by Kari August
So, when Charlena had asked Gert, instead of one of her more active staff, if she could keep special watch over Mags—and then Charlena had secretively winked at Mags—and Gert had agreed with so much obvious pleasure and pride, Mags had realized that Charlena also had a special gift with servants. She had recognized that Gert would take honor in the request and had trusted that Mags would not overwork her.
Mags did not even desire a drink currently, and if she had, was not averse to getting it herself—the American way—as in do as they do. But she hadn’t asked anything from Gert in a while and besides, it also gave her a reason to excuse herself from the conversations at the party a little longer. Mags relaxed even further into the cushy chair, waiting on Gert.
Dickie was suddenly grabbed from behind.
“Guess who, Dickie.”
He turned around. “Aunt Elle! Good to see you. I trust you are doing well.”
“Never better. And yourself?”
“Doing fine.” Dickie had met Aunt Elle on his first visit back to Earth when he had stayed with Ned. Incredible now as it seemed, he had learned how to bake her special shortbread cookies and then managed to sell them on a television home shopping channel after Charlena had asked her father, who partially owned the network, if he could.
“So, what brings you for this visit? Business or pleasure?”
Dickie thought of his obstinate sister and wanted to moan, but replied, “Both.”
Clarence, who was standing next to him, then perked up. “You planning on doing any more acting, Dickie? I could talk to Gonzo and see—”
“No, thanks. And I would appreciate if you would stop mentioning Gonzo to Mags any further.”
Clarence chuckled. “So, what kind of business are you involved in now?”
“This trip, I want to learn more about warfare, specifically, becoming proficient in as many weapons as possible.”
Clarence raised his brows at Ned. “Great. Just what the FBI would be interested in.”
Ned shook his head. “It’s only for his own education.”
“Ahhh. So, Dickie is some kind of Renaissance man now, is he?” Clarence laughed louder.
Dickie was getting irritated. “Clarence, why I want to learn about weapons is my own affair.”
“Well, let’s just hope he has no aspirations as an arms dealer, hey, Ned?”
Aunt Elle then spoke up. “I’ve got an idea for how you can learn about warfare, Dickie.”
He turned back to her. “How’s that?”
“You remember my husband, don’t you? Harry the producer?”
Dickie recalled an image of a man who could never wear his tie straight but was hugely successful in the entertainment industry. He nodded.
“Well, I was just talking to him. He’s in a real bind with this new show he’s producing. It’s called ‘The Seal Challenge.’ It’s a reality show contest where participants try to become like Seals from a group of former Seals. The winners earn money and prizes. I think you learn how to handle guns, break and enter buildings, escape the enemy or something like that. Well, some participants just backed out, and he’s starting filming in a week. You could go on the show as a contestant, Dickie.”
This sounded just great to Dickie. He immediately replied, “I would love to.”
Ned started shaking his head. “Dickie, are you sure about that?”
Dickie nodded, even more convinced as he thought further about it. Not only would he learn about weapons, but it appeared as if he might have a chance to prove himself again as a warrior. On Earth, not just in a mock battle in heaven. What a gift he was being offered.
Clarence then smiled and guffawed. “Oh, let him, Ned. It would be a hoot. God, I love these English cousins.”
“There’s just one issue, Dickie,” Aunt Elle continued. “You enter as a pair—apparently Seals only work in teams in real life, and they are trying to make the show as realistic as possible. So, you would have to find a partner.”
Dickie looked at Ned.
“Oh, no. Not me.”
“I think you should do it with Clarence,” Aunt Elle suggested.
Dickie blew out a breath, realizing he was the obvious choice. Clarence had apparently done way more sports growing up than Ned. He had a larger, stronger build than Ned, also. That would be important probably. But could he really tolerate all the teasing he was sure would come his way? He reluctantly turned to Clarence, who had stopped laughing.
“Me?”
“Yes. Would you be my partner, Clarence?”
Clarence pondered a moment. “It does actually sound fun in an aberrant sort of way. And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to . . .” Clarence then took on a determined look. “Think how proud my kids would be of me. How long would it take to complete?”
“I think they want it to be done quickly.” Aunt Elle shrugged. “I mean how long could they expect participants to keep at it? A week? Surely everyone would be worn out by then.”
“Okay. I’ll do it. I doubt Charlena will have a problem with it.”
Aunt Elle grinned. “Let’s find out what Harry thinks now.” She walked a bit away and turned her back on them.
Ned looked concerned. “Dickie, I really don’t think you realize what you are committing yourself to.”
“Seals don’t scare me, Ned. They can’t even ride horses.”
“What?” Clarence gave him a curious look. “Oh, never mind. We probably should try preparing for this, though. Like some training or something.”
Dickie nodded. “Sure. I can do that.”
Aunt Elle returned, smiling. “Harry loooves the idea.”
“Oh, God,” Ned exclaimed.
