The
Queen's
Code™
By Alison A. Armstrong
PAX Programs Incorporated
The Queen's Code
Copyright © 2013 Alison A. Armstrong
All rights reserved, including the right to
reproduce this book or portions thereof
in any form whatsoever.
For information address:
PAX Programs Incorporated.
P.O. Box 56749
Sherman Oaks, CA 91413
http://www.alisonarmstrong.com
Cover design: Dennis Caco
Version 1.0
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
I.
Revelations
II.
The Journey Begins
III.
Hatpins, Stilettos and Swords
IV.
Liberation and Illumination
V.
Pumpkin Hours to Desserts
VI.
The Breaking Point
VII.
Beyond the Damsel in Distress
VIII.
The Soul of a Man
Author's Acknowledgements
I. Revelations
KIMBERLEE questioned her motives in going to yet another seminar about relationships. It certainly wasn't for the chance to be with Melissa in this particular environment. Ironically, her best friend would complain about her own husband, while searching for a better one for Kimberlee.
It was hope that got her out of her condo, even after a long, stressful day at work. Hope that she'd learn something new; hope that she'd find the key to her dream; hope that somehow the partnership that eluded her would come within reach. Though she felt pessimistic, it was hope that made her try one more time.
It was also hope that had her marry Mathew. The hope that after their wedding, he'd resume being the affectionate and engaging companion he was during their courtship. When Mathew remained as distant as he had become during their engagement, despite the ring on his finger, she blamed it on her flaws. She set out to make Mathew love her more and want her more by perfecting herself. She lost weight, she learned to cook the same meals as his mother, she even climbed mountains in the dead of winter. But nothing worked.
After four years of trying, she concluded she lacked “the Grace Kelly gene.” This was the only way Kimberlee could justify why her husband never pursued her with gifts. Especially the ones she craved most: gifts of words and time and touch.
Again, it was hope that had her leave Mathew. She'd rather risk being alone for the rest of her life to have a chance at the union she believed was possible. Yes, she wanted children and a family. But she needed support and attention, and laughter and passion. She wanted love and affection, and couldn't live without interest and respect.
It wasn't hope that led her to Brett. That was pure chemistry and charisma. And for a while, it worked. He was attentive, romantic and fascinated by her thoughts and ideas. For about three months. Then he, too, changed.
When it was over, she realized that all the men she was ever involved with were wonderful — in the beginning. Why did this always happen? It wasn't when she finally slept with them. She'd tested that theory. They changed when I was caught and the pursuit was over. It was when I surrendered emotionally. That's when they stopped putting their best foot forward and the disappointing behavior began.
This meant she needed a new strategy: Don't get caught; don't care more than they do. Or at the least, don't let them know she did. Protect her independence, no matter what. That seemed to be the only way to make men treat her well, for more than a few weeks or months.
She was smart enough to see the conflict. Even though her most enduring relationship with a male was with her tabby cat, Lancelot, in truth she wanted to be caught. She wanted to be adoring and adored, worshipped and devoted. Yes, even at thirty-one, the picture of a successful and liberated woman, she still hoped for happily ever after.
Kimberlee checked her appearance in the mirror, arranged her short dark hair, and added some pale pink lip gloss. Leaving Lancelot with a scratch behind his ears, she locked up and got in her BMW sedan. At a stoplight, she quickly checked her voicemail. A message from Melissa underscored her conflict: “Kimmee, I have the most adorable man for you to meet. I'll tell you about him tonight.” In resignation, she asked herself, But will he be adorable three months from now?
KIMBERLEE tried to keep her attention on the speaker, a silver-haired man of about fifty. Sadly, nothing new or earth shattering was coming out of his mouth. Just more of the usual spiel about the importance of communication and trust.
She thought, But what if men won't communicate? And they've already proven they can't be trusted?
Suddenly Melissa raised her hand, energetically demanding the speaker's attention. Apparently, her petite and feisty sidekick had grown weary of the usual rhetoric as well. Melissa stood when the speaker called on her and, hand on her hip, shoulders thrown back, she challenged, “What I don't understand is why men are great in the beginning — you know, flowers, gifts, great dates and lots of attention — but after a while they turn into weekday workaholics. And on the weekend, they're nothing more than football-watching, pizza-eating, beer-belching couch slugs. Why is that?”
Kimberlee was used to Melissa's hostility towards her husband. It was born of too many lonely nights caring for their three children while Scott worked late in a career he loved. But her blunt description and raw anger sent a jolt through the room. Many women leaned forward, to better see Melissa and hear the speaker's response. Most of the men crossed their legs, presumably protecting their manhood from her friend's cutting remark. Kimberlee, with the best seat in the house, was surprised that the speaker seemed bemused by the comment.
As the speaker slowly drew closer, he deliberately appraised Melissa's pretty face and athletic figure. Then he smiled and said, “Oh, I see. You're a Frog Farmer.”
“A what?” Melissa demanded.
“A Frog Farmer!”
Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Melissa demanded, “And what exactly is a Frog Farmer?”
