Royal Pain

by Pike, Leslie

  “Debbie Gibson called. She wants her dress back,” Soraya says, reading my mind.

  “I know. I’m so glad you have to share my shame, I don’t want to be alone looking like I’m going to the prom.”

  “We’ll just drink and dance and forget how we look. Graham will dance with us both.”

  “Good. Now I can try to have a good time without worrying I’m encouraging some guy’s fantasy of screwing a bridesmaid.”

  “How in the hell did that start anyway? Do you know that many women who hooked up with someone they just met at a wedding?”

  I look at her like she’s suddenly lost her mind. I hold my stare for a few seconds, until we both bust out laughing.

  “I mean, other than you or I?” I remind her.

  “We were a lot younger,” she adds with a shoulder shrug.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Had no connection to the copious amounts of alcohol we were drinking in our twenties.”

  “That guy was fun until he took his pants off. He had an unfortunate-sized penis.”

  “I don’t remember you telling me that. Poor guy. Too small. Gherkin material?”

  “No! Too big! He was hung like a donkey.”

  I’m laughing so hard I have to lean against the wall. “Stop! I’m going to pee my pants!”

  This gets Soraya going. She puts her hands out, showing me an approximate size of her studly drive by.

  “I’m serious. He not only had length but girth. It was too big. It scared the hell out of me! I didn’t even get it in all the way, so I had to give the poor guy a blow job.”

  I laugh out loud, bending over and holding my stomach. That’s when I feel the back of my prom dress give way.

  Turning around to Soraya, I show her what her blow job story produced.

  “Come on friend, let’s go before we make these goofy dresses worse!” she says, leading the way.

  * * *

  Morgan International always looks like it’s about to be photographed for a spread. Graham is a man with taste. I’ve been here with Soraya several times, and each time I see another detail in his office I hadn’t seen before. Today it’s the exquisite pen on his desk. That shows his classic tastes. How many people still write with an expensive pen?

  “So what are you two up to this afternoon?” he says, fingers entwined behind his head.

  “Belinda and I had to go for a fitting for the bridesmaid dresses. After this we’re headed for the office.”

  “Oh yeah, the wedding is next weekend, right?”

  “Yes. Your wife and I have volunteered you for dance duty. Hope you don’t mind,” I say chuckling.

  “Of course not. I can do double duty.”

  He gets this grin that makes Soraya wiggle in her seat. And that wiggle makes him smile.

  “I hear you’ve been communicating with Zan. I hope it will be a beneficial business relationship as well as a personal one.”

  “He asks all the right questions, and that tells me a lot. Plus, we found out we’re both rabid Spanish soccer fans. It’s kind of an odd find since neither of us live anywhere near Spain.”

  “I’m going to order a team hat on Amazon to take to him on my next visit. I’ll get you one too!”

  “I want one!” Soraya says.

  “I was sorry to hear his father passed away. Soraya and I sent flowers and condolences.”

  “That was really lovely of you two,” I say, touching my heart.

  “Belinda’s going back to Africa after the wedding.”

  “This sounds like love. And I highly recommend it.”

  Graham’s general attitude about being in love with my best friend is beautiful, meaningful, and encouraging. It’s what I see in Zan, and that’s a rare commodity.

  Soraya and I both hit the biggest jackpot of all.

  * * *

  We postponed going into the office as long possible. But Carol wants to talk with me, and when the editor wants to have a conversation, you comply.

  “Shut the door,” she says, looking up from her desk. “And sit down.”

  With the door shut I move to take my seat.

  “So you’re going back to Africa next month?”

  News travels fast. “Yes. I’ll be able to do my assignments and maybe come up with a few more ideas for that piece on global nationalism.”

  She raises her eyebrows at my comment. “I’m thinking about another story. You have an opportunity we shouldn’t ignore and we both know what it is.”

  “Mozia.” No use pretending I don’t pick up her meaning. She’s right.

  “Yes. Were you planning on being there for the coronation?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Alright. Let’s concentrate on this story. It’s the one only you specifically have eyes on. Think about the slant you want to take. There’s a new monarch. Highlight the things that are going to change. And look for the things others have missed. Write about the personal side of things. What’s the new king like? We know he’s young and handsome. But what about his struggles? Find the things that haven’t been written about before. But you already know that’s what we’re about.”

  “Alright. I’ll let you know my itinerary and send updates when I’m there.”

  “Good. That’s all,” she says with a wave of dismissal.

  Walking out of the office my mind is going a hundred miles an hour. I’m happy for the assignment, which gives me more time in Africa with Zan. And my trip will be paid for. I’ll take the plane ticket fare and use it for per diem. I want Zan to see I don’t expect him to pay for every damn thing. The hope of him accepting even the smallest gesture on my behalf is laughable, but I’m at least going to try. He will reject any offer I have of flying coach. That one I know without asking.

  Soraya is visible through her open door as I approach. When Ask Ida retired and Soraya took over the column things changed. Time spent at the office has actually decreased. As the assistant, she was required to be here every day. Now she picks her spots and lets her assistant do the things she was once responsible for. It’s come full circle. She looks up from her computer.

