Act 2: The way of inhaling and exhaling is with hardness and softness.

Invitation

King grabbed the last lobster from the crate. It was the liveliest one of the bunch with its twitching legs and flitting antennae. She placed it on the tray in front of the waiting steward and said, "Put this one in the tank; the rest go into the pot." She proceeded to the sink and started to wash her hands when Sally approached.

"Hey, Boss-Lady, I got another order for table seven," Sally said.

"This will be their fourth refill, yes?"

"Yep," Sally replied with a dull smirk. "Which means you have to serve it to her."

King dried her hands, rolled down her sleeves and put her tuxedo blazer back on, saying under breath, "They might as well had bought the bottle..."

With the bottle in hand, King came upon the patron seated at table seven—a woman with fair hair and skin, similar in age and body to King. She sported a white vest worn over a single-piece black dress with loose cuffs. The dress had a high slit that opened from the front, revealing her stockinged legs, and a matching white accent sewn along the hem. Her hair was done up in a high bun with bangs that parted to the left which served to strategically cover that eye.

Though not King's style, she admired the look, even though it was not unique, for there was one other patron similarly dressed at an adjacent table in the next aisle. The styles of dresses were the same, however, the highlights of the latter matched its Asian owner's short red hair.

The mysterious blonde sat upright with her legs crossed and pouted when she saw King standing over her. "Are you here to cut me off?"

King gave her a practiced smile of reassurance. "I'm just here to see if you're all right, Madame."

She returned King's smile. "Sorry. It's hard to find decent Sangiovese outside of Italy. When I saw it on your wine list, I couldn't resist."

"No need to apologize; I'm glad that our selection pleases you. So, are you in town for business or pleasure?"

The lady's finger traced the rim of her empty glass as she gave thought to her answer. "Business... but open to pleasure." She placed the tip of her finger in her mouth, taking in its moisture.

"Then you've come to the right place. The best live music entertainers in the city will be playing here tonight."

Unmoved by King's comment, she placed her chin in her palm, exposing the timepiece that adorned her wrist. "No doubt, but I think I'm going to turn in early, just the same."

"I understand," King said. "Jet lag can be brutal, non?"

At that she perked up. "How did you know that I was jet-lagged?"

"Your watch is still on Eastern European time, Madame." King smirked.

The lady glanced at her watch and snorted in genuine amusement. "Oau! You're very observant, Ms. King."

King arched an eyebrow, curious as to how the lady knew her name. "One has to be, considering everything that goes on in the world."

"Oh? So, you keep up with current events as well?"

"It's part of my job; it makes for good small talk." King removed the cork from the bottle and, using a clean napkin, thoroughly wiped its rim, illustrating her point with, "Given your accent, and the part of the world you're from, I would imagine that yesterday's Kremlin accords between the United States and the former Soviet Union are of immediate interest to you."

"Now you're just showing off." The lady casually bit her lower lip as she eyed King's every move, regarding the way the Frenchwoman cradled the bottle and glass expertly in her feminine hands while she poured the wine. Her gaze was more than friendly. "My employer would liken such an agreement to a 'dog and pony show' perpetrated by weak politicians to make the plebeians that keep them in office think that they're in control of things."

King snorted. "Now you have me curious." And she twisted the bottle up when she finished pouring. She then wiped the rim with the napkin—though it was unnecessary, for the napkin remained unstained. "What is it that you do for this jaded employer of yours?"

The lady pouted in reply. "Today, it seems, that I am but a courier."

"Well, courier or not, you can certainly hold your wine, so I won't take up any more of your time, Madame." King placed the filled glass in front of the grateful patron.

The lady placed her hand gently on top of King's as the glass was carefully set down. "It was time well spent." She brushed aside her bangs so as to clearly regard King with both eyes. "I'm staying at The Weston; how about I send my limo to pick you up after your shift? We could further discuss our tastes in fine wines and politics... over breakfast?"

King blinked, stilled by this woman's confidence. However, what gave her greater pause were the lady's intoxicating violet eyes. She cleared her throat. "Wouldn't your friend mind?"

"My friend?"

"I can spot an Anna Vinci couture anywhere—I own one myself. I find it unlikely that two women with the same designer would show up here at the same time out of the blue." King elaborated by glancing in the direction of the similarly clothed woman in the next aisle. "She's been watching us like a hawk ever since I came over."

"My employer likes for us to match, but I assure you that that is the extent of what I share with her." The lady rose and placed the tip her moistened index finger under King's chin, encouraging her gaze. "I would love to find out if your beautiful eyes are as soulful as they are perceptive."

Again, King caught herself staring. She could have sworn that the lady's eyes were violet before, but now they were a bright blue and no less compelling. Nevertheless, she persisted, "Sorry, while your Sangiovese is earthy in its appeal, I'm the type that prefers a... meaty Bandol Mourvedre."

King's intention made clear, the lady released her. "Pity." She retrieved some cash from her purse and handed King a crisp hundred dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"That is too much, Madame—"

"Shhh." The lady's hush was soft yet stern enough to cut King off, and she whispered, "With your accent alone... You earned it."

King took the money graciously. "Merci." And she retired to the bar. She paid table seven's bill at the cash register and put the change in the tip jar. Soon after, a waitress placed her serving tray on the bar top, and King took her order, seeing as how the bartender on duty was busy.

King continued to help out; every once in a while she would glance over to the lady at table seven who patiently savored the last of her wine. When she finished, she met up with the equally mysterious Asian lady with red hair. On their way out they passed the bar; she and King shared one last knowing glance.

Blushing, King placed the cocktail on a waiting barmaid's serving tray. "Hey, Lizzie, can I ask you a question?"

"No, because I'm Sally, not Elizabeth."

She ignored Sally's rebuke. "Have you ever been hit on by any of our female patrons?"

"Nope." Sally grinned upon seeing the cash that King had put in the tip jar. "Looks like they tip well, though. Maybe I should start flashing the women a little cleavage."

Sally would interpret King's frown as a reprimand, when it was, in fact, more introspective.

Another waitress happened by, pausing long enough to hand King an envelope. "This was left for you on table seven, Boss."

King regarded the fancy envelope, imbued with the mysterious lady's distinctive perfume, and she recalled the patron's comment about her job: A courier... "Thanks, Sally."

The waitress frowned. "I'm Elizabeth." And she left in a rush.

King sighed. "We need to get you two name tags, or something."

Sally smirked, and being more interested in King's continued fascination with the envelope than she was with delivering her drink order, coyly took her time balancing the cocktail on her tray. "What is it with you and blondes, anyway?"

King narrowed her eyes at Sally. "Shut up." And she left.

King twirled the envelope in her nervous fingers, making note of the paper's fine texture and the handwritten calligraphy that bore her name as the addressee. When she got to her office, she broke the wax seal; the correspondence within was also handwritten with that same elegant penmanship—signed simply as "RB". Her eyes widened as she skimmed its contents.

"... King of Fighters... Team Tournament...?"