by H. T. Night
“So, you should be boarding the plane to Romania anytime soon, right?”
“Well, there has been a little change in plans.”
“What kind of change?” She seemed concerned.
“Before I get into all of that, I want to tell you how wonderful it is to hear your voice.”
“It’s nice to hear yours, too. I miss you terribly, Josiah. It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like an eternity.”
“I know what you mean.”
Lena paused. “Okay, now tell me about the change of plans.”
I hesitated and said, “The connecting flight came into London and I decided to stay over for a night.”
“Why?”
“Well, I got invited to some kind of royal party.”
“What are you talking about? By who?”
“Some duchess or something. She seems down to earth though.” She wanted to spoon me.
“Hold up!” I could tell Lena was extremely confused. “A royal princess invited you to some ball. Where? Westminster Abbey?”
“I actually don’t know where it’s taking place.”
“Who invited you?”
“Her name is Helen.”
“Helen?” Lena asked. “Helen, the Duchess of Windsor?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“The duchess that is dating Mario Moses?”
“Well, they aren’t dating anymore,” I said. I couldn’t believe what I was even saying. “So, you have heard of her?”
“She was only on the cover of every tabloid magazine last year.”
“Really?”
“Do you live under a rock, Josiah?”
I laughed. “I’ve been a tad busy. And mostly, human, Carni, or Mani, I just mind my own business because if I don’t it usually means I will get my ass beating of the week before I have to change into a big white bird and make my nose into a freaking spear of death.”
Lena laughed wryly and somehow, I knew she had rolled her eyes. “Even still. There are some things you can’t avoid.”
“Look, we met on the airplane and she invited me to this party where I have a chance to meet Paul McCartney.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. So bear with me. Shall I say his name again for you?”
“So, let me get this straight, Josiah. I saw you not even fifteen hours ago, and in that time, you’ve met Helen, the Duchess of Windsor and she invited you to a party that will have ‘Paul ‘freaking’ McCartney’ at it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“So, you just charmed her so well that she invited you to some royal bash?”
“I guess you can say that, though we both slept a lot on the flight. It was actually like she charmed me, not the other way around. I was all set to run to the Tower of London tour, just to see it once, and then hop back on the itinerary for Romania but she invited me tonight. Very prim and proper.”
“What are you even going to wear?” Lena said. Oh yeah, she went there.
“She had me call the equivalent of Suits-to-Go and a guy is going to bring me some clothes. I guess that’s the way they do things here. You have to dress for dinner. It’s like a law or something.”
“I’ve never even seen you in a necktie,” Lena said thoughtfully.
There was a long pause on the other end and I heard a crackle that was either the transatlantic phone line or Lena was crinkling a potato chip bag.
“Is she interested in you?” Lena sounded a little bit worried.
“No, it’s nothing like that. She just needed someone to escort her. Look, I’m not even sure how much I can trust her. One thing you know for sure is that you can trust me. After all we have been through, I promise you that.”
“I know, I trust you. It’s just the weirdest thing you could have possibly told me, that’s all. Just be sure to bring me an autograph by Paul McCartney.”
“Done,” I said. “Plus, I told her about you.”
“You did? You told her about me?” Lena voice sounded giddy. I wasn’t sure if she liked the fact I told another woman about her, or that someone famous knew who she was. “What did you say?”
“I told her that I cared about you. That you were my...” I hesitated.
“I was what?” Lena asked.
“My girlfriend,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, so you have nothing to worry about.”
Lena was quiet. I could almost hear her smiling. “I miss you so much, Josiah.”
“I miss you, too.”
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“I really don’t know, maybe a week or so. Well, I’d better get ready. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“That will be nighttime here. It’s morning right now.”
“I totally forgot. Bye, Lena.”
“Bye, Josiah.”
I hung up and headed straight for the shower. Talking to Lena rejuvenated me. I stripped down and got in the shower. I don’t know why but showering always seemed to be better than sex ever since becoming a Mani. I stood there for a good twenty minutes! About how long it takes me to, well… nuff said. It was a pretty good shower.
I got out of the shower and stepped into the main room of the suite. There was a tuxedo on my bed. I guess they had brought it in while I was in the shower, lathering up.
I hoped it fit. I put the bad-boy on, and I had to admit, I looked freaking good. I’ve never worn one of these penguin suits before, and damn! I was sexy as hell! Total red-carpet ready!
I finished getting ready with a razor and some shaving cream the hotel had provided and the phone rang. I answered it.
“Your limousine is here, sir,” the voice on the line said.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“It’s in the parking garage, sir. The Duchess is waiting.”
“Then I better mosey on down there,” I said, in a bad Southern accent. American, that is.
I hung up the phone and put on my dress shoes. Darn they hurt! A size too small! I was 13 and these were obviously 12’s, maybe even 11’s. This wouldn’t do! I took them off and put on my Doc Marten boots that I wore on the trip over. These boots were made for ass-kicking and I just might have to do some of that tonight.
