The director checked. “Sing a bar from the ‘Music of the Night’ sequence.”
Gloaming burst into song. “Turn your face away from the garish light of day—”
Heads turned in the orchestra. They recognized Gloaming from the time he had taken Lida’s place in the violin section, but hadn’t heard him sing before. They were clearly impressed.
“That’s enough.” For, of course, his voice was perfect. Anyone might sing that section, but no one could sing the way Gloaming could, and that was immediately apparent. There was special power and finesse, and he had every nuance right. Because he had heard the opera performed several times. For him, that was enough. “Can you act it too?”
“Yes.”
“Come to the dressing room for costuming.” The director led Gloaming away.
Lida did not relax. She knew better than anyone else how potent Gloaming was with music, but this was no incidental piece. Could he really do it, or was this a disaster in the making?
The opera started on time. Lida played her music along with the others. The lead role did not start until later in the story. Until it did, she was distinctly nervous.
Then it came. And Gloaming was perfect. Even the fact of the mask helped, because it fudged the identity of the singer. But it hardly mattered: he had it down pat. He never missed a cue, and his voice was superlative. He seemed born for the part. At the conclusion there was a standing ovation, and it wasn’t just for the opera because it hadn’t occurred before. It was for the lead singer. She saw that more than one reporter had appeared. They wanted to interview the superlative singer from nowhere. She had to intercept that.
“That was amazing!” the director said as the show concluded. “You have surely performed professionally many times before! I am amazed we haven’t heard of you.”
Gloaming opened his mouth. Lida almost threw herself between them. “My husband is tired. I must get him home immediately. You understand.” She bustled him off before the director could protest.
She took him out the back way and got him to the car. Sam and Martha appeared, running interference. The four of them bustled into the car and drove off.
“I had to do it,” Lida said. “His origin would have been exposed.”
“It may be too late,” Sam said as he drove. “They are already converging on the house.”
“Damn! We can’t go home. I should have thought of this before I volunteered him for the role. It never occurred to me that success would be a problem. I was worried about failure.”
“We need to decide where else to go where we won’t be found for a few hours,” Martha said. “Until the authorities get a handle on the situation. We sort of threw them a curve.” She was busy with her cell phone, contacting key people.
Lida had a flash of inspiration. “The beach!”
“At night?” Sam asked.
“Yes! It is time.”
Sam didn’t argue. He headed for the beach. It was a two-hour drive, but certainly it was not where anyone would guess they were going.
Lida took Gloaming’s hand. “You were magnificent!”
“You are pleased?”
“Oh, yes! I am going to show you how pleased I am. But now rest, until we get there.” She held his hand, as for sleep.
Gloaming obediently slept. She had learned how to manage him in such respects.
“When we get there,” she murmured to Martha, “let us go to the water and don’t interfere. This is special.”
Martha nodded, understanding.
They reached the beach at midnight. The lights were on near the resort areas, but the water was black in the night. Lida squeezed Gloaming’s hand, awakening him. “Take off your clothes. We’re going for a swim in the sea.”
“The sea!” he said, suddenly alert. He quickly got out and doffed his costume, which there had not been time to change.
Lida got out of her own clothes and stood beside the car, naked. The night was warm and she knew the water would be too. That was ideal. “We’ll go together.” She took his hand and guided him toward the water.
“Lida, you know the effect the sea will have on me.”
“I do. Gloaming, I love you.”
He stared at her in the lamplight. Then he began to hum. It was a high single note, long sustained. He was singing, his style. It was the song of joy.
They ran together to the water. They plunged in. Then he clasped her, still humming, and bore her down in the surf. He kissed her, still sounding the note, and his member plunged into her eager body. She felt the almost instant heat of his emission within her. It triggered her own response, and she climaxed around him, kissing him all the while.
Then they subsided, while the waves surged around them. “Oh, Lida!” he said at last. “I have longed for this moment.”
“So have I,” she said, adjusting her glasses, which had somehow remained in place. That meant, of course, that Aliena knew. “But I couldn’t make my heart hurry.”
“Now I am happy.”
“So am I.”
“If I may ask—”
“It was what I learned at the space station. Aliena is lonely and wants human company. She wants to be with Quincy, and he wants to be with her. But they couldn’t do it until I gave my leave, and I couldn’t until I was ready to love you. So it was time. Then when you performed so well in the opera—” She spread her hands in the water. “It was time,” she repeated.
“It was time,” Aliena agreed.
“May I kiss you again?”
She struck his shoulder with her fist in a mock attack. “Don’t ask, dodo! Do it! You have the onus. Anytime.” But she didn’t wait on him. She kissed him, then rolled with him in the water, feeling his arousal building again. She wrapped her arms and legs about him and squeezed her breasts hard against him as his hands clamped on her buttocks.
He resumed his Note of Joy. His member stiffened and drove into her again, and again they climaxed together.
At length they returned to the car, where Sam and Martha waited. “We made it,” she said simply, as if they didn’t know.
“We noticed,” Sam said. “We watched, as we are required to do. That set us off, and we did it in the car.”
