The Concierge Always Knows – Part I

—

in

The Concierge Always Knows
– Part I

Story Written by
Vivian Calder, Elena Vespari,
Giada Morelli, Lucía Calderón,
& Ines Marenko

Visual World & Imagery Inspired by
Serafina D’Alessi, Livia Moretti,
Alba Rinaldi, Celeste Marin, & Scott Bryant

Intimacy Coordination
Vivian Calder, Elena Vespari, & Giada Morelli

With care and reverance, their story is shared by
Scott Bryant at the direct request of Vivian Calder, Elena Vespari,
Giada Morelli, Lucía Calderón, & Ines Marenko

Act I
Horny in Robes, Drenched in Regret

Scene 1
“This Is All Going According to Plan”

Setting: Suite 3B, Villa Fiorella, Amalfi Coast. Late afternoon. The balcony doors are open to sun and sea breeze. The suite is elegantly furnished—modern minimalist with Mediterranean warmth. A bottle of prosecco chills in an ice bucket. Rose petals are scattered artfully across the bed. One pillow is askew.

At rise: ISADORA QUINN stands, holding a room service menu like it’s a final exam. She is in her thirties, stylish but clearly unraveling beneath the polish.

LUMIVORE V1 — PART I, IMAGE 1 “THE PILLOW AND THE PETAL” (Daylight Interior — Clean Pass) PROMPT A horizontal, cinematic photographic film still set inside a modern minimalist hotel suite at Villa Fiorella on the Amalfi Coast in late afternoon. The image reads as an incidental continuity frame, captured mid-action rather than composed for visual emphasis. Isadora Quinn is caught mid-gesture as she fluffs a pillow on the edge of an unmade bed. The pillow folds incorrectly and collapses sideways in her hands, slipping slightly from her grip and creasing at an awkward angle instead of holding its shape. She pauses. In her other hand, she holds a single rose petal — imperfect, slightly bruised, and unremarkable, pinched loosely between her fingers. It is unevenly lit and partially shadowed, barely worth noticing. She looks at it with quiet irritation, as if it is unintentionally mocking her. She wears a simple white hotel robe, loosely tied and slightly rumpled from use — not styled or draped for elegance. Her posture is subtly slouched and inward, the body language of someone whose plan is unraveling in real time. Her expression is restrained and unperformed: frustration edged with dry disbelief, not exaggerated, not comedic. Her face is only partially visible — a three-quarter profile or slight turn away — readable but not centered. The emphasis remains on gesture, posture, and hands, not facial beauty. Late-afternoon daylight filters through sheer curtains, uneven and imperfect. Balcony doors stand open, revealing only a soft, secondary blur of sea and hillside beyond. The view remains incidental. Bed linens are rumpled; the room feels lived-in rather than styled. The camera framing is observational and slightly off-center, as if the moment has been caught unintentionally. This is not a hero shot. Depth of field is shallow-to-moderate, with decisive focus on her hands, the collapsed pillow, and the rose petal. Shot on a real cinema prime lens with a committed focal plane and strong optical edge contrast, producing crisp detail in fabric and skin without digital sharpening. Clean photographic image with natural texture preserved; no added grain or noise. Background softness is natural and uneven, not smoothed. Color palette is warm but restrained — creams, soft whites, muted golds — with natural shadow and clean tonal transitions. NEGATIVE PROMPT No posed stance No centered framing No glamour lighting No romanticized rose-petal staging No symmetrical composition No exaggerated facial expressions No overt seduction No “hotel brochure” look No fashion editorial polish No artificial texture or noise FINAL INTENT A quiet, human moment of irritation and pause — an introduction through behavior, not appearance.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Okay. Okay. I’ve got this.
This is not a desperate move.
This is a bold, romantic gesture executed with charm and… imported luxury linens.

(She fluffs a pillow. It flops sideways. She glares at it, then picks up a single rose petal and stares at it like it’s mocking her.)

(to petal)
I am not projecting. You are literally decorative.

(She hurries to the bed and starts re-scattering the petals. Then stops. Looks at the mess.)

(to audience)
This is too much. It looks like I sacrificed a florist.

(She sweeps the petals off the bed. They land in a sad pile on the floor.)

Camila’s going to walk in here and think I’ve completely lost it.
Which—technically—not yet.

(A knock at the door. She freezes. Gathers herself. Breathes. Smiles like it’s rehearsed—because it is. She opens the door—)

LUMIVORE V1 — PART I, IMAGE 3 “SALOMÉ AT THE THRESHOLD” (Final Canon Generation Prompt) Prompt: A horizontal, cinematic prestige-film still set at Villa Fiorella on the Amalfi Coast in late afternoon, rendered in contemporary A24-style realism with subtle film grain, restrained contrast, and natural Mediterranean light. Salomé, a woman in her late 30s to early 40s, is captured mid-pause at the open doorway of a luxury hotel suite. She is partially framed, positioned asymmetrically at the edge of the composition so that only part of her body is visible. The framing emphasizes liminality — she is neither fully inside nor fully outside the room. She has a visually distinct appearance from Isadora: more angular, structured facial geometry sharp cheekbones and a firm jawline steady, unreadable eyes neutral mouth, no visible smile or softness Her hair is neatly styled and restrained, pulled back or cleanly shaped with no loose strands or romantic movement. She wears dark, minimalist concierge attire with clean tailoring and matte fabric that absorbs light. Her posture is upright, still, and economical — a woman who wastes no motion. The environment around her is unmistakably Italian and coastal: warm stone or plaster walls modern minimalist furnishings with Mediterranean warmth balcony doors open behind her, sheer curtains lifting slightly in the sea breeze golden late-afternoon light spilling into the suite Salomé herself remains cool by contrast, positioned in partial shadow or edge light. The warmth of the room passes behind her rather than illuminating her directly, reinforcing emotional restraint and authority. She does not look at the camera. Her gaze is directed slightly off-frame, as if already preparing to leave. Camera & Composition Notes: eye-level, observational camera doorway or architectural threshold framing asymmetrical composition significant negative space no romantic posing Tone: Quiet authority. Emotional containment. Liminal calm. A woman who belongs to the place — but never fully enters the room. ❌ NEGATIVE PROMPT / HARD RESTRICTIONS no resemblance to Isadora no warm or glowing skin highlights no soft, expressive, or inviting facial emotion no loose or flowing hair no glamour, pin-up, or editorial styling no centered composition no flirtation or overt romance no Scandinavian or urban hotel interiors no cool grey institutional corridors

SALOMÉ

Good afternoon, Signorina Quinn.
Your luggage was delivered to the wrong suite. Again. My sincerest apologies.

