One Night

by Marsha Qualey

  “Nothing. I hung up before he could say anything at all.”

  “Did you mention where we were?”

  “Why does it matter now?” He tapped on the table. Obviously, the questions irked him. “It was the right thing to do. Maybe you should call home, too.”

  Home—there’s a thought. “I can’t.”

  His lips puckered a bit, but before he could say “Why?” I heard a familiar voice and knew immediately that it was all over. I was about to wake up from what must have been only a long, sweet dream. Stupid me. I’d been so worried about cops or bodyguards finding us. But I’d never once thought about running into someone who knew me. A loudmouthed, nosy someone.

  “Well, look who’s here!”

  I turned in the chair. It wobbled a bit. “Hey, Sandi.”

  “Little late to be out on the town, isn’t it?”

  “Back atcha.”

  “Oh, but I’m not a working girl, I’m not the one who’s always gotta run, gotta get to work.” Sandi was a nosy loudmouth, for sure, but generally a good-hearted one. I’d only ever seen her at the St. Ambrose meetings, true, but there’d been six months of those, and I’d never seen or heard her so edgy. Sharp and edgy, ready to strike—you could almost feel it. I glanced at Tom. He was fixed on Sandi, warily watching the woman as her fingertips riffled the sugar packs on our table.

  I dropped my voice. “You okay? Drinking, maybe? Do you need to call someone?”

  Birds have eyes like hers: dark, piercing, empty. “Drinking? You really think I’d be here if I’d started drinking again? Do you think I’d be standing here on my two feet if I were drinking or using again? If you ever listened, girl, you’d know my story. You’d know that when I crash, it’s spectacular.

  “And as for that phone call, I’ve already made one, and that’s my problem, sweetheart. I called my daughter. It was her birthday. You know what’s special about her birthday? Of course you don’t, you don’t listen. Her birthday is the one day of the year she allows me back into her life. Allows me a five-minute phone call. But of course it never lasts that long. She’s like you, Kelly. Gotta run, gotta get to work, gotta go now. She’s even sort of in the same business as you, she works for a newspaper in Chicago. She takes classified ads over the phone. Not nearly as glamorous as what you do, working for Kit Carpenter, world-famous radio host, but then we can’t all have famous aunties, can we?” She took a breath, finally, and turned to give Tom the once-over. “You’re cute. Want to join me at the counter? I’m old, sure, but I’m a much better listener than she is.”

  Sandi walked away, leaving Tom and me to stare at each other.

  “Kit Carpenter is your aunt?” he said at last. The edge to his voice was razor-sharp; the chill in his voice was glacial. “I bet you’re not really a delivery girl.”

  “I work for my aunt. I do her research and I run her errands. I guess that makes me Kit Carpenter’s delivery girl. So, you know who my aunt is.”

  “Of course I do. Even if my uncle and the others hadn’t been talking about her, I’d know.”

  “They were talking about her?”

  “She was pestering everyone for interviews, they say. You know why that won’t happen? Because they think she’s uncontrollable. That’s the word they used. Uncontrollable.”

  “Good for her. Why should all those old men think they can control her? Just because she goes after a story they don’t want her to have, they call her uncontrollable?”

  “Would you take a moment, Kelly, take just a moment to think about why they don’t want her around? Can you possibly get it into your dope-soaked and detail-stuffed head why they don’t want some rogue reporter tearing at them?”

  I sat back. “Let’s not get personal, Prince Tomas. Don’t insult me.”

  He pushed on. “Something more than a story is at stake. My country.”

  I made a noise. “Your country, Tom Buckhorn? Tell me, when’s the first time you ever set foot in Lakveria?”

  He took a moment. “I’m not Texan,” he said finally. “I’m not a British schoolboy. I’m Lakverian. My mother was Lakverian, my father was, and all the people before them. My grandfather was king. His father was king. His father was king. I’ll be the king. That’s who I am. Look at how wrong it was for you to live with a borrowed identity, Kelly. Well, it’s no different for me. I can’t be anything but who I am. And I’m the crown prince of Lakveria.”

