be dangerous, but I did not think it would be so… so casual.”
Getting up from the couch, Beata then shook her head, before turning to Rosalind. “That was—that was why you were attempting to seduce me earlier, wasn’t it?”
“Seduce you?” Rosalind asked, slightly lost. She was pretty sure she’d know when she was trying to seduce someone.
”Showing off your breasts so shamelessly… I thought it had been being offered the comfortable sisterhood of women, that I—not… not… perversion,” Beata said, eyes fully tearing up before she turned and barrelled out the door.
Rosalind sat in shock, blinking. She had not been prepared for that sudden swing in the conversation.
At least it meant she could keep Beata away if she stayed in female form?
Though it did rather hurt her odds of managing to talk Beata down. Her best bet now was to get a band member to do it. She pulled out her phone, firing off quick pleas for help to each band member. The replies were… not encouraging.
”Rachel said to let you and her handle it” was AJ’s reply.
”If she’s that bad about bi people, I should probably avoid her,” was Logan’s (which Rosalind admitted was fair).
Next came in Jovita’s, with, ”You should show her the curse. It could totally scare her off.”
Rosalind had to admit that had some legs. If it didn’t backfire and cause Beata to decide a guy who half turned into a woman was the perfect outlet for what were clearly some deeply repressed sapphic tendencies.
“She was hot right?” came as the final reply, from Frankie.
Raising an eyebrow, Rosalind typed in her answer. “I mean, yeah. If she wasn’t trying to force me into a marriage, I’d probably think about dating her. Well, if I didn’t think she was a deeply repressed lesbian.”
A few moments of watching the ‘Frankie is typing’ dots, the reply came. “Let me try to help you out.”
Rosalind led out a sigh of relief, glad someone was on her side. That said someone was the band’s butch bass guitarist left her feeling quite confident things were going to work out. Miss Grey was second only to Logan as Rosalind’s friend on the band, and somewhat more reliable.
-
That afternoon, Romeo had returned to male form to work on some more recordings. Hank had had some minor notes, and there’d been a few touch ups wanted for another song. Thankfully, Beata had made herself scarce after deciding the studio was a den of depravity, and so the day had been rather more relaxed.
Romeo was debating changing before he left the building all the same, when there was a knock on his dressing room door.
“Come in?” he replied, sitting at the desk.
The door opened to reveal Rachel, who was looking uncharacteristically nervous. She took a few steps, before simply standing in place at about an arm’s length from where he was sitting.
“Is… is everything alright?” Romeo asked.
“Yes. Or… I think so… mostly?” Rachel said.
“Ok. Now I’m worried. You’re never like this,” Romeo replied.
She seemed to take a moment to gather her thoughts, before staring at him with intimidating intensity. “Romeo, I—with that Polish woman running around, clinging to you and talking about marriage, I’ve come to a realisation.”
“A rea—” he started to ask, before Rachel reached over, placing a finger on his lips to stop him.
”About you and I and… and our working relationship. I’ve been taking it for granted too long, that, no matter how many people you sleep with, none of them last. That, when it comes to any actual long term commitments, and genuine heart to heart discussions about life planning, you’ve always come to me… and… and I’ve realised I don’t just want to be your manager, Romeo. I think I’m in love with you… and I want to marry you.”
Romeo stared, dumbstruck for a few moments.
“Pardon?”