ISADORA

Oh—thank you. I… didn’t even notice.

(to audience)
I absolutely noticed. It has my robe. The one that says “I read Audre Lorde in bed and drink tea like a mystery.”

(She takes the bag, avoiding eye contact. She fails.)

SALOMÉ

Will you be needing anything else this evening?

ISADORA

Nope. All set.
Totally prepared for an elegant, spontaneous, completely nonchalant weekend.

SALOMÉ

Of course. And will your guest be arriving soon?

ISADORA

Yes. Any moment.
A friend. Just… catching up.
Casual. Platonic.
In a five-star suite. With prosecco. And scattered flowers.

SALOMÉ

Shall I bring a second glass?

ISADORA

That’s not—no. No need.

SALOMÉ

Very well.

(to audience)
She’s unraveling. But beautifully.
It’s like watching a silk scarf catch fire in slow motion.

(She exits.)

(ISADORA closes the door. Drops the bag. Paces. Picks up a few petals, then impulsively dumps them into the minibar trash. She opens the minibar, pulls out a tiny prosecco.)

ISADORA

(to audience)
Prosecco. Forty-five euro panic sip.
This is fine.

(She opens the bottle. It fizzes violently and spills onto her blouse and skirt. She freezes.)

ISADORA

Okay.
Now it’s technically a disaster.

(She yanks off the blouse, grabs the silk robe, throws it on—just in time for—)

(A knock. She jumps. Deep breath. Opens the door with her slightly-too-wide smile.)

CAMILA

Izzy! Oh my god, this place is amazing. Look at that view!

RITA

Hey. Thanks for the invite. Room’s stunning. Mind if I grab the bed by the window?

(ISADORA doesn’t speak. She just blinks.)

ISADORA

(to audience)
This is not part of the plan.

CAMILA

I hope it’s okay Rita came. Things just felt… serendipitous. She had the week free, I had the invite, and you know how I am about spontaneity.

ISADORA

Right. Yes. Totally.
Love spontaneity. Huge fan.

(RITA plops onto the bed, disturbing the remaining rose petals. A few stick to her arm. She doesn’t notice.)

(A young staffer, CHLOE, pops in through the half-open door holding a small bag and clipboard.)

CHLOE

Room service confirmation for Suite 3B—honeymoon welcome package?

(ISADORA and CAMILA both freeze. RITA is chewing on a mint.)

ISADORA

That’s… a mistake.

CHLOE

Oh! My apologies. I’ll just—
(sees the rose petals, the prosecco, the lingerie peeking out of a weekender bag)
—confirm the billing was… accurate.

(She exits like a ghost fleeing shame.)

RITA

You didn’t say this was that kind of getaway.

ISADORA

It’s not. It’s—it’s a boutique accident.

RITA

Oh. Sexy.

(A knock. SALOMÉ returns silently, like mist. She holds a second room key.)

SALOMÉ

Your key, Signorina Valli. And one for your guest.

(She hands it specifically to RITA, then turns to ISADORA with a polite nod.)

(to audience)
The guest list gets more interesting by the hour.

(She exits.)

(ISADORA watches her go, frozen. Then shuts the door gently. Then not gently. She crosses to the prosecco, pours a glass, drinks it too fast.)

ISADORA

(to audience)
This is fine. Everything’s fine.
There’s still the rooftop. And dinner. And the massage.
(pause)
Wait.
Did I book the couples massage…?

End of Act I, Scene 1

Act I, Scene 2
“Rooftop, Wrong Vibes, Right Disasters”

Setting: The rooftop bar of Villa Fiorella. Warm amber string lights. A sea breeze drifts through the air. Low music hums beneath the conversation. The mood is effortlessly Mediterranean—soft couches, scattered tables, a small elegant bar. Guests – mostly women – chat in low tones. A few drink too much prosecco with great conviction.

At rise: ISADORA is seated near the edge of the rooftop, sipping from a glass far too quickly. She is composed on the outside, unraveling internally. CAMILA and RITA are mingling, half-present. PETAL floats around like a silk-draped hummingbird. HENRIETTA stalks the space like a hawk in heels.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Rule One of pretending to be okay: always keep your drink full and your eyebrows lifted.
Rule Two: if your crush invites their ex to your romantic getaway, you’re allowed to fantasize about jumping into the Mediterranean. Gracefully.

(CAMILA approaches, arm linked with RITA.)

CAMILA

Izzy! You remember Petal, right?

(PETAL materializes from the mist. She is part spa attendant, part oracle, part threat. Draped in lavender and layered in bracelets. She radiates peace. You don’t trust it.)

(As PETAL enters, she raises her hand like a mystic emcee. A pink lavender glow follows her movement downstage — as if she’s pulling the lighting into place herself.)

PETAL

The stars tonight are thirsty. You feel that, yes?

ISADORA

I feel something.

PETAL

You’re resisting your natural arc. Your moon is in tension. With your thighs.

ISADORA

(to audience)
I knew this place catered to women, but I didn’t realize the amenities included unsolicited astrology and emotional undressing.

RITA

I love that. I’ve been saying she needs to loosen up.

PETAL

Loosen, yes.
Unravel… maybe.
Explosion? Not ideal.

Would you like to take the Spa Soul Quiz? I laminated it this time.

ISADORA

There’s a quiz?

PETAL

Five questions. Instant clarity. Deep laughter. Some sweating.

