Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (103 page)

Truth be told, I haven’t got a single thing going
for me right now. And the saddest part is, I don’t care one bit. If
things keep progressing as they are, I will be a homeless cat lady
speaking in tongues in front of the Stop-N-Go within a matter of
days.

The phone rings for at least the four hundredth time
since I sank into the darkest depths of my depressive funk, and
just like the other three hundred and ninety-nine times it’s rung
since Saturday night, I let the answering machine pick it up.

“Lisa!” I hear Pegeen’s voice call out on the tinny
answering-machine speaker. “Lisa, please, pick up. Are you there?
Hell, are you still
alive?
Some of us here at the plant are
starting to worry that you’re dead. Please, please, don’t be dead,
Lees. If you’re there, at least pick up and tell me you’re not
dead. You don’t have to talk to me or anything—“

I cave in and click on the cordless receiver I’ve
buried underneath one of my bed pillows. “Hello, Pegeen. No, I am
not dead. Although I wish I were.”

“Lees—“

“I’m hanging up now,” I seethe. But something
prevents me from actually doing it.

“Lees, listen. You can’t hide out in your apartment
forever. I’ve been covering for you at work the past two days—I
told Brad the “death” in your family was your mother, so since it’s
supposedly immediate family, you can use your three paid
bereavement days off for the funeral instead of cutting into your
sick time. But in order for that cover story to work, you
have
to come back on Thursday. That gives you another day
to—relax, or whatever it is you’re doing. What
are
you
doing, anyway?”

I don’t answer her.

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to answer right now. I
know you’re upset. But I have to tell you Lees, as your best
friend, that what you saw the other night was all just a big
misunderstanding. Syr Phillip wasn’t doing anything—sexual with
Lady Ramona. Really.”

Yeah, right,
I think.
Men just strip to
their underwear and embrace sleazy, slutty women who are also in
their underwear for absolutely no reason, sure.
Pegeen is
silent on her end of the line. After a moment, I finally say,
“Pegeen, you did warn me a couple weeks ago to watch my back when
it came to Syr Phillip. Didn’t you?”

There is a pause. “That’s true,” she admits. “But I
still think you overreacted.” I think about mentioning what I heard
Barlonda and Danyel gossiping about in the bathroom, but I
don’t.

After a moment, Pegeen goes on. “Lees, I guess now
that I’ve had a few days to think it over, I suppose I can
understand the way you reacted to what you saw. But I’m here to
tell you, that it wasn’t what it looked like at all. You see Lees,
there are some things about the upper levels of the SCA that you
don’t know about, and probably have no way of understanding.”

I sigh with a mixture of anger and hopelessness.
“Oh, and
you
do? You’ve only been in the SCA three months
longer than I have. What makes
you
such an expert?”

“I’ve become privy to certain—information since I
joined,” Pegeen explains. “Mostly through Arundel, but also through
others. Like I said, there are things that you don’t understand.
But I think I have a way to help you understand.”

I seriously doubt this, but I don’t say so. I remain
silent, waiting for Pegeen to resume the conversation.

“Look, don’t worry about Brad or anything that’s
happening at Delco for the next day or so. I’ve got you covered
until Thursday,” she says. “But when you do get back, make sure to
tell Brad and all his vultures that your mom died in a bear attack
when she was visiting Yosemite National Park over the weekend.
That’s the story I gave them.”

“I don’t suppose it matters that my mom has already
been dead for over ten years, does it?” I ask softly, swallowing
down the lump in my throat that inevitably rises whenever I think
of my parents.

“I don’t think anybody at the plant knew that,”
Pegeen offers. “At least Brad didn’t know, and he’s the only one
that matters. Anyway, like I was saying before, I think I have a
way to help you understand what was really going on with Syr
Phillip and all the others before the feast. Spend the rest of
today relaxing, but make sure to have yourself and your apartment
in a presentable state by 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. Someone
important is coming to visit you then.”

“Who?” I ask, examining my fingernails, which are
caked with dirt and dried-up pizza sauce from my three-day
bender.

“I can’t tell you who over the phone. It’ll be two
older men. Don’t worry, they’re not axe murderers or
anything—they’re really nice. They want to help you.”

