The Arrival of Richard III

by Kari August

  His horrid reputation, was it now? Well, that was certainly a blow. But surely there was a way out of this mess. His brother Eddie, in his role as King Edward IV, hadn’t picked Richard as his right-hand man for nothing. Richard was a problem solver. He always had been. With sudden clarity, an idea came into shape. “Then let’s change my reputation. Let me return to Earth. I’m sure I can work my appeal on this twenty-first-century crowd.”

  Herman reared his head back. “Plunk you back onto the mother planet? Into the twenty-first century? Something such as that has never been done before.”

  Richard reasoned, “But God owes me. I might be in heaven right now if he hadn’t gotten too far in his cups. If he hadn’t lost track of me and then allowed his opinion to be muddled by five hundred years of lies, surely I would be in paradise by now.”

  Herman frowned. “You do have a bit of a point.” After a moment of thought, Herman ordered, “Wait here. I’ll go talk to God.” After scratching to get more of the gravy stain off his sleeve, Herman turned around and walked into a wall of fog.

  Richard looked around and sauntered over to a comfortable-looking chair before plopping down, one leg over the armrest. Eddie! Richard could just wring his neck right now. And after all Richard had done for his brother. Ever faithful, never being led astray, Richard had been his protector of the North. As the Duke of Gloucester under Eddie’s reign, he had kept the English northerners under Eddie’s rule and protected the border from the Scots. For once Eddie’s revelry had gone too far.

  Richard bit his lower lip and his thoughts continued to wander. But why was God’s opinion being swayed by populist opinion? Could this actually be true? God was omniscient. Surely he would see through the muck and place Richard immediately in heaven.

  Then why wasn’t he there now? Could it possibly be that God was not as infallible as Richard had always presumed? Or was this merely Herman worrying over nothing?

  Did Richard want to take a chance?

  He crossed his arms. No, he’d better do all he could to straighten out this mess. Who really knew the truth about God?

  Richard groaned. And since Tudor had won, did this mean Richard was the last king of the House of York and the Plantagenet dynasty? How humiliating it must be for any York descendant to have to live down Richard’s defeat and subsequent damage to not only his reputation, but theirs by relation as well. The thought was intolerable. For the sake of York family honor he needed to return to the twenty-first century.

  But Richard knew himself. And perhaps this was really the reason he was seeking such a potentially dangerous course of action. Though he knew vanity was a sin, he conceded that he had a great deal of pride. Perhaps too much. It truly stung that his reputation was not as stupendous as he thought it should be. For his own self-respect, for his own conceit, Richard wanted to travel to this distant century and do what he could to alter history’s perception of him and his reign.

  Herman emerged from the mist with a smile on his face, breaking into Richard’s deliberations. “Good news, Richard. God has agreed. But before we send you back he wants me to give you a one-hour lesson in catching up on the last five hundred years.”

  Richard stood. “Excellent. When should we begin?”

  For the next hour Herman droned on about all the significant developments, especially if they had an impact on culinary skills. Richard found his mind wandering again, even though he knew he should be paying close attention. There was just so much to take in. He stopped and listened carefully, though, when Herman produced a telephone and television. Now, here were truly incredible creations. He instructed Richard in the use of computers, but Richard found them rather tedious, his eyes straying to the television set showing scantily clad women. While Herman kept talking, Richard switched channels repeatedly. Before he knew it, Herman had declared himself finished with the lesson. Richard shrugged. Whatever he had missed by not paying attention, he was sure he could catch up on later. Richard knew he was a quick learner.

  Herman smiled. “Okay, so now we need to decide what clothes you should wear. Here is what is in fashion now.” Herman walked over and pulled a clothes rack out of the fog.

  Richard felt the flimsy material and looked at the odd styles. Not very regal. “I’d like to wear a snug-fitting velvet doublet under an overtunic lined with fur. Black is my preferred color, though something brighter for silk slashing in the sleeves could be used. Think royal, but restrained, not too many jewels. But I do want embroidered linen for my undergarments. And I’d like leather boots with woolen hose. Don’t make the toes too pointy.”