RITA

I’m in.

(PETAL pulls out cards like a witchy game show host.)

PETAL

Question one: When faced with emotional discomfort, do you (A) journal in soft lighting, (B) drink wine alone in a robe, or (C) make out with someone you’re not supposed to?

RITA

C. Always.

ISADORA

B.
(pause)
…Then A.

PETAL

Layered. Good. You’re a eucalyptus-ginger hybrid.
Next question: Who do you think is most likely to kiss someone by accident—
(beat)
—and mean it?

ISADORA

Why is that a spa question?

PETAL

This is Italy.

(HENRIETTA arrives mid-quiz, holding a tablet like a shield.)

HENRIETTA

Petal. The mimosas were meant for breakfast, not spiritual enlightenment. And a guest reported finding rose petals in the rooftop whirlpool.

PETAL

A symbolic cleansing.

HENRIETTA

Petal, you know the rules. You’re not allowed to be symbolic without clearance.

(to herself)
This place is the only thing that’s ever run on time in my life. If I let Petal turn it into a circus… well, I might as well join my ex in her lunar yurt commune.

(She eyes ISADORA.)

And you, look like a woman who’s about to make a very specific mistake.

ISADORA

…Just one?

(HENRIETTA exits with a sigh and a sharp click of her heels.)

RITA

This rooftop has everything.

(RITA grabs two drinks from the bar. One goes to CAMILA. The other—surprise—to ISADORA.)

To friendship. To sunsets. To threesomes we won’t speak of in the morning.

(ISADORA chokes on her sip. CAMILA laughs like it’s a joke. RITA winks like it isn’t.)

RITA

(grinning, to Isadora)
Relax, darling. You weren’t that bad.

CAMILA

(cheerfully)

We said no regrets, not no repeats.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Is it still considered seduction if you’re just trying to outlive the awkwardness?

(turns to CAMILA and RITA)

Oh, it’s one of those weekends? Great. Our way or the bi way, then?

CAMILA

Izzy, we invented the bi way, remember?

RITA

Just like when I met you: Going Bi way?
With no straight off-ramp in sight.

CAMILA

(looking at RITA)
And no rush…hour.

RITA

(looking at CAMILA)
..bumper to bumper.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Camila’s sex life? Criterion-worthy. Sorry—Cliterion Collection.
Now Streaming: The Fast & Bi-Curious.

(As she says “Cliterion Collection,” a retro-style black-and-white title card appears on a side screen:
NOW STREAMING: The Fast & Bi-Curious
Complete with a dramatic orchestral sting.)

(slowly, with that half-sigh, half-theatrical flair)

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in The Last & Not Curious.
Rated V for Very Bad Dates.
(pause)
I’ll drink to that…with sapphic tears…

(A smooth voice enters like a key turning in a lock.)

LUMIVORE V1 — PART I, IMAGE 4 “ROOFTOP, WRONG VIBES, RIGHT DISASTERS” (Ensemble Chaos Image — Single Use) Placement (for archive) Midway through Act I, Scene 2, immediately after the “Cliterion Collection” beat or just following it. 🎯 PURPOSE (Internal Logic) Capture farce + ensemble energy Show Isadora inside chaos, not commanding it Let the women, drinks, motion, and light do the work Preserve Salomé as a cool counterpoint, not a romantic focus This is the only ensemble image in Part I 📸 FINAL LUMIVORE PROMPT Prompt: A wide, horizontal cinematic ensemble still set on the rooftop bar of Villa Fiorella on the Amalfi Coast at dusk, rendered in contemporary A24-style realism with natural motion blur, subtle film grain, and warm Mediterranean evening light. The rooftop is alive with controlled chaos: amber string lights glow overhead sea breeze moves hair, linen, and sheer fabric glasses of prosecco and wine catch light mid-gesture women laugh, talk over one another, lean in, turn away The composition is busy but breathable, layered with overlapping bodies and gestures — no single focal point dominates. Character Placement & Energy: Isadora is present but not centered — slightly off to one side, mid-reaction, holding a drink too tightly. She is caught inside the moment rather than orchestrating it. Her expression suggests overstimulation: amused, overwhelmed, unraveling just beneath control. Camila and Rita are animated and flirtatious near the visual center — laughing, leaning close, sharing a joke or drink. Their energy is expansive, casual, uncontained. Petal floats through the scene like a mystical interruption — bracelets catching light, lavender fabric in motion, arms mid-gesture as if explaining something ridiculous and profound at once. Henrietta is visible at the edge of the frame, tablet in hand, posture rigid, clearly irritated by the entropy unfolding around her. Salomé is present but restrained — positioned at the periphery or partially obscured by foreground figures. She is still, composed, observing rather than participating. Her darker attire absorbs light while the rooftop glows around her. Environment & Mood: Mediterranean rooftop furniture: low couches, scattered tables, stone flooring Golden-hour light transitioning into early evening The sea visible in the distance, softly out of focus Motion everywhere — lifted glasses, turned shoulders, half-steps — but never chaotic camera work Camera & Composition: wide, observational lens eye-level perspective asymmetrical composition layered depth with foreground, midground, and background activity no posed groupings no one looking at the camera ❌ NEGATIVE PROMPT / HARD LIMITS no individual glamour framing no centered protagonist shot no freeze-frame theatrical posing no exaggerated facial comedy no multiple rooftop images no romantic framing between Isadora and Salomé yet no crowd density that feels like a party montage

SALOMÉ

Careful. That drink has a reputation.

(SALOME appears beside ISADORA. All dark fabric and sharper edges. She holds a drink with no garnish, no nonsense.)

(to audience)
She always picks the ones with too much sugar and not enough backbone.

ISADORA

(smirks, without turning)
And yet you still always show up when I’m halfway through it.

SALOMÉ

Someone has to supervise the downfall.

ISADORA

Or cause it.

(Slow sip. Their eyes finally meet.)

ISADORA

Why are you always right there? Like some 007 femme fatale.

