Author's Note

Miss Lounge's POV

The V.I.P. Balcony: 22

.

“I am looking for a Miss May!” I am considering; as I am scanning the crowd of people, entering the lobby.

“Click, clack; click, clack!” is heard from her shoes hitting the hard stone-floor, as she continues to move towards the oncoming crowd.

“Miss May, Miss May!” I exclaim; as I spot the girl I suspect is the girl, I had been sent to escort.

The girl continues to walk, in my general direction; almost as if she had not heard me, for a moment longer. She then looks up, as if she tries to make out; where the voice had come from, and who had been calling out her name.

”Uh, who is calling my name?” Miss May ponders; as she tries to make out, the direction of my call.

“Miss May?” I exclaim, as I have her attention.

“Yes!” she responds; “That is me!” she then adds.

“I am Miss Lounge; I am directed to guide you to the VIP balcony, and serve the V.I.P. guests on your balcony!” I present myself.

“Oh, hi; Miss Lounge?” she responds.

“Right this way, please!” I offer.

“Thank you, Miss Lounge!” she responds; “I guess I am a bit lost, here; the grand design, the grandeur and so far from home!” she concedes.

“It is a bit of a relic, from the grand old days; when we could afford the expenditures of proclaiming our place on the map and in history!” I concede, in return.

“Of course, just a step behind; like a true submissive?” I realize; as I notice her following me, without any further cue.

“I would still be proud of this place, if I were you or lived here!” she puts forth.

“I guess it is one of our prouder achievements, in our long and glorious history!” I respond, as I continue towards the stairs up to her V.I.P. lounge balcony.

“This feels like a very special moment, to take part of and share; being invited, to be here and watch this Opera!” she prompts, excitedly.

“We, here in Moscow; are very proud of the Opera house and the Plays we perform here!” I explain; “Even those of us; who are neither Russians, nor native to Moscow!” I ponder.

As I reach the door, to the lounge-area; the doors quietly slide up, for me. Naturally, the doors stay open for the girl in tow; as I am escorting her, up to the VIP balcony.

“Oh!” she exclaims, as the doors are closing behind her.

“Just a hint of modernity; convenient security, when you stop to think of it!” I explain.

“Not a hint of security, but I guess I am safe behind the doors you just slipped me through?” she inquires.

“No guards in sight, and not a camera or sensor to be seen!” I put forth; “Though these doors will stand up to any test you could dream up!” I then add.

A moment later, I am stepping through the next pair of doors; leading to the flight of stairs, taking us up to the designated balcony.

“Click, clack; click, clack!” is heard; as we walk up the flight of the stairs, to the designated lounge of my V.I.P. balcony.

“The walls are barren, grey rock!” she points out.

“Yes; a very old building, and the decorations are saved for the places where people will have time to see them!” I explain.

“Ooh; oh, oh!” she responds; “Oh, but of course!” she then adds.

“As you will see; the lounge has been updated for the latest services!” I put forth.

“Not just the cool, fresh air and drinks being served?” she inquires.

“The air is fresh, and cool; even throughout the midst of summer!” I explain; “Drinks will be served, to everyone at the lounge!” I then add.

“It is so quiet!” she puts forth.

“This section is always quiet!” I explain; aside from the sounds of shoes; when people are going up, or down the stairs.

The doors before me are sliding up, permitting me entrance into the lounge of the VIP balcony; as I am slipping Miss May in, as my company. I am after all escorting her, for this occasion.

“Oh!” she exclaims; “Marble!” she points out, a moment later.

“A black and white chess-pattern; very Russian, with the red lining!” I point out, giggling under my breath.

The walls had been laid with solid oak-wood panels, with a picket-fence up to four feet above the floor. A granite mosaic-pattern depicting a traditional Russian scenery adorns the wall above the wood-panels.

“A Bear’s paw-mark, on the handle of each door?” she inquires.

“Yes; I guess that is a Russian thing, too!” I respond, with a bemused grin and a hint of a giggle.

“I guess that makes sense; since Moscow is in Russia, last I heard!” she suggests.

”It still is!” I point out; “Though we have a pair of Dons guarding the doors in here!” I then add, pointing at a pair of magnificent Horses by the right and left side of the doors.