  He dropped his head in his hands. Rubbed his eyes. Looked up. “This whole day—it’s just been one long lie, hasn’t it? You led me along at the end of a lie, just to see what you could dig up. Get the guy talking, learn his secrets.” He reached out and tapped my head, less gently than the time before. “And you filed it up there, tucked it away until you could turn it over to Kit Carpenter.”

  It took all the juice that I had, but I kept looking him straight in the eye, glare for glare. Steady on, Kelly. Keep it cool, keep it steady. Underneath the table, though, my foot tapped the real rhythm.

  I pressed a hand on my knee. The tapping stopped. “Tom, I didn’t set out to trick you into anything. When I ran into you at the hotel, it was just by chance. I really was simply taking a book to Simone.”

  “I believe that, but when you saw your chance, you ran with it. Smell of the chase and off you go. I don’t know what you plan to do with your life, Kelly, but take it from me: You’re a natural at your aunt’s business.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Tom. And yes, I ran with it. Yes, I misled you.”

  “Misled?” He sat back. “You lied.”

  “Back at the hotel, when I was being mauled by your thugs, what would you have done if I’d said, ‘Why gosh, Your Highness, thank you for getting your two-legged Rottweilers off me. By the way, I work for Kit Carpenter, famous radio host. Howzabout coming on the show?’ We both know that answer: You’d have cowered behind your bodyguards and whimpered until they put me on the elevator.”

  He fiddled with his fork and stared.

  Let’s not get personal, I had said. Don’t insult me, I’d said. I flushed and looked down.

  At the next table the Dorothys were rising to leave. I sat back and waited for the parade of blue gingham to pass. The last Dorothy paused, hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead: “We couldn’t hear a thing, honest. But it sounded intense. You’re both so darling; please make up.” Then he patted my hand and joined the others.

  Our waitress arrived with the check. She started to say something, but then read the mood, dropped the ticket and sped away.

  I met his eyes again. “Please think about this, Tom,” I said. “If I’d been straight from the start, you would never have met Simone, never heard her sing, and you’d have nothing to tell your sister. Nothing interesting, that is. Nothing special for her. Nothing that might make her squeeze your hand when you sit at her side.”

  He pointed a finger; it shook, he was that angry. “You are digging a deeper hole. When I told you about my sister, I was trusting you, I thought I was talking to a friend.”

  “Bull. You thought I was no one. You were under the spell of Simone and you thought I was no one. Just an ordinary girl to have fun with. You used me, too.”

  “Nice try, Kelly, but I’m not convinced. And if I did use you, it hardly compares, does it? I never lied about who I was and what I wanted.”

  “Oh yeah? ‘Of course I want to lead my country.’ You actually said that. And that’s not a lie? Okay, sure, maybe you’ve reclaimed Lakveria as your homeland; we all have to be from somewhere. But I don’t believe you want to be king.”

  He leaned back in the chair, folded his hands, closed his eyes. I waited.

  “It’s not a lie,” he said.

  “Then something’s changed since we first met. If you’re honest, you’ll admit that.”

  “I think you give yourself too much credit.”

  A chunk of piecrust remained on my plate. I picked it up and crumbled it. I glanced up and saw that he’d pulled on the royal mask. The sweet eag
er guy—the one who’d gotten all teary over his sister, all hyper over the maps, and who’d belted out a melt-in-your-mouth baritone “We’re off to see the Wizard”—was gone. Tom Buckhorn had definitely left the building.

  Okay, my friend Tom was gone, but I still had Crown Prince Tomas Teronovich. And he was the one I’d wanted all along.

  Right?

  I took a slow breath. “I can help you, Prince Tomas. I can help you be king.”

  “I don’t need your help. It will happen automatically when I turn twenty-one.”

  “When’s that? Another year? Think your country will still be there?”

  “Kelly.”

  “Talk to Kit. Let me introduce you to my aunt. Go on her show, and talk.”