SALOMÉ

Concierge, remember?
My job is to appear exactly when needed.
Or when it’s… interesting.

ISADORA

(dry, but soft)
You have a way of standing right where I was about to run.

SALOMÉ

I’ve been told.
Though you never really run. You just… sparkle in place.

(Their eyes linger. Just a moment too long.)

ISADORA

I was trying to forget about everything. More like drown my sapphic sorrows in a sea of watered-down wine.

SALOMÉ

Were you?

Most women here are easy to read. You… remind me of someone I lost the habit of reading.

(CAMILA and RITA laugh across the terrace. CAMILA spins, flirtatious, free. ISADORA flinches.)

ISADORA

Fine. I was trying to forget someone. Or prove something.
Maybe both.

SALOMÉ

And how’s that going?

ISADORA

Like this drink. Weak. Expensive. And not doing what I hoped.

SALOMÉ

Then maybe it’s time for a better story.

ISADORA

(softly, breaking)
Stop looking at me like that.

SALOMÉ

Like what?

ISADORA

Like you know how this ends.

(PETAL reappears with a tray of fig tarts.)

PETAL

Dessert? Or deeper truth?

SALOMÉ


(to audience)
She doesn’t know I already fell.
I’m just better at hiding the bruises.
Paris, Tokyo, Stockholm, Venice, Monaco.
And now the Amalfi Coast.

CAMILA (offstage)

Izzy! Come try this dessert wine! Rita says it tastes like heartbreak!

SALOME

She calls.
Will you answer?

ISADORA

Well, I guess…Lez Do it.
(pause)
Nevermind, forget I said that.

(Beat. Then a single, dry sip of prosecco. She doesn’t answer. She just sits.)

(They stand in silence. SALOMÉ walks away. ISADORA doesn’t follow—yet.)

ISADORA

(muttering to herself)
Way to go, Isadora. Botched the landing again. Wheels and all.
Lez Do It? I’m going back to my room.

End of Act I, Scene 2

Act I, Scene 3:
“Oil, Towels, and the Death of a Plan”

Setting: The massage suite at Villa Fiorella’s spa. Low golden lighting. A eucalyptus diffuser steams quietly in the corner. Two massage tables are prepared with white linens. Ambient instrumental music (flute-heavy, suspiciously sensual) plays in the background.

At rise: ISADORA stands in a robe and slippers, holding her phone like a weapon. She’s alone.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Okay. Not a crisis. Just a… sensual detour into disappointment.

The couples massage was supposed to be with Camila. Romantic. Intimate. Maybe some emotional detox with light touching.

Not… a solo episode of Sad Lady Spa Time.

Instead—

(She checks the clock. Sighs. Looks around. Sits, then stands again.)

I should cancel. I should fake a rash.
I should text Salomé and tell her I’m allergic to… emotions.

You’d think a robe like this would comfort you.
Me? It feels like a napkin at a wedding. Like I’m about to toast something I don’t understand.”

(She hesitates. A knock. She opens the door—)

SALOMÉ

Good evening.

ISADORA

Of course it’s you. Wow. I assumed you lived and slept in your…suit.

SALOMÉ

Your guest is… otherwise engaged.
Lemon grove. Rita.
And, from what I overheard?
One very liberated bottle of fig liqueur.

ISADORA

Naturally. After their Bi-Way cooing, I’m sure things got hot and heavy with those two.

SALOMÉ

So I thought I’d keep you company. Unless that’s—

ISADORA

No! I mean… your fine. Oh god..I mean it’s fine…fine.

SALOMÉ

I didn’t bring wine, but I brought patience.

ISADORA

That might be worse. After my whole Lez Do It debacle last night, I figured I scared you off.

SALOMÉ

It was cute. Charming. Now, shall we, Ms. Quinn?

ISADORA

Shall we what?
(looks at the massage tables)
Oh..well..makes sense. I mean..we’re in just our towels and…
what else would we be doing?
(nervous laughing)

(They both climb—carefully—onto their massage tables. A moment of awkward settling. Towels. Avoided eye contact.)

(ISADORA tries to lie gracefully on her stomach. The table creaks.)

Sorry. It’s been awhile since I last felt…exposed.

ISADORA

(to audience)
This towel is thinner than my boundaries. And this massage table? So rude.

(SALOMÉ turns her head, eyes closed, calm as a statue.)

SALOMÉ

You’re overthinking it.

ISADORA

That’s my resting state.

LUMIVORE V1 — PART I, IMAGE 5 “MASSAGE SUITE — INTIMACY WITHOUT CONTACT” PROMPT A horizontal, cinematic photograph set inside a luxurious massage suite at an Italian women-only resort on the Amalfi Coast, rendered in restrained A24-style realism with natural light, subtle film grain, and quiet emotional tension. The room is softly lit in warm stone and eucalyptus tones. Pale limestone walls, linen-covered massage tables, folded towels, smooth basalt stones, and a faint mist from a diffuser establish a calm, intimate spa environment. No clutter. No ornamentation beyond what is functional. Isadora Quinn and Salomé lie on parallel massage tables, side by side, separated by a narrow strip of negative space. They are not touching. Both women are wrapped fully and modestly in neutral spa towels (off-white / warm beige), towels secured high at the chest and hips, identical in style to enforce visual parity. No robes. No uniforms. No jewelry. Canonical Contrast — Locked Isadora Quinn Early–mid 30s Warm, expressive face with subtle under-eye fatigue Natural features, slightly imperfect, emotionally open Medium-length hair loosely pulled back, a few strands escaping Skin tone warm and alive under soft light Hands rest tensely near her sides or lightly clenched against the towel Expression suggests interior motion: breath held, thoughts racing Body language: vulnerable, quietly unsettled Salomé Late 30s to early 40s Sharper, more composed facial structure Controlled, minimal expression Dark hair neatly pulled back, no loose strands Cooler skin tone under the same lighting Hands relaxed, still, placed deliberately Expression unreadable, calm, internally guarded Body language: contained, disciplined, emotionally restrained Their heads are angled slightly upward or away — not toward each other. Eyes closed or unfocused. Breath visible only in the rise and fall of the towels. Tone & Composition Camera positioned at table height, slightly offset, never voyeuristic Depth of field shallow enough to soften the background but keep both women in focus No overt sexuality, no skin emphasis beyond shoulders and collarbones Erotic tension is conveyed solely through proximity, stillness, and contrast The image should feel quiet, suspended, unresolved Negative Prompts (Hard Constraints) No touching No romantic poses No staged sensuality No glamour lighting No smiles No eye contact between subjects No robe on either woman No visual dominance hierarchy No pin-up framing This image must read as intimacy without permission yet granted. Stillness, not seduction. Breath, not bodies.