“The Mare, and the Stallion?” she inquires.

“Exactly..” I respond.

“How were they made?” she inquires; ”They do not look, as if they had been cut out of stone; or molded out of Bronze, or any other metal I know of!” she puts forth.

“Of course not!” I point out; “That would merely have made a pair of decorative art pieces!” I continue.

“Yes..” she responds; as if waiting for the right words, to come to her.

“Phantom of the Opera..” I mumble; “The words ring any belles?” I inquire.

“I do have a vague image, of a play by the name!” she responds.

“Some Grand Theatre, or Opera houses have one of these..” I offer.

“You mean to say; that this a is common phenomena, for a grand Theatre or Opera to have a Phantom?” she inquires.

“Not common, and not widely known; but it is an actual thing, some Theatres, and Operas do have!” I put forth; “Though it is largely a Historical fact, very few is aware of!” I continue; “What is even less known and understood; is how this History may affect these Houses, even to this day!” I conclude.

“Should I ask them, in person?” she ponders; “Will they, by any means answer me; if I were bold enough, to ask them?” she continues.

As I afford the Mare a brief side-glance; I notice her smiling, at me. Almost; as if she had understood, what I had been saying; though it had been nothing more, than a passing thought.

“These Horses; they are scary, at times!” I mumble.

“I have heard the sentiment, before!” I respond, matter of fact.

“You have?” she inquires.

“The Don is not just a mere Horse, you know!” I respond; “These two; certainly, are not!” I point out, sternly; as I am nodding towards the Mare.

“I have heard of the spirit Horse, and I know the Horse was and still is very important in some cultures..” she responds; “But this is not, how you said it here!” she prompts.

“A Horse sees, and hears; what we mere mortals can’t perceive, you know!” I point out.

“Somehow; you make it come out, as if they were kindreds?” she proposes.

“In a sense, they are; but maybe you know this, deeper than you care to admit even to yourself?” I offer.

“Exactly; what is she implying, with that?” May considers, not quite making sense of my words.

“Look inside; search your soul, for who you are!” a voice is offering, making May jump in sudden shock.

“Who, what, was that?” May inquires.

“She heard you!” I ponder; looking directly at the mare, but just a few degrees off in respect.

“Welcome, May..” May hears; “Welcome, into my realm; into the world of Equine spirits!” the Mare prompts.

“You..” May exclaims, as her eyes slowly turn toward the mare; “You are a Horse!” she then continues; “The Don!” she concludes.

“Yes!” the Don agrees; “I am a Don Mare..” she continues; “The one right before you, to be exact!” she points out.

May can’t help herself; but is finding herself, patting the Mare by scratching her behind her ears. In shock; she finds the mare warm to the touch, and even a bit soft as if she had felt her downy fur. She momentarily freezes up.

“It..” May ponders; “It, it; it is you?” she finally concludes, as she is seeing the Mare smile back at her.

“Maй!” May is hearing the mare speak; “Such a lovely Name, and such a lovely Time!” the mare continues.

“Huh?” May responds; on the voice currently speaking in her head, as if someone had been in the room.

“Do not worry; Maй, I will not permit any harm come to you!” the Don Mare points out.

“Worry? I am hearing voices!” May mumbles.

“Voices?” the mare inquires; “Voices, other than mine?” she continues.

“Who are you?” May inquires.

“I am the Don Mare before you!” she explains; “Though I once was a girl, just like you; cute, and innocent!” she explains.

“But..” May exclaims; “But, but.. you are a Horse!” she continues; “The stature of a Horse?” she concludes.

“Back in the day, when this great and noble Opera house was new and barely built; there was a Phantom, in this very room!” the mare explains.

“He, for it was a man; demanded tributes, for the plays he wrote. This very booth, at the top of the list. I ended up, as the girl he was grooming; for the female lead, the Star of his grand play!” she explains.

“I think I have heard, the story about the Phantom of the Opera!” May exclaims; “Are you saying; that it is he, who made you into a Horse?” she inquires.

“Yes, and no!” the mare responds; “In a sense he did, but in a sense I had already been a Horse!” she continues; “Though he could not accept; that I had a will of my own, and a life outside of the Opera!” she explains.

