by Tom Shepherd
“We are delighted to speak with any relative of these beauteous ladies. Show Mr. Thornburg in, please.”
“But, Highness—”
“It’s all right, Abdu’l. Please instruct the cook to prepare an extra portion—no, make it two extras.” He leaned toward Tanella. “Perhaps we shall also enjoy your father's presence?”
Abdu’l bent to his ear. “Highness, you need to know—”
“Just do it, Abdu’l.”
“As you command.” Abdu’l clapped his hands, servants opened the doors, and in marched Eric wearing a smiley face tie.
“You!” I leaped up, upsetting Ahmad’s goblet.
Abdu’l shrieked for waiters to sop up the ice water dripping off linen tablecloth. Ahmad laughed and shook his wet robe.
“Well, Miss Palmer,” Ahmad said, “it seems you have baptized a Muslim.”
“Oh, no! Oh, I’m so, so sorry, Your Holiness. I mean, Your Princeliness. Please, please say you’re not mad at me!”
“Of course not. I’m fine. Abdu’l, quit daubing at me, people will think I am a child with a bib.”
The big Arab continued to wipe. “Your royal garments—”
Ahmad pushed him away. “Will dry, even in humid Georgia.”
“Yo, guys!” Eric beamed.
I clenched my teeth. Death. Tonight.
Tanella grasped my arm. “Control...”
“Will you join us for dinner, Mr. Thornburg?” Ahmad said.
“Really?” He pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards, resting his elbows on the backrest. “Whatcha having?”
“Liver and Brussels sprouts,” I said.
Ahmad chuckled. “Appetizers, then roast lamb on an island of steamed vegetables, surrounded by a moat of rice, followed by a mountain of dessert trays.” His eyes met mine. “If that is satisfactory.”
“Sounds wonderful.” I said, melting in my chair.
“Steamed vegetables, huh?” Eric said. “Can I order a corn dog off the menu and still get dessert?”
“Eric!” I hissed.
“Of course,” Ahmad waved for a waiter.
“Actually, that’s okay, Mr. Prince. I ate already. All’s I come for was to see if you liked the silk flowers.” He pointed at the daffodils in the center of the table.
“Yellow is such a cheerful color,” Ahmad said. “Did you send them?”
Eric nodded, biting his lip as a smile tried to form. “I paid two dollars for them at Wal-Mart. They was supposed to be for Mom’s birthday, but I throwed them in the trunk of Tanella’s car and forgot all about ‘em until tonight. I got to thinking—what the hey, you’re probably the only date my cousin will ever get, even if she has to share you with Tanella. So this dinner will be one for the Guinness Book of Records.”
Ahmad laughed. “Very thoughtful.”
My face turn into a lobster, claws and all. “Eric, if there’s a stink bomb in those flowers—”
“Bomb?” the Prince’s chubby guardian bellowed from the doorway.
“Abdu’l, she teases her cousin.”
“Please, Highness, let me check—”
“Go away. You are becoming a nuisance.”
“But—”
“Go, before I ship you home to face my Father.”
Abdu’l turned tablecloth white, bowed, and fled through the double doors.
“Forgive him, please. He is responsible for my safety. Sometimes, Abdu’l is worse than a mother camel.”
I glanced at Tanella. “I know the feeling.”
Waiters brought the first course: ten different breads with dozens of fruit and berry jams, cream spreads and cheeses. Eric squealed like a pig at the gates of hog heaven. He started ripping sourdough rolls, smearing each chunk with chocolate nut spread, and stuffing his cheeks. I was sooooo embarrassed! I wanted to excuse myself to the bathroom, run to the wharf and throw myself into the channel. When the next course appeared—cold soup, gross!—Eric excused himself and left, dropping bread crumbs across the carpet. I smiled and watched him go, sketching his tombstone in my brain.
Memory is a funny thing. Our dinner must have tasted good, because I ate everything in sight, but I don’t remember a bite. Smells? They come to mind. Catching the first whiff of roast lamb as Abdu’l uncovered the platter...moist, smooth scent, a cross between pork and chicken. And I recall laughing myself to tears at Ahmad’s stories. He told about the time these camels broke into the palace storeroom and ate all the almonds and dates, then pooped on the Emir’s 400-year-old Persian rug.
