by L. A. Zoe
He, Prince Rhinegold from an ordinary human land, fell in love with the elf Princess SeeJai.
However, she didn’t see or understand magic. Not even her own. She lived in and through, and projected, it.
But remained unconscious of the enchantment she cast upon the world.
She seemed determined to live an ordinary human life, but it couldn’t last.
Ordinary people knew she wasn’t one of them. That’s why she had only a few friends, and suffered humiliation from Helena, the one person she could bond with deeply, because of the magic of Helena’s music.
What if Rhinegold changed course, and did as the ordinary world wanted him?
Accept the money from his father. Live with SeeJai in a decent off-campus apartment. Attend classes for at least four years, probably more, for most good jobs now required postgraduate degrees of some kind.
If only time would slow down. A night spent in Elfland could last years in Erl.
Late that night, as Rhinegold and SeeJai ate whole wheat spaghetti with a sauce from organic tomatoes and oregano, he told her:
“I’ve thought it over.”
She gulped, took a sip of Sprite. “What?”
“I’ve thought over you and Father’s plans for me. College, a career, a conventional, ordinary, dull life.”
“It doesn’t have to be that—”
He cut her off by raising his hand. “It’d be a nightmare.”
He wondered how angry she would get. Enough to walk out on him? Spend the night at her mother’s or with Areetha?
She didn’t say another word. Just finished eating, then helped him clean up. Changed into her sweats and climbed into bed.
He followed her, and, taking his cue from her stiff, nearly frozen body posture, lay down beside her, but was careful not to touch her.
He lay on his back, staring up into the swirling darkness. Never still and static, it seemed to move even faster when something upset him. He often went to sleep by letting his mind make up moving pictures.
Sometimes movies he watched recently. Sometimes of books he read. Sometimes just freeform fantasy landscapes. Overhead views of forests, mountain crags, cities floating in outer space.
Tonight he couldn’t relax enough to enjoy this. Too conscious of the woman lying next to him, breathing loudly.
Radiating heat. And some emotion he couldn’t read. When angry, she took physical action. Hit him or screamed or ran away or—something.
This inert quiet was something new, something he didn’t like. A passive resistance to his outspoken resistance to giving up his current life.
He wanted to speak, to say something, anything, to help her understand how he felt. But he couldn’t think of anything else to add that would help.
She knew him. She knew the life he chose. She didn’t know why King Sanders kicked him out of the palace, but that didn’t matter.
Now he was out, he didn’t want to return except as a king too. Not an indebted student, forced to kneel for his daily bread.
He didn’t want to bow down to the king, or the rest of the world. College seemed a surrender to the demands of the world.
So did a job.
He wanted to run his own business. To control his destiny. He did that now. He protected women for Greco and Ami. He served as a bodyguard for landlords, insurance agents, building repairpeople, and utilities crews.
Without him, some people now alive would probably be dead. That felt good. Satisfying.
To give all that up for four, six, or eight years of misery felt impossible. And just so he could occupy a cubicle for the next forty or fifty years?
How could he live such a life with no meaning? No soul. No mystery? No excitement?
For SeeJai herself?
She loved him as he loved her. She added enchantment and spiritual substance—a constant reminder of the world beyond.
Heaven. The Astral Plane. Another dimension. Cosmic Consciousness. Nirvana. Satori. Whatever people wanted to call it.
But how could he survive if he gave up his knighthood, and retired to a desk job. Like a crippled old man. Not yet!
Her hand touched his arm. He rolled over on his side, facing her, and their arms circled each other, and they kissed as their tears mingled on their faces and their chests sobbed.
“I love you,” Rhinegold said. Not knowing if that helped, but sure anything else he said would be wrong.
She pushed her face to the side of his neck. “Don’t you know how scared I am?”
“I always protect you.”
“I don’t mean Greco or Ami or muggers or any of the usual scumbags.”
