The Guava Princess
Anton Lee Richards
Copyright © 2018 by Anton Lee Richards
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The Guava Princess
The Guava Princess tidied up the front counter before Pancake Heaven opened. A few people waited outside, so she knew she didn’t have much time. One final sweep through the restaurant and it was thumbs up, ready to go. But one more thing. She needed to hurry to the bathroom to check herself. At nine inches tall, her wig was quite heavy, with hanging strands of fruit, and was easy to mess it up if she moved her head too swiftly. She fixed her hair and fluffed out her mixed fruit-themed, plus-sized dress that matched so nicely with her copper skin. Just a bit more mascara. Ready to steal the show. Wait. Only one more adjustment down there. That’s better.
The Guava Princess walked to the front and opened the door. “Welcome my people, welcome.” She threw her hands up to usher them inside. She and the manager sat a few people at their tables. There was nothing like the smell of Pancake Heaven when it first opened. The air was clean and bright, free of the smell of hash browns in oil.
One waiter, Char, with Dolly Parton hair and Dolly Parton boobs, was the Princess’s second in command. She opened her arms to two patrons walking in. She wrapped them in a bear hugged that lifted each off the ground before she seated them. Since they looked liked Char’s close friends, the Princess let it slide this time. It was the Princess’s responsibility as a hostess to bring a fun atmosphere into the environment, and the Princess took that responsibility seriously. Before she let Char take the lovey-dovey couple to their table, she had to greet them and size them up.
Char introduced them and whispered, “They’re customers for the you-know-what.”
The Guava Princess nodded that she understood. “Mmm, hmm, two very handsome men. Call me when you two are at that point in your relationship where you’re clamoring for a threesome.” She placed her finger on her ass and said, “sizzle.” Then she sat a few more patrons.
Char caught up on the couple’s life. Jeffree was tall with dark hair and wore overalls that resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. One might think it was a design, but Jeffree used them when he painted his masterpieces and didn’t have to worry about getting paint on them. Dillon-Blake was a twink with sweeping bangs of fake-blond covering a fake-tanned face. He never looked at the Princess as he was busy taking selfies while walking inside.
The Guava Princess struggled with her ripped fishnet stockings. The restaurant made everyone wear the stockings, even the men. The problem was that they wouldn’t stay put underneath her girdle. She sat a lesbian couple in the booth with the guys. Aimee, the slender one with long fiery red hair, sported a few flowery tattoos. Makayla had a green mohawk with matching square earrings and was a bit heftier.
“I like that blouse, sis,” Jeffree said to Aimee as she sat down.
“Resale, of course,” Aimee replied with a smile. “I get everything at the resale shop. It’s all about the hunt.” Jeffree already knew this, being her older and wiser twin by five minutes.
The Guava Princess walked to each table, giving friendly greetings and shots of guava wine. She came up to a patron who had grown a lumberjack beard and recently had double D breast implants. “Things I used to know, I no longer know,” said the Princess, shaking her head.
The Princess moseyed on over to the big girls’ table to speak with her favorite customers. “How do you girls like the latest vibrating dildos I sold you last week?”
Dillon-Blake shook his head in delight. “I’ve never experienced anything like it,” he said. “I even took selfies with it for Instagram. Over 400 likes.”
“Me neither,” said Aimee. “Four orgasms in one morning.”
“Five, if you count the one in the shower,” said Makayla, chuckling.
“I love to please people,” said the Guava Princess. “We have a new shipment coming in today. Tell your friends, but only ones you can trust to keep this a secret. Remember, these are still illegal in America. Delete those social media pics.”
“Why are they illegal?” Aimee asked.
“Pfft,” the Princess said while waving her hand in dismissal. “You know how big government regulation goes. Not approved by the FDA. Something about faulty lithium batteries, a few broken bones here and there.”
“It’s the price you pay for the best orgasms of your life,” Dillon-Blake said.
Makayla looked up and pointed at her cell phone. “It says here that The Society for Religious Prudes was miffed about the stem cells used to create the fake skin.”
“Science should be used for the betterment of America,” Jeffree said.
“Well, I’ll let you girls finish your meals as I entertain the rest of the dining room. Isn’t Sunday brunch the best time of the week?” She was off to too-ta-loo with the next table before any of them could answer.
As the restaurant crowd grew, a gentle wave of chit-chat filled the room. The mid-morning rush was going pretty well until Char gasped so violently that the Guava Princess had to catch her from fainting on the floor. Her highly sprayed beehive hadn’t moved an inch.
“Wake up dear. You’re giving me a hernia,” said the Guava Princess.
“It’s Dimitri,” Char whispered in a high-pitched voice. “He’s with a new guy.”
“Why are you being so dramatic?” The Princess cocked an eyebrow. “Dimitri is only our dealer, not a contestant on a reality TV dating show.” She sighed. “And yes, I would get on my knees for him too,” she said, “but why is this significant other than the fact that our shipment of Sweeties is in?”
