Songs of Olympus – Julia Hart Shikano
April 13, 2026
“What if I don’t go home,” she winked at herself in the mirror.
Julia let the song finish. The beat, bass, trebles, harmonics, the way he’d slow when the depth layered, and its exotic fingering on the guitar strings, slapping the wood like a clap back to reality. She was being extorted. Highway blackmail, home would sign out of something, this session in music, musical transcendence, and she was not in this plane. It’s perfectly safe to operate a vehicle this way, but it won’t let you abandon the moment. It’s attached to some end beyond, a reflection point, usually a gas station and some sour candy.
Sour candy wouldn’t do today. She missed the easy turn back home. “Ooops, where are we going.”
She cut through Pasadena, into hills, and drove into shamefully close and strange lands. Grass and beams beating by, and the golden hour was just taking off. The sky so pink and gold you’d swear Prometheus went back to rob Olympus for its last breathless rites in spring.
The hotel sign came up. Exit 744, 1 1/2 miles, Archie’s Suites. She laughed at the southerly peach on its white background. “Let’s park the peach gala.” Her empty car in silent resonance. The apple and fruit trees started to pop around the road. The chalky limestone boulders, larger than her car, a warm pink in the sunset. She felt like a travertine princess.
Her character bubbled into her mind, forming around the song. “Such a long drive, Julia. All the way from Vermont? By yourself?” Sprinting away from the reality that was driving home from university life. “Near Lake Willoughby, remote but gorgeous, just like me. A star will be born. Came here for a couple commercials.” She held her gum in the center console.
The road did yoga. It down-dogged and twisted its sun warrior back. Archie’s had its standard American upgrade vibes. “We’re not broke, are we, laddies.” She pretended to shoot like a gunslinger with a lethal boob gun. “Never saw these spy titty cannons coming, now did ya, boys?” Her voice in a disturbed valley growl. “Part of the upper 2%, ultra-pasteurizing the enemy.” Pretending to blow off the smoke.
“What a frightful scare. That poor family back there barely made it through the storm. Good papa, quick thinker, swerving off just in the nick of it. Sleepy crew, unappreciative.” She nodded at a dad in cargo shorts and a linen button-down, visibly frustrated. “Carry on, wayward son, you survived the Kansas pileup.”
“Those Rocky Mountains,” she sighed in rapture. “We saw a mustang, those fiery red eyes, running like a fever dream. Almost as crazy as those Tennessee bikers or the hot springs in Arkansas.” She shook her head. “Pretty sure I saw Clinton’s hood, but those pancakes and bath houses could have thwarted my stardom.”
She reflected on her fabricated journey west. It felt true. The road always had its dramas.
Julia traced the leather stitches on the steering wheel like the music was certain it was a close call. “Mmm, yeah.” Julia closed her eyes and shut off the car. Reality ripping into Act 1.
Julia the actress was entering Archie’s to get peachy.
She walked through the first set of doors, the second, and into the first lobby, nodding at the two ladies behind the desk. “This will do.” Her hand twirling the cool currents of a long waterfall on black stone down five stories. “Beautiful sky.” The orange cotton candy clouds glowed, reflected by the glossy bar.
She took the second stool in, the oddest prime, her preference.
“What are you having?”
“A glass of Pinot, please.” She smiled, turning to laughs sprinkled around the room, a very corporate-looking crew. “Is this a convention?”
“Yeah, a big theatre group.”
“They’re headquartered around here?”
“About a mile or two up the road. The biggest in the US.”
“I just got into town. Moved here to be an actress.”
The bartender leaned on the bar. “That’s bold. I’ve been doing that and painting for the last year. You got a job lined up?”
“Yeah, I am going to shoot a commercial. I still need to find a place. I just drove in from Vermont.”
“That’s amazing!” The bartender’s face contorted and she stood back.
Julia must have said something, but the corporate crew was swarming her bar.
The TVs played sports. Three screens of sports. Not even a dude in the room, not one person watching them. She watched clouds kaleidoscope through the ceiling and down the waterfall. The smell of the potted succulent was roadkill, Jameson, and lime. “Poor thing, you don’t drink much and you probably got heaved on.”
