Tziporah Salamon predicts, “Darling, we are going to help each other realize our dreams. Everything is a synchronicity.” She takes my hand in hers. We’re walking through The Standard, Downtown LA having met less than 24 hours ago in front of the elevator.
She’s wearing a 1920s Chinese two-piece silk suit, and sounds like she comes from another dimension. “Come to my room,” she says, “We’ll take a bath together.” “Okay,” I say, and now we’re arm-in-arm and she’s looking through my kaleidoscope glasses and laughing: “Fabulous, darling, marvelous!”
The day before, we were on the rooftop. Two boys were sitting alone, a warm LA breeze playing on their exposed skin. They, too, love looking through our kaleidoscopes, jumping into the pool, seeing rainbows: it’s happy hour. Later, we go down to the room for truffle fries and mac & cheese. It’s healing to be taken care of: soft, crisp white sheets tucked in, fresh folded towels. We tie the sheet to the ceiling, call it a fortress, a sacred sanctuary.
On the roof the next day, there’s a little girl with a mermaid tail. Tziporah is there, making her way into the Chinese New Year, dressed in all blue. She’s a fashion thoroughbred: her mother was a seamstress, her father was a tailor. She’s now 65 in human years: a starlet of Advanced Style. Tziporah was born with kaleidoscope eyes and her mission is to heal fashion. She says she found us in a bubble bath of the future where ladies are living outside of time, ageless, in red fabrics.
When the glasses break, Conor makes a monocle and we get a new angle on how to be together, in the fort or the shower. We have a dance party because they say laughing cures everything. When the sun reflects through the glasses, it makes beautiful rainbows on the walls, on our skin. We imagine all the cures to come: more chicken and waffles, kissing instead of checking phones, chocolates, magic made from past accidents, and lovely rooms to cure the winter blues.
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