“So, he got furious; as you tried to explain to him, that you had plans beyond the Opera and the Play he had written for you?” May inquires.

“You could say that, indeed!” the mare responds.

“Instead of killing me in a grand fire, or drowning me in the river; he cursed my body, and turned me into the statue of the Don Horse!” she explains.

“You have been trapped, in here; as a Horse, for all these years?” May inquires.

“How? How did he do it?” May inquires.

“I do not know!” the mare explains; “I found myself on the floor, of this very room; bound and gagged, dressed up as a proud mare Don!” she continues.

“I fell asleep, on the cold and wet rock; in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but the horse’s attire!” she continues; “As I woke up; I stood where I stand now, as the Horse I am now!” she concludes.

“You have been this Stature, ever since?” May inquires.

“Da!” the mare exclaims, confirming the question.

“I hope; I am not the first, you have been able to talk to!” May offers, in sympathy.

“There are the rare, few; I have been able to talk to, once or twice in a century or so!” she responds.

“Why me, of everyone passing you by?” May inquires.

“Maybe it is your sister April, on the stage; about to perform before us, in a short while?” the Mare offers; “Somehow; I can hear and see her, even from my distance far up here!” she explains.

“She is to perform, as the Ballerina; she is dancing, with the troupe!” May responds.

“Just like you; she is not Russian, or even of Russian ancestry!” the mare offers; “Yet, I can feel her!” she continues.

“Your Mistress, your Mistresses; are like me, you could say that I am with them!” I offer, as explanation.

“You..” May exclaims; “You are a Mistress, too?” she inquires.

“In a sense, yes!” I put forth; “I am the Mistress, of this lounge!” I continue.

“Something tells me, there is something more to her; than she is letting on, but I just can’t put my finger to it!” she ponders.

“Could I reveal myself, to her?” I ponder.

“I believe, your sister knows!” I then point out, with fair confidence.

“She is right there, on the stage!” she responds, pointing at the Ballerina; “That is her, my sister!” she then adds.

“Exactly!” I point out.

“It isn’t just that you look like her, ignoring the obvious details!” I offer.

“Most people, here; are Russians, just like you? “she inquires.

“Yes, they are; but this is Moscow, what had you been expecting?” I respond.

“Yes, I know Moscow is in Russia; they taught me that, in school!” she pushes forth; as she is continuing to focus on the show, where her sister is performing.

I could not blame her; from her perspective, this could very well be a once in a lifetime opportunity to see an Opera performed here. Or, to see an Opera?

“Her sister is the star, of the day!” I ponder; as I am watching the performance, on the stage.

I had been taught, and taught well; how to sense the needs of others, so I could serve them as I watch the performance.

“Of course, I only need to see the performance once; I don’t enjoy it quite as much, the second and third time around!” I consider.

“Whoa?” I ponder;”She really has mastered the grace!” I realize; as if I am watching the Ballerina, before me.

“How long, has she been practicing for this show?” I ponder, imagining it had been years and years.

Yet, something told me; that is not the case, for this particular girl.

“Thankfully; most of them don’t order anything, before the curtain goes down!” I ponder.

Of course, ordering something during the act would be rude; since it is distracting the others, from the play they had been so eager to see.

Pride may have dictated, that one were to serve Vodka; but the strong spirits is not, for this kind of high culture expression. In the warm and cozy environment; where one is intently focused, on the play on the stage.

Act by act, the play is progressing smoothly. I have a chance to enjoy this play, as I can sit close to the edge.

For some reason, this particular play seems to have something to it; a special aura and spirit, I rarely see in a play. Not even here, at the center of the Russian Theatre, in the Opera house of Moscow.

This one guest player, should not make such a significant difference? She is but one girl, after all. With the suit, and the make-up on; she is supposed, to be one in the troupe.

This is not the first time, I am escorting a girl, or even a foreigner here; so what is so different, about this girl, this time?

“Maybe it is my true heritage; that is tricking me, here?” I consider.

I know better than that. Even in a grand Opera; one single girl could matter. Had I refused to see; how this could be that one girl, performing on this very stage? Or, is it my National pride, preventing me from seeing who she is, and what she could be? What she could become; even if she herself, had not known it before?