“Heya! I’m Jack.” She turned to a man jingling like a prisoner in all black and a bulk of silver chains. The corporate ladies enjoyed their spectacle.
“What brings you here?” a bleach blonde with volumes of hairspray asked in a coarse chain-smoker’s register. The elder of the crew.
“Recent divorce, gambling, debauchery, et cetera, et SET-TER-aah.” He smiled.
“Yeah, but what do you do for work?” He was cross-examined by a younger woman in a gray suit with epic shoulder padding.
“I sell stuff.” He jingled a chain on his neck like a clue.
“You sell that?” The elder blonde inspected it. “Where?”
“Anywhere I want. I really do a lot of engraving work too.” He turned an iced-out sun to show a detailed face of a dog. “Frank. He’s my pooch back east.”
“Quite detailed.” The elder hairspray sipped her drink and waved to another group going toward the bar. “What happened to the Lancaster renovation, Mary?” The whole group shifted away from nodding.
“I am going to grab a beer.” He dismissed himself after the cold shoulders closed over the gap where he had introduced himself.
“Heya, Jack.” Julia smiled, pushing the cactus to him. “This guy smells like barf.”
His chin doubled into a tuck and a sniff. “What happened?”
There was a glare from the bartender at him when he played dumb. “I thought you knew?”
“I might.” He pointed to the lager on tap like he might pour it himself if he didn’t get a drink. “How do I know you?”
“You don’t. I heard your big introduction with them.” She looked over at them.
“It’s early.” He gulped half his lager.
“Yeah, but they’re lesbians, you know. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“No. What?”
“They shook your hand.”
“They’re just paralegals.”
“Paralegals? The theatre corporates?” She pointed.
Jack squinted. “Maybe you’re right. Jeez, this hotel blows. I am the only dude here and now this.”
Julia enjoyed her lie. “Whereabouts are you from?”
“Not this place. I am from upstate New York.”
Julia sipped her wine. “No way, I am from Vermont. Near Lake Willoughby.”
“You like it here?” He finished his beer.
“Just waiting on a gig in a commercial. It’s for gum.” She smiled like her teeth were her winning audition.
Jack was distracted, smelling the cactus. “Eew. Not you, this.”
The bartender looked over at her again. “You good?”
Julia raised a thumb, feeling a buzz in her jacket. A video call, 7:30 p.m. Shit, he usually calls if she’s staying late at the university. “Hey!” She smiled, answering.
“Where are you?”
“Stopped at this bar and hotel, Archie’s. Had to stop after driving around aimlessly.” She did her best to describe the relevant information.
“I bet. You really need to get out of there more often. Don’t drink too much.” He laughed.
“Heck, I guess I could crash here if I needed to.” She sipped her Pinot for the camera.
“You’ve got to get out of your office more. If you need to crash there, I get it. You don’t take much time for yourself. I’ll be here. Give me a call when you’re heading back.” He blew a kiss and waved goodbye.
She kissed back and waved goodbye.
“Well, you’re a good actress.” Jack smiled.
“I might.” She finished her drink, her mind trying to dismiss how quickly her call had ended, how he probably had his own plan. He’d gotten pretty good at his own act and check-in dance. “Closer to Vermont and Wilshire.” Her lip bitten into a corner.
“Girls, girls, girls! Get off the fountain.” A father was pushing the luggage cart and picking up a bag of toys, snacks, and garbage that fell. They stuck their hands in the water.
The bartender came in close. “Hey. You want a water?” She handed her a serving napkin to dry her eyes.
Julia dabbed her cheek dry. “Could we put something else on?” Her glass of soda water in sapphire of a blue Jeopardy question.
“La revedere, dragostea mea.” She said to her fictional self. The room felt empty, cash at the bar, floating in waves of loud chatter, a riptide of laughs.
She squeezed her keys in her hand. The pain pulling her back in. The violet sky crying for her to get lost before the stars saw. “No heads up today, heh.”
She sat in her car:
Songs of Olympus
ebb and flood my gyre
play this city’s lyre
to Olympus I turn away
it grieves my act
so I sing
my animam igni trade
a Roman renting
a Greek life
She smiled at the lavender hills.