Musichetta (cartomancienne) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-06-19 23:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, musichetta, theophilia flowers |
Who: Musichetta & Theophilia Flowers
When: 6/16
Where: Mrs. Flowers' B&B, Irvine
What: Talk of wine!
Rating/Warnings: PG
Status: Complete
Musichetta had decided to get out of the house for a while. With school over, and the boys occupied, it was a little dull at home, unless one wanted to sleep and risk more dreams. Tryouts for Yevgeny Onegin, the summer production, didn’t start for a month, and she was tired of reading.
She went down to the parking garage and unveiled her favorite new toy, a gift from her father for her late birthday: a brand new red Vespa. Putting on her helmet and backpack, Musichetta set off for a drive.
She started going toward the coast, but while waiting at a light, she was distracted. Off to the left, there was a sign which read “Bed and Breakfast. Home of our Blackberry Wine.” On a whim, Musichetta turned up the short drive, parking her scooter near the entrance. She’d never heard of blackberry wine before.
Mrs. Flowers’ vacation didn’t start for a few days, and she was still humming around the main reception area. Her red hair was tucked behind her ears, and she smiled happily when she saw someone walk into the hotel. “Well, hello! How’re you?”
Musichetta hadn’t expected either the hair, the accent, or the chest. She liked men, but this was a very attractive lady. “Hello, madame.” She said, setting her helmet on the table near the entrance. “I hope I’m not bothering; I was just going by and saw your sign for blackberry wine. I’m French, so I have never heard of this way of making it.” She smiled. “I like to learn!”
“Oh, that’s why you’re so pretty!” Mrs. Flowers grinned, reaching out to shake the girl’s hand. “I’m Theo Flowers, and that’s real nice of you to come here! I appreciate it! My mama taught me how to make the wine, and her mama taught her and so on.” She couldn’t help but smile at the woman - she was lovely.
“My name is Musichetta, but you can call me ‘Chetta.” Her handshake was firm, and her smile wide. “This place is so charming! I should bring my boys here for a weekend.” Oops - that might sound awkward, to anyone who didn’t know her.
“That’s such a prettier name than Theophilia!” Mrs. Flowers’ jaw dropped, and she grinned happily. “Sons?”
Whups. "Ah, no." Chetta smiled, slightly embarrassed. "My, ah, I think you would say boyfriends." She tended to call them her gentilhommes, her gentlemen, but not to strangers. She hoped the woman wouldn't be judgmental. She knew Southerners were sometimes more conservative, and this woman sounded Southern. "Theophilia; that is Greek?"
Theo grinned. “You’ve got two of ‘em too?” Her cheeks had gone red, and she raised her hands to her cheeks. “And yeah, I had a Greek grandmama in there somewhere.” She waved her hands, shrugging as she moved to the wine rack. “You want to try a glass before you buy a bottle? I’d hate to send y’home with something y’hated.”
“Two too?” Musichetta repeated, making sure she understood. When the other woman nodded, Chetta laughed. “I have my Joly, my Émile, and then Bossuet, who we call l’Aigle. The Eagle.” Dieu. Did she even remember Bossuet’s first name? “We are ... very happy, really. And yes, a glass would be brilliant. Thank you.”
Oooh, and they were all French? That was kind of hot. “I’m dating Fred and George. They’re uh. Twins.” She went pinker still as she moved to pour them from a bottle she always had breathing on the counter behind the check-in.
Musichetta couldn’t entirely stop an unladylike snort. “That is ... amusing, if you will forgive me.” It wasn’t her business; as long as everyone was legal, really. And any children wouldn’t be inbred, unless Theophilia was their sister. “They must be very polite, to share.”
“They are English,” Theo teased. She handed over a glass of wine, taking a glass for herself.
Musichetta made a face, but only in teasing. She took the wine glass, sipping cautiously, blinking. “C’est merveilleux, ça. Delicious.” It was light and sweet, but there was a bit of a tang.
“I make it the same way I would a wine with grapes. Then there’s the lemon balm wine - I ferment lemon balm tea. It’s the best nightcap I ever saw for grownups. Well, babes too, just a thimbleful.” Theo smiled and bowed her head. “Thanks for the sweet words, though.”
“Ah, really? Do you age it the same amount of time?” Musichetta was curious. “You must have quite a cellar, if this is so.”
“I do, yep! Do you wanna see it?” Theo beamed like a proud mother.
“Could I? I love a good cellar.” Chetta had made it her business to be knowledgeable about wines; her father didn’t have a hostess for his dinners, and sometimes she stood in, if she didn’t have homework or a performance.
“Of course.” Theo motioned for the girl to follow her. “This place is from the turn of the century, and I guess they didn’t get the memo about how cellars are impractical ‘round here, so they built one anyway. And god bless ‘em for it.” She went down the creaky stairs and led Chetta into a tidy little wine cellar where bottles lined the walls along with casks.
Musichetta followed down the stairs, having stuck her helmet under a table upstairs. “Look at this,” she breathed, amused. “It is like a rich man’s cellar in Paris. Small, but full of gold.” She chuckled. “I love wine cellars; one never knows what one might find.”