Once again, Charlie had been greeted warmly by Charlena when he had arrived at the party. And truth be told, he was having a good time, especially considering how eager he was to start his trip Out West. He had spent the last hour chatting with his sister Bridget and her husband Cody. They were trying to convince him to visit them in Denver where they also had a home besides here. Charlie was reluctant. He preferred to stay away from big cities. That’s all he wanted—potentially having his antique car break down or wreck in the heavy traffic. No, he preferred to go to Wyoming and had made some reservations there since he would be arriving in heavy tourist season for the area.
He broke away to get another beer. This party looked as if it was a success. He glanced around at the crowd as he made his way to the bar. But then Gert caught his attention. He loved sweet Gert. There was just something about her that reminded him of his grandmother. She seemed to be perilously balancing a tray, with a glass, a heavy pitcher, and a plate, wobbling on it.
Then she stumbled slightly and lurched forward before catching herself in time. Charlie hurried over. “Gert! Let me get that for you.”
She smiled. “Charlie! So glad you could come to the party. Can I get you anything?”
“Oh, no thanks. But, let me carry this for you.”
“That really isn’t necessary.”
He smiled. “But I want to. Can’t I be a gallant knight for you?”
She giggled. “Oh, Charlie. You’re such a teaser.”
Not really. But he liked making her laugh. “Whom is this for?”
She allowed him to take the tray from her and pointed to the other side of the patio. “See that pretty lady over there? She requested it.”
Charlie looked across the patio. There sprawled contentedly on a lounge chair, relaxing as if the world was here to serve her, was one of those typical highmaintenancers he was so tired of. Oh, she was beautiful. But just how long had it taken her to get ready for this party? She was all done up. He couldn’t help feeling some aversion to the prospect of meeting her, but said, “I’ll handle this, Gert.”
“Thanks, Charlie. I’ll go see if I can assist Muffin with anything.”
It took Charlie a moment to remember Muffin was what she called Charlena. “Okay. See you later.”
Charlie tried not to stare as he headed
over to the woman, but there was something oddly familiar about her. Then it hit him. She looked a lot like the woman in that video his brother had sent him. Could she actually be her?
His brother thought it was funny to follow the ridiculous WWW and had sent him a comical video from one of their newest celebrities—the “Princess” or something. Not only had she acted absurdly uppity, but the camera had slowly fallen during the filming so that eventually she had had to bend over to be seen.
Charlie had chuckled a little at the time, but now the whole thing angered him. If this woman was actually her, this actress was carrying her superior act too far. As he got to her side, he saw that she was dozing. Drunk, most likely. “Excuse me. Is this for you?”
She startled awake and puckered her brow. She looked at the tray in his hands. “Yes, I believe so. But where is Gert? She was supposed to wait on me.”
His temper flared further. “Why? Because you are incapable of getting it for yourself? Or is it that you are so unthoughtful as to bother a sweet old lady instead of the hundreds of other waiters here.”
She gaped and sat straighter. “How dare you—”
“How dare I what?” He dumped the tray on the table next to her unceremoniously, spilling some of the beverage over the edge. “Shall I pour this for you, your Highness?”
She sputtered. “You have this all wrong—”
“Doubt that. But actually, you are correct in one respect. I’ve done my duty. You can serve yourself. I’m not even one of the waiters, for God’s sake,” he muttered, as he turned towards the bar.
Once there and he had gulped down some of his beer, he realized he had overreacted—badly—which was uncharacteristic of him. But all his frustrations with always being the responsible one, doting on types like her especially, had suddenly burst forth, and she had paid the price.
He had been terribly rude to say what he had to her. But God, it had felt great to unload like that. Satisfyingly great, but wrong.
He looked around at the party again. He knew he should mingle some more, but then recognized how much he did not want to anymore. Perhaps he could get a flight out of there sooner, returning him home so he could start his trip. Yeah, that was exactly what he should do.
He put down his beer, then hesitated briefly. Should he return to that woman now, before he departed and say he was sorry?
Yes no. Yes no.
Nah. With luck, he would never see her again.
God, at least he hoped not.
He might have some apologizing and explaining to do. That would definitely not be fun.
Chapter Ten
The next day at the beach Dickie came to an exhausted, huffing, puffing stop beside Clarence.
“Shit!” Clarence exclaimed. “I almost regret now that Charlena didn’t stop me from doing this. I didn’t realize how out of shape I was.”
Dickie glanced over and smirked. Clarence looked like hell. He had woken Dickie up at first light so they could start training for their Seal show. That had been fine with Dickie, but then Clarence, for some ridiculous reason, had made them sit in the cold surf, for as long as they could tolerate—less than five minutes—then they had carried each other down the beach for as far as they could—less than a dozen feet—then he had insisted they run back and forth over the strand until now Dickie had to stop. “There must be a better way to train for this show, Clarence. At this rate, we’ll be done in before the thing has even started.”
Clarence plopped down on his rump and stared at the ocean for a bit. “You know, Dickie, I think you have a point. Better to reserve our power. I guess we could . . .”
“What?”
“Well, we could watch television shows about Seals. Get into their mind set and all that rot.”
“That sounds more sensible to me, Clarence.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, let the other fool contestants run themselves into the ground preparing. Our secret weapon will be that we show up rested . . . and well-fed. Let’s go home and see what’s for breakfast, then sit on our asses in front of the tube.”