“We were very unprofessional,” Martha confessed. She returned to her cell phone.
“There’s just something about the starfish Song,” Sam said. “We saw it with Aliena, too.”
“Of course they did,” Aliena agreed. “On this very beach. That’s how they knew to come here.”
“The word is out,” Martha said. “We’ll have to go into public mode. A bit prematurely, but not by much, actually.”
They started the drive back. Soon police cars intercepted them, silently, and escorted them home. A police cordon had been thrown around the house, holding back the crowd that ringed it.
“You kids get a night’s sleep, or whatever,” Sam said as they pulled in. “Tomorrow will be busy.”
They took him at his word. They retired to the bedroom, where they lay together kissing and holding hands. “I am so glad you decided,” Gloaming said. “You taught me love, and it burst out of me. I never felt such emotion before.”
“I still do love Quincy. But now I love you too. The way Brom loves Aliena, and also Star.”
“I am glad.” Then they slept.
In the morning they showered, dressed, ate, and announced themselves prepared for the day. There followed a rush of public appearances as Gloaming was introduced as Gloaming the Star-Man, the male counterpart to Star the Star-Woman. His formal Unveiling had been preempted by the opera incident. No one blamed Lida, but she knew it was her fault.
“It’s just one of those things,” Grandfather Johnson said. “Plans go oft agley.”
Still, she might have reconsidered had she realized what would happen. She was not a politician and did not think in such terms. Lida was now part of the sidelines, as she was glad to be, though women’s programs interviewed her because of her proximity to the figure o
f the day.
And of course Gloaming sang bits from the opera that had blown his cover, because no human man could have done the same. Crowds gathered to hear his beautiful voice.
They toured the world, heavily guarded, because the nuts were always out there, but well received everywhere. Gloaming sang in the language of whatever nation they visited, a detail that was much appreciated. It was a whirlwind of publicity that often left Lida figuratively gasping.
Just one thing was missing: they never went near Star, the other starfish envoy, also known for her singing. “Why is that?” Lida asked Sam.
“Too risky,” Sam replied. “We need to let the excitement die down some before we can put them together where a single bomb might take them out.”
She had to concede the validity of the caution. Sam, Martha, and the rest of the security apparatus kept most of their business out of sight, but there was quite real danger. Keeping the two starfish envoys apart made sense, for now.
Then Lida saw a news item. Health care was on the way to becoming universal, especially since the starfish supported it, but there were families that still slipped through the cracks. This one was about a five-year-old boy named Jeb who had a congenital condition that would cost him his life in a few more years if he didn’t receive appropriate treatment. The treatment was fabulously expensive, and the family had no insurance. Death seemed likely.
“We need to help that boy,” Lida said.
“It is policy not to interfere in such matters,” Martha said. “Local government can get huffy.”
“Even if someone dies because they won’t act?”
“This is politics. If we try to intervene, there could be hell to pay, messing up the reputation of the starfish. It’s ugly, but there it is.”
“Lida wants it fixed,” Gloaming said. “It must be fixed.”
Sam and Martha exchanged a glance. Gloaming had power now, as Star did, and it wasn’t wise to balk at him. Lida realized that she had done it again. Gloaming listened to her and supported her, in anything. That was flattering, but not always wise. “Maybe we can think of something,” Sam said.
“I can think of something,” Lida said, plowing ahead since she had started it. “Suppose the two envoys met and interacted, such as in a brief duet, unannounced? And that duet was for the benefit of the boy?”
Sam refrained from rolling his eyes. “What duet?”
“Or any song they can do together.” Lida opened her songbook and spied an old one she liked. “Kiss Me Quick And Go.”
“Lovely,” Aliena said. “I will see to it.”
“Aliena says she’ll handle it,” Lida said.
So it came to pass. Gloaming diverted briefly from his tour, and Star diverted from hers, where they happened to come close to each other. They converged on an inconspicuous house at dusk, two cloaked figures and two partners. “What is the song?” the female figure asked as they came together. Lida handed her a page with the music and words. She glanced at it for perhaps two seconds and handed it back. Was she rejecting it?
The door opened as they approached; they were expected. Aliena had indeed seen to it. The woman retreated, disappearing upstairs. Only the little boy remained standing on the stairway.
The cloaked figures went into the small living room. Lida and Star’s companion Brom remained near the stair, which led down to the living room.
“Hello, Jeb,” Lida said. “I am Lida. We are going to do a little song, and you have a part. When you hear the words ‘We heard a footstep on the stair,’ you tap your foot. Okay?”
He nodded shyly.
Lida went to the living room doorway. “Ready?”
The two figures had doffed their cloaks and now stood as Gloaming, handsome in jeans and shirt, and Star, almost breathtakingly pretty in sweater and skirt. They sat together on the couch, his arm around her shoulders, like a loving couple.
Without preamble, Gloaming sang. “As I was out one evening sparking/ Sweet Terlina Spray/ The more we whispered our love talking/ The more we had to say./ The old folk and the little folk we thought were fast in bed/ We heard a footstep on the stair—/” He paused.
Lida signaled Jeb. Jeb lifted his foot high and delivered a resounding STOMP! that shook the walls, smiling naughtily.