Char took the Princess aside to fill her in with all the latest Andersonville gossip. In a span of thirty seconds, Char paraphrased that Dimitri had dated Jeffree two years ago. It was a messy breakup when Jeffree caught Dimitri hooking up with not one, but two guys in Jeffree’s own bed. Later that year, Dimitri had dated Dillon-Blake. This was long before Jeffree and Dillon-Blake had even met and started dating each other. Dimitri’s breakup with Dillon-Blake involved a civil suit over missing rare Victorian-era condoms.
The Guava Princess shook her head. “That was a mouthful. I already forgot that story.”
“Speaking of a mouthful, who’s the semi-muscular guy he’s accompanying in the thin-rimmed glasses?” Char asked. “I want him to put a baby in me.”
“That’s Marcus. He’s from the accounting department at my day job,” the Guava Princess replied. “And he doesn’t play for your team.” Char gave her a frown. “I wonder how he got involved with the Stockholm Sweetie guy.” The Guava Princess placed her finger on Char’s cheek. “No matter what drama surrounds us, a woman should always be gracious and smile.” She adjusted the fake mole on her upper lip.
Dimitri was the cock of the walk when he came into the restaurant and dropped off an unmarked box near the front hostess station. He nodded towards Jeffree and Dillon-Blake and acted unfazed. He placed his arm around Marcus and motioned him to sit down.
“We’ll take a pitcher of the guava wine,” he said to the Princess. “And two cups of coffee, one decaf.”
Jeffree started hyperventilating while turning to stare at the single exposed brick wall. Dillon-Blake stewed in his seat with a tight mout
h and stared at the wall covered in paintings of nude men breastfeeding.
Jeffree smacked his hands on the table with such force that everybody in Pancake Heaven to turned towards them and Aimee and Makayla jumped. “How could you do that while we were still together? I even painted you nude in watercolor.”
Dimitri shrugged. “I thought we were taking a break.”
Dillon-Blake’s eyes expanded as wide as his boy-gina. “How did you know about the condoms?”
“What condoms?” Jeffree turned his attention from Dimitri to Dillon-Blake. “He didn’t use condoms when he cheated on me?” He got in closer to Dillon-Blake. “How did you know?”
The Guava Princess held Char back from meddling. She didn’t need Char playing Nancy Drew and getting the customers mad at Pancake Heaven employees.
“You know Dimitri?” Jeffree said to Dillon-Blake. “He slept with you too?”
“We dated!” Dillon-Blake said. “When did you date him?”
The Guava Princess intervened with mimosas made with lo-carb orange juice squeezed from bitchy oranges.
Makayla looked perplexed. Aimee leaned into Makayla and whispered, “That guy is so hot I would be mad too if he banged my ex. Want to ask him to be our sperm donor? Makayla nodded in approval.
Dillon-Blake started crying and walked out of the restaurant. Jeffree pointed to Dimitri. “Karma’s coming after you.” He chased after Dillon-Blake.
“You sound like an asshole,” Marcus said to Dimitri. “I’m glad I found this out now before things got serious between us.”
“Whatev,” said Dimitri as he threw a twenty on the table and walked out too.
The Guava Princess sat in the booth next to Marcus and put her sleeveless arm around him. She played with her dangling necklace made of real guava chips that needed to be replaced every two hours.
“Don’t worry hun, you’re not alone. You’ve got me.” She squeezed his muscly arm. “I’ve got something to cheer you up.” She pulled out a dildo from the pocket of her dress. “These, my dear, are Stockholm Sweeties. They will solve every single one of your problems.”
“A dildo? That’s the solution to my romantic drama?” Marcus asked.
“If you can satisfy yourself in bed, you won’t feel so desperate to put up with shit from every tall, dark, and hung.”
Marcus took a Stockholm Sweetie and examined it with the vigor of an astronomer discovering a new planet.
“The Sweetie feels like a dildo with all the benefits of a vibrator. Be aware though, they are illegal. They vibrate so hard that they’ve been banned in every country except for Sweden. You can always count on Sweden to fight hard for individual liberties.”
Marcus looked at the dildo in his hand with intensity. “Maybe that‘s why they stayed neutral in World War II.”
The Guava Princess pondered that thought for a moment. “Try it out and let me know what you think tomorrow morning.”
“But tomorrow’s Monday,” Marcus said.
“Oh yeah. Right. My, my, how the time flies when you’re wearing fruit on your head.”
Marcus didn’t know he worked with the Guava Princess in the accounting department. At work, Marcus knew her as Bill, the purchasing manager. His real name was Guillermo, but he found people took him more seriously when he used the Anglicized version, Bill.
The Princess watched the last customers leave and faked a smile while she waved and blew kisses. She washed the dishes and locked the doors. This was the worst part of the week. At home, she removed her dress, her makeup, her fake boobs, and the tape and four pairs of underwear holding her junk back. She looked in the mirror, and Bill looked back at her. Looked back at him. He. Bill. Another dreadful day at work tomorrow. But born to look good all the same: this shirt and that tie and set the alarm. The apartment was quiet except for the tick of the wall clock. Another five days until he could be the Guava Princess again.
