A Sweetheart of a Performance

 

 

Mara Jade Skywalker couldn't believe her eyes.  It was the first Sweetheart's Day since their wedding, and farmboy sent her flowers.  She leaned forward, inhaling the sweet scent of the burneisse roses for the third time since their delivery.  It was then that she finally noticed the small envelope tucked inside the dense foliage.  Another surprise?

 

Carefully pulling out the envelope without getting pricked, Mara began to imagine what flowery sweet-nothings he might have penned in her honor.  To her astonishment, two tickets were the first to fall out – tickets to the symphonic ballet!  She knew Luke was not a fan of 'grown men flitting around a stage,' as he indelicately put it.  So to actually buy tickets to the newest show on Coruscant, L'Amick d'Affee, was proof of his unselfish love for her.  Not that she needed proof, of course.  She couldn't have imagined a more devoted husband.

 

A small folded note accompanied the tickets, and she opened it in anticipation.

 

 

My dearest Mara,

 

Knowing how fond you are of ballet, I wanted to be sure you didn't miss the premiere performance of what is sure to be an instant sensation.  Your presence there will be the highlight of my life.

 

Yours,

L

 

 

The highlight of his life?  Not exactly the wording she would have expected, but she guessed he was just going out of his way to please her.  She checked the date on the tickets, both delighted and startled to see that they were for that very evening.  What would she wear?  A premiere to a show was important in its own right, but this particular performance was an offering by an old acquaintance of hers from her days in the Imperial Court, a renowned choreographer in his day.  She hadn't been aware that he was creating again.  Perhaps the recent treaty with the Imperial Remnant had brought him out of retirement.

 

The rest of the day was spent on an activity that Mara normally abhorred – shopping.  But this was a special occasion, and she wanted her attire to be equally special. 

 

 

~~~

 

 

Clutching a small bouquet of serra-lilies as he approached his door, Luke Skywalker was still worried if his modest choice for a Sweetheart's Day present would be appropriate.  Mara had made numerous derogatory comments ever since their engagement about the nonsense of wasting credits on sentimental frivolity, especially anything involving holidays engineered specifically to encourage such excessive waste.  But on the other hand, she had seemed to relish her flower-festooned wedding gown, and the delicate matching bouquet she'd carried that memorable day.

 

Luke had considered asking Han for advice, or Wedge, or any of his other married friends.  But Mara would spot their influence, no matter what he purchased.  So he decided to just go with his gut instinct, and hope for the best.  Besides, he'd promised her they would do something special, whatever she liked.  He expected she'd just want to dine out.  What he couldn't have anticipated was the enthusiastic greeting he received as soon as he stepped through the door.

 

"Luke!"  Mara flew into his arms, hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe.  "You are so sweet," she cooed.   When she finally pulled back from a lengthy kiss, she noticed the serra-lilies he still held.  "Lilies, too!  Oh, Luke, you shouldn't have!"  She favored him with one more kiss.  "But I'm so glad you did.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

 

She's getting awfully excited about a few flowers, Luke thought.  "You don't have to thank me," he said cautiously.

 

"Are you kidding?!"  Mara began waving around two flimsies that looked suspiciously like tickets.  "The symphonic ballet!  I couldn't have asked for a better Sweetheart's Day present."

 

Luke managed to keep a smile plastered on his face.  So she picked the ballet to be her 'special treat.'  Well, if that made her happy, he could suffer through it for one evening.  "And here I thought you might only want to have dinner out," he said teasingly.

 

"Oh, we'll do that, too," Mara assured him with a grin.  "I have to get my money's worth out of my new outfit."

 

"You went shopping, too?"  Luke looked around their common room, his eyes falling on a large bouquet of some kind of roses.  Shopping for things in addition to clothes, it seemed.  Or maybe Han and Leia sent them.  He wandered over to the table, letting his fingers brush against the delicate petals.  He didn't see any card. 

 

"Aren't they beautiful?" Mara whispered, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. 

 

Luke turned, running his hand through her silky hair.  "Not as beautiful as you, love."  If she wanted to buy flowers for herself, who was he to object?  He could handle 'romantic Mara' any day of the week.

 

 