  Herman eyed him dubiously. “Are you sure, Richard?”

  “I’m a king. I want to appear as one.”

  “Very well. Your decision. Now, where are we going to place you back? Somewhere in England?”

  Richard rubbed his jaw. Hmmm. Those Tudors could prove a problem. Better find some York loyalists. “Herman, tell me which one of my relatives has been most concerned about my welfare.”

  Herman sat down in front of his computer and performed a search. “Well, yesterday Ned York, your first cousin nineteen times removed, was pulling up articles about you on his computer.”

  “Ned York it is. Where does he live?”

  “The United States of America.”

  Uncertain, Richard asked, “Is it far from England?”

  “Not with today’s modern version of transportation. Their gastronomy is a combination of cultures, and interesting if not always tasty.”

  Richard frowned and shook his head. “Herman! Let’s stick to the important points. Do you think Ned has a telephone and television?”

  “Oh, undoubtedly.”

  Richard could barely contain his excitement over the good news. “Now tell me, how am I going to convince Ned that I’m actually Richard III?”

  Herman looked puzzled a moment. “Hmmm. I have no idea. Let me ask God.” He walked back into the fog.

  A few minutes later Herman returned. “God is so smart. Ned has a deep secret that he’s never told a living soul. If you tell him you know it, he’ll believe you were sent from God.”

  Richard’s eyes lit up. “Indeed.”

  Herman leaned over and began whispering.

  Chapter Three

  Present Day

  Washington, D.C.

  Ned York looked around with satisfaction at all his belongings in the small office on the fifth floor of the glittering glass high-rise where he worked. He was on his way up in the world. He felt fairly confident that the current case he was assigned to at his prestigious law firm was going to be his ticket to success.

  More to the point, singer and teen superstar Mindie was going to gain him the coveted position of partnership. At the sage old age of twenty-three, multimillionaire Mindie fretted that perhaps her dedicated fans, who had devotedly bought nearly every tune she had composed on her guitar for the last five years, were no longer paying attention to what she was actually singing. She worried they just bought her songs because they were “Mindie songs.” She had decided to covertly release a new tune under the name of “Cindie” instead and see whether it would sell.

  With her worldwide distribution, the false name created legal difficulties and a financial tangle with her current music company. Ernest Bartlett, the senior partner at Ned’s law firm who was assigned the case, didn’t really understand all the technicalities, and besides, the firm wanted to project a youthful image to the teen idol, so thirty-year-old Ned, who was good with figures, was added on as the junior associate on the assignment. Ned was, for all intents and purposes, running the show, while Ernest continued to drum up new clients for the law firm at the golf course.

  It was as if the case were a top-secret spy operation, what with Mindie not wanting to be known as Cindie, but it was progressing well, and that was why Ned was hopeful he would be rewarded at the end of the year for all his long days spent in the office.

  But tonight Ned planned on leaving the office “early” at nine o�
��clock to meet his new girlfriend, Charlena, at his apartment. She had offered to make Ned dinner while he looked over his last memo of the day at home.

  Charlena was another big reason Ned was feeling good about himself. Quite simply, she was gorgeous, with a stunning face and shapely body, making Ned the envy of his fellow junior associates. Ned had never dated anyone like her, not that he had much experience with dating.

  Oh, he had managed a date for his senior prom in high school, but that had ended in disaster with a case of a bad appendix for Ned on the fateful night. In college he had been set up on a few blind dates, but nothing had stuck. Finally, his first year in law school he had met a controlling female who had told Ned that they would be shacking up together. Ned had agreed, liking at first that she was managing their affairs. Within a month he had felt as if he were in a special kind of hell. Ned, not being the type who enjoyed dealing with personal conflicts, and lacking the time to find different housing, had spent almost all his time in the library to avoid her. That had led to his being at the top of his law school class his first year, which had helped land him the job at this prominent firm in the nation’s capital.

