We watch the Jedi for a while longer. They seem to be arguing about something.
Finally, one of them looks at his watch. Not his watch, actually, because a holographic figure is projected off of it and they listen to it speak before they walk down the road and out of sight.
"We should go back in," I say. Sissy hooks her arm in mine and nods, and we walk back into the dressing room, which should be empty because everyone should be working. Which, surprisingly, is full of people. All of them are silently watching something on the counter.
"…impossible to tell at this time what will become of our country. This has been happening all over the world, despite attempts by the Galactic Senate to slow the spread of this new regime. What began as a phenomenon exclusive to the Far West and the Huysma Coast has arrived. I will repeat, the President has been publicly executed in the People's Courtyard, where in the past he has been known to give public addresses. His final address has been given. President Vbiema is dead. The Vasdyvin have taken us."
It's the radio. The news. My hands feel clammy and I'm lightheaded. They're here.
All of the girls are talking, fearful. Terrified, even. Sissy pulls herself close to me.
"Bella? What does this mean? What's gonna happen to us now?" I shake my head. I have no idea. Someone stands up on the counter and raises her hands above our heads.
"Sssh, listen!" We all are immediately silent.
"…friends and family to listen to this, I repeat, we have received instructions from the new regime. Just in, instructions for all of you to return to your homes. All businesses are now closed until the new officials have been installed in your area. Once again, the Vasdyvin authorities are instructing you to please go home and stay inside until further instructions are given. They would like us to inform you that resistance will not be tolerated. I repeat. Resistance will not be tolerated."
I wake up late the next morning. How the hell could I sleep knowing that they were coming?
I get out of bed and scramble a couple eggs with peppers and onions. Add a cigarette, and it's a full balanced breakfast. I sit on my bed and watch them march into the city limits while I eat.
The first block of soldiers pass without incident; evenly spaced lines of steel grey uniforms snapping their feet against the pavement, they are an army general's dream come true. They are also the citizen's worst nightmare.
The second block approach just as old Ms. Netuli is leaning out the door to bring her cat in. I don't blame her; I sure as hell wouldn't want any sweet, innocent animal to be out in the street when the Vasdyvin show their ugly faces. But it was still a bad idea. She hesitates just a second too long.
A blaster is fired from the first line, and Ms. Netuli hits the sidewalk. She can see her husband for the first time in thirty years.
I drop my fork and cover my mouth, angry tears stinging my eyes. Not on my turf, not on my turf…. They've already taken so much away from me. So. Much.
My father was a composer. He was absolutely brilliant. When I was a little girl and I was upset about something he would write a little song for me, teach it to me. He was perfect. He was all I had.
When I was fourteen he went on a concert tour with an internationally renowned orchestra; he would be gone for six weeks, and I would be by myself. He didn't like this. He said I needed to protect myself. He bought me a gun and taught me how to use it: my Cromexin 501 revolver.
That was the last time I ever saw him. During the third week of his tour, he conducted a concert in the capital of Dvnebhs with both the royal family and the Prime Minister in attendance. I can remember combing his hair for him (he was always so messy) and listening to him rant and rave about how the royalty in Dvnebhs were some of his biggest fans. He was so very, very proud.
During the second movement of the "Symphony of My Love," the concert hall exploded. A bomb meant to wipe out the royal family of Dvnebhs was planted by the Vasdyvin. They succeeded. Dvnebhs is under their control to this day.
The second movement of the "Symphony of My Love" is based on a tune I wrote for him on his birthday when I was ten. It's called "Bella's Waltz."
After my father died I became an adult. Not that I was suddenly so mature and responsible or any shit like that; I mean that in my country the government has no time for orphans. The law says that you are legally independent when you turn sixteen or when your parents die. Whichever comes first. This really is a backwoods shit-hole of a planet, I'm telling you.
That's essentially how I fell in with Jam Mcgroiuucer in the first place. I was alone, had no money. I was fourteen, red-headed, freckled. Cute. And he was seventeen, hot, and had money. Rode a motorcycle. Cocky bastard.
I got with him for protection and stayed with him for two years, during which I started smoking. My dad would have killed me; he always loved my singing voice. Ruined by chain-smoking.
I get up from my bed and my abandoned breakfast and start to dress, pulling clothes from the cardboard box at the end of my bed. Showstoppers customers have always been cheap; I don't have any money for a goddamn dresser.
I close my curtains so that the soldiers can't see me naked. No way am I going to let those shit holes see me without clothes on. Yeah fucking right.