  He pushed his chair back and started to rise. “Please just listen,” I pleaded. “Hear me out. You know who she is, but do you know who her listeners are? There are millions of them. Mostly very conservative, exactly the people who normally mistrust the UN. Most of them are women. Go on her show and tell your story. They’ll all be calling Congress within the hour demanding the payment of the UN pledge.”

  “What makes you think that will work?”

  “I’ve heard your story. It will touch them. Talk about your sister.”

  “No.”

  “Kit will be on your side.”

  “Not from what I’ve heard.”

  “I know her better than anyone. She’ll take one look at you and fall in love. And she’ll listen to me and understand the story, the real story.”

  “Let me get this straight: You think I should go on the show, let your aunt the uncontrollable journalist babble about how cute I am, and then her millions of female listeners will fall into line?”

  “They aren’t malleable, I’m not saying that. They’re smart, they think, they care. And when my aunt—the very serious journalist—gets them riled up about something, they make noise. And Kit will do it not because you’re so damn cute, but because it’s the right thing.”

  “I’m glad you think it’s the right thing, Kelly. But I can’t go meet with your aunt and I can’t be on the show.”

  “Why not?”

  “My uncle and your vice president and all the others might look to you like old men playing games and messing up, but they are trying. They truly are trying to get it right. I won’t jeopardize their efforts. I will not risk it I’ve already risked so much by spending the night with you.”

  He rose and left the table, then returned. He stood stiffly, arms at his sides, cool gaze fixed on me. “Thank you, Kelly, for most everything else. Thank you for feeding me and taking me to the library and to the movies and all of it, I can’t even remember all of it. And yes, thank you for Simone.” He slumped and briefly closed his eyes. When they opened, they were focused on something different. “And when I tell Natalia about the evening, I’ll tell her about you.” He again stood stiffly, and looked at me. “I’ll tell her how, in spite of the lies, in spite of your…game, I’m grateful to you because for a few hours today I felt free again.”

  He was pushing open the diner door when I finally found my tongue, when my heart resumed beating. “You don’t know the way back,” I shouted. “Tom, wait!”

  He waved me off with a sharp snap of his arm.

  I fumbled my wallet as I pulled it out of my pocket. It bounced under the table and I dropped to my knees.

  “He’s getting away,” someone said.

  I pulled out some bills and threw them on the table.

  “Go get him, girl,” someone else said as I rushed past.

  “Bye, baby, bye,” Sandi said as I passed the counter. The cops, bless them, didn’t speak or budge an inch.

  Tom was headed the wrong way from downtown and his hotel. I ran and caught up, spun him around. “Do you want to know why I did it? Do you want to know why I led you around by a lie, as you so poetically put it?”

  He planted his hands on his hips. “This is all getting way too dramatic. I’m exhausted and I want to sleep.”

  “Two years ago when I had that worst day of my life, she still didn’t give up on me. So yes, I lied, and led you on, and used you, and had a hell of a lot of fun with you tonight, Prince Tomas. I wanted to give back something to my aunt Kit. I don’t chase stories for the hunt. I went after this one for her. I wanted it for her.”

  He’d let his hands drop, and his shoulders had relaxed. But the eyes were still cold. “Don’t expect me to weep over an addict’s guilt or gratitude, Kelly. I won’t play with the fate of a nation, with people’s lives, just because you’ve managed to sober up and now you feel grateful.”

  I still had some bills in my hand. I held one out and said icily, “Here’s ten bucks in case you see a cab. This time of night it’s doubtful that you will, but you might get lucky. And downtown is that way. If you go left at the corner, you’ll see a McDonald’s. It’s closed, but the cabs sometimes wait for calls in the parking lot.”

  He walked away without touching the money. After a few steps he halted, and without turning he said, “That woman in there, the one you brushed off? You really should go talk to her. She’s on the edge, you can tell. Go talk to her, Kelly. Then you’ll have done a good thing tonight, you can claim one very good thing.”

  “I’m sorry, Tom,” I called as he walked away. “I’m sorry you think I’m that bad.”

  *

  Sandi looked up from her coffee. “Lose the guy? That’s too bad, sweetie.”

