A Bowl of Fruit…or, Che Unlimited

By RoZita

"Oh but it's sad when a love affair dies But we have pretended enough…"

I feel like an idiot. He only has eyes for her. He won't even look my way!

I'm dolled up in a classic 1930's ensemble: clingy little jade green silk dress--if you call a size 16 little, and the Chicas said red was my color but I thought it would be a bit too obvious--, perky black velvet hat with a white feather, pearl necklace, upswept hairdo, movie-star makeup, the whole works. They told me I looked "smashing"-ha! That was just to get me to go through with this nonsense and make a complete fool of myself, I'm sure…

Eva's the one in red, dancing with a short guy with a nose the size of Paraguay. "But when we were hot, we were hot," she sings. His eyes are glittering like he's sure he's going to get lucky. Ché wears his snowy jacket, looking good enough to eat, holding a tray aloft, napkin over one arm. I'm standing in the doorway trying to strike a dramatic pose.

Finally I sashay in and the maitre d' shows me to an empty table. I indicate to him which waiter I want, giving him a hellacious tip. He smirks and saunters off. There's a fat guy two tables away and he gives me the eye. I ignore him and focus on the gorgeous waiter. Another woman is flirting with him.

And suddenly there's Ché next to me, and I nearly swoon. He looks me right in the eye and says, in his heavenly sexy voice, "What will it be, chiquita?"

Well, he is not supposed to call me chiquita, surely…but who cares? Obviously I'm supposed to answer, and with something besides, "Are YOU on the menu?" I tug at my gloves, a finger at a time, to stall a bit. Fatty is staring at my cleavage with whiskeyed lechery, and I draw my filmy white scarf over my shoulders and give Ché what I hope is an enigmatic and captivating smile.

"Gimme a vhiskey, Sam," I hear myself say in imitation of Greta Garbo in…whatever the hell she says that in. "Make it champagne," I say cutely with a wink, and he takes something from the tray and sets it in front of me. It's…a bowl of fruit.

"Especially for you…RoZita." I don't even ask him how he knows my name. I remind myself that this isn't even real; it's the BanderasWorld virtual reality game some genius invented. But it sure SEEMS real. I can smell the fruit and him too. WHAT is that luscious scent he's wearing?

"Diavolo," says a small voice in front of me. I start and look around. There's no one there. I find myself looking down at the bowl of fruit. Oranges, mangos, kiwi, grapes, bananas, a whole pineapple, and one or two exotic kinds that clearly didn't come from the produce section at Wal-Mart.

"Whatever!" I say, looking back at Ché's retreating back. Quel tush! As if that face weren't enough… But there's that hussy Eva, she brushes by him and doesn't even give him a look. But he looks at her with such longing in an unguarded moment, and my heart sinks to my Gucci's. What chance do I stand against her?

Maybe I should put the fruit on my head and dance like Carmen Miranda. Would that get his attention, at least?

"You must go after him," the voice says again. I start once more, and yes, the voice did come from the bowl. Somebody is playing a very weird trick on me, because now an orange is talking to me. Yes, you read right. It has eyes and a nose and a mouth, and looks just a little like George Burns. Sounds like him too.

"You can take him away from her," it says. "But you'll never do it if you just sit around talking to oranges, darlin'."

"B-But look at her," I stammer. "That figure, those clothes, the way she moves . . . she's got it sooo all over me. What chance do I stand? He only has eyes for her."

"Bite me," says the orange.

"WHAT??" I am outraged. Here I'm looking for council and I get insults? And from a piece of fruit???

"Take a bite," says Orange Burns with admirable patience. Ahem . . . whatever. I gingerly peel a bit back, and take a bite…and…

Fatty makes an openly obscene signal to me and with my unfailing finesse I bounce the entire pineapple off his head. And with that the scene changes: rioting in the street, police on horseback, cop cars, screams. I'm trying to avoid swinging clubs and muddy feet. There's a church not far off with a children's choir singing, and I can see HER, my rival, walking stiffly up the steps accompanied by hubby. She's a blonde now. I'm still a brunette. As far as I know.

The smug composure she displayed in the restaurant is gone but she valiantly tries to retain her dignity. Clearly she's ill. I feel an urge to go help her, but then I see Ché again. He's marching in the forefront, singing, "Turn a blind eye, Evita, turn a blind eye," and I forget her. The attractively cocky and cynical attitude he had earlier is gone too and he is full of a much higher purpose, siding with his country against the woman he loves. How very operatic! A thrill goes through me but I'm also afraid for him. The soldiers are marching toward him and his band with their rifles and swords and clubs and pistols, and he is unarmed.

I must do something!

But what? This clingy dress and high heels don't make much for free movement. I take off the shoes and toss them aside, then try to fight my way through the crowd. I don't really know what I'll do, but my man is in danger! And I can't get through!

Then I remember the orange tucked in my handbag. I take it out and eat another slice. Instantly my green dress pops open and underneath it I am clad in a black leatherette mini-dress and high hard boots, with a sword in a scabbard on my back, a whip at my belt. I am…

***********'ZITA THE WARRIOR PRINCESS*************

And baby I am ready for BATTLE!!!

Drawing my sword, I give a ringing war cry and hack my way through the throng. The policemen on horseback are beating the demonstrators. I can't see Ché any more! I hack at one of the cops. But what's this; the sword bounces right off him! It's only a rubber toy!

I resort to my whip. But it's made of licorice.