(One of the massage therapists enter—PETAL, now wearing a moonstone crown and humming something vaguely witchy.)

PETAL

Someone’s carrying tension.
Likely emotional. Possibly romantic.

ISADORA

It’s possible I’m holding an entire meltdown in my shoulders.

PETAL

We’ll ease it out with basalt and breathwork.
(places stones gently)
These help you say what you’re not ready to.

SALOMÉ

And a eucalyptus bribe?

PETAL

Naturally.

(She sets out oils and stones like a ceremonial altar.)

ISADORA

(to audience)
I am lying next to the woman who ruins me with smirks and syntax, wrapped in a hotel robe, about to be spiritually exfoliated. And god she’s hot. In a strangely…007 concierge way..

What could go wrong?

(The massage begins. Gentle music. Oils. Quiet. Then—)

PETAL

Let go. Whatever it is, you don’t need it.

ISADORA

Muscles or metaphors?

PETAL

Yes.

(A beat. Then PETAL gently places a warm stone at the base of each of their spines.)

PETAL

These are grounding stones. They reveal what you’re afraid to say.

ISADORA

Then I’m going to combust.

SALOMÉ

You won’t.

ISADORA

How do you know? You’re not even flinching.

SALOMÉ

I’m very good at stillness.
I learned it young—if you don’t move, no one sees the cracks.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not… breaking, too.

ISADORA

So you do feel something.

SALOMÉ

Do you?

ISADORA

Yes. Hot, bothered, with a tingling sensation to boot.
Oh god. There I go again.
Now the steam will rise, the oils will ignite, and I’ll become a cautionary tale on a travel blog.

(A pause. Long. The music shifts into something even more suspiciously sensual.)

SALOMÉ

Then don’t say it.
Just… be here.

(A breath. The oils continue to warm. Salomé reaches slightly across the space between them—not quite touching. Isadora senses it. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. The heat lingers.)

(PETAL reappears, placing towels over their eyes. A long beat of silence.)

PETAL

You both need to stretch. Later. There’s more than one kind of stiffness.

(She exits like a spell being broken.)

(SALOMÉ and ISADORA sit up slowly. Robes adjusted. Breathing more shallow than relaxed.)

SALOMÉ

Would you like a drink?

ISADORA

You ask like it’s small talk.

SALOMÉ

It’s not.

ISADORA

Then… yes.
But no prosecco. Long story.
Something that bites.

SALOMÉ

I thought you’d say that.

(She heads toward the door. Stops.)

SALOMÉ

You looked peaceful for a second, you know. In a cute way.

ISADORA

I was distracted by your breathing.

(SALOMÉ exits. ISADORA stares after her. Then at the table. Then at her hands.)

ISADORA

(to audience)
So… that’s fine.
That’s… totally fine.
Instead of feeling relaxed, I feel aroused.
Aroused by Salome.
Dammit she’s good.

(pause)
I’m so completely screwed.

End of Act I

Act II
Sapphic Wine Crimes
& Emotional Baggage Claim

Act II, Scene 1
“I Can Fix This”

Scene 1: “Dinner, Distraction, and a Very Inconvenient Revelation”

Setting: The garden terrace of Villa Fiorella. Night. String lights glow golden against a deep violet sky. Tables are set for a wine-pairing dinner: cheeses, fruit, elegant plating. All-women waitstaff move quietly. Jazz trickles from unseen speakers. Guests – all women – laugh. Prosecco flows freely.

At rise: ISADORA is seated at a two-top table. Alone. A glass of wine sits in front of her. She’s dressed for a moment that didn’t happen.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Fun fact: I don’t even like wine.
I like the idea of wine.
The glass. The ritual. The hope that maybe this one will finally make me feel like a confident, adult woman whose love life isn’t held together by scented candles and elaborate fantasy.

Good thing I’m alone—
Salomé’s probably already warned the staff: “Avoid the robe-wearing, horny wreck in 3B.”

(CAMILA and RITA enter together, mid-laugh. RITA’s wearing a wrap dress she may or may not have borrowed. CAMILA waves to ISADORA.)

CAMILA

Izzy! You look stunning. I love this table. It’s so… romantically aloof.

RITA

We’re crashing it. We missed you. Did you miss us?

ISADORA

Of course you are. But why me?

(RITA pulls a third chair over. CAMILA squeezes in beside ISADORA. A staff member brings over more glasses.)

CAMILA

Because we love you. And we don’t want you to miss out on all the fun.

ISADORA

You mean another evening on The Bi Way Express, watching you and Rita quote Sapphic puns & Shakespearan horniness at my expense?
Let me guess—no destination, open seating, and a scenic route through my unresolved feelings.
(beat)
Snacks sold separately. Hope you brought tissues.

(PETAL appears with a giant menu board and a crystal hanging from her neck. She glides between tables like she’s choosing whom to bless or hex.)

PETAL

Welcome, dear guests. Tonight’s pairings are designed to unlock your palate and your emotional patterning. Please drink with intention. Or at least with curiosity.

(She snaps. A female waitstaff member pours wine at every table with flair.)

ISADORA

(to audience)
Oh god. Her again. There is absolutely no way this ends well.

PETAL

Our first wine is a Sicilian red, bold and brooding. It pairs well with aged pecorino and suppressed longing.