Her small frame pressed against his chest, belly, groin, and thighs. She smelled of sweat and vegetarian restaurant spices and fimbulwinter presaging Ragnarok and loneliness buried in a grave until it rotted with the corpse.
She continued, “It’s been so long, and now you’re here, and I’m so afraid of losing you, of going back to … I don’t know, the same emptiness I came out of, before I was born.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re way too young to die.”
“I know, but I don’t mean my body—just my soul. Of it shriveling up and vanishing like a wisp of smoke in the wind. I can’t imagine loving another man.”
“Then don’t try to turn me into a different person,” Rhinegold said. “You didn’t fall in love with an ordinary guy just going to college with a pre-law major. Do you think you’d still love me if I wore a suit and spent ninety hours a week working downtown like Father?”
“That frightens me too,” SeeJai said.
“Then, see?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a low moan. “Last week I thought if only we loved each other like this, everything would be all right. I wouldn’t feel confused, torn apart. How can I live with you? How can I live away from you?”
“Shh, it’s all right,” he said, stroking her back.
“Now we share a bed, but I still feel confused, torn apart. How can we continue to live together? But if we broke up, how would I survive?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Areetha and Mom Weigh In
Just as Areetha was about to clock in, I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the stock room. We stood close to the stacks of one-hundred pound bags of brown long grain, Basmati, and Jasmine rice.
“Whoaa, girl,” Areetha said. “So my plan must have worked. But what kind of text message is ’zowee!’?”
“It means when I got your question I was too tired and too hyped up, and I wanted to tell only you about it, not the NSA.”
“He couldn’t resist you in that sexy dress. See? What’d I tell you? My plan worked.”
“He hated the dress, but something worked. Now I finally understand why women go so crazy over men.”
Areetha hugged her. “I’m so happy for you! It’s about time you got laid.”
“I know, I know,” I said.
As she hugged me again, Areetha must have felt the tension in my muscles, because she pulled back. “What’s wrong, SeeJai?”
I shook my head, and tried to smile. “Nothing.”
She shook my shoulders. “I’ve known you too long to believe that. Come on, what’d he do?”
“Nothing, nothing wrong. It’s me, I just—don’t—know how we’ll stay together.”
“Keep him so satisfied he won’t have the time to look at another woman even if he wants to.”
I couldn’t look her in the face. One of the preppers came in to grab a big can of organic tomato sauce. When he left, I said, “He’s so irresponsible. I’ve got plans. Work here, and school, and then get a real job. He’s happy just to—I don’t know.”
Areetha smiled, and gave a big, humorous shrug of her shoulders. “If you move on, it’s not the end of the world. Now you know there’s men out there really want you, you might have lots of lovers.”
Silverware clanged to the bottom of an aluminum sink.
That made my heart feel so heavy it pushed my head d
own. “That seems so … wasteful. After all these years, I finally find a guy, and yet—”
“He’s not perfect. You want a perfect guy, you’ll die looking. Hey, I never liked the dude. You know that.”
I nodded.
“So if he hurts you, I’ll cut off his balls for you. How about that?”
“Thanks, but I want him to keep his balls. I like his balls.”
“Wait until he breaks your heart. But what I was saying, he’s strange. And you’re strange—kind of. So maybe you’re meant for each other. I don’t like him, but it doesn’t matter what I think, long as you’re happy.”
I still felt sad, without knowing why.
“I don’t understand myself,” I told Areetha. “I spent all these years, I wanted to find love, but either they didn’t like me or I was too scared. I finally find the right guy, and all I can think about is maybe I’ll lose him later. He’d rather stay on the streets than go to school and a job and marry me and live like regular people.”
“Maybe you don’t really want to live like regular people,” Areetha said. “You’ve never been like regular people with me, or we still wouldn’t be friends.”
I hugged her large, solid warmth to me. “Oh, Areetha.”
“I’m not complaining, SeeJai. I’ll never forget how you stood up for me when we was kids.”