“You’re welcome to poke around. If it’s dusty, you can have it. I’m obviously not usin’ it!” She smiled wryly. “Lots of this was the ex-husband’s. I kept his name and the B&B in the divorce.”
“I think you did very well for yourself.” Chetta laughed. “Am I right in guessing that your original surname is very Greek, Madame Flowers?”
“Oh, yes. I was born Theophilia Panagopoulos.” Theo giggled. “Not fun when making airline reservations over the phone, let me tell you.”
“That is quite a lot.” Chetta grinned. “My surname is Beaulieu, which apparently has too many Us in it for the average American.”
“But we use botha those words,” Theo mused. “Oh well. No accountin’ for people’s smarts, I guess.” She liked this girl already, and wanted to give her a little something. Finding a nice bottle of red, she handed it over. “Here. I insist.”
“Oh, no, I could not.” It looked old. “This must have been here for decades, madame.”
“And I’m not drinkin’ it, so somebody should. Think of it this way, it’s goin’ to a good home.” Theo smiled lopsidedly, pressing it to her.
“All right, if you’re certain.” Musichetta laid a hand over her heart. “You shame me, madame; I should bring a gift of equal value.” She chuckled. “My boys will appreciate it, as well as myself. Joly is quite the connoisseur.”
“Someone gettin’ pleasure out of it instead of it sittin’ in the basement, that’s thanks enough.” Theo smiled and took another sip of her blackberry wine. “I tend to just drink my own stocks. Oh, you should come back in six months, I gotta cask of raspberry wine workin’ away.”
“Really!” Musichetta raised an eyebrow. “My next question is where are all these berries found. Surely not just here?”
“Oh, no. There’s lotsa little farms ‘round here, I just was smart enough to work with ‘em.” Theo beamed. She’d always had more business acumen than her ex-husband.
Musichetta liked this woman. “I applaud every smart businesswoman I come across, and you would appear to be one of them.” She did teasingly applaud, golf clapping with a grin. “It would appear that you were made for this, madame.”
Theo bowed and grinned. “It’s why I insisted that I stay with the business. I didn’t want to let him have this.” She’d worked too hard for it. It was hers, damn it all.
“Magnifique, I say.” Musichetta nodded once. “I would like to be a business owner, in truth, but it does not mesh with my dreams. I am studying opera at school.”
“You’re your own business in a way, then.” Theo smiled to herself, liking very much this other woman. “Do you sing here?”
“Only in school productions so far. I was Micaela in Carmen this year, and our next production is Yevgeny Onegin.” Musichetta chuckled. “I would adore being Tatiana, but sadly, my Russian is by rote. I speak English, French and am learning German, but it’s foul. I wanted to learn Italian next.”
“I’d love to come see ya sometime,” Theo beamed. “I don’t think I appreciate opera the way some people do, but music is music, you know? It’ll move you even if you don’t know all the fancy terms and stuff.”
“This is what I think happens.” Musichetta nodded. “You might enjoy it in spite of yourself, even if you do not speak the language. Music is transporting.”
“Exactly! I like lots of Spanish music, and I don’t speak more Spanish’n it takes to order food.” Theo winced, laughing at her own ignorance.
“You are allowed.” She disdained some Americans, but this lady clearly wanted to learn. “Is it true, out of curiosity, that in America you may not ever have to take a foreign language at school?” She wasn’t trying to be rude to Theophilia, but Musichetta had begun to learn English in école maternelle, or pre-elementary school.
That made Theo nod. “Yep. They only offered French and Spanish in my high school, and I was too busy helpin’ out my parents with the farm to do either.” She’d done very well in her classes, but she hadn’t had much time for ‘extracurriculars’.
“Ah.” Musichetta nodded. She explained her reasoning a bit. “I think that is how it used to be in France, but at least when I was small, I started learning English at age eight. The reason I asked is because you’re clearly a very bright lady, but you said your languages were not existent. I don’t mean offense, I was just curious.” It wasn’t what she expected.
“That’s lucky of you! I’ve been teachin’ myself Spanish slowly but surely.” She and Mr. Flowers had always intended to take a vacation in Barcelona. After the divorce, she saw no reason to lose that dream.
“It will serve you well.” Musichetta grinned. “I vote that you try to establish a clientele in Mexico. You would make quite a bit of money!”
“That’s not a half bad idea,” Theo blinked. “I reckon you’ve got a bit of businesswoman in you you don’t realize yet.”
“Oh yes?” Musichetta laughed. “Well, you have my full permission to exploit it!”
At that point her phone beeped; she fished it out of her pocket and read the message, sighing. “I should be on my way, though.” she told Theophilia, indulgently smiling. “My Joly is home and apparently expected me to be there, as well. He’s like a sheep; he gets anxious and bleats, you know.”
“That’s really sweet, though.” Theo smiled, moving to hug the other woman. She was Southern; she liked hugs.
‘Chetta wouldn’t turn them down. “It has been a pleasure to meet you!” She smiled, hugging Theophilia back. “I am fairly certain we will become guests sometime!” She waved, heading up the stairs.