“Well,” he replied with a lopsided grin, “some women turn frogs into princes. But that takes a queen, not a princess — or a shrew. Like most women, you, my dear, turn princes into frogs!”
Melissa's gasp was echoed in the audience. Kimberlee's friend sat down suddenly, glaring. The middle-aged man held out his hands, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders as if to say that it was a shame, but alas, nothing he could fix. As he walked back up the aisle, Melissa stuck out her tongue.
Grumbling echoed around the room from women equally dissatisfied with the response. But Kimberlee was completely intrigued. She envisioned herself standing on the porch of a large white farmhouse with a field of frogs spread out before her. Each frog had a little human head with a face she recognized from her past. Kevin and Mathew looked up at her from the front row.
Wow! she thought, I'm a Frog Farmer!
She realized every man she'd known began as some flavor of Prince Charming. And every man ended up the same: distant, defensive and uncommunicative. She'd assumed the prince was for show, and the frog was their true nature being revealed. What if they actually were Princes? And something I did changed them?
Far from needing to dodge blame, Kimberlee was relieved to think she might be the cause of how men treated her. If she was bringing out the worst in men, she could probably stop. She'd tried changing men; it had to be easier to change herself.
She puzzled, But how am I bringing out the worst in men? And how does a woman bring out the best? What's the secret? An image of a queen flooded her mind. Magnetic, confident, abundant —
someone she imagined was in control of her castle and realm. A thought caught her breath in her throat: Could I become a queen? What kind of a woman is that, in the real world?
Fascinated by her own thoughts, she didn't hear anything else for the rest of the event. As they waited at the valet parking, Melissa ranted about the Frog Farmer remark. “Every woman in that room knew what I was talking about,” she insisted. “It was totally unfair of him to blame me for the self-centered and childish way men act.”
Not wanting to disturb the delicate, expectant state of her revelation, Kimberlee shrugged without comment. Fortunately, Melissa's car arrived and they exchanged a quick hug.
Driving home, Kimberlee contemplated being a Frog Farmer. The more she considered the probability, the more certain it became that she was indeed a very successful Frog Farmer. And all her friends were too. Curled up with Lancelot, she fell asleep wondering if turning frogs into princes could be learned. Or do you have to be born royalty?
KIMBERLEE'S work on Tuesday was hectic, as usual. Managing a large department, with billions of insurance dollars at stake, kept her on the run. It wasn't until she stole away for lunch that she could think about the previous night. Flipping through PEOPLE magazine's pages of dramatic breakups, she recalled her vision of rows upon rows of frogs. Heck, she thought, Frog Farming is the norm, even among the beautiful, rich and famous.
So, where could she find one of the rare women who brought out the best in men?
Her grandmother's face appeared and she remembered dropping in on her grandparents’ Pasadena home after an offsite meeting nearby. She'd found them sitting on a new bench in their backyard garden, holding hands. The scene was still vivid: the contented smile on her grandmother's face and the warmth in her granddad's eyes. Kimberlee had the feeling she had interrupted something intimate. If Burt looked at his wife with such obvious affection, after more than fifty years of marriage, she was willing to bet her grandmother was not a Frog Farmer. Did that make her a queen?
She recalled Thanksgiving dinner with her grandparents and their new forty-something friends, Karen and Mike. Kimberlee was curious about the way the couple behaved and assumed they were newlyweds. She was shocked to discover they'd been together for nearly twenty years. They were still conspicuously in love and she'd seen Mike looking at his wife tenderly. Coincidence? Maybe Karen wasn't a Frog Farmer either. Maybe that's why her grandmother had befriended her?
In that moment, Kimberlee wished she and Karen were friends. Asking the schoolteacher with the exotic looks and gentle nature about men would be far less intimidating than approaching her grandmother. Merely imagining talking to her grandmother about men and romance made Kimberlee feel queasy.
And, oh dear, what if sex came up? she thought, in the familiar panic that topic caused. If only she knew Karen better and could avoid her grandmother altogether. Discouraged, she decided to search for someone else who might show her how to bring out the best in men.
RAUL carefully rolled up a piece of gum and popped it into his mouth. He wanted a cigarette but settled for cinnamon flavoring. After two years, it was still a lousy substitute.
He prodded his friend, “So, Jack, how's it going with the ladies these days?”
They were sitting in Raul's office casually observing the bustle of activity amongst the dozen processors through the large glass window. Jack grunted. “If they're not bustin’ my bank account, they're bustin’ my balls,” he replied with characteristic bluntness in his deep, resonant voice.
“Ah, it can't be that bad,” Raul chided.
“You have no idea, my friend. You're lucky you married young and well. Women these days expect too much from men.”
“Such as?”
Jack looked at him from under bushy dark eyebrows. “They want me to initiate everything and provide everything, like a man. That's fine. But they expect me to just listen with sympathy and compassion,” he mimicked in a falsetto. “And it's not enough to be willing to go shopping with them, and bring the cash. I have to want to go shopping.”
Jack shook his shaggy head. “They can't seem to make up their minds. Or else they don't know it's ridiculous to expect a man to be their boyfriend and their girlfriend.”