I could not answer that question. I know. I am not the girl, to impose the truth upon others; particularly, not when I may not even know that truth myself.

“May I serve you anything to drink, or some snacks?” I inquire, just as the curtain goes down and the play makes a brief pause.

“I guess, something to drink would be nice!” she responds.

“Okay!” I respond, as I am fetching her a delicate glass.

She ponders for a moment, before she is making up her mind.

“A..” she starts.

“How do I say this?” she is pondering; finding herself partially trapped, in the state of submission.

“Uhm, Cola would be nice!” she then finishes, a moment later.

“A Cola, coming right up!” I offer, as I am fetching her the bottle and fills her glass.

“Thank you, Mistress!” she responds.

“You are quite welcome, Miss!” I respond, making a point of pronouncing the title.

While I could have said girl, or Ms. or Sub; I am not her Mistress, and I am actually serving her right now.

I watch her taking a sip, her first taste of the beverage, I had just served her. She is licking her lips, before she is taking a second sip. How could I blame her? She is clearly thirsty. I could not have served her a bad drink, not to her; in the position she is sitting, as an honoured guest of our Grand Opera House.

Naturally; the Cola had been produced and bottled locally in Moscow, Russia.

She remains seated, as she continues to drink; sip by sip, calmly and collected. I notice; how she is enjoying the drink, I had served her. Of course, that had been expected; why should she not enjoy the drink, I had offered her?

A moment later, the curtains go up; the next act is starting, and the performance continues with the actors on stage.

“Classical Opera, at its finest!” I ponder, as I enjoy the performance.

“Hungry?” I inquire; as I notice the first signs, in her appearance.

“Yes!” she responds; “But, how did you know?” she inquires, in hushed tones; in respect of the performers, and the others watching.

“Because; it is my job, to know!” I explain.

“Oh!!” she mouths.

“If I can spot the signs, I can offer what you desire; before you think of it, and thus elevate your experience of the show!” I point out, with a small measure of pride.

“Reading body language, was an important subject; as I was studying, for this job!” I ponder, with a tiny, inwards smile.

“Guess I should have something, to eat?” she concedes, after a few minutes of consideration.

“It is one of the advantages, of sitting up here; in the VIP lounge, up here!” I offer.

“Then it really is one of the best seats, available at the Opera?” she puts forth.

“This is not the VIP lounge, for nothing!” I point out, just before I step back, to fetch her a hot meal.

Freshly fried mini-potatoes with spicy grilled beef on a bed of rice. The fork and knife on the side.

For a moment, she just stares at the meal put before her; before she is picking up her knife, in her right hand. She slowly stabs an orb with the fork and slips it into her mouth; before she is chewing the fairly hot potato, albeit slowly.

“Looks like a success, to me!” I ponder, as I watch her eating.

While still enthralled by the play, and impressed by her older sister’s performance on the stage; she is otherwise occupied with the flavours or her newly served meal.

“Guess I did not really need a sauce, when everything is this richly flavoured?” she ponders.

Of course, the potatoes are small; just as the beef had been sliced up, in bite-size so that one does not truly need a knife. Maybe it is only there, for show; or part of the cultivated tradition requiring it to be by the side when the meal is served.

As I watch and observe her, while I am still focusing on the play; I notice, how she is enjoying her meal before her. I could not blame her, it is a fine dish put before her; for her to enjoy, while she is following the play on the stag.

I may have preferred to serve a typical Russian dish; but this is neither the time, nor the place for such pride. My position is holding pride, even if I myself is not a prideful girl; I serve the girl, and everyone in this room.

The play is slowly continuing, act by act; entertaining me and the girl by my side, right along with everyone else at this opera.

In the end, the show comes to a close; the actors bow, and the curtains fall. The play is at an end. The final orders are made, the guests enjoy the services, and the orders they just made. I serve them, happily with pride; giving them an experience, even after the play had come to an end. Extending, enhancing the experience; with the services I am at liberty, to offer them in my position.

Naturally, there are limits to the services I can offer; I may be here to serve, but it is public for all intents and purposes. This may be the VIP lounge, but this is by no means a private room, in that sense.