RITA

Oooh, that’s the one.

CAMILA

Rita, didn’t you just say the last one tasted like emotional avoidance?

RITA

Yes. And I stand by both.

ISADORA

(to CAMILA)
So… how’s the room? Judging by the late night sounds you two were having fun in every square inch of it – especially on anything that had legs.
Funny, Camila, you never used to speak Latin Lover Spanish around me.
(beat)
Or was that the rooftop wine coming back to mock me?

CAMILA

(to audience)
I speak four languages: English, Sarcasm, Sass, and Screaming Internally. All women do.

So Gorgeous, Izzy. The tub is shaped like a seashell. Rita took a bubble bath with a bottle of limoncello.

ISADORA

Of course she did. There seems to be an erotic lemon theme going on with you two. I figured it would have been peaches.

(to audience, sotto)
A seashell tub and a lemon Esther Williams goddess. Meanwhile, I’m exfoliating my regrets in room service towels.
The only thing that touched me last night was a mini shampoo bottle.

RITA

I had a lemon epiphany. I’m not ready to unpack it.

ISADORA

Why did I even ask?

(to audience, quietly)
Note to self: next time, book the solo suite. And a therapist.

(HENRIETTA appears with her tablet.)

HENRIETTA

Pardon the interruption, but it appears someone filled out the spa survey in haiku.

PETAL

That was me.

HENRIETTA

Question one: “How would you describe your overall experience at the spa?”
(flips page)

“Steam rose like lost dreams / My toxins released their grip / One towel too scratchy.”

(beat.)

Petal, how many times have I told you, the spa surveys are for the guests, not for witchy haikus.

PETAL

(serene, pleased)

That was a vulnerable moment for me.

RITA

(grinning)

Wait, is there more?

HENRIETTA

(mutters while flipping page)
I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud…

RITA

Honestly? Spa poetry should be mandatory. It’s healing.

HENRIETTA

(regretfully checking clipboard)

Question four: “What suggestions do you have for improving the spa?”

“Add moon rituals / Less clove oil. More fig-based snacks. / And warmer slippers.”

Good god, Petal. This is a five star resort, not a witch commune.

ISADORA

(to audience)

Honestly? It’s hard to argue with that.

HENRIETTA

That’s not all. Someone else asked for a “throuples massage.” Mind you, I’ve seen cheeky things going on among these resort walls, but this is a new one.

RITA

That was also me.

CAMILLA

That’s so you.

(quietly, to herself, more to the wine than anyone)

I used to think if I stayed light, nothing heavy could break me.

(then quickly, with a smile)

But I’m still testing the theory.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Oh my god, these two need to get a room. Oh wait, they are occupying a room. My suite. With me.

(to audience, half-whispering)
I’m one seashell bathtub lemon bomb bath away from a total collapse.

(SALOMÉ enters in a midnight-black dress. She glides in like dusk—stillness that makes people hush. She takes the seat next to ISADORA without asking.)

SALOMÉ

Don’t reach. Don’t lose.

(Salome quickly returns to composed concierge mode.)

(ISADORA’s eyes glance to the side and to her surprise..)

ISADORA

(startled)

Ack! Oh dear god. Why do you always appear like a Cheshire Cat plot twist?

SALOMÉ

I don’t.
You’re just very easy to surprise.

ISADORA

At least sweep me off my feet next time instead of surprising me. I have a thing about moonlit gardens and dimly lit ambushes.

RITA

I must say, you two look like you co-own a very successful art forgery ring. Or is she the sauve concierge by day, dashing secret agent by night coming for her lucky lady?

ISADORA

(to audience)
She’s not wrong. She had me shaken but well, you know what I mean.

SALOME

(without turning)
She’s not wrong either.

CAMILA

So, are we doing dessert wine?

ISADORA

Don’t you mean, whine about the dessert?

CAMILA

Izzy, don’t start…

RITA

Now that you mention it, Isadora…

CAMILA

Rita!

ISADORA

If this were the 1940s, there’d be newsreels in every cinema:
The March of Wine: Camila Whines About the Wine.
Paris weeps. Rome riots. Lesbians faint in the aisles.

CAMILA

Izzy…

ISADORA

We once hosted Whine Arts Night.
Wine, whine, and cheese for days.
She said my jokes were all cheese—
and way too heavy on the whine.
And the TikToks? The Instagram Stories?
The jokes wrote themselves.
Of course they did.
I was the punchline.

RITA

I’ve heard of Wine and Dine,
but this wine and whine?
Sounds hot.
Hotter than a Bumble bi meet-cute—
with emotional damage,
a Thai food receipt from 2AM,
and matching trauma playlists.

ISADORA

Imagine Camila’s memoir: Lady Dante—A De-Wine Sapphic Comedy.
Ninth circle of lesbian hell—she’s sipping Chianti like it’s rosé.
Said her stage name would be Sultry Plaza.
“Aubrey Plaza, but hornier and multilingual” didn’t fit on the poster.

CAMILA

Help…me.

ISADORA

Hot tip, Rita:
Hum I’ve Been Wining on the Sapphic Railroad whenever Camila gets flustered.
Trust me—you’ll thank me later.

RITA

Did you say “wine me,” love?
Here—let me top you off.
(pause, wicked grin)
Just the way you like it…
on top.

CAMILA

Oh my god, Rita—I said why me, not wine me.
(pause, throws up hands)
You know what? Fine.
Fill it up. Let it overflow.
Just like my last period.
(pause, deadpan)
Surprise! I’m tracking it again.

ISADORA

I’m so wine-spirited, I could write a musical:
Sapphlahoma. Seven Ladies for Seven Sapphics. Fidder on the Femme.
A sapphic showtune extravaganza…
where we all sing like we don’t give a—

PETAL

Fudge. I brought Celestial Fudge.
Crafted in the lunar kitchen under astro-orbital care.

CAMILA

(quietly, to herself)
This was supposed to be a peaceful queer retreat.
Not… whatever this sapphic fever dream is.

