by H. T. Night
Helen rushed through the sliding glass doors and went straight to her limousine that was right at the entrance. I followed close behind and was pleased how this was working out. I noticed that the limousine had extremely dark windows. They were darkest windows I had ever seen. The chauffeur already had the door open for us and we both rushed into the limousine. As we did so, something unusual started happening. Paparazzi were flashing lightbulbs at us! There was a pack of them! They were taking pictures and yelling all sorts of things. At one point I swore one of them yelled the name Ginger.
We eventually settled into the limousine and the chauffeur slammed the door behind us.
“Was that for you?” I asked.
Helen grinned.
Who was this famous record producer that has the paparazzi following her?
“Helen, who are you?”
“I’m Helen,” she said, obviously being coy.
“Helen who?”
“Helen Martin.”
“Are you famous in England?”
“What do you think? Do the paparazzi follow regular people around in America?”
“Aren’t you American?”
“No.”
“But you have no hint of a British accent,” I said.
Helen decided to change her voice into a thick Cockney accent and she said, “Really, Guv’nor, do all Brits need to sound like Harry Potter or Oliver?”
“Very funny, but any Brit I know has an accent. Look at Simon Cowell or Pierce Morgan. Both those guys couldn’t hide their accent if they tried.”
“I spend a lot of time in the States and had a lot of voice training. I can do whatever accent fits the situation.”
“Okay, that’s cool. But again... who are you? We established you’re British, but tell me why the paparazzi treated you as if you are the love child of Lindsay Lohan and Justin Bieber.”
“Oh, Josiah,” she laughed. “I’m the Duchess of Windsor.”
“You’re royalty?” I asked.
“Most Duchesses are.”
Holy crap! I was taken aback. “Does the paparazzi treat all royalty like that?”
“No. Unfortunately, I have made headlines as of late.”
“How?”
“Well, I dated Mario Moses.”
“The sports billionaire, Mario Moses? The guy who owns the Knicks and the Bears? Are you kidding me?” I had no idea I was sitting next to the Paris Hilton of England.
“No, I wish I was. He was old enough to be my dad.”
“Why did you date him?”
“Cause he’s richer than God.” She settled in and said, “He moved down here for a while and we had a few ugly fights in public. The photos and gossip were splayed all over the tabloids in both England and the United States. I’m actually shocked that you have no idea who I am.”
“Don’t be. I have never watched TMZ and I just don’t keep up on the gossip on your side of the pond.” I kept up with pop culture about as much as I did with women’s fashion. It just didn’t happen. Some of my Nikes sneakers were from the last century. Collector items.
Helen smiled at me. “It’s actually refreshing to not have someone recognize me. It is nice to know that there is someone out in the world that has no idea who I am.”
“Well, dear, I’ve been a little busy the last couple of months, saving the world.”
She smiled and poured me a drink. “I bet you have.” Helen had no idea how true of a statement that actually was.
“That explains why there was no one sitting in the last eight rows. That was for your benefit. How was I able to get a seat in your row?”
Helen grinned. “Some things are left to fate. I asked them to allow any 18-to 24-year-old male who was by himself to buy a window ticket in my row. Little did I know he was going to be one of the hottest guys I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in quite some time.”
Her comment made me blush, or whatever vampires do when they get embarrassed. I doubt blood rushed to my face, but then, who knew?
“So, now that you know this bit of info, do you still want to accompany me tonight at the dinner?”
I grinned. “I actually liked the fact that you were a record producer. I thought I was going to meet Sir Paul McCartney tonight.”
“Well, I burn songs on my computer and label all my CD’s ‘Helen’s Mixes.’ I can give you one if you like. And, I think Paul just might be showing up.”
“Paul? You just called one of the greatest musicians by his first name only. Are you kidding me? He might be showing up?”
“He usually comes to all the soirees put on by the British elite.”
“Wow, I’m the hugest Beatles fan! Holy crap!”
“Don’t get all star-struck, Josiah.”
“Are you kidding? We’re talking about the greatest band of all time!”
“So, I take it you still want to come. Even knowing that I’m a duchess and we’ll probably be hounded by more paparazzi?”
“Oh, I’m coming,” I said, catching my breath. “You can count on that. Romania can wait.”
The limo pulled into a special entrance at the biggest and nicest hotel I had ever seen. It looked like a palace.
“Oh, by the way,” Helen said, “if you’d like to stay longer, I’ll set you up on a private plane to Romania whenever you’re ready to go. So, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Go check out Stonehenge; you Yanks seem to get off on looking at those big monoliths!”
I was trying to wrap my mind around everything Helen was telling me. This kind of thing didn’t happen to me every day. As a matter of fact, this kind of thing didn’t happen to anyone. “I just might do that,” I said.
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll accompany you, if you choose to do some sight-seeing.”
“Maybe,” I said, still thinking about the concept of seeing a Beatle in mere hours. It eclipsed my thoughts of a possible Tower of London tour. Our eyes met and I looked away, fast, seeing something in her eyes past friendliness. More intimate.
Uh oh! Don’t get smitten at her power here, Josiah. Don’t forget your goal. You have a lot of people depending on you.