“Did your dad roast the camels?” I said when I could stop laughing enough to speak.
“No, he roasted the camel keeper.”
That sobered me up.
“The only thing Father hates more than a drop in oil prices is someone who fails to do his duty.”
Tanella sipped mineral water. “Why have you come to Barrier Island?”
“Had I remained at home, I would never have met two most excellent young ladies. That is my hadhdh, my good fortune,” he said smoothly. “What does your father do, Sally Ann?”
“He’s in electronics.”
Tanella shook her head. “Dr. James Palmer is chief design engineer for the National Science Center at Fort Gordon.”
“You spring from a forest of brilliant relatives and friends.”
I leaned toward him. “I’m the normal one in a crowd of nerds and over-achievers.”
“But you must have important friends around the world, yes?”
“Nah, just Tanella.”
He turned to her. “Do your mother and father frequently entertain guests from the Middle East?”
“My mother died when I was two,” Tanella said.
Whenever she mentions her mom, I always want to cry. Breast cancer scares the doo-doo out of me. I vowed again to have regular check-ups, when I get enough to check.
“Forgive me,” the Prince said gravely. “I did not know.”
“We seldom entertain guests,” Tanella said. “Dad is always too busy studying, writing, talking on the phone.”
“A lively phone conversation ranks as one of my chief pleasures in life, too,” he said, taking a platinum cigarette case from a pocket in his robe. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Yes,” Tanella said.
He folded the case without a hint of displeasure. “Does your father allow long distance calls? You could ring me in Utaybah.”
“I can Skype you, sure.”
“And your father also calls overseas?”
“Dad’s still trying to master Skype,” Tanella said.
“Naturally, you must have taught him.”
“He says, ‘Write letters! You already know how to talk—learn to write.’ But he won’t respond to text messages.”
“So, he never calls the Middle East?”
“Last month he called a friend in Tel Aviv—” Tanella shot a glance at Ahmad, then at me. She pushed her chair back, stood and slung her purse strap over a shoulder. “Sally Ann, it’s time to go.”
“It’s only nine-thirty.” Even Cinderella got to stay until midnight!
“Tomorrow is a busy day.”
“Oh, yeah. We’re due at the pool before noon.”
“We really must be going.”
“Go, if you want. I’m staying.” I checked Ahmad’s eyes. They were aimed at Tanella but betrayed no trace of concern.
“I regret you must leave so early,” he said. “May your rest be pleasant and you awaken refreshed.”
“See ya.” I blew her a kiss.
Less than an hour later Ahmad and I wandered through the dark trees to the boardwalk that zigzagged across the dunes to the sea. The night air was warm and breezy with a hint of salt water, and we yakked like old friends
“Your name is Palmer, and you are from Augusta, the home of the Masters’ Tournament,” he said. “Are you related to the great golfer?”
“I’ve answered that question a hundred million times. My great-great-grandfather—Buster Palmer?—he came fr
om Norway. His name was Bjarni Bjørlykke. In Norwegian, Bjørlykke means bearer of palms. So, he lands at Ellis Island, and they go, ‘What’s your name, Buster?’ Guess what happened?”
He laughed.
At the gazebo I took his hand and tugged; he followed me up the wood steps. “See? You can watch the breakers in the moonlight from up here.” I took off the hat and shook my shoulder-length hair free of the bird’s nest shaped by confinement.
“Lovely,” he whispered in my ear. “Like the desert at night. Like an oasis under the stars. Like the silver-blue of your eyes.”
Next thing I knew, he took me in his arms and kissed me. Gently, like he knew it was my first kiss. I closed my eyes and inhaled the jasmine fragrance of his clothes and hair, brushing his lips with mine.
Suddenly he stopped and backed away. “Forgive me.” He grasped the seaward rail. “I fell under your spell...the moonlight, the ocean’s roar—”
“Stop apologizing.” I slid back into his arms. “Do it again.” We kissed for at least twelve years. Or maybe a half hour. Who keeps time in paradise? Then we came up for air.