  I swung onto the stool. Third from the left, just like last time. “That was no guy, that was a prince.”

  She rocked her coffee cup. “You don’t need to stay on my account, if that’s why you’re here. It’s not as bad as it seems.”

  “I can stay.”

  “From the look of you, I’d say you’re in no shape to support anyone. Barely holding yourself up, aren’t you? Tough thing, to lose a guy.”

  “It’s been a long day.” Down at the far end of the counter the police rose to leave. I suppose I should have sent them after Tom, told them where to find the missing prince. Cruel, really, to leave him out on the streets.

  Oh well. He was a big boy.

  And, like Sandi said, I’d lost him. There’d be no interview for Kit, no applause for me. And to hear him moan, maybe I really had made things worse for the peacemakers. No way I could feel good about that.

  Still, the look on his face when Simone laid down that kiss. And hearing her sing in the car. This excellent T-shirt. The goofy Garland fans.

  And, okay, I’m not made of stone, so I had to admit to more that would leave a print: his sweet way with the funny professor. His mysterious scent. That incredible hair, those changeable eyes. The way that he listened to me.

  Yes, I’d mucked it up good, but still, no regrets. With a little bit of time, no regrets.

  Sandi signaled for a coffee refill, and the motion broke into my riff. I watched as she added two packs of sugar to the cup, stirred, and sipped. She rocked on the seat and hummed to herself. I could see dried blood around her nails, where she’d picked at her cuticles. Her mascara was smeared at the edge of her eye. Her lipstick was wide and uneven. Tom was right: She was teetering.

  I said, “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but there’s got to be someone.”

  She snapped, “Don’t bother yourself worrying. I’m here, aren’t I, and not out trying to cop? That’s a victory.” She added a third sugar, stirred, and cradled the cup. A soft noise slipped out. A whispered wail, if there is such a thing. “I haven’t had to call my sponsor in such a long time. Not since Tami’s last birthday, anyway. One year. One year since the last call.”

  I swiveled my seat to face her. “Sandi, you’re wrong about something. I have too listened. Okay, you’re right, I come to meetings and, sure, mostly I tune out, but I have heard you talk. And I’ve heard what you said, that you can’t wait forever for someone to forgive you. None of us can wait for that because it probably won’t ever happen.”

  She snorted.
“I’d be happy to forgive myself.”

  “Wouldn’t we all, but how likely is that?”

  Sandi tossed back the rest of her coffee, rose, and marched over to the pay phone on the wall by the register. Leo looked up from his crossword.

  I warmed the stool until she started talking, then made my exit, done with the night’s one good thing. Sandi touched my shoulder as I passed.

  Leo called out, “See you around.”

  What was that, I wondered: a good wish or bad?

  *

  Tom was perched on the fire hydrant outside, watching the diner door. I let it close behind me and stood there while I crossed my arms and hugged myself. “Change your mind about the cab fare?” I asked.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “I’ll go on the show. If you really think your aunt can make a difference, then I should do it.” He wagged a pointing fist at me. “But I’m telling them first; it’s only fair. I will not ambush their efforts.”

  Given the chance, they’d try to talk him out of it, maybe even restrain him and refuse to allow it to happen. Kit was uncontrollable; why would they risk letting him loose with her? “If you must, Tom. But if you go back to the hotel, they’ll talk you out of it.”

  “Then I won’t go back. I will call, though.”

  “Can it wait until morning, ’til we’re at the station? That still gives your uncle time to tell the others. They won’t be ambushed.”

  “Couldn’t someone join me on the show, Kelly? I don’t think I should do it alone. Could we compromise that way? Vice President Ripley, perhaps.”

  “I’m not sure that would work. He and Kit…” I paused, trying to be diplomatic. “Have issues.”

  “Someone, then? Don’t you think it would be a good idea for Kit to have others than me to interview? More important people?”

  The future king was pleading with me. Heady with power (or dopey from lack of sleep), I walked to him, rested my hand on his shoulder and said, “As you wish, Your Highness.”