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Naples, Florida the twenty-first century, sometime during the 2020s

That morning, two women, who appeared to be uniformed housekeepers, very quietly slipped into a hotel room that had earlier been cleaned and now awaited its scheduled guests to check-in. While one stood as a lookout outside the room, the other woman placed brochures, some about karaoke night at the Irish Pub next door to the boutique hotel, throughout the room. She put them in the most conspicuous places possible where they couldn’t miss being noticed.

The two then entered a room just down the hall. Shortly after, they emerged in civilian attire and exited the floor by elevator with luggage in hand. One of the women called to the other, “Hurry, sweetie, we don’t want to bump into our friends before they officially meet us.”

Trevor Wilson had lost a bet to Michael O’Connor, the owner of Patrick O’Connor’s Irish Pub. Trevor would tend the bar for eight hours, which he hadn’t done since he struggled to make ends meet through college. He was about halfway through his shift with twelve bucks in tips and a fortune from a fortune cookie some barfly had left behind in his tip jar that said, “Destiny can never be denied or avoided.”

Now was his chance; with Michael in the kitchen, he’d have a quick shot of free top-shelf single malt scotch whiskey to keep his buzz going. At that moment, Clyde McDonnell walked in and called back to the kitchen with a thick Scottish accent, “Michael. Are you back there? You human-sized bag of maggot infested, rotted pus-filled haggis?”

Michael emerged and called back. “What brings you in so early, you Scottish bastard? Did your favorite porn site reject your credit card again?”

“Nice to see you too, you daffed fuck. No, I just wanted to talk to good friends and drink your overpriced, watered-down whiskey on karaoke night.”

“Careful with this one, Trevor, me boy. As you know, Clyde is a scoundrel through and through. And perverted to the core. I’ll prove it. Clyde, if I had a time machine, I’d go back and kill baby Hitler, would you?”

“Michael, this is a silly conversation. I mean, really, where would I find this time machine?”

“Good god, Clyde, I don’t know. Pretend you’re going back to the loo, and the line is out the door. Being your typical self, you decide to relieve yourself in the alley. When you arrive in the alley, you find the Tardis with the door open.”

“That’s because you only have one urinal and one stall in the men’s loo. Michael, if the Tardis is in the alley behind the tavern with the door open, then where is the Doctor?”

“For God's sake man, he was in the line waiting to get into the loo. Doctor Who isn't a pig like you, Clyde, so he doesn't urinate in the alley. He is in a hurry; that's why he left the door open to the Tardis. And Trevor, don't you tell us what the acronym Tardis means? We're from Ireland and

the UK, you know. Just answer the fucking question, Clyde. What would you do if you had a time machine? Would you kill Hitler?”

“No, I’d answer the age-old riddle of the century.”

“And what would that be, Clyde,” Trevor interjected.

“Ginger or Mary Ann.”

“What?” Michael asked.

Clyde exclaimed, “All men have a dream girl preference: glamorous Tina Louise or corn-fed Midwestern Dawn Wells. Who would be the better lover?”

“No, Clyde, you got it all wrong. The question is, are you the kind of guy who would prefer to date Ginger or Mary Ann?” Trevor explained.

“How the hell would I know unless I had a time machine and went back and seduced both of the lasses when they were young? Then I would, from experience, know who the better lover was and whom I would date,” Clyde exclaimed.

“Like either one of them would even take a second glance at you, Clyde. How about you, Trevor? Which one would you want to date?” Michael asked.

“Elizabeth Montgomery.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, the question wasn’t Serena or Samantha from Bewitched. It was Mary Ann or Ginger from Gilligan’s Island.”

“Give him a break, you ugly troll, he loves witches and bitches.” Michael replied.

“Not so. OKAY, what’s your preference, Michael?”

“None, 99 percent of all women in those days did no landscaping. Just a giant hairy forest down below. From my modern preference, that is no better than making love to a Neanderthal or a Sasquatch. I keep myself very well-groomed, and I expect it to be reciprocated.

“A time machine for sex, especially, is a waste unless you do something monumental, like stopping the blitz by drowning baby Hitler in the loo. And then, just maybe, if I did lower myself to your gutter view of the world, Clyde, on the way back, stop in the sixties and find Agent Ninety-Nine from Get Smart, but only if she’d willingly submit to a Brazilian wax first.”

“My god, Micheal, you’re a shallow swine. You insult the glory of a natural woman. Women can choose how their bodies are manicured, and they don’t need anyone like you dictating to them. Michael, your last three ex-wives told me that every time you buy a house, you rake up all the mulch from around the shrubs and replace it with smooth stones. You also rip out brand-new

wall-to-wall carpet, replacing it with either wood, tile, or laminate flooring. Some sort of fear,fetish, or prejudice is lurking in your psyche, man.”