RITA

I’ll take whatever wine Isadora’s having.
You know… to warm up for later.
(locks eyes with Camila)
If you’re still interested.

CAMILA

Oh my god—Petal!
(gets up, half-laughing, half-panicked)
Can we sage the energy? Hex the wine? I don’t care—just do something.
Before Isadora goes full Carol Burnett: Sapphic Meltdown Edition.

ISADORA

Meltdown?
Camila, please. This is me.

RITA

(pours more wine)
Ooo… Sapph in Distress.
My favorite…
Don’t worry, love, your Femme Princess is here!

PETAL

(cheerfully entering)
Yes? Oh, the dessert!
(with deep gravitas)
Tonight it’s Dessert truths—served warm,
with a side of deeply repressed feelings,
and just a pinch of regret.
(pause)
Also, figs.

ISADORA

(touches wineglass, hand trembling slightly)
God.
Even my fingers are spiraling.

FEMALE WAITER

More wine, madame?

ISADORA

No thank you. Any more and I’ll..lose myself and spill too much out. In the open. Though that may be too late at this point.

(The waiter nods silently and takes her glass. A quiet moment lingers—thick with everything unsaid.)

SALOMÉ

I see we’re glowing this evening.

ISADORA

I’m sweating.

SALOMÉ

Glowing.

ISADORA

(pause)
It’s not like I’m ovulating or something.
That’d be… weird.
Especially for a concierge to just know.
(pause, then realizing)
Oh god. You don’t—know that, right?

(SALOMÉ raises a brow, just slightly.)

SALOMÉ

Sweating. Glowing. Still counts.
(pause)
It brings out your eyes.
(pause, gentle smile)
Pardon the concierge slip of the tongue.

(She sips her wine, eyes never leaving Isadora.)

Tell me more about you.
You feel… complex. Like you walked in carrying a dozen stories under that gaze—
and I’d like to hear every one.
From head to toe, I could see it.
The moment you checked in.

ISADORA

I never leave home without a fan.
(she fans herself)
Scarlett O’Dora of Tara.
Saw Gone with the Wind once in film class. Hated it.
Too racist. Too many curtain gowns.
But God, the drama. Iconic.

(beat)
Still miss the karaoke.
We harmonized weirdly well…
for two lesbians with trust issues.

(beat)
Now that I mention Tara…
She was my last plus-one girlfriend. Five years ago.
The Good, the Bad, and the Definitely-Messy.

She was USC. I was UCLA.
A rah-rah Romeo and Juliet situation.

I, a Lady Bruin. She, a Lady Trojan.
(grins)
Which honestly sounds like a RuPaul–She-Ra Ladies’ Night at The Femme Bar.
(beat)
Which—now that I say it—actually sounds iconic.
Glitter armor. Mutual pining.
And exactly one badly timed karaoke duel.

Back then it just meant:
She always won the arguments.
I always cried in the parking lot.

(softly)
Still miss that karaoke though.
We harmonized weirdly well… for two lesbians with trust issues.

(shrugs)
I was an acting major. She was a psych major.
Yeah. Go figure.

(beat)
Anyway—long story, Salomé. I’ll tell you another night if you’re up for it.
It’s kinda messy.
Like, spill-a-Titanic’s-worth-of-tea messy.

(starts to turn, pauses)
You know what?
Screw it.
Abridged version: It ended not-so-great.
Bad pad thai. Instagram reels.
And another woman.

(beat)
Our Pilates instructor.

(beat)
Sunshine.
Welcome to L.A.

(beat)
In Tara’s bedroom.
One Friday night.

(Isadora blinks)
It all started with a meetup.
Not Palm Springs. Not Beverly Hills.

(beat)
Disneyland.
Tara’s favorite.

(beat)
They hooked up on the damn Tea Cups.
I’m sure churros, Dole Whips, castle selfies, and Tinker Bell were involved.

(pause)
Meanwhile, I was landing in Italy—finally taking a break from acting.
And here’s the kicker:
She documented the whole night in an Instagram reel.
Because why not.
Music. Filters. Cringy emojis. Unhinged hashtags.
The works.

(flat)
That was Tara’s not-so-subtle dig at me.
And my… spiral-ness.
And yeah—she did it on TikTok too.

(beat)
I knew Sunshine—if that’s even her real name—was flexible.
But she really flexed the flex that night.
Ouch, and a touché.

(sinks into it)
Why should I be surprised?
It’s never “Get to know the real Isadora.”
It’s always “Show them titties and lady goods, then vanish.”
One-and-done. Thank-you-ma’am.
Nightstand not included.

(beat)
Come to think of it—
Tara always called me her Spiral Pookie Noodle.

(beat)
Whatever the hell that meant.

SALOMÉ

That’s certainly a new one.

ISADORA

Most nights it was just “Pookie.”
And on those don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-on-my-period-bitch nights?
It was just… “Iz.”

(beat)
Iz.

That’s Tara.
Short on words, not on emotion.
Coming from a psych major, no less.

(pause)
Probably undiagnosed.
Performative delusions of grand-queer.
You know the type—always “an ally,” always center stage, never off-book.
Kinda like a lesbian Get Out.
Only scarier.
And queerer.

(beat)
I won’t lie—the sex was fantastic.
At least back then.

(beat)
But not after we graduated.
Everything started tasting like expired ambition.
Or worse—rehearsed.
Like a high school band concert.

(beat)
And not even the cool drumline kind.
Just… flutes and tambourines. Out of sync.

(soft laugh, then catching herself)
Oh God. I’m so sorry, Salomé.
TMI. That just… slipped out.
Me and my millennial spiraling.
No wonder I was born to act.

(A brief stillness. They both sip. Music swells faintly. The air holds.)

SALOMÉ

You’re funny.
But more importantly…
You deserved better.

(she leans in slightly, voice low)
And I hope you never forget—
Spiral noodles are warm. Comforting…
(pause, smirks)
…and strangely hard to resist.

