What to do when one’s daughter transforms into a medieval princess? Not so much in appearance. God that could take years! But each gesture carefully calculated. Her sentences flowing together like two perfect streams, clear and rich with life.
Amanda bowing and waving her hand, ordered her parents to set the dining room table, which for years stored junk mail and gifts waiting to be returned. “At once,” she snapped. “Our guest here has come with a proposal, one that needs your greatest attention. Get to it!”
Bemused by Amanda’s sudden metamorphoses, Richard and Dahlia restored the dining room to its original appearance; a masterpiece of a room fitted for elegant guests, something that had not occurred since the Jenkins first moved in. Real estate brokers and bankers toasted expensive champagne. The Jenkins pushed to the back, peering through the crowd of suited men and women, like strangers in their own new abode. Once the guests left, Richard bolted the door shut demanding “this shit’s never gonna happen again. Not in my home.”
Twenty-five plus years later, there Richard was dressing the room, vacuuming the dust off the table, taking on the role of butler as his daughter, regal as ever, led Zack Blueman to a chair,
“You’ll sit here. Next to me, darling.” Once seated, squeezing his inner thigh, “Tell me, how can my father be of assistance to you?”
Zack squirmed, wondering whether it would be polite to ask his young hostess to remove her hand from his junk. His junk? Yes it slowly rode up his inner thigh. She practically could masturbate him. He stammered, “Eye eye eye’m not sho sho shore.”
“You must have something in mind,” her hand raised but then planted itself onto Zack’s biceps. Squeezing and squeezing…had he become a plastic toy? “Father, sit down. Let’s be reasonable here.”
Richard bowed and then took the seat closest to the kitchen. In case she needs anything, Richard pondered. Anything she needs, a fruit bowl, fondue, bowl of soup, ham sandwich. Anything he needs! A quick polish on his leather coat. A tune-up on his motorcycle…wait he can probably do that himself. What can I do for this young man? What does he want from our family? What is he doing here? Hush, Mr. Jenkins, should you return to your old mean self, your daughter might turn to trash. White trash. That’s the direction she was heading. Fucking skunks and eating directly from a dumpster. So listen, maybe this man is a Prince from a foreign land. Maybe this is why his weird behaviors inside the walk-in closet, how long ago was that, twenty minutes ago, that sounds right, but maybe that’s why things were so strange. How does a man tell another man that he’s from a foreign land? Not just foreign but from another time period all together…and to possess magical powers such as transforming his beast of a daughter into this sophisticated young woman. Oh the Prince is opening his mouth about to say something. I shall listen.
“The deal is this,” Zack slurred. Amanda’s incessant squeezing induced a drunken state. “You and me, me and you can team up. How large is your fleet?”
“Construction vehicles. How large is the fleet?”
“Oh that,” Richard burst into hysterical laughter.
This hysteria proved alarming to Dahlia. Covered in flour and chocolate sauce, she rushed in, dropping to her knees, “Richard, what’s with you?” His face beet-red, lacking oxygen, Richard smacked his kneecaps. “Can you breathe?” Richard fell forward, knocking Dahlia to the floor. Once pulling herself out from underneath her husband, Dahlia assessed Richard’s health. In a matter of seconds, her face went pallid.
“Mother, what is it?”
“Where’s your cell phone?”
“What cell phone?” Amanda had never possessed a cell phone. She judged the technology to be a soul sucker and a device exclusively for boys.
Zack withdrew a miniature square device from within his leather coat. “I got one.”
“Interesting shape,” Amanda yanked it out of Zack’s hand, flipping it around on its sides.
“Don’t break it!”
“I won’t. Where’d you get it?”
“There are so many stores. Which one?”
Lost in terror, Dahlia screamed, “Amanda, I don’t give a shit what store he got the cell phone from. Just use it to dial up an ambulance. Your father’s not well!”