"Crap," I mutter in orgiastic frustration. Now what's this, there's a can stuck in my belt. It says 100% EXTRA STRENGTH WHOOP ASS, but how to open it? I try giving it a squeeze like Popeye with his can of spinach--although the music remains defiantly Andrew Lloyd Webber--and the lid flies open. But there's only a paper snake inside. It shoots out and hits a cop in the eye.

I fling the can aside and try once more to find my man. The riot is dissipating and there are people lying in the street, everyone else has left. I can't see Ché anymore. I'm almost in tears. Until I remember Orange Burns. Yet another slice, and before I know it, there he is, lying unconscious on the sidewalk.

Ohhhhh how beautiful he is…even through the blood…I lift his head and press it to my bosom. I loosen his neck scarf and dab gently at the wound in his forehead with it, then run my fingers through his black curls, laying my cheek down on the top of his head.

"I love you," I murmur over and over. "Why must you pursue that woman? Why does she so obsess you? She will never love you as I do, it's because of her you're lying here all bloody in the street! Why can't you see that? To me, you are beauty and sanity, an ivory tower of pure air and health rising far above a putrid sinkhole. To her, you're just a thorn in her side. She is falseness, a golden calf, but you hold the truth! Darling, why can't you see I'm on your side, as she never will be?"

He seems to be responding now. He reaches up a bloody hand, groaning a little, and tries to touch my face. I take his hand and kiss it over and over. I kiss his eyelids, then his lips. They're warm and soft.

He returns the kiss. If I never remember anything else about my life I will always remember this kiss. Fire and velvet and music and honey, all mixed together, there has never been anything like it ever before...

But now I hear a siren in the distance. They're coming back!

"We gotta get out of here," I gasp. "Come on, can you walk?"

I try to help him up. He clutches his side, groaning. Pain fills his beautiful eyes.

"I think my ribs are broken," he says. "Let me lean against you, I am dizzy…"

"You're not going to pass out again, are you?" This is all I need. I can't carry him. The siren is getting closer. I look around for my bag but can't find it. Ché staggers and nearly falls. I catch him around the waist. And it's then I see two doors in the wall right in front of me. And once more I hear the voice coming from what's left of the orange, which sounds more like Humphrey Bogart now.

"'Zita babe," it says, "you got two choices. You can open the door on the left, and save him, but you lose him forever. You can't go with him, sweetheart. Or you can pick what's behind door number two, and he's all yours. But he'll be in constant danger, and so will you. It's up to you, kid. So what's it gonna be?"

"Now that is one hell of a decision," I cry, glancing wildly from one door to the other. Then at Ché. He's looking at the approaching car, which slides to a halt and a whole troop of burly cops--looks like a dozen, how do they all fit in that one car?--come spilling out. He pushes me behind a pillar out of their sight and scurries in the opposite direction. They're after him! I look to the doors again but can hardly see them through the fog. Oh now they're on him! One of the brutes grabs him and slams him against the wall. I bite back a scream. I hear him cry out in pain. They call him filthy names and laugh. I can't see him now but I hear thumps and kicks and punches.

I race to the door…on the left. And throw it wide open.

A huge wind knocks me over and the thugs vanish, and I can see Ché being sucked towards the door, through which he disappears and the door slams shut after him. I try to pry it open, but it won't budge. Now it's gone. I am engulfed in darkness and I sink down in despair.

Now I can feel arms around me but they aren't HIS arms. A familiar voice with a charming German accent is speaking my name. It's Delorita, my best friend. She's wearing Elena's costume from The Mask of Zorro, a bit disheveled. It's not quite so dark now.

"He's gone," I moan. "I've lost him forever."

"Sweetie, it was not been real." Her pretty eyes hold sympathy and understanding. "He is only a game, like your Tonito."

This is true. But it seemed so real.

"You left your movie," I say, as I lean against her for comfort.

"I thought you need me," she says. She strokes back a lock of my hair. "Let me help you stand. Are you hurt?"

"No. I kissed him." I close my eyes at the memory. "No VR man kisses like that. No REAL man kisses like that. And I could smell the smells and taste the fruit…was it like that with you?"

"It was like that." But, it's not her voice, it's HIS! My eyes pop open. She's gone, and HE is in her place!

"CHÉ!" I scream. No, it can't be Ché. He's only a character in a movie, right? "Or is it . . . Antonio?"

"I am Ché and I am very real," he says.

"Did I open the door on the right then? I meant to open the door on the left." I'm totally nonplussed. I can't see anything beyond him.

"You opened the door to your heart," he says. I can't believe this, it's much too corny and B-movie of a line to be coming from him. But in HIS voice, it could be Shakespeare. "And I walked in and became lost, and you found me and gave me reality. I ate the fruit of your imagination and became yours. As Einstein says, reality has limits, but imagination encircles the world. We will be…unlimited."

"Unlimited. Sounds good to me." I run a finger over his cheekbone.

"Eh…did I thank you?" His eyes are full of starry mischief. I don't even bother to say, "Wrong movie." Instead I trace a Z on his cheek and tell him, "Just don't say 'Good night and thank you', OK?"

Our lips meet in another blinding kiss, his hands burning through the leatherette, and we are no longer in a street, but in a richly decorated room in quirky Spanish art deco, red and blue and yellow, very Almodovar. We lie in a bed heaped with cushions shaped like fruit. And on the table next to the bed is yet another bowl of real fruit.

He sings "High flying adored" as he unzips my dress. I feel his breath on the back of my neck. I sing, "I'd be surprisingly good for you" as I reach for the pineapple slices, which have…ahem…VERY BIG holes in them…

And I do believe the orange is blushing!