It was just nice to take a break. Life had been going a hundred miles an hour. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t a vampire or a werewolf and was just normal. I looked over at Helen, her sleek, silky legs crossed on the cushy velvety limousine seats. Well, maybe not too normal. For example, I didn’t see a seatbelt in sight. It felt weird to worry about that when I was the savior of the Mani world, but I liked seatbelts. I’d take human at this point. She saw me looking at the seats.
“You don’t have a suitcase?” Helen asked. “You took a trip halfway across the world and you didn’t bring anything?”
“When I travel, I take half the clothes and twice the money,” I joked. “I’m a man with simple needs,” I said with a cool wink.
“That you are,” she said, knowing I was kidding. Helen pulled a card out of her wallet. “Call this number, and tell him your jacket and trouser measurements and I’ll take care of the bill.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to do anything like that. I’m pretty low maintenance,” I said.
“It’s one thing to be low maintenance and it’s another to be no-maintenance. You will need some new threads for tonight, as my escort. I know this James Dean, leather jacket, tight jeans style works for you—I mean you definitely made me hot, all you needed was the sideburns—but even James Dean couldn’t go to Cinderella’s ball dressed like that.”
“Great, what did I get myself into?” I said, smiling. I stepped out of the limo, and a bellhop was there to greet me. “Your bags, sir?”
“No bags,” I said.
The bellhop looked at me with a bit of disdain. Apparently, we were going to do the whole Pretty Woman bit.
“Are we really going to play this game, Belvedere?” I said. “I don’t have a bag. The duchess is putting me up and I don’t tip. So, if we’re straight on the details, please let me know where my room is, so I can actually
shower before the royal shindig.”
Helen peeked her head out of the limo. “Well, Josiah, the shindig is in two hours. So, you’ll need to be dressed to the nines in one.” She gave me a wink and the chauffer shut the limo door.
Then Belvedere showed me up to my room. We took the freight elevator. My room was on the top floor. I asked him to show me how to make international calls from my bedside phone. How positively archaic. A landline. I hadn’t used one for years. He obliged me and then waited by the door, like a freaking butler.
“I wasn’t kidding about the tip. I only have American cash, and from what I can tell, my money is cents on the dollar to your British currency.”
The bellhop calmly looked straight ahead, as if he was a royal guard himself. “American money is just as good to me, sir. I’m not a snob.”
I stood up and pulled my wallet out. I had five one-hundred-dollar bills in my wallet. Hector had given me his credit card that had a $100,000 limit on it. Money wasn’t going to be a problem as long as places took credit cards and didn’t sneer at my California driver’s license.
“It’s not your lucky day, Belvedere. I only have hundred-dollar bills. But, I do have a $25 Hard Rock Cafe gift card that my roommate gave me for Christmas that I never used. I saw one of those restaurants on the way in. So here you go.” I handed him the Hard Rock gift card. “Twenty-five American dollars gift card to a novelty restaurant.”
“Great,” he said, smugly. “I’ll get the nachos.”
“I’d go with the steak fajitas myself, but I’ve been told that you Brits are not one for taste. I mean, please, you eat kidneys for breakfast! So, if you don’t mind, Belvedere, I need to shower up.”
I shook his hand, and something out of the ordinary happened. I had flashes of light in my brain and images were forming. I saw three men talking to Belvedere and giving him money. I let go of his hand quickly, because the vision had shocked my system. That had never happened before. I didn’t know how to use my gifts correctly, and apparently, that was another one I now had at my disposal.
The bellhop left the room and I stood by the door. That image freaked me out. I hadn’t expected anything like that to happen. It was as if the Triat was trying to speak to me. I just had an unintentional vision and I didn’t know what to make of it.
I flung open the door and Belvedere was at the freight elevator, waiting for it to come back up.
“Hey,” I yelled down the hall. “Hold up.” I ran up to him, knowing that I somehow needed to touch him again. It is unusual to a touch a man that you hardly knew, so I need to be crafty. “Hey, I would like to apologize for being rude,” I said, in my good-guy voice.
“No problem, sir.” He was clearly suspicious of me.
“What is your real name?” I asked. “I noticed you don’t have your employee badge.”
“It’s Maxwell, sir.”
“Okay, Maxwell, here is a better tip for taking my abuse earlier.”
“You really don’t need to, sir.”
“I insist.” I reached back into my pocket and pulled my wallet back out. I took out a hundred and handed it to him. I made a point to hold his hand while we exchanged the money. When our hands touched, I saw the same flash of light. I saw the three men again. They were with Pudgy. I focused and saw they were in a coffee shop. Someone was handing them a large sum of money.
Maxwell let go of my hand, forcefully. He probably thought I was making a pass at him. “Thank you, sir, you are too kind,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Crap! I needed to know who was paying them. Maxwell turned around and faced the elevator. I reached out my hands and said, “Is this made of suede, Maxwell?” I placed both my palms on his back tightly.
I, again, saw the three men and Maxwell. And now, there was a woman in the picture. The woman said, “Don’t kill him, but put him to the test.” Then the woman stood up and all I could see was her back.