  “What’s Ask Ida up to today?” I say, standing in the doorway.

  “Same old problems. My man isn’t treating me right. My children don’t appreciate me. My girlfriend may be cheating. I think I may be still in love with an old boyfriend who I looked up on Facebook.”

  “I like the ones that come out of left field.”

  “You mean like ‘How do I get my girlfriend to like pretending to be a dog?’”

  “That’s the one. Your response was epic. ‘Let her use your penis as a chewy.’” I laugh at the memory.

  “How did it go in there?” she asks, lifting her chin toward Carol’s office.

  “Great,” I say, closing the door behind me. “I’ve got the assignment to cover the coronation. And the implication was to mine for more.”

  Narrowed eyes question my response to our editor’s directive.

  “I’m aware. She’s not getting anything Zan wouldn’t want to be public knowledge. There’s no reason for that. Besides I haven’t detected any signs of misfeasance. I’m a journalist who’s intelligent enough to read the room. These people are authentically straight. Their moral compass is impressive.”

  “What about Kwai?”

  “I’m sure his past is rife with misbehavior. But that’s not a story I’d be interested in writing. It’s lazy writing in my opinion. The readers might like some dirt, but that’s not what I want to be known for. Or the reason I was hired.”

  “You’ve got enough of a story with the close proximity to the family, right?”

  “Yes. But for the blog I’m concentrating on the coronation.”

  “Well then, you’re golden.”

  “The thing is I’m hoping for a more in-depth piece that I’ll save for a wider audience. I won’t be limiting myself.”

  “Smart.”

  “I’m going to tell Zan tonight to book my ticket the Monday after my brother’s
wedding. And it can’t come soon enough.”

  * * *

  “Hi, baby.”

  “I miss you,” he says softly.

  The voice sounds tired. I know he’s drained emotionally.

  “I miss you more. Tell me about your day. It sounds like it may have been a rough one.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says unconvincingly.

  “Okay.

  “It was a hell of a morning. Come to think of it the afternoon wasn’t too good either.”

  I’m going to ignore his prior statement. I’m just glad he wants to let me in.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I heard my mother crying in the kitchen. I was in the hallway and it just about tore me up.”

  My heart hurts for him. For her.

  “Ohhh, Zan, what did you do?”

  “I did what I could. What she’s always done for me. I comforted her.”

  “It sounds like you did the…”

  He interrupts me with what shouldn’t be contained.

  “I just held her and didn’t tell her to try to stop crying. Sometimes tears are the best way to say what you feel.”

  “I think you’re about the smartest man I’ve ever known, Zan.”

  “I don’t know about that. I just did what felt natural. She’d taught me to call on love when everything looks hopeless. It’s a powerful belief that I’ve used more than once. I don’t know lately. My mother just

  began eating again, so I thought things were getting a little easier.”

  I feel the sadness floating within him.

  “I wish I could take this away from you, baby.”

  “No one can. But you can make it a hell of a lot better just by being here. Thank God it’s almost here.”

  Chapter 19

  Zan

  Having a family breakfast has radically changed. Gone are the loud conversations between brothers. And the laughter. The black hole left by our father sucked in our mother too. It’s just the three of us now, mostly lost in our cell phones. There’s not much to say when you’re held prisoner by your thoughts.

  “Where you off to?” I say as Kwai heads for the door.

  Expecting Kwai to give you an itinerary is a fool’s conclusion. But I’m hoping he’ll use good sense and take into consideration our mother needs us now.

  “I’ll be at the lake. I need to get away for a few days.”

  That’s a fucking first, telling me any details.

  “So we’ll be able to get ahold of you, if needed?” Tarik asks.

  “Yes,” he says, holding his stare.

  I decide to jump in. Tarik needs backup. “Good. Don’t go missing, Kwai. It’s not the time.”

  His eyebrows knit and the muscles of his jaw twitch. “What did I just say? If you need to talk with me, you can! I want to think. Is that alright with this family? Fuck.”

  “Don’t pretend we haven’t good reason to doubt you,” I say.

  There’s no response, and I don’t have any further comment. Shit. He can be such an ass. Think? More like drink. Sorry brother, but I’m not buying what you’re selling. You probably have a limousine full of young, horny women, planning what they’re going to wear to the party you’re sure to throw. They’re drawing straws on who’s going to fuck you first. We’ve seen this too many times to count.

  Tarik and I will hear all about it after the fact. Kwai’s security will talk to one or more of ours. It’s a straight line from them to us. They all like to tell us because up to now, we were a better option than the king. The few times he found out it was not pleasant for anyone. In fact the guards would get blamed for letting it happen, and Kwai would be free to fuck up again.

  It was easier for our father to believe, or pretend to believe, his son was not at fault. This way it can be handled auspiciously. All the dirty details come out in the end, when the security details practically fight to spill the dirt. That’s when we take over. We’re the ones cleaning up in the wake of his “just getting away” trips.