“Sally Ann,” he said, nibbling my neck, “I am so grateful you are here.”
“Ummmm. I’ll give you about two hours to stop that.”
“Why did you come to Barrier Island?” he said.
“To show off my bathing suit. Shoulder. Do the shoulder. Ummmm, that’s nice.”
“Your uncle—Professor Robert Thornburg. Did Dr. Blake bring him as an expert consultant for our negotiations?”
“What?”
“Is your uncle one of Dr. Blake’s—”
“Kiss now. Talk later.”
“Do you know if he feels inclined toward the Arab cause, or is he a secret Zionist?”
I nuzzled his chest, my blonde hair on his white robe. “Yeah, he’s a Zionist.”
“Do you know what it means to be a Zionist?”
“He attends Zion’s United Methodist Church. Now, my side of the family?—we’re Catholics. Mom’s old fashioned. She made my dad convert before she’d marry him.” Suddenly, I had this mental flash of the bride and groom, both in white flowing garments. “Uh, any Catholics in your family?”
“You are toying with me.” He turned to the moonlit sea.
“No! I’m telling you the truth. Does it make any difference what church we attend?”
“I asked if Dr. Thornburg is a secret Zionist. Apparently, you don't know.”
“Hey, I’m flexible. Does Islam take female converts?”
He crossed his arms and moved to the hotel side of the gazebo. I remember listening to the crashing surf while I tried to collect my thoughts. Tanella! Did he still want her? Maybe he mistook her for a black Muslim or something. I went to him, trying to save the magic, but I damn sure wasn’t a Disney princess even though he was a prince.
“Now, Tanella?” I said. “She’d never convert from Christianity. She’s more religious than Peter, Paul, and all the saints.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Sally Ann, I must know if Dr. Thornburg and Dr. Blake are truly neutral, or do they favor the Israelis? It is terribly important.”
My lip quivered. “Is that why you're kissing me?”
“No, I was merely—”
I pushed him away. “You don’t want a girlfriend—you’re recruiting a spy!”
“I am sorry if—”
“You’re sorry, all right.” No wonder Tanella flew home before the dessert tray arrived. And I thought she was dieting. God!—I should be dieting! Why did I stuff myself like a starving elephant? What a fool I was!
His eyes pleaded. “My country is depending on me.”
“Here’s a hot flash, Prince Charmless—I don’t give a care. You’re just a wolf in sheik’s clothing. And you don’t kiss worth a hoot, neither!”
I grabbed my straw hat and flew down the steps, hiding tears in the moonlight. I glanced over my shoulder. The last I saw of him was a halo of light draped around a lonely silhouette, white robes billowing in the evening breeze.
Four
Next morning I was sitting in the living room/dining room of our loft apartment, mindlessly watching news from Atlanta and trying to forget Ahmad and his little kiss-and-spy-game. Cousin Eric came out of his bedroom, and I switched from watching the TV to watching his reflection off the coffee table as he played with that stupid Junior CIA Agent kit. The weather lady—a brunette with a Yankee accent flat as Iowa but highs and lows on the body front—was warning people who live along the Florida coast about this new storm. Now called Hurricane Hagar, it was heading northwest from the Dominican Republic and picking up windspeed over the warm ocean.
“Oh, cool!” Eric said, never looking up from his three-ring circuits. “We might get a hurricane.”
“Why not?” I said darkly. “Every other ugly wind blows my way.”
Tanella came in from our bedroom wearing a pale yellow terrycloth bathrobe. She stood in a shaft of light under the floor-to-ceiling window, rubbing her frizzy hair with a white towel. Tanella looked out, across the roof. “This would be a bad time for a hurricane. With a full moon and high tides, a major storm will put most of these islands under water.”
“Yesss!” Eric said, finally surfacing from his electro-play. “They might have to evacuate us by boat?”
“Grow up, fool,” I said.
Eric picked up the remote control and switched channels. A local newscaster was finishing a similar weather report.
“No,” Tanella said. “They’d evacuate us long before the island flooded.”