Chapter Five
The elevator door opened and I was in the parking garage. The black stretch limo awaited me. The chauffeur got out of the front seat and opened the side door. Helen jumped out to greet me. She gave me a freaking air kiss just inches from each just-shaved cheek. What was that about? So she didn’t mess up her lipstick? Her perfume swirled around me like a tender trap and I have to say that… Holy shit! She looked incredible!
Helen was wearing a light blue gown that fit her like a second skin and I couldn’t detect that she was wearing a bra or underwear. She just looked like she was sewn into the dress. And the dress itself seemed to have diamonds sewn into it. No, not rhinestones, and not Swarovski crystals like they used on freaking Project Runway – Lena adored this silly TV show. Helen wore a spectacular bracelet that probably cost more than my house and it bore the family crest, I assumed, lions and a wicked cool unicorn. Her earrings were long and very diamondy. She looked like a million bucks! From the looks of it, her outfit was worth at least that much. Geez, what if she got a dab of ketchup on herself? What then?
“You clean up nice,” she said.
I was still blown away at how fantastic she looked. “And you, well, you clean up like royalty.”
“Oh, this old thing,” she said mockingly. She smiled and her eyes sparkled along with her jewelry and sparkly, sparkly dress, as if we could just shoot her into the sky and have her light it up.
“You look fantastic, you’re mesmerizing.”
“Mesmerizing! Wow! I’m glad I took the extra time to do my hair.”
“Your hair looks great. It’s whole… package.” Damn. I was having a hard time talking.
“You’re sweet, Josiah, even when the cat has got your tongue.” She paused, then leaned in
and kissed my cheek for real. When we touched, I thought I might see a vision like I had with the bellhop. I got nothing, just the lovely smell of a thousand-dollar perfume.
“Let’s make our way to the party,” she said, smiling as she saw me smelling her. “We’d better hurry or I might turn into a pumpkin.”
Helen stepped back into the limo and I followed. She sat with her back to the chauffeur, while I sat across from her. I got a flash of Princess Diana in her last moments of life and wished again for a seat belt. I choked down the thought.
“You ready for this night of your life?” Helen asked.
“I’m as ready as a guy like me can get. I suppose you’ll keep me by your side all night as your escort.”
She smiled and patted my hand. “Within inches.”
We headed out of the parking garage and Helen opened the sun roof. The stars looked amazing.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To the West End,” Helen answered.
“I looked at the digital clock on the TV set in the limousine, it read 9:04.
“May I?” I asked, implying I wanted to stick my head out of the sun roof.
“By all means, help yourself.”
I stuck my head out of the sun roof and looked at downtown London. I had never done anything like this before and it felt exhilarating. It’s hard to impress a guy who can turn into an eagle and fly, but she managed to impress me.
Then, without warning, I heard a squawk from above. I looked up and saw three black ravens coming for my head. My instinct was to duck back inside, but instead I climbed onto the roof of the limo.
“What are you doing?” Helen yelled. I didn’t have time to respond. The three birds torpedoed into me and pushed me off of the moving limo. I transitioned into the great white eagle on contact and flew upward before my body hit the pavement.
I darted across the sky. I could see Piccadilly Street below me and the Thames River to the left of me. I circled around and I could see Big Ben in the distance. I decided to make my way to the gigantic clock. It was a good point of focus and not too shabby of a landmark to fly toward. I flew as hard as I could to the giant watch in the sky. I flew toward Bridge Street and was making my way to the clock tower. I looked behind me and the three ravens were chasing me.
Why was I running away from them? What was I running away from? They were obviously Mani, but who were they? I decided to fly past Big Ben and continue south of Wandsworth. I could see a lit park below me on Kensington and decided to fly down toward the grass. As I got closer to the park, I realized it wasn’t a park, but a series of tennis courts. And not just any tennis courts. It dawned on me, I was at Wimbledon.
I crashed into one of the nets as I tried to land. I rolled and transitioned back to my Mani form.
The three ravens were close behind me. All three landed on the other side of the net and transitioned. I stood up, facing the three Mani men.
“Why are you chasing me?” I asked.
The three men stepped closer and I could see them. I recognized all of them from the vision. There was a tall blonde guy who was skinny as hell. He stood in the middle. There was one on the left who had long brown hair with squirmy eyes that looked like he could use a couple months’ of eating Jenny Craig pre-packaged cuisine. The one on the right was the one I was worried about. He had jet-black hair and appeared to be in very good shape.
I repeated myself, “Why are you chasing me?”
Again, none of them spoke. So, I just stood my ground. My experience has taught me that when one is outnumbered, wait to be attacked and then react.
I’m not sure why exactly, but whenever I was in a physical confrontation, even when I was a human, everything around me slowed down and almost came to a halt. I was able to dissect a situation in milliseconds, because it seemed to be in slow motion. I called it my Good Will Hunting mode.
I was staring at all three of these guys and waiting for them to attack. Why would Helen pay these guys to fight me? It didn’t make any sense. I stared each of these idiots in the face. Did they really think I couldn’t take them? I could kill all three of them in my sleep! Did they have any idea what I’ve been through? Obviously not, because there would be no way in hell they’d be facing off against me if they did.