The crude, irrelevant conversation abruptly died as Trevor looked across the beautiful century-old bar Mike’s grandfather had built. Clyde and Michael had begun to set the equipment up for karaoke night. Looking around the room at the mahogany woodwork beautifully carved with ornate details, he briefly admired it. With that done, he thought about how damn boring the rest of this night was going to be.

Unknown to him, this would be the defining moment in which the word “boring” would ever again describe the passage of even a single moment for the rest of his life.

Trevor flipped through the TV channels to hear bits of the news. He stopped at one channel that interested him for a few minutes. “Yes, the Pentagon has confirmed that the information leaked to the press that another UAP, Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon, an event involving fighters from the US Navy Carrier, USS Gerald R. Ford, occurred in the Atlantic off the coast of

Puerto Rico seven months ago is true. This incident was said to be much more intense than the famous Tic Tac UFO encounters dating back to 2004.”

Suddenly, Trent Knowles spoke up. He was the only patron at the bar and had been quietly sitting, except for ordering boiler makers. He spoke up about the news of the Tic Tac UFO. “Trevor, I want to tell you something, and I’d better never read about it in any of your future books or stories online. I went toe to toe with one of those fucking Tic Tac things and all the other UAPs that day.”

“Wow! You were an F-18 Pilot on the USS Nimitz in 2004?”

“Yes, and that fucking thing wasn’t part of whatever was controlling the other UFOs that day. What I say now isn’t public knowledge. After our initial debriefing, the other pilots and I were interviewed by scientists and engineers. I learned from all their lines of questioning that the Tic Tac was as far beyond the other UFOs in technology as those UFOs were beyond our F-18 Super

Hornets.

“And Trevor, whatever thing piloted the others was an unusual intelligence, testing and observing us, but the Tic Tac craft was piloted by a motherfucking asshole. Rude, seeming to derive fun from taunting our F-18s and the UAPs all around us, I could feel it. If I could have gotten my hands on the pilot of the Tic Tac, I would have beat it to a bloody pulp.

“The Tic Tac would run at the others and somehow could affect their propulsion because their paths were disturbed as it passed them. We had hundreds of radar contacts then. What I could only call a saucer-shaped mothership four times the size of the Nimitz showed up, and the Tic

Tac thing drove it under the waves by harassing it. It was wild, like an elephant running from a horsefly.

“I told your very sexy girlfriend, Jane, all about it. She has nearly expert knowledge of naval aviation. I learned when we were both drinking one night while you and that hot-ass Cuban secretary of yours played pool with your obnoxious android friend, Mr. Data.”

“Trent, Lee never liked your nickname for him. And that always hurts him a little when you insinuate he’s not really a human being but a machine because he’s highly intelligent. His brilliance and snideness do rub people the wrong way, but his feelings are delicate, to say the least.”

Trent paid off his tab and walked home. Trevor shut off the volume, switching over to a ballgame as soon as the remainder of the news began to bore him. Then Clyde proved what a relic he truly was. Trevor hadn’t realized it was karaoke night when he agreed to work off his bet. Michael’s vintage karaoke machine began to play songs that had long been forgotten.

Clyde started with the House of the Rising Sun, sung surprisingly well on his part. Trevor let the bar staff take over, and he strayed to the kitchen to avoid the torturous wailings that would come as the karaoke continued.

About midway through Clyde’s rendition, he and Michael noticed two absolutely drop-dead gorgeous women walk in. The first was a redhead who brought back vivid memories to Clyde of long-ago romances with Scottish lasses when he was young. Then the blonde entered, and the lights in the room seemed to flicker. Michael looked at Clyde, sliding his hand into his shirt

between buttons, and made a gesture of his heart beating.

As the first song ended, they watched the server drop off two beers to the girls, who were now sitting at the foot of the stage. Michael looked at them, and the server joined him on stage as Clyde called down to the redhead.

“Where are you from, lass?”

She replied, “I was born in Nova Scotia.”

Clyde laughed and said, “Aye, I see the Scott in you.” Then he asked about the blonde. She replied, “Dawn is from Québec.”

Michael said, “Oui. Oui.” He then announced a dedication for the Canadian ladies, Sweet’s Fox on the Run, and they began. Then Dawn, the blonde, turned and spotted Trevor in the back of the bar. She nearly choked, spitting a mouth full of beer in the redhead’s direction. Dawn made sure she pointed him out to

her companion and ran for the ladies’ room with her friend in tow.