Maxwell pulled away and I grabbed his shoulders. “Man, you’re toned, Maxwell!” I began massaging his shoulders. The image appeared again and I saw who the woman was. It was Helen.
Chapter Four
Crap! What did I get myself into tonight? Duchess Schmuchess, I should have known this couldn’t be random. Nothing random ever happens to me anymore.
I called the number on the card that Helen had given me and gave them my measurements. Fighters always know their measurements. The suit guy asked me if I preferred brown or black.
“Oh, I can never have enough black in my wardrobe, dear chap,” I said. And we hung up. No woman had bought me clothes since my mother was alive. What was Helen up to in that touchy-feely vision I had when I touched good old Belvedere in the hallway?
Helen seemed normal and sincere. Don’t kill him? But put him to the test? Were they talking about me? I remembered seeing the scrape on the back of her neck as we were exiting the plane. Could she be a Mani, or a Carni? Was this all a ruse, a setup? Was an ass kicking waiting for me at the end of the evening with the whole royal fam-damily? Maybe they were vampires or werewolves? Or even ghosts...
I had survived two of the toughest vampires of all time, and probably the toughest werewolf: Tommy. I could handle a high-class dinner party and crook my pinky whilst I sipped tea with lemon and sugar and said “Cheerio,” once in a while. Hopefully, the toughest thing at the dinner party would be trying to follow the men’s conversations about cricket matches and the ladies’ conversations about those big stupid hats they had to wear to the horse races. Yeah, it was a law, I had read somewhere.
I went over to the phone to make an international call. I was connected to Lena’s cell. Technology is freaking amazing!
“Hello,” Lena said.
“Lena, it’s Josiah! Pip, pip, cheerio!”
She laughed at my corny joke. “I know who it is, no one else calls me.”
“Well, I am in Britain.”
“So, you should be boarding the plane to Romania anytime soon, right?”
“Well, there has been a little change in plans.”
“What kind of change?” She seemed concerned.
“Before I get into all of that, I want to tell you how wonderful it is to hear your voice.”
“It’s nice to hear yours, too. I miss you terribly, Josiah. It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like an eternity.”
“I know what you mean.”
Lena paused. “Okay, now tell me about the change of plans.”
I hesitated and said, “The connecting flight came into London and I decided to stay over for a night.”
“Why?”
“Well, I was invited to some kind of royal party.”
“What are you talking about? By who?”
“Some duchess or something. She seems down to earth though.” She wanted to spoon me.
“Hold up!” I could tell Lena was extremely confused. “A royal princess invited you to some ball. Where? Westminster Abbey?”
“I actually don’t know where it’s taking place.”
“Who invited you?”
“Her name is Helen.”
“Helen?” Lena asked. “Helen, the Duchess of Windsor?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“The duchess that is dating Mario Moses?”
“Well, they aren’t dating anymore,” I said. I couldn’t believe what I was even saying. “So, you have heard of her?”
“She was only on the cover of every tabloid magazine last year.”
“Really?”
“Do you live under a rock, Josiah?”
I laughed. “I’ve been a tad busy. And mostly, human, Carni, or Mani, I just mind my own business because if I don’t it usually means I will get my ass beating of the week before I have to change into a big white bird and make my nose into a freaking spear of death.”
Lena laughed wryly and somehow, I knew she had rolled her eyes. “Even still. There are some things you can’t avoid.”
“Look, we met on the airplan
e and she invited me to this party where I have a chance to meet Paul McCartney.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. So bear with me. Shall I say his name again for you?”
“So, let me get this straight, Josiah. I saw you not even fifteen hours ago, and in that time, you’ve met Helen, the Duchess of Windsor and she invited you to a party that will have Paul ‘freaking’ McCartney at it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“So, you just charmed her so well that she invited you to some royal bash?”
“I guess you can say that, though we both slept a lot on the flight. It was actually like she charmed me, not the other way around. I was all set to run to the Tower of London tour, just to see it once, and then hop back on the itinerary for Romania but she invited me tonight. Very prim and proper.”
“What are you even going to wear?” Lena said. Oh yeah, she went there.
“She had me call the equivalent of Suits-to-Go and a guy is going to bring me some clothes. I guess that’s the way they do things here. You have to dress for dinner. It’s like a law or something.”
“I’ve never even seen you in a necktie,” Lena said thoughtfully.
There was a long pause on the other end and I heard a crackle that was either the transatlantic phone line or Lena was crinkling a potato chip bag.
“Is she interested in you?” Lena sounded a little bit worried.
“No, it’s nothing like that. She just needed someone to escort her. Look, I’m not even sure how much I can trust her. One thing you know for sure is that you can trust me. After all we have been through, I promise you that.”
“I know, I trust you. It’s just the weirdest thing you could have possibly told me, that’s all. Just be sure to bring me an autograph by Paul McCartney.”
“Done,” I said. “Plus, I told her about you.”
“You did? You told her about me?” Lena voice sounded giddy. I wasn’t sure if she liked the fact I told another woman about her, or that someone famous knew who she was. “What did you say?”
“I told her that I cared about you. That you were my...” I hesitated.
“I was what?” Lena asked.
“My girlfriend,” I said.