  Isn’t he getting tired of this shit? Apparently not because he just left the room.

  Tarik lays his napkin on the table and pushes his chair back a bit. Just enough to give his legs some room.

  “You realize in this frame of mind he could really make trouble?”

  From the far doorway our mother’s voice sounds. “Who could make trouble?”

  Fuck. Tarik’s face looks like mine I’m sure. Why the fuck weren’t we more careful?

  “There’s no use trying to spin it. Just tell me,” she says.

  “We were talking about Kwai. He’s going to the lake.”

  “The fact that we’re all raw just gives us some pause, Mother. But I’m sure we’re overreacting,” I say.

  She looks at us with those mother eyes. The ones that see all and know everything you’re thinking. Sometimes before you do. But instead of her radar raising, she surprises me.

  “I’m not going to worry. Kwai’s old enough to fight his own battles. Maybe it would do him good to have consequences.”

  She takes her seat. The same one she’s occupied all these years, while the king’s chair sits empty beside her. Tarik looks as shocked as I am at her new take on things. Our mother has always watched over the three of us like a hen, making sure all of her children were out of harm’s way.

  But I think the grief for my father has concentrated her focus. For the first time in her life, she’s myopic. There’s only room for the man she loved. Loves still.

  “Did I tell you Belinda is coming this week? She’s going to be here for Tarik’s ceremonies.”

  “That’s good, dear,” she says with only a portion of her attention on the reply.

  I look at my brother who seems as concerned as I.

  “I’m going to be spending this afternoon at the hospital. We’re meeting with the principals for the King Mansa Oncology Wing,” he says.

  There’s only a half-smile and a nod as her answer.

  “Want to join me, Mom? You should really be there.”

  “No thank you. I’ve got some correspondence to attend to, son. You go without me this time.”

  “Okay. Maybe I can move the meeting up, so I can get back here by four. Your grandchildren have been missing seeing their grandmother. Come for dinner tonight. You too, Zan. Six o’clock. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  The queen’s face shows her hesitation. But I’d guess she appreciates Tarik’s concern. Think it was the grandchildren though who convinced her to go.

  “Alright. Six. No later.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll make sure to be back.”

  “I’ve been considering which journalist to give close access to. The coronation and passing of the monarchy needs to be recorded properly for history. There’s going to be different takes on the facts. We know how that works. I want someone who will see the whole picture accurately.”

  “I think we need more than local reporters and even more than the journalists we know here. We need international coverage that is more than a few paragraphs,” I say.

  “I agree. I think it would be a good idea to have Ms. Banks do it. She’s going to be here with us, and she’d have a clearer picture of what I’m about,” says Tarik. “But more importantly, she’s a great writer. You read the last piece she did on us.”

  I just let my brother make the sale. He’s doing a good job of it.

  “What’s your take on this, Zan?”

  “I think it’s a good idea. If you give her the exclusive it would be even better. Let her tell our story, free of Kwai’s latest escapades. If we give it to anyone else it could turn into a fluff piece. Her writing is worthy of the weight of the subject.”

  She weighs our words for a few beats. “Alright. If you both agree then let her know. Make sure whoever she wants to interview goes through you first, Tarik. It’s the king’s prerogative.”

  It hits me.

  This is the first time I’ve heard my mother refer to Tarik as king.<
br />
  * * *

  Two more days till Belinda’s here. Just forty-eight hours. I’m going crazy. The closer it gets the slower time moves. Taking a long walk around the grounds was a good idea. That’s killed a few hours already. I’ve been trying to find time to meet with the landscape architect. My mother’s plan to have a large garden and statue on site, honoring my father, will take at least a year to come to fruition. I’m glad she’s put me and Kwai in charge.

  Speaking of, it’s time to test his promise to Tarik and I. Pulling out my cell, I dial Kwai’s number. He should be at the lake by now, having his third drink.

  “Yeah?”

  His sober voice surprises the hell out of me.

  “You answered!”

  “You’re such a dick. I told you I was here to do some thinking. Please leave me alone so I can do that.”

  Nobody can make me laugh like this asshole. Even when I’m being insulted. But I love him.

  “What did you call me for?” he says with impatience.

  “I’m going to schedule our first meeting with the landscape architect. You able to do it Saturday morning?”

  “Yeah, okay. Maybe. Text me the time when you find out.”

  Is he kidding? Am I in an alternate universe? He’s taking this so easily. Normally he would have told me to do it myself or argued about scheduling a meeting in the morning. It’s always interfered with his hangovers.

  “Are you seriously spending time alone there?”

  “Yes. Thought I’d give the adult thing a try. For a few days at least. Probably won’t hold.”

  Why do his words bring a lump to my throat? I think it’s because once in a while I can see he’s trying to become a more responsible person. It’s never held. Maybe this time.

  “That’s good, brother. I think we’re all looking closer at our own lives now that Dad is gone.” His sigh says what we both are feeling.

  “Okay. I’m going for a swim,” he says abruptly.