~~~  

 

 

Mara rubbed her eyes with her free hand, trying her best to endure the swirling lights and musical disaster on the stage below them.  She could feel Luke massaging his thumb across the back of her other hand, and she turned to see him gazing at her in concern. 

 

"Are you all right?" he whispered.  "You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

 

Oh, her sweet, darling husband.  He had just been trying to make her happy, and she thought she would be happy to attend the ballet.  But this had to be the most depressing excuse for classical entertainment that she'd ever witnessed.  The dancers' fouettés were flat, their arabesques were appalling; they were constantly out of sync with the tempo of the music.  Not that she could blame them – the rhythm was … non-existent.  Even Luke couldn't help squirming in his seat, though he maintained a stiff upper lip for her benefit.

 

And what was worse, the holopress hadn't missed her and Luke's entrance to the theater.  The backers of this debacle would no doubt play up the Skywalkers' attendance as a resounding recommendation.

 

"I'm fine," she returned quietly.   He gave her a brave smile, and she contented herself with leaning against his shoulder in the shadowy darkness of their private booth.

 

Slipping out of the theater as soon as the curtain began lowering, Luke and Mara hurried back to their cozy apartment. 

 

"Luke, about the ballet," Mara started to apologize.  "I know it wasn't—"

 

"Shhh…"  Luke put a finger against Mara's red lips.  "The ballet isn't what is on my mind right now."  He moved his finger to the shoulder brooch of her silky gown.  "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

 

Mara nodded softly.  "This dress is very close to what I wore on one of my first training exercises, infiltrating a moff's ball."

 

Luke paused, his hand hovering motionless over the ornate decoration.  "This isn't going to explode, is it?"

 

Laughing lightly, Mara moved closer into his embrace, then began tugging him toward the bedroom.  "Perhaps we should remove it, just to be sure."

 

"Will your gown fall down if I do?" Luke teased, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

 

"My, my, Master Skywalker, what a flirtatious mood you're in tonight."  Mara brought her hands up to his shoulders, pushing off his formal jacket as she ran her fingers down his back.

 

"It is Sweetheart's Day," he murmured, pulling her down onto their bed.  "And I finally have my sweetheart with me to share it."

 

"All right," she drawled, kissing his nose, his chin, his cheek.  "But I'm expecting all that saved up ardor to produce great results."

 

"You'll have to be the judge of that."  Luke nuzzled her shoulder, tossing her gown's jewelry to the side.

 

"Oh, I will," she returned, moaning softly.  "I will."

 