Both singers were visibly startled, but Gloaming continued without hesitation. “And what d’ya think she said?”
Then Star sang. “O kiss me quick and go my honey/ Kiss me quick and go./ To cheat surprise and prying eyes/ Why kiss me quick and go.”
She hadn’t rejected it; she had memorized it in two seconds, and sang it absolutely perfectly. The way she looked and moved was marvelously evocative. Lida realized that if there was a musical match on Earth for Gloaming, it was Star. What beauty! What a voice! What acting!
Then they kissed, briefly, and Gloaming got up and left, pausing only to glance at the boy. “Don’t tell!”
Jeb nodded gravely. Then Gloaming was out the door, and in a moment, so was Star. Their little act was done and they had to be on their separate ways before anyone else caught on. And of course Lida’s glasses had caught it all, recording everything she had looked at: boy, couple, song, kiss.
Now Lida stood on the front step beside Brom. “This has been a spot presentation to raise funds for Jeb’s treatment,” Lida said, speaking for the record. “Proceeds will go to the family, so the boy can have required surgery. Bidding for exclusive broadcast may commence immediately, at the Starfish Website.”
The two of them paused, waiting for confirmation. “So we meet at last,” Brom said. “The two humans married to the two starfish. I love her. Do you love him?”
“Yes. But it’s not always easy.”
“I know. I had to give up my first love, as I think you did too.”
“That was Aliena?”
“Yes. If you are in touch with her, give her my regards.”
“Do it yourself.” She handed him her glasses.
He put them on, and his face went rapt. “Oh, Aliena,” he breathed. “I wish—”
Suddenly she knew what Aliena was telling him. Lida stepped close to him, offering herself. He put his arms around her, closed his eyes, then kissed her on the lips. Now she heard the sound: Aliena was humming through the glasses, her Song of Joy, for him. He was kissing her, Aliena, in his mind. It was something he could not do directly any more.
Then he drew back, returned the glasses, and walked swiftly to their car. There had been tears in his eyes; he was too choked up to speak.
Lida put the glasses back on. “That was very nice of you,” Aliena said.
“Well, I owed you.”
“It was nice regardless, for me as well as for him.”
“You’re welcome.”
The bidding on the 35-second edited recording turned out to be fierce. It was the only instance of the two starfish coming together, and not only that, they had sang jointly, and kissed. It was absolutely beautiful. But little Jeb’s naughty foot-stomp stole the scene. It was settled within the hour: more than two million dollars for the first global broadcast rights. Little Jeb would have his treatment.
“We owe it to you,” Gloaming told Lida. “This was good positive publicity.”
“It’s empathy,” she said. “I hurt when I saw how Jeb was hurting. I had to try to help him.”
“Empathy,” he agreed. “The function of mirror neurons. We lack them.”
“How did you make a civilization without them? Without understanding the way others feel?”
“We do understand, intellectually, and act accordingly. We just don’t feel it. But I am learning. From you.”
“It is hard to imagine me teaching you anything. You have vastly more intellect and talent than I do.”
“These are mechanical things. They hardly relate to emotional feeling. In that you are the master.”
She smiled. “Or the mistress.”
“A female master, also a sexual partner,” he said, working it out. “This is humor?”
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“Humor,” she agreed. “I am your teacher in this respect, but also your sexual partner, so the two coincidental meanings overlap, making it amusing.”
“Humor,” he repeated. “An illustration of a fundamental absurdity in a situation or in human nature.”
“You’ve got the dictionary in your head. But the essence of humor is something we can’t properly define. It’s what makes you laugh.”
“Laughter. That is another thing we lack. But we are learning.”
Lida had another revelation. “It’s like a hand of cards. Starfish have all aces and kings. They can memorize and perform perfectly in an instant, as you and Star do. But by the same token they are missing the sixes and sevens we call emotion. Love, hate, laughter. Geniuses without compassion.”
“Compassion.”
“That is what I felt for Jeb.”
“Though you were not personally acquainted with him.”
“Yes.” She thought of another thing. “Do starfish have art?”
“This is the representation of people and objects in symbolic manner? We do have diagrams used in the construction of machines.”
“The opera,” she said impatiently. “That’s art. Music is an art. So is dance.”
“Music,” he echoed thoughtfully. “We do have that. But with us it is a tool. It is integral to our machines.”
“That accounts for that, then,” she said, bemused. “It is a survival skill. Using it for pleasure is a coincidental corollary for you, not an end in itself.”
“Yes, of course.”
“With us, the arts are ends in themselves. Oh, there are those who make a living from them, but they can do so only because the great majority of us appreciate performances for their own sake. And so do you, sometimes.”
“Do we?”
“Your Song of Joy.”
He considered, and nodded. “You evoked that in me.”
That triggered another thought. “Gloaming, we’re married, at least before the world. We are having sex, or more recently making love. I think it is time for me to stop taking the Pill.”
“The pill that renders you infertile? That is your choice. But why?”
“So I can have your baby.”
“It would be Quincy’s baby, the fruit of his body, not mine.”