The three men simultaneously, almost as if they had choreographed it ahead of time, came toward me in a rush, then backed off and made a triangle around me. Cool, I thought, A special formation just for yours truly.
Suddenly, the guy with the jet-black hair charged me. I was always good in geometry so I enjoyed this little pattern they set up. He foolishly lunged toward me and I karate-kid kicked him right in the face with hands in the air and all—my little homage to 80s martial arts cinema. He fell flat on his back and popped back up like a spring. He nodded his head at me as if to say, ‘well played.’
The guy on the left came in at me and I swept his right leg. I jumped and floated up and I controlled my body in midair as well as I could. All three of their jaws dropped as they witnessed a Mani who could fly in his Mani form. Without transitioning. Yeah, take that suckers.
“Oh,” I said, to the three of them. “You thought you could just roll over on me. You didn’t realize I’m the baddest motherfucker you’re ever going to get into a street fight with.”
I dropped down in a 45-degree angle with my left leg extended and drilled the fat guy on the right’s chin. He somersaulted backwards.
“15-love,” I said, referring to how a tennis match is scored.
The black-haired man didn’t like my smug attitude. He shook his head and came toward me. I jumped over him like he was a hurdle in the Olympics. I landed about ten feet away from him with my back to three men. Not the smartest move. The heavy-set one had gotten back up and tackled me to the ground. I had to give the obese asshole props, he was pretty damn strong. But he was no Goliath. But who is?
His fat ass was lying on top of me. I flipped his 250-pound frame over my head, and then popped up from my back.
Then the tall blonde guy finally got into the picture and round-house kicked me and caught my right cheek and I stumbled back.
“Nice Blondie, good to see us blonde boys can still hold our own.”
He smirked at me and said, “15-15,” responding to my reference to a tennis match.
I grinned and charged Blondie and kicked him in the chest with enough force to send his body one hundred feet in the air. “Damn!” He hit the back wall of center court and didn’t move. He didn’t disappear so I knew he was still alive.
I turned to face the other two, “30-15,” advantage badass motherfucker.
I flung my body into the dark-haired Mani’s space and grabbed him by his shirt and flew up in the air, still holding him. He dangled from my clutches and was in absolute horror. It reminded me of what a scared kitten looks like when you pick it up. I was about three hundred feet in the sky, still clutching onto him by his shirt.
“You better transition before you land,” I said. “Because this is going to hurt.” I back-handed him and hit him square between the eyes before he fell to the earth and transitioned into a raven before he hit the ground, like I suggested.
Good Mani thug, you listened.
He collapsed as he landed on the grass court.
One left, Chubbo. I stared him down and said, “40-15,” advantage skinnier guy. He shook his head, already knowing his fate.
“I tell you what; I’ll spare your ass. Just get the hell out of here.”
He shook his head and then ran toward me like a Trojan warrior, but without the sword. Too bad, my swords were my hands and feet.
He came at me and I ducked, grabbed his arm and threw him forward like I was a matador screwing with a bull during a bullfight. He rolled on the ground into the net. He got up and shook himself off.
“All right, Roly-Poly,” I said. “I gave you a chance.”
He ran at me again and, frankly, I was tired of dealing with these three. I floated up and landed
on his broad shoulders. I wrapped my ankles around his neck and twisted my feet putting him in a leg headlock. He fell to the ground and I cranked up that puppy by tightening my legs until he passed out.
Game, set, match.
Suddenly, I saw something shoot across the sky like a meteor. I looked closely to see what it was, but it was gone. Someone held back and observed. I wonder who. Helen, of course.
I looked at the three men lying center court. I wiped myself off and thought, Roger Federer would be proud. I transitioned into the eagle and flew off, making my way back to the West End.
I flew back and there was no sign of the black stretch limousine. West End was really crowded and I decided to take the subway back and try to appear as normal as possible.
When I got back to my hotel, part of me was expecting Helen to already be there, but no luck.
I went through the entrance and made my way up the elevator to my room.
The room was on the top floor and I realized once I got to the door that I was never issued a room key.
I took the elevator back down and walked up to the hotel concierge. He was a short, feminine black man.
“Hello,” I said.
He looked me over and was not impressed. My tuxedo was ripped and torn and I had grass stains everywhere, “Yes, may I help you?”
“I was never issued a room key,” I said.
“That is impossible, sir. Have you been to your room?”
“Yes, but the bell boy let me in.”
“What was his name?”
“Maxwell.”
The concierge smiled. “We don’t have anyone named Maxwell that works here.”
“Sure you do. He’s about yay high.” I put my hand a little above my head. “He’s 220-230. Has a big fat head!”
“Well, you just fit the description of half our staff, but I can assure you that no Maxwell works in this establishment.”
The concierge went to his computer. “Okay, sir. Let’s take a different approach. What is your name?”
“My name is Josiah, but I wasn’t the one who got the room.”
“Then what is the name of the person who got your room.”
“Helen, the Duchess of Windsor.”