 

~~~

 

 

Dawn had not yet broken when Mara padded quietly into the kitchen and brewed a cup of calde tea.  She'd been lying awake for more than an hour, the events of the previous day rolling around in her mind with reckless abandon.  Clawing at the forefront of her thoughts was irritation at how miserable the ballet proved to be.  She had anticipated it would be at the same level of excellence that Maestro Scorani's past presentations had been.  She could remember the emperor taking her to his ballets when she was still a young girl.

 

Mara knew this wasn't a case of her tastes changing over the years.  Palpatine had taken great pains to instruct her in the fine arts.  She could pass for an expert in any number of fields, or blend in at even the most ostentatious social gathering.  So it had been all she could do to keep from cringing during the entire performance.  But she was careful to keep her deep disappointment hidden from Luke's probing senses.  It wasn't his fault that the ballet was such a let-down.

 

It was Lenerial Scorani's fault.  Mara felt betrayed by the old maestro.   She knew it was irrational to feel that way.   Scorani couldn't have known that Luke would buy tickets to that particular performance.   But she felt it was her duty to let Scorani know what she thought, and that even though she and Luke attended the show, they were in no way endorsing it.

 

With a determined sense of responsibility, Mara dug out her datapad and began to type.  

    

 

Master S,

 

I realize I should be speaking to you face to face on this matter, but I don't trust myself to maintain any semblance of calmness if I did so.

 

To say your performance last night was a disappointment would be a major understatement.  I have never witnessed such a poor excuse for what should have been a most gratifying experience.  If you think that is what I find pleasurable, you don't know me at all.  It certainly was a far cry from what I expected of you, and from your skillful expertise that I have encountered in the past.

 

If my opinion has offended you, I am sorry.  But I felt that to keep quiet would be the greater offense.

 

Sincerest Regrets,

 

Mara

 

 

Taking a sip of her tea, Mara forced herself to calm down.  After all, that appalling ballet notwithstanding, her first Sweetheart's Day had been very special.  Luke had been so good to her, with the flowers, and the tickets, and the night of steamy passion.  She wasn't sure how she could ever repay him.

 

The beeping of the comm jerked Mara out of her reverie, and she rushed to answer it before it woke Luke. 

 

"Talon," Mara acknowledged as her employer's face materialized on the screen.  "Do you know what time it is?"

 

"Yes, I am sorry to be calling so early," Karrde apologized.  "I do hope I didn't wake you."

 

"No, I was up."  Mara pulled her robe a little more closed, and wondered how disheveled her hair looked.  

 

"Good.  Listen, Aves just landed with what was supposed to be that shipment of guidium, but it seems there's been a major mix-up with it.   Since you've been overseeing this trade, I thought you'd want to be involved."

 

Mara sighed wearily.  "Give me an hour.  And don't let anyone touch anything."

 

"Of course."  Karrde nodded his head, and the transmission ended.

 

Mara sent a tendril of the Force into the bedroom, relieved to find that Luke was still sound asleep, then glanced at the datapad lying in her lap.  If she could take the time to write Master Scorani a scathing letter, surely she could spare a minute to leave a note for her beloved husband.

 

 

My dearest L,

 

You can't believe how much yesterday meant to me.  You know me so well – the ballet tickets and the flowers were the perfect gift.  And your own 'performance' last night – simply unbelievable.  I am such a lucky woman.  I can't put into words how much you mean to me, but ever since I first met you all those years ago, you have been in my thoughts every minute of every day.  And in a much better context than you are probably thinking right now!

 

I only wish that our careers didn't keep us apart so much.  I look forward to the day when my obligations to Karrde will cease, and I can join you in our shared vocation.

 

My heart hungers for your touch,

 

Mara

 

 

Glancing at the wall chrono, Mara knew she needed to hurry.  She rushed through a shower, then dressed quickly.

 

