Noir drama Royale/or/guess who’s coming to frukost(edjmmusechrn)

 

something disturbs my sleep….but I don’t recall falling asleep. I remember and it was late…. it takes awhile to orient myself—still within dreams ….of crashing waves and piers and pirate’s beds

And then get the vaguest sense of last night’s conversation …. Jörn—but what is that annoying sound ….?

“What is that? —and why won’t it stop?!”

“That’s your phone,” Jörn says to me from behind my head

“Jörn,” as it slowly returns to me our conversation last night—or early this— “what time is it?” I ask him

“Snälla du! —svara på din jävla telefon!” 

I say,

“what?” 

as he reaches across me to get it from the table next to me and then drops it next to my head,

“it’s seven-thirty-two according to your phone, so we’ve had roughly three hours of sleep —and it’s Stina, so I think you better answer it,” he tells me as I cover my ears 

But then the phone stops 

“Oh thank god!” I say and bury my face under the pillow 

but then it is only a few minutes later when

I hear Jörn curse under his breath and only once I come out from under the pillow can I hear someone tapping at the door 

“She’s at the door,” he whispers to me 

I start to say “answer it—“ until I realize that there is her proposition to deal with still and finding Jörn here would cause inconvenient suspicion 

I watch him jump out of bed, and then swiftly grab his clothes and all evidence of his presence and then walk straight towards…. the bookcase? —and still stark naked— disappear behind it! and then he shuts it like a door!  …what else, a spy glass? 

Knock! knock! knock! (Stina)

While still a bit stunned yet more angry suddenly, and jump into motion mumbling to myself,

“who goes knocking on bedroom doors of someone else’s house?” searching for clothes so that I can answer the door and not be naked —where did my clothes from before disappear to …? And in search of anything to wear…. and wondering how things disappear ….I dig into my suit case and put on whatever haphazardly comes out. Ending up with a Hello Kitty t-shirt and black pinstripe trousers 

and I do manage to get it zipped up before her next round of banging which gradually has begun to get louder 

and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror (yikes, knullruffs), stepping into my Harley Davidson boots on the way to the door 

“Yes??!” I say swinging open the door just as she had begun to knock again. 

I can see I have set her off balance 

But she looks at me and slowly starts to smile,

“nice look for you. Office attire or—?”

“Is there a reason you are knocking at the door at seven thirty?” I ask stepping outside the door into the hallway 

“It’s seven-forty-five,” she says, “let’s go chat on the pavilion, do you want coffee?—they just made it fresh.”

“No, I want to go back in there and sleep for two more hours and then have a shower.”

“Let’s grab two coffees,” she says this as if I never said anything, “you will want to know what I have dug up on your sister—“

But my hand is still on the door handle,

“well, can you—do you mind if we…. it just seems it’s kind of too early in the day for grim, wicked sisters—“

But all lame attempts at fake friendliness disappears as she suddenly gets impatient,

“I need to ask you if you have given any more thought to our earlier conversation?” 

“You mean about Jörn?” I ask

“Shhst!!!” she looks around and gives me an evil-eye look and after a moment where she is sure we are alone in the hallway, she says, “you know that’s what I mean. Well? Have you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“So, you mean—you want me to—“

“You were his lover before, how unpleasant can it be?” she asks me very matter of fact

I almost laugh and have to fake a cough,

“and I get?”

“We can talk about the details but—first you would have unlimited access to information—“

“Why do you want to go after her?” I ask 

“Who says I do?” she asks and laughs, “oh, no, no, no—people like your sister are small potatoes; she’s not exactly big terrorism and for international purposes, could you imagine I could care about your deranged Qanon organization—“

“Mine?” I ask, “it’s not mine. Don’t confuse me with—“

“Your sister.”

“Right!” I say but then I get her meaning…. “oh….” and think about that. But what exactly does she expect me to do with information like that?  ….no, she’s just baiting me but because I think about what Jörn said I say,

“I mean…. sure— I’ll do it,” pretending more interest in what she said 

“You know we are going after Retnuh,” she watches my face reaction and then she says, “so you will go back to being with him and be able to let us know where and what he is and up to?”

“Up to….?” I say

Then suddenly from behind us we hear,

“Stina!” 

Jörn —freshly showered and wearing a pressed suit as if on his way to a board meeting ….is suddenly walking briskly towards us. 

And once again, between them, I feel painfully underdressed by comparison in my Hello Kitty as I  seem to be emerging from my sleepy haze and now notice what Stina wears; red dress and —again, spike heels 

“Jörn!” Stina does her fake laugh, but then rattles off, at lightning speed, several phrases that leave me in the dust with my current grasp of their nuances of pronunciation 

Jörn says, in English,

“Marcus is waiting for you in the courtyard.”

But then it is the strangest reaction! She says nothing at all in response and seems to momentarily look a bit taken by surprise before I see her face go bright red and then suddenly rush off without a single word 

I look at Jörn,

“that was great! Thank you!”