  Ned remembered the night a month ago he had met Charlena. Despite being swamped with work dealing with the Mindie case, he had broken away from the office to attend one of his aunt Elle’s fund-raisers. He adored Aunt Elle and had not wanted to disappoint her. Besides, he liked doing his part for all the stray dogs and cats in the world.

  He had entered the hotel’s grand ballroom and looked about for his aunt. His eyes had caught in an instant on the five-foot-eleven Charlena, with willowy long blond hair. The shocking event had been that her eyes had also arrested on him.

  Ned had never considered his looks anything special. His mom had always called him cute, but that didn’t count, for obvious reasons. He supposed his six-foot-one frame could be described as leanly muscular, but he definitely wasn’t packed with a thick physique like his cousin Clarence. His tawny hair was curly, though, and Charlena seemed to like playing with it, entwining her fingers in it often.

  On their first date Ned had blurted out the most obvious question and asked Charlena why she had walked up to him in the ballroom to start a conversation when she had clearly had her choice of men.

  “Why, Neddie, I wanted to see what it was like dating an intellectual. Besides, you’re adorable in a sweet kind of way.”

  Ned had blushed. Clearly his aunt Elle had told her about his being a lawyer beforehand. But more than that, Ned knew he gave off a bookish appearance. Not that he was an intellectual, though. Sure, he had a super high IQ, but he certainly wasn’t any Rousseau. Charlena, though, didn’t understand that there was a difference between being bright and being an intellectual.

  In fact, there was a lot Charlena didn’t understand in the knowledge department. It was the one flaw in her that he was trying to get over. Perhaps not a flaw to most people, but Ned couldn’t deny it bothered him. In fact, it was one of the reasons he hadn’t attempted to bed her yet.

  Ned smiled to himself. Okay, the main reason he hadn’t tried his awkward moves at seduction was that he was just plain intimidated. Because not only was Charlena a beauty, and nice and sweet and caring, she was also incredibly rich. Daddy, as she liked to call him, was a business mogul. Charlena wasn’t sure of all he owned, but apparently there were some television connections here and there, as well as something to do with oil. And if that didn’t make her quite the catch in the vast majority of male eyes, Ned didn’t know what would. He had never broached the topic, but he suspected Charlena was light-years ahead of him in experience, and he could not imagine how he would ever measure up.

  Ned thought about the coming night. Perhaps tonight he would try some subtle moves to feel the situation out. That had been his intent last Saturday evening before Charlena had attempted to show him her mental prowess. Ned had the suspicion that she had actually studied up before their date in order to try to impress him.

  Ned had just given the waiter his card to pay the bill when Charlena had said, “Neddie, it’s important the economy doesn’t go into a depression like the one Teddy Roosevelt had to pull us out of.”

  Ned had smiled politely at the comment that had come out of left field. “Franklin.”

  Charlena had looked puzzled. “Ben Franklin pulled us out of a depression?”

  Okay, at least she had been trying, but the unfortunate thing about it was that Ned had suddenly lost all desire to do the deed with her. But that was several days ago, and he was sure that as long as she hadn’t studied up, he could get it up.

  Ned was sitting at his dining room table, reading the Mindie memo on his laptop, when the doorbell rang. He looked up, headed to his apartment door, and opened it with a smile.

  Charlena, dressed in designer jeans and high heels, gave him a quick kiss on the lips. She held up a plastic bag and grinned. “Neddie, see what I’m making for dinner tonight! French cuisine.”

  Charlena’s version of making dinner for him the last month had proven to be bringing over different take-out meals and putting them on plates from his kitchen cupboards. Not that Ned didn’t understand. After she’d lost her mother at a young age and been waited on hand and foot all her life by a host of servants, he thought it was a reasonable assumption for her to qualify her efforts as making the meal for him. The only big difference was that Charlena could get takeout from the best starred chefs in town.