"Why are you up so early?" Luke mumbled, eying her sleepily from under the rumpled covers.

 

"I have to go straighten out a mess for Talon," Mara explained, leaning over to kiss him and pushing him back down when he started to rise.  "Go back to sleep.  That's an order."

 

Groaning an acquiescence, Luke turned over and, surprisingly, complied.  I must have really worn him out last night, Mara thought with a smile, tiptoeing out of the bedroom.

 

Mara was already headed for the door when she realized she hadn't sent the letter to Maestro Scorani yet.  She hurriedly found his address code in the city-net directory, then punched SEND, wishing for all the world that she could just crawl back into bed with her beloved.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Golden light peeking in through the bedroom's filtering blinds left a zigzag pattern of sunshine across the vinda-down comforter.  But it wasn't the light that woke Luke Skywalker.  It was the emptiness next to him that should have been filled with the warmth of his beautiful wife.  He reached out for her presence, and got a 'I love you, but I'm busy' signal.  Clearing his foggy mind, he remembered her leaving for work.  He couldn't wait for the day when she could finally disentangle herself from Karrde's organization.

 

Luke trudged out to the kitchen and fixed a cup of caf, then slumped into his favorite lounger to watch the morning holonet news.  The entertainment beat was starting, and he groaned when he saw that the holorags hadn't missed his and Mara's attendance at that Force-forsaken ballet.  He wasn't sure what Mara saw in the psychedelic spectacle; he only hoped that she didn’t notice that he was meditating – all right, more like daydreaming – for at least half the show.

 

It was while he was reaching for the holonet controller that he noticed the datapad lying on the caf table.

 

Master S,

 

Luke grinned to himself.  She had teasingly called him Master last night.  This being married business was more fun than he had imagined.

 

... don't trust myself to maintain any semblance of calmness ...

 

Neither one of them had maintained much calmness.  Though she was being rather formal, for a love letter.  Luke slowly began to frown. 

 

... your performance ... a disappointment ...

 

Luke's breath caught in his throat, and he barely noticed his hand had started trembling until hot caf sloshed over the rim of his mug.  He paid it no mind.

 

 ...poor excuse for what should have been a most gratifying ...  If you think that is what I find pleasurable, you don't know me at all ... 

 

His frantic mind began replaying every detail from the previous evening.  Once they had returned from the ballet, he thought everything had been perfect.  He had considered it some of their best love-making since their honeymoon.  Was she merely upset because she'd had to buy her own Sweetheart present? 

 

  … a far cry from what I expected of you, and from your skillful expertise that I have encountered in the past.

 

Why didn't he sense anything was wrong?   How could he have possibly misread her emotions? 

 

Sincerest Regrets,

Mara

 

 

Luke began pacing around the apartment, his mind in turmoil.  Why wouldn't she have talked to him about something of this magnitude?  Was going off to help Karrde more important than their marriage?  He should've gotten up when he heard her stirring about that morning.    ... Sincerest Regrets ...   He should've felt her unhappiness.   ... Sincerest Regrets ...   He should've known ...

 

With a cry of anguish, Luke slammed his caf mug against the balcony doors, startling a pair of ruary doves that had been trilling outside in the crisp morning air.  Even the birds are more compatible than we are, Luke thought in despair.  He willed himself to calm down.  There is no emotion, there is peace. 

 

He'd been so sure that the old Jedi teachings that forbid marriage were misguided.  He had vowed to prove them wrong.  He thought he knew better.

 

Was he only fooling himself?

 

Bending over to pick up the broken pieces of his mug, Luke reflected how he'd seen Han and Leia have doozies of a fight, and their marriage was as strong as could be.  But he and Mara didn't have a fight.  She wasn't angry with him.  She was just ... disappointed.

 

And that was infinitely worse.

 

He needed to meditate.  Now.  Then he would seek out Mara, and ... and ...

 

And beg for her forgiveness.

 

 