Arkady stood in the door and clapped. “Ladies, ladies. I hate to break up this most touchy moment, but the customers, they are streaming into my place like hungry, hungry ants. Please attend to your stations at once. Kiss and hug and making the love after you clock out, please.”
A few evenings later, when I had a night off, Mom invited Rhinegold and I over for dinner.
She served us a Hamburger Helper casserole. And it wasn’t half-cold or burnt. A tossed salad with sliced tomatoes, croutons, and both diet and nondiet versions of the dressings. Baked potatoes cooked all the way through, and butter instead of a margarine, which Rhinegold won’t eat. Chocolate cheesecake for dessert, thoroughly defrosted.
Yet Georgie insisted he did nothing except slice the salad tomatoes.
While we ate the casserole, Georgie nudged Rhinegold’s ribs, and then talked in a kind of whisper as though he wanted only Rhinegold to listen, even though Mom and I could hear too. “So my plan worked, heh? I told you.”
Rhinegold put his fork down and stared at his plate, obviously embarrassed. “Georgie,” he said. “Come on—”
“What plan?” I couldn’t resist asking.
Georgie grinned. “To get you two together, of course.”
“Rhinegold had a plan?”
“I told him how,” Georgie said. “I knew you loved him, but he was afraid you didn’t.”
“But what was your plan?” I asked.
Georgie leaned toward me, as though telling me a secret Mom and Rhinegold couldn’t also hear. “I told him to pay attention to that girl you hate.”
“Helena?”
“Whatever her name is. She was chasing him, so I told him, let her catch you, just long enough to make SeeJai jealous, so she finally understands how much she loves you.”
Rhinegold looked at me with such misery, I wanted to slug him. “I didn’t follow Georgie’s plan,” he told me with such earnestness, I believed him. “What happened … I didn’t plan on that. Or wanted it.”
I took another bite of my baked potato, soaked through with sweet yellow butter, and looked back at Rhinegold, who looked like a puppy smacked for wetting the rug.
For a few moments, I savored my power to upset him, then couldn’t help myself. I laughed, nearly spitting out the potatoes.
“Areetha made me wear that dress you hated,” I said. “That was my plan—make you horny as hell.”
“Thank goodness all the plans worked,” Georgie said.
That made Rhinegold smile along with me.
After dinner, I insisted on helping Mom clean up, and she didn’t drop one glass, or leave any dishes soaking in the sink, or fail to wrap leftovers in foil.
Afterward, we all watched an old movie, The Other, about a crazy, evil little boy.
They asked us to spend the night, but we still had plenty of time to catch the last bus, so we refused.
Just before we left, while Rhinegold used the bathroom, Mom asked me in a low voice, “Are you all right?”
I was so shocked, I hardly knew what answer to give her. Mom—noticing I had a problem? And concerned about me?
“Sure,” I said. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mom wrung her hands nervously, suddenly appearing flustered, as though puzzled herself, or wishing she kept her mouth shut. “It’s just Rhinegold acts a little strange now. Even Georgie thinks so, and they were friends before.”
“He’s always strange,” I said. “He has a very active fantasy life.”
Mom nodded. If anyone should understand how people could be strange—and inner-centered and absorbed in fantasy worlds—it should be Mom.
She said, “I know he’s always been like that, but tonight, he just seemed—more.”
“His father wants him to go to college and get a real job.”
“Just his father?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Really?”
Since when did Mom learn to figure out when I was lying?
“All right, I do too. But we’re cool. Really.”
“Georgie says he’s different too. He’s known Rhinegold longer than you have, you know.”
“I remember. It’s okay, Mom. I hope he’s different, now we love each other.”
She smiled and gave me a hug.
Mom? Hug me? That was a change a million times bigger than Rhinegold’s.
“I’m glad you’re happy, dear. I really am. But be careful. He’s got one of those black belts. He’s dangerous. Georgie says he once watched Rhinegold beat a man senseless.”
“Who was he?”
“A drug dealer.”
“Rhinegold hates drugs. Anything stronger than marijuana.”