“Is it that awful?” Raul asked. “I mean, most women are more independent these days. That must have a benefit, right?” He added, “I love having my wife at home with our kids, but sometimes I wish she needed a little less from me.”
Shaking his head again, Jack grumbled, “You're lucky Sally needs you. Career women don't need a man for anything. And they make sure you always know it. No matter what I do, they're proving they can do it better. One woman even said to me, ‘I can out-man any man,’ as if that were a good thing!”
He chewed on his toothpick. “And have you tried to impress an accomplished woman lately? Besides having to guess at what they want, if you give them something they can give themselves, you get no credit. And with the money women are making now, even I could go broke trying to do something they think is special.”
“Why do you bother?” Raul asked.
Jack sighed. “You already know the answer. Success isn't that satisfying without a partner to share it with.”
Raul nodded; he did already know.
A moment later, Kimberlee walked through the processors’ pit and Raul noticed Jack's eyes following the voluptuous, suit-clad woman across the room. “What about Kimberlee?” Raul asked. “She's incredibly smart. And pretty too. You're always checking her out.”
“Pretty? Hell, she's gorgeous. But,” he shuddered involuntarily, “way too edgy. And frostier than a shaken martini.”
His aversion didn't prevent Jack from leaning forward to catch the last view of her. “It's too bad though,” he added wistfully. “I could spend a lifetime admiring those curves.”
KIMBERLEE finally admitted on Friday night that she couldn't think of a single woman who definitely wasn't a Frog Farmer. Except her grandmother.
She thought about the elderly woman who had been such an important part of her childhood. She had been close to her mother's mother, but that intimacy hadn't survived adolescence. Their adult interactions consisted of sporadic, cheerful visits where Kimberlee avoided any topic of emotional significance. While she sometimes wanted to break through this barrier, she feared it would inevitably require her to reveal the most shameful part of her life. She wasn't willing to expose herself in that way, even if it could help her regain a once-precious relationship.
Stroking Lancelot, she realized she also hesitated because she was in awe of her grandmother. She'd seen her standing in a pile of manure, grinning, with pitchfork in hand, while managing to appear adorably feminine, and command respect too. She reminded Kimberlee of an ancient queen, the mythical Earth Mother and a mischievous imp, all rolled into one. How did any woman pull that off, let alone one almost eighty years old?
The farmhouse vision would not recede, however. If anything, it grew more vivid and compelling. And how this earthy vision of her grandmother lived could coexist with the possibility of being a queen pestered her. Moment by moment, her curiosity grew. Finally, she called her grandmother and smoothly maneuvered an invitation to a late lunch on Sunday.
MELISSA balanced Sarah on her hip, stepped over a toy tractor, and managed to answer the phone before it went to voicemail. “Hello?” she said.
“Pretending all's well again, huh?” Kimberlee teased.
“Well, Kimmee,” she replied with a chuckle, “even if I can't fool you, hopefully Scott will never know how much chaos I reel in around here. You've seen how freaked he gets at any sign that things are out of control.”
“My hat's off to you, Mel. As much as I complain about my processors, they're not nearly the challenge of three kids.”
Melissa felt gratified by the admiration of her career-oriented friend. She set Sarah in her playpen, balanced the phone between shoulder and ear, and pulled her auburn hair back in a ponytail. “When you pump out a few rug rats of your
own, I'll be happy to give you some tips on raising three small children and one large one.”
Referring to her husband as a child usually got a laugh out of Kimberlee. This time it didn't and Melissa couldn't imagine why. After an awkward moment, Kimberlee asked, “Speaking of men: who is this Mr. Adorable you forgot to tell me about?”
With the exception of the pause, this was their usual routine. Classmates in junior high, they were each other's oldest and best friend. At twelve they shared fantasies of marrying boys named Gregory and Harlan and each having two perfect children. At fifteen, they added successful and glamorous careers to their lists, as well as changing the world.
They sometimes joked that between them they had the life they'd envisioned: Melissa had the husband and ideal children and Kimberlee was successful in the not-so-glamorous insurance business. They weren't sure yet who was going to change the world, or how. But they could still dream together and counted the other's friendship as key to the foundation of their lives.
Melissa considered it her duty to find Kimberlee a new husband and often fixed her up with Scott's colleagues. “Mr. Adorable is a new guy in Scott's office. He came over for dinner last week and I pre-screened him. He's cute and single, on the way up the accounting ladder, and he wants to meet you. I told him I'd invite you to the company picnic on Sunday. What do you say? Will you come?”
When Kimberlee said she was busy, Melissa's curiosity was piqued. Finally, Kimberlee admitted she was having lunch with her grandmother, in hopes of finding out how not to Frog Farm.
“Are you sure ‘Frog Farming’ applies to you?” Melissa asked. “Isn't that taking on yourself what's really the fault of men? No matter what that jerk said, men do change — and not for the better. We both know that too well. Remember how cold Mathew became only months after you married him? Come on! I wanted to kill him.”
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