~~~

 

 

It was in the middle of a heated comm call with the guidium supplier that Mara had felt shock, then a spike of anger coming from Luke, before he threw up a wall around his emotions.  Excusing herself as soon as she was able, she was just returning to their apartment building and was heading for the turbolift when a stooped figure with wisps of white hair stepped into her path.

 

"Master Scorani!"

 

"Mara, my dear, I was just coming to offer you a profound apology."  The elderly maestro clasped Mara's hand, regret shining in his watery eyes.  "Though I was pleased to catch a glimpse of you at yesterday's premiere of L'Amick d'Affee, I was also deeply embarrassed that you witnessed such an abomination.  It was a production choreographed solely by my great-nephew, Choerog.   I foolishly let him use my name to promote the show, though I had not seen even one rehearsal."

 

"Oh, Master Scorani, it is I who should apologize."  Mara instantly felt ashamed at her hasty action that morning.  "I should have known the ballet could not possibly have been your work.  I just dashed off that letter without thinking."

 

A puzzled look came over Scorani's haggard features.  "But the letter ..."  He shook his head.   "When I received it this morning, I realized something was amiss.  I did not send you any tickets to L'Amick d'Affee." 

 

"I know you didn't," Mara said, frowning.  Luke gave her the tickets, so why ...   

 

"Ah, you are perceptive."  Scorani smiled sadly.  "Yes, it was Choerog.   He took the liberty of sending them to you under my name.  You see, while we were watching your wedding on the holonet, I made the comment that I had had the privilege of befriending you many years ago.  Choerog remembered the comment, and used my friendship with you to his own selfish advantage.  He thought your presence would serve to bolster the show's reputation.

 

"And as to the rest of your message – it was kind of you to be so flattering, but many of your words seemed more suited to a lover than a friend who is old enough to be your grandfather.  Mara, my dear child, you made an old man blush."

 

"Master Scorani, I'm afraid you are confused."  Mara was feeling more and more confused herself.  "The letter I sent you was not complimentary at all."  A horrific thought suddenly began gnawing at Mara's gut.  "Do you happen to have the note with you?"

 

"Indeed, I do."  Scorani slowly pulled a print-out from his robe's pocket and handed it to her.

 

Mara only had to glance at the beginning to know her fears were justified.  And if she sent this message to Scorani by mistake, that meant ...  Oh, no!  "Master Scorani, excuse me, I need to see my husband immediately."  She paused, then impulsively reached out and took the old man's arm.  "On second thought, perhaps having you along will help explain things."

 

Practically dragging the doddering maestro to the lift, Mara impatiently punched in the code for her floor, then hurried down the hallway as soon as the doors opened.  Daring to reach out through the Force for Luke's presence, she recoiled inwardly when she found he was still blocking her.  When she opened their door, he was standing near the window, arms crossed, his back to her. 

 

"Luke, there's been an awful mistake," Mara began.

 

Perhaps sensing that she was not alone, Luke turned around slowly, and Mara cringed when she saw how stricken he looked.

 

"Luke, you got the wrong letter."

 

"It was addressed to me," he returned in an even voice.  Mara could see how he was using the Force to control his emotions.

 

"No, it wasn't," she countered.   "It was—"   She reached back and pulled the maestro forward.  "Luke, this is Lenerial Scorani, the famous conductor whom I thought had produced last night's ballet."  She gave Luke an imploring look.  "I used to call him 'Master S' when I was a young girl."

 

Luke finally directed his gaze at the slight figure in musician's robes, looking him up and down, then returned his attention to Mara.  "You wrote that derogatory letter to ... him?"

 

"No, not exactly.  It was actually for his great-nephew.  Choerog Scorani.  It was a terrible misunderstanding," Mara reiterated.  She thrust Scorani's flimsy in front of Luke's face.  "This is the other letter I wrote."

 

The tension in Luke's posture gradually increased as he scanned the tender sentiments.  "You sent Master Scorani a love letter?  He's your 'dearest L'?  I knew you liked dancing and ballet and all that artsy stuff, but I didn't know you secretly wanted it to be your life's vocation."

 

Mara's eyes grew wide. "My life's vocation?  No ... no, Luke. Aren't you listening? That was meant for you!"

 

"Me?  I already have a vocation.  I don't want to be a dancer."

 

Mara growled in frustration.

 

"Listen, if joining his ballet troupe is what you really want," Luke continued, rolling the flimsy in one hand and pointing it toward the maestro, "then I won't stand in your way."

 

"That's not what I want!"

"So you say. I think you're just trying to ..." Luke trailed off, the most pathetic look Mara had ever seen plastered on his face.

"I'm trying to, what?"

"Hide your love for Master Scorani?"  Luke shifted restlessly.

Mara was shocked.  What in blazes had gotten into him?  "You think I'm having an affair with Master Scorani?"

It was the old man's turn to look stunned. "Master Skywalker, I can assure you I've never even considered having an affair with your wife."

Mara swung around to face the maestro. "Why?"

"Why?" the old man croaked back. "You're ... married!"

"Mara ..." Luke tried to interrupt.

"So I'm not pretty enough for you?" Mara continued, not caring that the maestro was shrinking further away.

