Friday, 7 June 2013

Day 24 3520 Julien / Julienne



Well, I met up with him or should I say her. She was as charming as ever and the irritation of the other day had gone completely. She was absolutely magnificent. She wore a loose silky tunic over tight, see-through leggings. The top was bright yellow with colourful flowers all over it and on her head was a really strange hat, made up of artificial fruit.
“You like my Carmen Miranda special, then, do you?” she asked winking, at me.
“Carmen Miranda?” I asked.
“Yes, darling,” said Julienne. “Famous personality of the 20th Century who wore tall hats piled up with fruit. She has since become a figure of fun.”
She winked at me, and did a twirl. She was definitely back on form – her usual funny self. It’s the make-up that mazes me. She does not look like a man dressed like a woman. The make-up’s not plastered on. It’s really subtle. She just looks like a tall, big-boned woman, with a slightly falsetto vice.
It was a real laugh – it always is with Julien or Julienne, whichever. I even managed to get over being worried about him / her. I really wanted to ask her what she did for work. I almost did at one point. But then I just didn’t want to spoil the mood.
One strange thing did happen, though. Her communicator buzzed – the one in the apartment on her main dataserve. She answered in Julien’s voice. She didn’t put on visuals. I guess it was something to do with his work. She muted the communicator, and whispered to me that I should go and get another bottle of grape nectar out of the cooler in the kitchen.
When I got back, she wasn’t there. She’d gone through to her room to take the call.
She did come back just a few seconds late, but looked flustered.
“I don’t know. Work,” he said.  And I do mean he. For an instant Julienne became Julien. There was a real shadow on her face. She actually looked frightened.
Then it passed and she was joking around as normal.
I hope there’s nothing wrong. He / she does me so much good. They’re both such a laugh. But I’m really curious now. 

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