Dawn shouted, “What the Fuck, Bridget! Tonight was supposed to be a time for me to rest. I’m not ready. Tomorrow was the plan. You put this bloody brochure in the room to lure me, knowing he would be here.” She held up the paper she retrieved from her purse and shook it at Bridget. And at that, she slapped Bridget across the face.

Bridget, crying, said, “I didn’t, I swear. It’s fate.”

Dawn composed herself. “No, it’s not fate. If not you, then it’s the hand of God. I’m being silly. How do I look? Now is as good a time as any. Sorry, I smacked you. I guess I am a little nervous.”

“You nervous, bullshit. You eat men alive. He will see you and shit like they all do. Like I did years ago when I saw you, it was love at first sight. He’s just a man, and like all men, he follows his penis around without engaging his brain. Use your pheromones, and he’ll crawl to you.”

“He isn’t just a worthless man, Bridget, you know that, or we wouldn’t be here. No pheromones, not tonight. That’s cheating, and then every person in the bar will be crawling, and a giant bar orgy will ensue. How do I look?” she asked two other ladies in the restroom. Dawn asked if they had lipstick, which she used to redden her cheeks slightly.

A very tall, beautiful African American lady took charge. “I’m Theresa, girls, a commercial makeup artist. I work at MAC and freelance for movie productions from time to time. What’s the emergency?”

“Hi, nice to meet you. Yes, we could use your help. I’m Bridget, and this is my friend, Dawn. She’s about to meet her male soulmate, the bartender out there. She wasn’t to meet him until tomorrow, but he’s here tonight. She needs to look her best. We were out for a casual night, and she’s not dolled up.”

Dawn lashed out angrily and proclaimed loudly, “Bridget, dolled up. You’re a damn bitch; you set me up, I just know it.”

“Now, girls,” Theresa said as she took out her makeup and began to work. 

“I’m the answer to your little dilemma. And that’s Trevor Wilson out at the bar tonight. He’s Michael’s buddy and my dear friend too. Don’t know why he’s at the bar, he sure doesn’t work here. So, you have a blind date with him tomorrow and didn’t know he’d be here? Well, he’s a catch, so let’s just accent your beauty. Girl, you are a knockout already. He’ll flip when I’m finished. Sexy, sultry, or sophisticated. What look do you want?”

Bridget replied, “Sophisticatedly slutty, you know, like a stripper on her night off.”

“Fuck off, Bridget,” Dawn screamed with a fiery intensity.

“Easy girls, you sure you want Trevor? The sexual tension is enormous between you two.”

“No, it’s Okay. Actually, we make love to one another often, but it’s not that I assure you,” Dawn responded nonchalantly.

“Not my business, but it’s obvious to me that in the few minutes we’ve been here, you two have been fighting like an old married couple.”

“We used to be married when I was a man and a few times before that as a woman, too,” 

Bridget replied. Theresa said, “Honey, I’m transitioning myself. Once, I was Terence, and now, I’m Theresa. I can identify with you, girl.”

“I was a man in an entirely different body, but that was ages ago. In truth, it was in another lifetime.”

“I feel you.”

“No, you don’t feel her. Theresa, this bitch was a man in a previous life and was married to me. The body you see standing before you is the gender she was born into in this incarnation. Reincarnation is what she is referring to. We have both been different genders.” Dawn shouted. 

“Well, I believe her. I may even become a Buddhist; did you learn this through hypnotic regression?”

“Yes, you could say so. Dawn and I have been together for centuries, our souls in many different bodies along the way.”

Looking in the mirror, Dawn said, “And Bridget, you are no less the ruddy manipulative slut you ever were, even after what feels like an eternity. But I do love you, all the same; just don’t surprise me again. Thanks, Theresa, you’re great. Theresa, how far along is your transition?”

“Honey, as far as I could afford so far, things are on hold. My insurance doesn’t cover much.”

Dawn reached into her purse and handed Theresa a business card. “Call this number, and Felix will answer. Read the ten numbers on the card to him, and if you’re OK with it, he’ll set you up at a special clinic in Canada. They will help you. And it won’t cost you a penny. I’ve been blessed with enormous resources, and I help anyone who reaches out to me in kindness when I can.”

“You must be something rich, girl.”

“Yes, but I’m not selfish. I share my wealth like my love with those I can,” Dawn replied, smiling.

“You can love me anytime. Now let’s get out there; I hope you are going to sing for Trevor.”

In a sweet tone, Bridget replied, “Come on, we’re here to unwind. I know it’s been hard for you since I took your future MIL to settle in. You’ll see her soon enough. So, let’s dance a little, and you do have to sing for him. She’s right, and when he hears your voice, he will fall for you as quickly as I did the day your mother had you sing at the Temple courtyard. You know the

perfect tune, love. Relax, Crystal, you’ve got this.”