"Mara ..." Luke said, louder.

"WHAT?"

"I was kidding." When her stony face remained unchanged, Luke tried again. "Teasing. I knew right away you meant to send this note to me.  Ha ha?"

"You thought it was a good time to make a joke?" Mara snapped out. "That wasn't funny."

"Well, apparently I'm not good at that sort of thing," Luke said lamely.

Master Scorani's eyes widened as he seemed to realize what was going on.  "Master Skywalker, please forgive me for reading what was obviously a very personal message for you.  If I had known—"

 

Luke slipped the letter under his belt, then waved off the apology.  "Master Scorani, it is I who should be apologizing.  I sometimes get carried away with my attempts at humor.  I hope you won't hold it against me."  He offered his hand to the elderly maestro.   "It is a privilege to meet you, sir.  Mara has spoken highly of you.  She said you were one of the few honorable people she met while growing up on Coruscant."

 

Mara wilted with relief.  "It wasn't Master Scorani at all who produced last night's ballet; it was his great-nephew.  I was terribly wrong to assume the worst."

 

"As was I."  Luke let a slow smile creep onto his face.  "Then perhaps the mix-up was for the best."  He gave Mara a knowing glance, and she knew that he shared her relief that this aging gentleman hadn't read her belittling remarks. 

 

"So, am I to understand there is a letter here that should have been sent to me?"  Scorani asked, his brow furrowing quizzically. 

 

"No!" Luke and Mara replied at the same time.

 

"No," Mara repeated, softer this time.  "It was certainly not intended for you," she spared Luke a quick glance, "and it should never have been written in the first place."

 

"Then all is well," Master Scorani said.  "I shall take my leave, as I suspect you and your husband need to be alone together."

 

"Thank you, Master," Mara said, seeing him to the door.  "I appreciate your understanding."

 

"My dear, I only hope my great-nephew's meddling will not keep you from future performances.  I guarantee that I will personally oversee the rest of his productions."

 

"That would be a good idea."  Mara laughed, then hugged the maestro good-bye.  As the door slid shut, she turned to face Luke, who was struggling to resume a sullen glower.

 

"Knock it off, farmboy."  She crossed her arms.  "I know you're not angry any more.  And what was up with that 'affair' business?  That wasn't nice at all.  You could've given poor Master Scorani a heart attack.  Not to mention letting me think you'd gone off the deep end." 

 

"Master Scorani seemed like a good sport.  And don't tell me you didn't deserve it," he countered.  "At least a little bit."

 

"Luke, I can't believe you actually thought that first letter was for you," Mara chastised lightly, leading him by the hand to their couch. 

 

"What was I supposed to think?" he returned, sinking down into the soft cushions.  "I thought you liked that ballet, so how was I to know the letter was some kind of editorial critique of it?"  He glared at her, then stuck out his lip in a mock pout.  "From now on, you use full names on all correspondence, not just initials."

 

Mara glared right back, soaking in the amusement she was sensing from him.  "What about you taking credit for tickets and roses that you didn't even buy?"

 

"I never claimed to have bought them!" Luke protested.  "I thought you bought them yourself."

 

"I guess I should have, since apparently all you could spring for were a few lilies."

 

"I was afraid you wouldn't like it if I spent a ton of credits."  Luke wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.  "And I distinctly remember you saying last night that my actions were the best present you could have hoped for."

 

"Don't get smug."  Mara punched his shoulder playfully.  "You seemed plenty grateful for the 'gifts' I bestowed on you last night, too." 

 

Luke favored her with one of his special smiles that he reserved only for her.  "Are you saying that we should just stick to non-verbal communication from now on?"

 

"Well, you know what they say," Mara returned, pulling them down into a more horizontal position.  "Actions speak louder than words." 

 

 

THE END

 

 

Author's note:  Credit  and many thanks for the 'affair with Master Scorani' scene must go to my dear friend, PonyTricks.