“So there you go, just be careful.”
As Rhinegold came out of the bathroom, Mom handed me a brown paper bag with the leftover casserole in foil.
“Thanks for the doggie bag,” I said.
As we left, she kissed me on the cheek.
Mom? Kissing me on the cheek? What new drugs was she now on?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
An Afternoon Drink at The Play Pen
Between the bus stop and the bar, a strong, harsh wind pushed and shoved Rhinegold and Seejai.
Even after they entered and sat down with Greco and Ami, the high eaves howled like a moon-mad werewolf.
“I used to work here as a bouncer,” Ami said.
The bright neon colors of the beer signs made The Play Pen cheerful despite the dull black paint coating the hardwood floor.
Pabst Blue Ribbon. Moose Piss. Mississippi Bottom Mud.
Rhinegold ordered a glass of Viking Blood from the surly barmaid who had enough piercings in her ears to repel a sword thrust. He supported local microbreweries. SeeJai wanted just a plain Sprite, with no additives.
Lady Gaga’s song Venus played over the loudspeakers.
One customer sat at the bar, keeping to themself as they nursed a beer. They had long blonde hair, and wore a dark blue three-piece pinstripe business suit.
Greco sat across from Rhinegold, drinking his usual Dewars White Label on ice. As usual, every so often he wiped pink snot from his nose with a handkerchief. How long before he ran to the bathroom to snort up?
He wore a simple two-button black suit with a tan dress shirt, plus a fur-trimmed green parka. He must have left his cape at the office. Perhaps he didn’t want to attract attention. He smelled of Frog Puke men’s cologne. And wore a large, golden medallion around his neck like an Olympic medal.
“So,” Greco said to Rhinegold and SeeJai, “Thanks for coming.” He stared at Rhinegold. “Only thirty-three days until Opening Day.”
“And I know you
’ve got season tickets.”
“Good seats, just to the side of home plate.” He nodded to the side, toward Ami. “You want to know why we asked to talk to both of you.”
“The answer’s still no,” SeeJai said.
Greco gave a yeah, yeah nod as Ami punched his arm and said, “I told you.”
He raised his hands. “Just listen a moment, okay? It’s not what you think. Well, it is—”
“And it isn’t,” Ami finished.
A pair of comedians, but Rhinegold wasn’t laughing.
Ami dyed her chopped hair orange and gelled it into small, sharp spikes. She wore simple casual clothes, slacks and a white blouse. Last year’s K-Mart fashions for poor young white women stuck in the house watching their children, limp and faded from heavy use but clean and not threadbare—as though still on a hangar in a secondhand store.
“Ami has an old friend,” Greco said.
“Acquaintance.”
“Ami has an old acquaintance. She’s in the same racket, but at a much higher level.”
“MUCH higher level,” Ami said.
“Off the streets,” Greco said.
“Penthouse stuff,” Ami said. “And I don’t mean the stupid magazine.”
“She’s looking for you, SeeJai,” Greco said. “Specialty work, but it pays well.”
“VERY well, syrup buns,” Ami said.
“No,” SeeJai said.
“A billionaire,” Greco said. “She has only two clients, a father and a son—dig that. Father’s a billionaire and the son’s on his way. Rich.”
“Way rich,” Ami said.
“She won’t reveal his name, but says he’s well known, you’d know his name from the newspapers.”
“I don’t read the business section,” Rhinegold said.
“I don’t read the newspaper at all,” SeeJai said.
“Whatever. He’s all over it. Takes this model out to a nightclub. Takes a soap opera actress to a fundraiser. All for show.”
“Look, we don’t care about this,” Rhinegold said.
Greco leaned forward. “I’m not buying you drinks just to listen to myself talk. This is big. This guy’s not an old man wants to spend twenty-five bucks on a crack whore to remind himself what sex felt like. Or a drunk frat boy. Or a truck driver or traveling salesman just wanting fast and easy on-the-road nookie. He’s twisted, and he can afford what he likes.”