  As she headed over to the kitchen, her phone suddenly rang. Ned took the bag from her. “Why don’t I put this on plates while you take the call?”

  Charlena smiled gratefully, as if Ned were doing her a big favor, and sat down at one of his dining room chairs. He walked into the kitchen and heard her through the adjoining door, greeting one of her many friends.

  “Oh, hi, Lulu. I’m at Neddie’s place. How did your day go at work?”

  Ned had learned over the last month that Lulu’s daddy was also loaded, but unlike Charlena’s father, he had insisted that Lulu learn some responsibility by getting a job. He had arranged for his daughter to work at the weekly publication Persons in Style, essentially a gossip magazine. Ned suspected the editor-in-chief was only too happy to have a potential inside source of salacious news. The one brief time Ned had met Lulu, he had been struck by the dissimilarity between Charlena and her. Not only was Lulu a bit smarter, but she came off as slightly cunning in an uncomfortable way. He wondered whether she pumped Charlena for gossip, since Ned’s date had a wide circle of friends. Sweet Charlena didn’t seem to notice, or at least she chose not to.

  Ned placed the beef bourguignon on a plate while he continued listening through the door. Charlena was quiet for a while, then said, “Your editor sounds mean. I’d tell her you’re just as qualified as the next person to do the job.

  “Uh-huh.

  “Uh-huh.

  “Oh, Neddie’s fine. He’s working hard.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Isn’t this a funny middle name? Aka. Ned’s helping someone named Cindie aka Mindie.”

  Ned tore into the dining room to see Charlena smiling up at him, sitting in front of his computer. The one he had forgotten to close before answering the door.

  A half hour later Charlena gave him a brief kiss at the door. “I’m sorry your stomach is so upset, Neddie. I’m sure Lulu’s like me and didn’t realize ‘aka’ means ‘also known as.’ Believe me, your secret is safe with me. It won’t go any farther. I’ll call you in the morning to see how you’re feeling.”

  A week later Ned was packing up his belongings from his law office. Lulu the Bitch and her editor had put two and two together. Mindie was threatening a lawsuit against the firm now that the gossip rag had let the world know she had been trying to use the Cindie pseudonym. Ned was fired.

  Two weeks of moping around his apartment led Ned to a major decision: He needed a change in scenery.

  He just could not bring himself to look for another job. Not now. The scandal was
too fresh, too humiliating. He knew he would have to explain in detail at any job interview what had happened. It was really too embarrassing. The scandal needed some time to cool. But it wasn’t only that, and Ned knew it.

  He was dissatisfied in some vague way with his life. He could not quite pin it down and, before now, had never really tried to. For years he simply had not had the time to concentrate on the matter, going straight from his intense education into the busy workplace. But he did now, and he still was not sure what was wrong.

  He was proud he was a lawyer and some days enjoyed the work very much, taking satisfaction in finding the best solution to a tangle of problems. But there were other days when the lack of autonomy, the long hours, and the corporate whirlwind were simply too much.

  He longed to be free and outdoors instead of cooped up high inside a glass-and-steel cage, looking down onto repetitive stretches of planned nature in precisely spaced landscape boxes on monotonous concrete sidewalks. A group of hothouse petunias just didn’t do it for him.

  And though he had been surrounded by people most of the day, had had numerous work-related social activities, had wined and dined with clients, and usually made time for his aunt’s charity events, he still had come home to his apartment most every night alone.

  Simply put, he currently lacked a real and close relationship with another human being. Someone who understood him, joked and laughed with him, criticized yet accepted him, and cared for him in a way that was beyond superficial. He knew he was capable of such tight bonds, but other than family—actually, he had drifted away from everyone but Aunt Elle—he was short on this desired connection. This was more than just physical intimacy, which, of course, was important. He wanted . . . a good, good friend. He guessed he wanted a soul mate, if he understood that term—one only women seemed to use—correctly. Would finding a wife solve this feeling? Or . . . would a close companion be enough? What if he found just a good pal to hang around with? Would that be sufficient?