“Totally cool!” Eric said. “Yo, Tanella, listen! They’re talking about some dead guy floating in the Channel.”
Eric aimed the remote control and the TV boomed. Tanella sat on the arm of the couch toweling her hair.
Police Inspector Norman Borkowski says preliminary evidence indicates the dead man had not been in the water very long. Efforts are underway to identify the victim, who was dressed in white. More details as they become available.
I shot straight up, shrieking. “Tanella! My God, he drowned himself! Oh, no, no, no, noooooooo!” I could hardly breathe. “I broke his—his—heart—and—and—he drowned himself!”
“Calm down, Sally Ann. You’re hyper-ventilating.” She sat at the table while I wandered around the room, sobbing.
“I killed him!”
“We don’t know who died,” Tanella said, trying to calm me.
“It’s him. I know it’s him.” I flopped on the couch, burying my face in my hands. “Oh, God, I drove him to suicide.” Tears trickled to the corner of my mouth, painting a salty coat on the tip of my tongue.
“Nah, you didn't,” Eric said, juggling the remote control.
Tanella wrapped the towel around her head. “Let’s go to his suite and find out.”
“Don’t hafta. He was alive this morning. Sick, but alive.”
“Did you see him?” I said, arms doubled over my stomach.
“No.” He flicked the channel, jumping to the TNT.
“So, how do you know he's alive?” I said.
“Just know, that’s all.” Eric changed channels again, Road Runner cartoon. He laughed. “Hey, look at that!”
Tanella reached behind the set, yanked the plug and the picture fizzled. “Let’s hear the rest of the story.”
Eric sat back. “Ahmad came back last night real late. He was seriously drunk and—”
“He’s too young to drink,” I said.
“He’s also a Muslim,” Tanella added.
“Well, last night he was a young, drunk Muslim.”
“How do you know?” I dug my nails into the couch.
“That fat guy—Abdu’l?—he kept telling him to go to bed. Abdu’l said it wasn’t Ahmad’s fault he got drunk. He said it was Sally Ann’s fault.”
“Was not!”
“Abdu’l finally calls out in Arabic—for help I guess, ‘cause a bunch of guys carried the Prince to bed. That’s it. Only he woke up this morning
with a hangover.”
“How do you know all this?” I said.
“I have my sources.”
Tanella crossed her arms. “Where did you hide it?”
I jumped off the couch. “You bugged Ahmad!”
“It was just a joke, Sally Ann. I slipped a Micro-mike shaped like a spider into—”
“Those flowers!” I howled. “You disgusting little—”
“Watch your language,” Eric said, thumbing at Tanella.
“I’m going to kill you!”
He dodged my claws and bolted to the opposite side of the room, keeping the dining table between us. “Hey, I didn’t know they was gonna take the stupid flowers to his suite. I thought he’d leave them on the table and I’d get my bug back later.”
“How can a toy broadcast so far?” Tanella said. “Walls and floor should have squelched anything beyond a few feet.”
He shrugged. “I slipped a power boost microchip into the transmitter and a bigger chip into my receiver. I get a pretty good range.”
“How far?” Tanella said.
“About seven, eight miles.”
“That’s illegal,” she said.
“That’s what I figured.” He grinned. “Good thing I’m just a dumb kid, huh?”
“Where did you get a booster chip so small and powerful?”
He sucked both lips inside his mouth.
“Talk to me, Eric!” Tanella demanded.
“Well, they was laying around Uncle Jim’s workshop and—”
“You stole microchips from my dad?” I said. “That’s treason!”
“I didn’t steal nothing. Just borrowed it from my uncle.”
“Your uncle,” Tanella’s voice sounded crisp and adult-like, “is a government research scientist. Those are most likely experimental chips, maybe even be secret.”
“I figured they was pretty good when I plugged them into my laptop and got direct feed from the International Space Station.”
I said, “You are going to jail, fool.”
“I didn’t break any laws. Well, not intentionally.”
“How is Ahmad?” I demanded, waving a fist across the table. “No lies, no wisecracks, no bullcrap.”
Tanella wagged a finger. “Sally Ann, your language.”