“I need that report by 2 PM,” said Bill’s boss as he walked into his cubicle. He tapped on the framed inspirational poster that said, “Teamwork” in large letters and had a picture of six people in a rowboat, with one leading the group with a whip. In the small print, it said, “Working towards a common vision that makes the boss look good.” Bill gritted his teeth. Oh, for some mascara!
He calmed his nerves by looking at the other cubicle wall, which had a picture of him in full drag as the Guava Princess. He lied to everybody at work by telling them it was his Aunt Inocencia, a story that Marcus must have missed. Anything to spruce up the dismal office atmosphere that ate away at his spirit. Monday through Friday, he drudged at the office as the account purchasing manager, Bill. It was only on Saturday and Sunday that she could break through her slump and become herself.
“Only a few more calculations. I’ll definitely be finished by lunch.” Bill had already finished the report on Friday afternoon but didn’t have the heart to tell his boss. Instead, he used the free time to research the latest in dresses and makeup and fabulousness, and how to conduct business with his side gig selling Stockholm Sweeties.
Time for another Valium. His psychiatrist wanted him to cut back, but how to get through another mind-numbing week of accounting? If only his parents had allowed him to major in the theater arts like he’d wanted, then he could have been forced to work at Pancake Heaven full-time between theater gigs, rather than rely on a safety net of a job in accounting. The Guava Princess was made for the stage - not accounting.
Nothing goes better with Valium than stale office coffee, so he moseyed to the kitchen and spotted Marcus looking as dejected as Bill felt.
“Why do you look so sad?” Bill asked.
Marcus said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I go on dates with guys I meet on the Internet, and they all turn out to be jerks.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked down. “I’ve been working here for five years and was passed up for promotion twice.”
Bill opened his eyes wider. “Anything else?” He leaned in as if to suggest there should be something else he should tell him.
“No. Not really.” Marcus said.
“Are you sure? Nothing else new and exciting in your life that might affect your romantic life?” Bill was practically jumping up and down.
“Nope,” Marcus said as he put eight packets of Splenda in his coffee.
“I have a feeling that the solution to all your frustrations is right in front of you. Perhaps something you learned about last night.” Bill gave him an intense stare.
“Well, I did learn something last night, but it’s not the kind of thing I like to talk about at work.”
Bill folded his arms in satisfaction. “Oh, hush now. We’re family here. Just give that, wink, wink, new thing a try, and let me know if you feel there’s a little bit more of a spring in your step tomorrow.” Every time he spoke the word wink, he physically winked with increasing overdramatic zeal.
Marcus had a quizzical look on his face. “Wow. Five minutes ago you were dead to the world. Now you’re all excited about something new when you don’t even know what it is.”
Bill lowered his voice as if to emphasize his masculinity. “Let’s just say accounting isn’t for me, but I might have stumbled upon my calling.” If only he could sell enough Stockholm Sweeties to quit that god-forsaken job for good.
That evening, Bill had a dinner meeting with Dimitri to discuss how to expand their operations. Of course, this would require dressing up as the Guava Princess. As soon as he got home from work, he started preparations. A layer of foundation requires at least ten minutes to dry between the next one could be put on, and the Princess needed at least twelve.
The Guava Princess arrived at Guacos Tacos, away from the adoring crowd of Pancake Heaven. Tonight was about business. When she arrived, Dimitri was in the corner booth snacking on chips and salsa and sorting through papers in his briefcase. She plopped herself down, ready to rear into Dimitri for being a jerk to Marcus.
As if reading her mind, Dimitri spoke first, “Don’t e
ven lecture me about the boys at Pancake Heaven. I can’t help if all the guys want me.”
She kicked him under the table. “I had to give Marcus a free Sweetie to cheer him up. I want people to leave Pancake Heaven happier than when they walked in.”
“Whatev. At least we found another customer,” he said without looking up from the paper with the pie chart on it.
A fake eyelash started to fall off, and she scrambled to hold it on. “Oh, dear, I have something in my eye.” She couldn’t be out of character and give herself away to Dimitri. “This is so unladylike.”
“Dude, I know you’re Bill.”
“You do?” The Princess’s eyes widened even more than they did the day she found out that Elton John was gay. “And here I was getting all gussied up on a weeknight.” She knew he knew, but loved to play along with the game.
“Let’s talk about the real business at hand. The people of this great city need sexual relief, and we’re the ones to give it to them. If only the War on Vibrators wasn’t getting in the way. Those capitol hill politicians will do anything to get re-elected.”
The waiter dropped off their meals, and she doused her burrito in hot sauce. “I’m happy to continue selling them to customers at the restaurant. Make sure you drop the shipment off at the back door rather than come through the lobby. We don’t want another scene with one of the many other customers you might have slept with.”
“Jeffree and Dillon-Blake are such crybabies. I gave them the ride of their lives.”
She cleared her throat. “We need to be nice to our customers. They’re our family. You hurt my boys; I hurt you.”
“That’s the difference between you and me. I’m doing this gig for the money. You want to make people love you. You serve pancakes like you’re on stage in a Broadway play.”
She thought about that for a minute. The Stockholm Sweeties brought the community together, and she was their queen. Dimitri was like a drug dealer, skirting the law for profit. But she wasn’t a criminal, was she?
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