“Well, we have another problem,” he tells me

“Ok….”

“You know that movie ‘Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner’?”

“The original or—“

Jörn shakes his head and says,

“let’s just say that this would be called, ‘Guess Who’s Coming for Breakfast!’”

“Who’s coming?”

“My parents. So I need you to act like everything is fine between us.”

“Your parents are in Sweden.”

“My parents are at JFK. Surprise! I just got off the phone with Pappa.”

“You didn’t mention they were coming.”

“I didn’t know until five minutes ago —and it is the last thing I need as now as you know, it seems I am currently the moderator for an international spy convention….which was not something I’d had expected either.”

 ond rwy'n credu fy mod i eich angen chi.  gallwch fy ngweld mewn môr ymhlith y gwag a'r deillion. ac ie, byddwn i

terrors & goddess mantras 

over and over and over …. who do you think you are? but reality is subjective comes my reply …. who am I? what am I ….. 

I am me and I am mine, on into etcetera, I am me and I am mine —I am electra 

ceiling thoughts after midnight

 (To be deleted….)

I look tall from far away because I have extra long legs. So it must be a shock to arrive in front of me and think you are in Wonderland. I’m actually just all legs 

I tend to forget my relation to large scale things until actually faced with formidable things like oversized furniture. Ladders. Trucks 

but I am the exact height I was when I was eleven. 

when my daughter was in middle school, I went there for a meeting and I kept being mistaken for a student. no, really, it’s embarrassing —so I try not to walk by clusters of middle schoolers as a general rule

 ond yna .... beth ydw i'n ei wybod?

 pwy ydw i beth bynnag

thoughts on a Celf left on the shelf

 

in this whole theatre of mine 

….. it is all about …..this searching for meaning 

                                              But even more, sometimes it is also about identity ….

How many times as a child did I have to reinvent myself whenever we moved….changing schools; peer pressures, bullies…. new mask, new shield ….a kind of artistry to it but…. you get so lost in there

I stumble over —what do I call myself 

and return to Electra as the natural conclusion 

born of illegitimate secrets and a pinned on name that was never my own that …. I could not wait to discard it…. then each name I hence acquired by marriage carried their heavy shackles but …. 

what’s in a name?

and so, yet again

 —a rose by any other name….

and…. 

am I not who I created after all? by intention or weird fortune this Frankenstein born of unheard of sums of algorithms…. but then so aren’t we all ?

never simplify 

maybe I am just a satire with its own natural conclusion 

Electra’s dictionary; Vampires in the Noir Part 2/the Power of Knowing[the scene is the last conversation as it continues](edjmmusechron)

 

“…. ‘when’ in the grand scheme of things—what did you say?—“

“‘in the grand scheme of it all when exactly did you first stumble across me….’” I say now

“Ahhh….” Jörn’s expression becomes thoughtful and after a slight pause…. “and, you mean because you know about the secretary’s key I found in that box of yours among your diaries —which you tossed into the dumpster behind that old  apartment building you lived in—Cedarhurst, I think— with your first husband—“ and shakes his head at me “tsk tsk…. careless key toss, duva, how lucky I found it— which was —when? I believe that was 2002— but that was not when I first stumbled across you ….hmm, so you want to know….” and then after he considers, with an  awkward motion, wherein he turns his head as if to crack the tension from his neck along with an odd shrug, “so— then…. I would say it was …. around the time when I first joined the intelligence—uh—became an international intelligence agent—so that is when I came across ‘something’ ….and …. so …. actually that would have been my first case with Willem. How we met— it was our first case together.”

“So, what did you come across?”

“It was something connected to your legal father— as I was investigating a current case of the time—it was having to do with a sensitive operation we were all working on, connected with several other countries, as a matter of fact, but mostly European. It was when I was cross referencing some old documents….” he says vaguely 

So I think about what Willem had started to say that time 

“And so what was this to do with me?” I say looking at his eyes to try and read them

For a moment he is pensive but guarded. After a quick deep inhale and exhale he looks at me decisively and says,

“duva—it was a picture of you….” he studies my eyes and seems to measure his words carefully as he stares into my eyes, “I felt like I knew you—“ he seems to force a laugh and shakes his head, “that sense, as though I could not place where I knew you from ….but —I knew in this way …. it was just like this strong gut sense— I felt I knew you from —somewhere….” and here he stops talking and stands up and walks across the room. 

He goes to the window and looks out into the darkened blackness but where the sound of the ocean brings the mind to see in inferred  

….those timeless, infinite ocean waves …. 

I watch his silhouette as he stares into blackness as he looks towards the sea into the darkness …. I feel such a weird sense now by how he stands there, I have seen such a scene like this before…. how his shoulders are set, the tension in his stance; I see someone else standing there …. that I have seen before…. And it makes me wonder now; is he somewhere else at sea …. and maybe too, lost in time 

After a moment he turns away and walks towards the bed, he hesitates before he says, 

“….Duva, you see, I never used to dream —or maybe I just never remembered that I did —but it was right after I saw that photo that it seemed, it was —every night—the same dream—or versions of it —and with it too was the most horrific —horror….” he shakes his head as he recalls this now and rubs his eyes and quickly looks away for a long moment. His expressions pass like secrets across his well groomed, top-secret mask ….