They rejoined the rest in the bar. Clyde, Michael, and several others were up on stage and began singing Saturday Night by the Bay City Rollers. Then Bridget, Dawn, and Theresa climbed up onto the stage. They danced with each other like professional dancers. Then Bridget took one of the microphones, leaving Clyde and Michael sharing a mic. 

It was obvious the girls were having the time of their lives and started singing along with the music. And all this time, Trevor was oblivious to them and their antics. 

After the song finished with Clyde’s help, Dawn found the song she wanted and cued it. Bridget stealthily left the stage, and shortly after the music started, she slipped out of the bar and into the night unnoticed. The song played from what seemed like a thousand years ago to Trevor.

A song that Trevor’s mother loved and listened to before he was born. She’d played this tune throughout his childhood. It was Olivia Newton-John’s 1980 mega-hit, Magic. Trevor turned around when he heard the powerful voice of an angel. Wow, he thought to himself as he looked up at the stage. If the word perfection were to manifest itself into a human form, then perfection had just walked into the bar and climbed up on stage while his attention had been elsewhere. He lost his breath.

She was blonde (he preferred brunettes with dark, mysterious eyes and brown skin, but it didn’t matter with this beauty) with wavy cascading hair reaching down her back to her waist. Her eyes were a piercing blue within blue he could see from across the room. She stood about five-foot-eight but looked much taller in her stiletto heels. Her skin was a radiant color, appearing to have a slight tan. Then, there was this woman's face, which the gods must have

sculpted.

He was instantly smitten and felt she was singing this song to him. As the song continued, she mesmerized him like a snake charmer would a cobra. He swayed with the music and felt something within him awaken, something profound and good, yet potentially equally dark. 

The lyrics she sang said, “Destiny will arrive; I will bring all your dreams alive for you.” He swore the lights suddenly brightened in the room. He felt goosebumps upon goosebumps. As soon as the song ended, after the applause and Clyde whistling like some ingrate, Dawn gracefully took a bow, left the stage, and then walked across the room to sit directly on a bar

stool in front of Trevor. He smiled and said, “That’s my mother’s favorite song of all time. It gives me the willies to hear it, but not this time; you were awesome. What’s your name? And what will you have?” he continued after a short awkward pause. 

Then she spoke with a voice that caused him to nearly tremble. He couldn’t place her accent, so he guessed South African or maybe New Zealand. “I love nostalgic songs, especially this one. When I sing in a crowd, I pick just one person to sing to, and the rest fade away, no matter how many there are. I love singing this one on a karaoke night, especially to the right person. In fact,

it was absolutely the most appropriate tune possible tonight. My name is Dawn, Trevor. I’ll have a… whatever fruity drink is your favorite version of the perfect cocktail with extra strawberries.”

He composed himself with a quick, snappy comeback, “OKAY, my dear, using the word perfect and fruity in the same sentence with the word drink to describe the work of a master mixologist could be considered blasphemy by me. But as close as you can get would be my extra

strawberry and kiwi daiquiri… And how do you know my name?” he returned with a puzzled look.

“Your name tag, silly, I suppose,” she said without looking up. She looked down into her purse just before hanging it on the back of her barstool.

“My name tag says Bill, and I don’t think we’ve ever met. I believe I’d remember you if we’d ever occupied the same room together at the same time. Including a sports arena.”

She made a funny little smiley grimace, looking directly into his eyes. He noticed her eyes in much more detail. They were piercing light blue, framed inside and out by bands of darker blue. They were so gorgeous and almost appeared to be illuminated from within because of the contrast of colors. She then took the drink and, after a big gulp, replied, “Thanks for the compliment, I think, but my bad, I must confess to being one of your groupies.”

“Groupies?”

“Yes, your website, silly. The big announcement was that you were compiling your short stories into a book and would be at the bookshop on the corner tomorrow for a signing.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the published book. It’s just sort of a get-to-know-each-other kind of thing. So many people were asking on the message board for it,” he said in a bit of a shy manner.

“But on the message board, you said you would sign any printed pages from the website we bring along.”

“Yes, I did. So...”

“So, how did I find you here? Do you think I methodically hunted you down across space and

time like a science fiction psychotic stalker from one of your stories?” she replied with a giggle.

“No. Would you like another drink?

“Yes, please.”

Trevor made a second cocktail for Dawn, and after he finished, he said, “Back to our conversation, how did you find me here?” 

She smiled and gulped her second drink. “Just a miraculous coincidence, I’m afraid, because of a karaoke flyer in my hotel room. Otherwise, I’d never have come out tonight. My girlfriendand I saw the karaoke sign outside as well. Plus, we truly felt like having a drink or two.

*** TO BE CONTINUED **