I can’t help but be suspicious. “I don’t think I
need any help, Pegeen. After what I saw Phil and all the others
doing with Lady Ramona the other day, I’m not real big on men in
general these days—let alone male strangers who show up unannounced
on my doorstep.”

Pegeen sighs. “Well, how about this. I’ll see if I
can get one of their wives to agree to come along. Will that make
you feel better?”

“Maybe,” I sigh. “But I won’t open the door for them
if they look too freaky.”

“Fair enough,” Pegeen acquiesces. “I guarantee
you’ll like these people, though. They’re some of the best folks in
the entire SCA. Old-timers who’ve been around almost since the SCA
first started way back in the sixties.”

At the mention of the SCA, I involuntarily clench my
jaw. “About that, Pegeen,” I say, picking at one of my dirtier
fingernails. “I don’t want anything more to do with the SCA, ever.
So how about you tell these people, whoever they are, that they
don’t need to be stopping by my place after all. ‘Kay?”
“Lees, you
can’t
quit the SCA!” Pegeen shrieks into the
phone so loud it almost bursts my left eardrum.

“Oh yes I can, Pegeen. It’s a free goddamn
country.”

“But you’re the
Crown Princess
of the Middle
Kingdom!”

“Not anymore I’m not. I quit.”

“Lees, you can’t quit unless King Fallon accepts
your resignation, and I know for a fact that he won’t.”

“Oh,
screw
King Fallon,” I hiss. “It’s not
like he’s king of anything
real.
What’s he gonna do, have me
beheaded or something?”

Pegeen doesn’t answer. I can hear her breathing
through her mouth, something she always does when she’s mad. Just
when I’m about to hang up, she finally speaks.

“Look, Lees. I know you’re kind of upset with the
SCA right now, and I know you’re upset with me, and Syr Phillip,
and a lot of other people, too. And on one level I guess I can
understand why. But I just want to remind you of something. These
past few weeks since you came to the Blood and Roses Tournament,
you’ve been happier than you’ve been in years—the happiest I’ve
seen you since before your parents died. Sure, you’ve had some
bizarre experiences and met some odd people, and maybe Syr Phillip
won’t turn out to be the right guy for you, either. But that
doesn’t change the fact that you have had a lot of fun along the
way. I know, because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the changes in you,
and I’ve seen how you get excited about putting on Barlonda’s
beautiful garb and watching the tournaments. And even if things
don’t work out between you and Syr Phillip—“

“They won’t,” I snap. “You can count on that.”

“Lees, let me finish. Even if things don’t work out
between you and Syr Phillip, I know for a fact that you had some
good times—and some excellent sex, mind you—with him, and you never
would have had those great times or great sex without the SCA.”

“Well, technically yes, but that doesn’t mean the
SCA has necessarily been
good
for me—“

Pegeen cuts me off. “Lees, there’s one more thing. I
saw the look on your face when King Fallon put that crown on your
head on Saturday. It was a look that I’d never seen
anyone
have before. It was a look of total wonder, total enthrallment. You
were totally caught up with the idea of not only living in the
largest, most important kingdom in a make-believe, magical world,
you were thrilled by the idea of being
princess
of that
kingdom. Because the fact is, Lees, you’ve never had the chance to
be princess of anything before, unless you count that tacky
Halloween costume you wore when we were in second grade. I really
think that this whole SCA experience has helped you recapture a
part of yourself that disappeared after your parents died—the
old
Lisa, the Lisa I grew up with, the Lisa who isn’t always
sad about losing her parents so young. It’s been nice having the
old Lisa back the past few weeks. I don’t know about you, but I’d
like to keep the old Lisa around for a while longer.”

I don’t say anything for a long time. I feel the hot
sting of tears coming to my eyes, yet mixed in with the familiar
stiffness that comes to my body when I’m about to start sobbing,
there is a softer, warmer feeling, too. It’s not the same kind of
warmth that I felt even when Syr Phillip and I were at our hottest
and heaviest—it’s a feeling of joy, self-confidence, and safety
that most of us only feel when we are tucked away in sleeping bags
on the floor of our twelve-year-old’s bedroom, playing childhood
games like Truth or Dare and Telephone with our best childhood
friend in the whole world.