ISADORA

(flushed, a little flustered)
Well… that was oddly titillating.
Coming from a concierge, no less.

(pause, recovering with a grin)
My first captive audience in Italy.
And lucky you—I’m here… for a while.
You know my room number.
(beat, realizing)
Oh God.
Sorry. Again.

PETAL

Ah yes, ladies. The vintage of avoidance pairs best with cherry notes and passive-aggressive silence and..

Oh no, that didn’t come out right at all. How embarrassing. Must have been all that tense energy Herrietta brought going on about haikus and throuples. Bumbling my words again. Never fear, a little incense and a handful of crystals should steady my celestial fem ship again.

SALOMÉ

(to ISADORA, gently)

You don’t have to explain.
Not to them.
Not even to me.

ISADORA

But I want to.

SALOMÉ

Then wait.
Say it when the noise fades.
And the mood is calm.

(PETAL reappears with a silver tray of fig tarts and micro desserts.)

PETAL

Tonight’s dessert is fleeting sweetness and a decision you can’t undo.

ISADORA

Is there a sorbet for regret?

HENRIETTA

(calling out from another table)

Not on my watch. Ladies, I told you all—no mystical metaphors after 9 PM! Petal, don’t encourage them.

PETAL

Tonight’s dessert?
Fig tart, aged regret, and moon-fermented clarity.

SALOMÉ

Too late.

CAMILA

Every night is always a bewitching night for Rita and I. Never a dull moment that’s for sure.

(CAMILA leans into RITA, laughing. ISADORA watches. Her smile falters.)

SALOMÉ

It seems it’s spread to your Camila too.

ISADORA

(to audience)
Dammit. This was supposed to be my moment.
Now it’s a table full of everything I almost wanted.
And one woman I keep almost saying the truth to.

SALOMÉ

Would you like to leave? I recommended a good walk to..

ISADORA

With you?

SALOMÉ

Not forever.
Just… for air.

ISADORA

Yes.

(They both rise. The rest of the table doesn’t notice. The sea wind rises as they walk off into the night, quiet and charged.)

Act II, Scene 2
“Night, Pookie”

(Night. The villa’s terrace. The others have drifted off. Just Isadora and Salomé remain. A soft breeze. Moonlight on half-finished wine glasses.)

LUMIVORE V1 — PART I, IMAGE 6 “TERRACE AFTER THE NOISE” (Night Threshold / Transition Image) PROMPT A horizontal, cinematic night-time photograph set on the terrace of Villa Fiorella on the Amalfi Coast, rendered in restrained A24-style realism with subtle film grain, cool moonlight tones, and deep, natural shadows. The terrace is mostly empty after a gathering: a small table with two half-finished wine glasses faint condensation on the glass catching minimal light low lanterns or string lights glowing dimly in the background, out of focus stone flooring and terrace railings visible the sea implied only through darkness and moving air, not scenery The environment feels hushed, transitional, and slightly exposed — as if the party has ended but the night has not. SUBJECT COMPOSITION Isadora Quinn and Salomé stand near the edge of the terrace, side by side but not touching, separated by a narrow, intentional strip of space. They are framed in three-quarter profile or from behind, partially obscured by architectural elements such as railings, columns, or shadow. Neither woman is centered in the frame. Isadora Quinn early–mid 30s warm, expressive face with subtle under-eye fatigue posture slightly open but uncertain, weight shifted unevenly hair softly styled, catching warmer highlights from ambient light clothing lighter in tone than Salomé’s, subtly reflecting light expression suggests hesitation, emotional openness, a thought forming Salomé late 30s to early 40s sharp, composed features posture upright, controlled, economical darker clothing that absorbs light rather than reflecting it hands relaxed and still, no expressive gesture expression unreadable, gaze angled outward or downward, not toward Isadora They are aware of each other without engaging. LIGHTING & TONE cooler overall temperature than previous rooftop scenes moonlight and distant terrace lighting edge their silhouettes faces partially readable but not fully illuminated no romantic glow or stylization The image should feel like: a pause before movement, not the movement itself CAMERA & FRAMING observational distance asymmetrical composition foreground elements (railing, glassware, shadow) intrude slightly no direct eye contact with camera the women are present, not posed NEGATIVE PROMPTS (STRICT) no walking yet no hand-holding no smiles no overt romance no scenic postcard framing no glamour lighting no centered composition This image exists to mark the moment before “just for air.” Nothing is resolved. Nothing is claimed.

ISADORA

(slightly tipsy, twirling the stem of her glass)
So.
That was… a lot.

SALOMÉ

(smiling gently)
You’re not “a lot.”
You’re just… honest.
And maybe a little carb-shaped.

ISADORA

(flustered)
God. I forgot you were funny.
Quiet funny. Like a trapdoor.

SALOMÉ

You talk like someone who hasn’t let herself be quiet in a long time.

(Isadora softens. She looks away. The mask slips just enough to feel it.)

ISADORA

(sincerely)
Thank you.
For not running.
Most people…
They pour a second glass, smile, and ghost by brunch.

SALOMÉ

Then let them ghost.
I’m not them.

(A pause. Charged. Their eyes meet. Just long enough.)

ISADORA

(teasing, a little scared)
Careful. That almost sounded like interest.

SALOMÉ

Or a warning.

(They both laugh—low, real. The moment is fragile. Sacred. Isadora gets up slowly.)

ISADORA

I’m going to go before I overshare my entire astrological chart and tell you about the time I cried during Mamma Mia 2.
(She hesitates)
But… I’m in Room 4.
Just in case you ever want to talk.
Or confess your tragic karaoke backstory.

SALOMÉ

(smiling)
Goodnight, Pookie.

(Isadora freezes. Turns slowly.)

ISADORA

Excuse me—?

SALOMÉ

(teasing, warm)
Spiral Pookie Noodle.
Goodnight.

(Isadora laughs—genuinely. A little stunned. A little wrecked.)

ISADORA

You’re dangerous.

SALOMÉ

Only when I mean it.

End of Act II, Scene 2

Continue to Part 2