Now he looks at me,

“duva—it was your face…. you understand? —the photo; it was a copy of your passport photo and I ….became curious, it is true…. it was, at first, such a gradual —like a fascination, it was—a slow nagging kind of mystery that just seemed to elude me…. And then ….well—now suddenly always dreaming this same series of events that seemed like from some dark age  time and ….all with your face —and …. often violent things happening —her death …. which I would wake up from dripping in sweat and shivering ….that one repeated the most at first…. and  …. seeing her dead —the pain of it, I could never go back to sleep …. it is how the first bars of my opera came from …. you know, just to express—to get it out this…. overwhelming emotion …. for me it has always been my music where I can release emotions…. and watching her die ….again ….and again in my dreams…. the brightness of the blood on the white hides …. I know I haven’t shared this before…. it was never the right time to speak of all this—when do you speak of such things? And I admit that I avoid emotional scenes usually —so….you could imagine what an impact it left —I mean, duva, from just seeing a photo of  a person’s face —you think you recognize but know you have never met….and it was this knowing like—I —knew— and you know it was not that I knew you ….—now—“ he leans his head into his hand a moment and sighs “….but I guess I just felt crazy because I did not know —how—that could be….” he shakes his head and whispers, “of course, I still don’t know —but…. “ stops himself as if suddenly remembering something, and almost to himself he says, “I always knew —and felt as if I was waiting until ….we would meet….”

But I am not sure if he means —he always knew he would meet the person in the dream or ….the photo …. ? —or?

“If it is not something that can be physically grasped, touched, prodded and analyzed in a lab it can’t be real?” I ask

“I think from conversations we have had, you would know I am more willing to be open minded about the possibilities of …. I am willing to believe there is more than just this existence —but no, I just never expected to have to encounter something unexplained myself, I guess…. I sometimes feared I was losing my mind or possessed because it seemed to always be at the back of my mind but….” he stops and thinks a moment “you know, duva, I may not say ….but there are things I feel and —I have said it before…. about you, it is strange that I seem to always sense —somehow know—if you are in trouble, I feel it here — it is like I know what you are thinking —I can feel it, it is something so strange, I noticed right away after we first met and, you know…. it has never been this way with anyone else —so—now I have answered your question,” he says this walking back towards the bed and now stops to drape himself on the bedside beside me, “….and more —so now answer mine duva, why do you stay? —you know what I’m asking….” but he plays with my hair, drawing it away from my neck where he presses his mouth and says, “it was right after we first met that the rest of the music for the opera came to me…. do you know why I call you ‘duva’?”

“You said it was to do with the dream—there was a dove that you said foretold an angel would come,” I say

“Well not an angel exactly—and yes it’s to do with the dream because right before every time she appears, a turtle dove appears first—and you doubt my intentions?”

“It was not that.”

“Then what?”

“You are right—I mean about trust…. only do you trust me?”

“Duva, you are the only partner I ever have had who knows what I actually do—considering my line of work, is that adequate proof for you?”

I’d never thought of this before. And dully, I realize this is the first time I ever heard him refer to me this way….it seems to signify

I say,

“no, it was just my excuse….”

“I know….” he says and goes back to playing with my hair. He runs his finger tips lightly down my neck and follows with his mouth to bite, then says, “tell me why you stay,” blowing into my ear 

I say, 

“du vet varför.”

“Du vet varför!” he says correcting how I said it

“Yes,” I say, “ja…. du vet varför….”

“Du vet varför,” he repeats anyway and begins to do something I thought he forgot I liked; which confuses me and when he says the phrase again so I should correct myself, I automatically repeat it back because he is too good at what he is doing. I forget the purpose of resisting. and so, maybe that is why I do weaken, 

“Du vet varför”

“Du vet varför!”

“Du vet varför,” and feel myself forgetting to keep up the guard but not wanting to care somehow

and when he says, 

“why do you stay?….tell me….”

“Du vet varför…. because…. jag älskar dig.”

“Jag vet varför.”

but it is only after a moment that I realize what I said. and what he said 

but then he says,

“and I know what Stina is asking you to do.”

“You know?”

“She wants you to be my watchdog,” he says, “say you’ll do it.” and said all the while not missing a beat while still adeptly at his task 

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you to. Is she offering you some kind of payment or bribe?”

“Both.”

He thinks a moment. Then says,

“she wants me back over there—they do….”

“That’s part of it. She mentioned my sister and a will and —that you’re planning on ….going after Retnuh.”

“Hmm, then again it would mean getting under her clutches —does she know about your project?” he sees my reaction and becomes more serious a moment. He thinks. 

“Jörn….about what I said—“

“Jag vet varför.”