I realize that Pegeen has touched the part of me
that I’ve kept buried behind my shy, inarticulate exterior for
years.

Or has she?

My newly awakened joy and self-confidence seems
slightly similar to another feeling, a more mature, sophisticated
one that I felt come over me when King Fallon placed that crown on
my head. . .

All at once, the dark clouds hanging over me start
to part. I sit bold upright in bed. “Yowza!” I hear myself shriek.
“Pegeen, you can tell those important SCA friends of yours that
they can come by to see me tomorrow at two o’clock.”

“Lees?” Pegeen sounds concerned. “Lees, are you
okay?”

“I’m great, Pegeen. Great!”

“Hmmm,” she replies. “Are you sure? Because you seem
to be having some pretty wild mood swings right now.”

I jump out of bed, surprised at my newfound energy.
“No mood swings here,” I say. “Just call it my second wind.”

Chapter
24

Thanks to Pegeen’s inspiration, my depressive funk
has disappeared and been replaced with a new personality I’ve
christened Super-Hyperactive-Mania-Driven-Machine Lisa—probably the
only term that comes close to describing how I feel right now.

Ever since I hung up with Pegeen yesterday
afternoon, I’ve felt like a new woman. Pegeen is right. Being in
the SCA
is
fun. Becoming Crown Princess of the Middle
Kingdom
is
super-cool. Spending my weekends getting dressed
up in beautiful costumes and watching middle-aged professionals
wear plastic armor and play with swords really
does
make me
happy.

And the best part is, I have discovered over the
course of my attack of blissful mania (in which I have spent
approximately the past fourteen hours cleaning my apartment) that I
can continue to be happy in the SCA—and even continue my reign as
Crown Princess and then, Queen of the Middle Kingdom—
without
being romantically involved with that two-timing, Lady
Ramona-grabbing, bed-hopping rat bastard Syr Phillip Reginald of
Blackstar.

And how exactly is that possible?

Well, it’s complicated. I haven’t quite worked out
all the details yet. I’ve decided that I’ll wait and see what these
mysterious SCA old-timers have to say first before I finalize the
rest of my post-Syr Phillip SCA survival plan.

My apartment is nearly spotless. I’ve been cleaning,
straightening, organizing, and polishing nearly nonstop since
Pegeen’s call yesterday afternoon, only taking a brief nap this
morning between the hours of four and five. I glance at the plastic
Ikea clock on my mantel and see to my surprise that it’s already
ten minutes to two, and I haven’t even showered yet.

I’m in the shower, frantically scrubbing myself
under a steady stream of super-hot water when I hear the doorbell
ring. I throw on my bathrobe, wrap my head in a towel, and go to
answer the door.

A stooped, grizzled old man and an elegant, willowy
old woman—both of them easily well into their seventies—are behind
it. I spy a slightly younger man, perhaps in his early-to-mid
fifties, rummaging around in the trunk of a late-model red Volvo
station wagon parked in front of my building.

“Hello,” I say, wrapping my robe around myself a
little tighter.

“Good afternoon, Lisa,” says the woman. Her voice is
mature yet very smooth, with an accent that sounds vaguely New
England. “I hope we’re not too early. Pegonia told us you’d see us
at two o’clock.”

“Nope, you’re right on time. I’m the one that’s
late. Come on in.” I prop open the screen door and the elegant,
elderly woman and her silent male companion sweep into the room.
She is wearing a loose-fitting purple caftan with well-worn
Birkenstocks, and her snowy-white long hair is gathered into a
single braid that hangs down almost to her waist. “My name is Diana
Kress, and this is my husband, Jerry.” Jerry, a plump, steel-haired
man with a leathery face and well-worn bluejeans, gives me a polite
nod.

“Do you have SCA names?” I ask innocently. “Pegeen
told me that some SCA old-timers were coming over, and I guess
that’s you—“ I trail off, not wanting to make much of an issue out
of my guests’ age.

“Yes we do,” Jerry’s deep bass voice says. “But our
SCA names are both Welsh and very hard to pronounce, so most folks
just call us by our mundane names all the time.”Jerry and Diane sit
next to one another on my tattered sofa and pull off their shoes,
looking as if they’re settling in for a long stay.