Read Online Shalia's Diary by Tracy St. John - Free Book Online

I mean, no one has that many lashes, do they?  I didn’t feel quite so high maintenance with my dash of mascara and lipstick.
     
    “Thank you,” my mother said.  “My daughter Shalia is taking me out for my birthday.”
     
    I smiled, a little embarrassed.  It’s not Mom’s birthday.  Where she got that idea, I couldn’t tell.
     
    The blonde winked at me.  “Well, that’s so sweet of her!”  She leaned over to whisper in my ear.  “She tells us it’s her birthday every day.”  Then she sat up straight.  “I’m glad to meet you, Shalia.  My name is Fran.”
     
    I shook her hand.  “So you’ve gotten know my mom pretty well, I take it.”
     
    Another woman sitting across from me smiled.  She was brunette, with her shining dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.  Lip gloss seemed to be her only vice.  With her features, she didn’t need any more help than that.  “Eve sits with us for lunch every day.  My name is Patty.”
     
    “And I’m Deirdra,” the third, a chestnut brunette volunteered.  She sat next to Patty.  She had that perfect, polished look that said she was wearing a lot of makeup, but so expertly applied you couldn’t tell.
     
    Okay, I admit I felt very much the ugly duckling in the midst of swans.  I’d made good money in my job, enough to afford things many couldn’t.  But these women were the country club set.  Their clothes looked designer, and they wore them like people who were used to that kind of thing ... not like they’d looted the outfits after Armageddon.  They’d probably never worked a day in their pampered lives.  Eek.  Let the self-esteem plummet.
     
    Mom punched her lunch choices into the computer, and Patty waved her hands.  “Oh no, we were so busy talking we didn’t keep an eye on her!  What did you pick out to eat, Eve?”
     
    “Ronka and pilchok and mashed potatoes with gravy,” Mom said with glee.  “It’s my birthday.”  She clapped her hands in delight.
     
    Fran blew out a breath.  “Turn your back on her for an instant and she orders that Kalquorian poison.”  She glanced at Weln, and a snarl marred that oh-so civilized face.  In a whisper she added, “Those animals.  It’s bad enough they want to rape us all to give them monster babies.  Why do they have to tempt the defenseless who can’t serve their sinful lusts as well?”
     
    I was a little shaken.  She might have been quoting from one of my films.  It actually raised the hair on my arms to see such continued blind devotion to the now-erased government/Church mantra.
     
    “Order the baked chicken, Shalia,” Deirdra said.  It sounded like an command.  “It’s much better than that alien slop.”
     
    I could feel the antipathy boiling off my companions.  I wasn’t too crazy about being told what to eat, not by this pageant bunch anyway.  But I hadn’t had Kalquorian food.  Nayun had kept me on a diet of soft foods I was used to as I recuperated.  I didn’t know if I’d care for alien cuisine.
     
    Another consideration was this:  was what I ate for lunch worth fighting about?  In all the realm of moral issues, I thought diet ranked pretty low on the list.
     
    So I ordered the stupid chicken.  While the women around me chattered about the merits of the various colonies and the men they might find there to take care of them (I kid you not), I choked down the overcooked meat, rendered palatable by the admittedly delicious gravy that came with my mashed potatoes.
     
    Meanwhile, Mom’s food smelled delicious, and she looked happy as a clam chowing on it.  Fran, Patty, and Deirdra pointedly kept their eyes averted as she devoured her alien meal.  I wondered if they’d ever bothered to try it themselves.
     
    I couldn’t take it.  Finally I said, “I’d really like to know what it is she’s putting in her stomach.”  I pretended to scowl with concern.  “Mom, may I try a bite of your food?”
     
    Next to me, Fran