The next day, Ned wandered into the family room. “My, God. You’re still watching television?”
“Shusssh!” Clarence intoned, as Dickie briefly glanced over.
Dickie explained, while returning to view the show, “This British series about their special forces is really informative.”
“Remember, Dickie,” Clarence instructed, “Speed, surprise—”
“And violence of action. Got it.” Dickie ate the last bite of his power bar.
Clarence paused the show. “So, what’s up, cuz?”
Ned sat down on the couch. “Oh, nothing. Just finally caught up with some work.”
Dickie crossed his arms, leaning back. “Well, Ned, I have come to an important conclusion.”
“What’s that?”
“After seeing shows about battle rifles, Luger pistols, MPs, RRGs, and whatnot, and then a history of weapons series, where I viewed blunderbusses, flintlocks, and howitzer cannons—just to name a few—I realize that it is ludicrous for me to insist on being an expert in every weapon.”
“I agree, Dickie.”
“I think as long as I can recognize the names of weapons, what approximate century they came from, perhaps a little about their effectiveness, I can display myself well.”
Clarence raised his hands. “Wait a minute. You still haven’t told me what this is all about. And please don’t say you really are becoming an arms dealer.”
Dickie hesitated, then gave some details. “I run a club.”
“A club? What kind of club? You mean with dancing girls? Why, Dickie, you old dog.” Clarence grinned.
Ned shook his head. “It’s more like a society.”
Dickie sat straighter. “It’s called the Intellectual Society of Warriors.”
“The what?!” Clarence broke out in a guffaw. “Come on, you have to be kidding me.”
Dickie was indignant. “I can’t imagine why you find this so hilarious—”
“Oooh. I get it. You’re preparing for another role. Perhaps in the theahtaaah? You English really take your acting seriously, don’t you? None of that fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-shit for you Brits, huh?”
Ned jumped in. “Precisely, Clarence.”
Dickie looked at the ceiling, exasperated. Perhaps he should just tell Clarence the truth about himself. But Gert walked in then.
“Clarence, you have a visitor in your study. I think it’s that real estate fellow.”
Clarence got up. “Coming, Gert.”
They watched him leave the room and sat silently a moment.
“So, Dickie, why don’t you just back out of this Seal show? You said yourself, you don’t have to be an expert in modern warfare to lead your club well.”
“Oh, I could never do that, Ned. I made a promise to Aunt Elle.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Especially when she hears how Clarence and you are going about training for the show. She probably didn’t realize how soft you both had become—”
“I beg your pardon. I am not soft.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way. . . .”
“Ned, I’m going on the show. It’s a chance to prove myself as a warrior again on Earth. Besides, I should go if for no other reason than to teach those cocky Seals a thing or three.”
Ned slumped. “Oh, God.”
Later, Mags watched Clarence enter the dining room, appearing excited.
Everyone, except Aunt Elle, who had already departed for home, was gathered for the meal. Lindsey, Mags, and Ned were heading to Denver in the morning. Mags still had not thought of a thing more to do about her reputation other than the video and had noticed that the viewers were quickly dropping off in numbers after the initial spurt. She looked forward to having more time with clever Lindsey and Ned to ask their opinion on how she could build her reputation.
Dickie was staying behind to continue preparation for the television show with Clarence. Once that
was over, he would join them in Denver, and she was sure he was going to lean on her to return to heaven whether she had accomplished anything further by then or not.
She felt as if she was running out of time. If only she hadn’t wasted a whole day after the party, furiously going over in her mind that obnoxious encounter she had had with that stupid oaf who had accused her of being insensitive and thoughtless. It wasn’t like her to let something like that affect her for long. Of course, in her era, he would have been thrown in the dungeon immediately, and that would have been that.
But what did it matter to her what he thought about her? He was only one person whose opinion about her she would never change. And yet, no one, and she meant no one, had ever talked to her directly in such a scathing manner.
Oh, it had gotten her attention, to be sure, but she was determined now to listen to Clarence and forget about that . . . that . . . churl. “What did you just say, Clarence?”
He smiled. “I got great news, Mags.”
“What’s that?”
Clarence looked around the table. “Who wants to go in with Char and me and buy a seventeen-thousand-acre ranch in Wyoming?”
Cody snorted. “For how much? And what for?”
“To raise buffalo. Georgie gave me the idea originally. My son has always wanted to be a cowboy, and I’ve been looking for a while for the best place. My agent found this hot property that just went up for sale.”
Ned huffed, “That’s quite an expensive gift to be giving Georgie, isn’t it?”
Clarence said in a low, overly solemn, voice, “Yes, Ned. It would be.” He smiled then. “But not if it wasn’t only for him, but we all were owners.”
Cody repeated, “For how much?”
“Thirty million. Of course, Char and I would put up most of the money, but anyone could contribute what they felt comfortable with. Then we could run the thing together.”
Mags couldn’t help inquiring, “What’s a buffalo?”
Clarence looked at her. “Geez, Mags. You’re sounding like you’re from another planet again.”