One Perfect Knight Page 2

  "Hey. Ron. It's Julie."

  "No."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said no, I can't do any better with the campaign because the whole idea stinks. Sorry, Julie, but this is a lame one. What made you think you could sell an all-purpose cleanser with a medieval knight? They are extinct, for Christ's sake. And if they ever did clean their armor back then, it was just to wash off the blood from their latest victims. What housewife has those particular cleaning needs? It makes no sense, and Ajax did that same routine years ago. I know you always pull these things off, but this time…"

  "No, that's not what I want to ask you. Listen, I'm having trouble with my answering machine at home."

  Ron paused on the other end. "Excuse me?"

  "I keep getting static or something, some sort of interference."

  Ron loved this sort of thing. "You mean the messages are hard to hear?"

  "Yeah, in a way. But it's because there's a man's voice there."

  "A secret admirer?" Ron chuckled. "The plot thickens! Tell me what he says. I never understand what chicks want."

  "No, it's nothing like that. He seems to be, well, he seems to be in trouble."

  "What kind of trouble?"

  "I don't know. He's asking for help."

  "Listen, Julie, if every guy who needs help in Manhattan found a way to get on your answering machine, you'd blow a circuit."

  She ignored that "Really, Ron, how could this happen? Can it be someone with a cell phone or something?"

  "Nah. You know what you've got? Interference from livery cabs."

  "Huh?"

  "Livery cabs. There's a city law that their radios can only have so much power, but it's not enforced. Most of those livery cabdrivers have their systems jacked up so they can hear each other in all parts of the city. They can probably call their moms in Benghazi. You know, those cabs with the big bent antennas over their hoods. I'll bet the guy is speaking some foreign language, eh?"

  "No. That's just it he speaks very clearly, in English."

  "Weird. What does he say?"

  Julie hesitated for a moment before answering. "He says, 'Help me.' "

  "That's all? No accent? No pickup request or pizza orders?"

  "'Ihat's all," she confirmed. "And if there's an accent, it seems almost English."

  "Man, that is weird. I've gotta go in a second, but dont worry , I'm sure it's a livery cabdriver. And frankley , if this guy is from England and he's driving a livery cab, he does need help. "

  "Thanks, Ron." She smiled.

  "No problem. Oh, and Julie?"

  "Yeah?"

  "The cleanser idea isn't that much of a dog. I'll see what I can do to spiff it up for those Swedes."

  "Thank you. 'Bye."

  Interference. That made sense. It was simply interference, a technical thing, nothing mysterious.

  But his voice. It was so compelling, a voice that seemed to catch her in her chest. It was a voice of warmth and passion, a rich tone to it with just a hint of something else.

  She grabbed her briefcase and left for the conference room.

  The last message on her machine had been late at night, when she went to retrieve the laundry from the dryer. There had been no other message under his voice. He did not interrupt another call. Instead, this one was clear, as if he had dialed himself. Again, it was the same plea.

  "Help me."

  By Sunday morning, as Julie opened her eyes following the second sleepless night in a row, one fact was painfully clear. The illustrious advertising agency of Stickley & Brush was close to losing one of its biggest clients, and Julie Gaffney could not for the life of her come up with a single reason for them to stay.Ron had been right; the Shine-All campaign was absolutely lame. Usually she could think well on her feet. More than once she had turned certain disaster into triumph, or, as she called it, "pulling a Darrin Stevens." Julie's ability to come up with clever slogans was almost legendary in the business.

  It was Julie who had brainstormed and come up with the Burton Tea campaign, the one all the trades went so nutty over. The one that boosted Burton Tea sales by sixty percent. That was last year, a few short yet somehow very long months ago.

  But yesterday she had not been able to pull a Darrin Stevens, or even a Tabitha-her name for the small miracles of advertising. Friday had been nothing short of a full-blown Endora.

  And now, on Sunday morning, with the brutal rays of sun streaming into her bedroom, there was no denying she would have to think of something spectacular by Monday if she wanted that promotion. She had kept her creative team at work until after midnight Friday, and most of Saturday, the same team that only last year had won a shelf full of awards for persuading the American public to buy a baking soda-based nasal spray and an autornobile made in South America.

  She was exhausted, but when the telephone rang, she jumped. He had called twice yesterday, or at least left two messages for her. The man who so desperately called for help.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she picked up the phone. "Hello ." Her voice was as tentative as she felt.

  There was a slight pause, but she heard someone on the other end. Then came the voice. "Don't kill me," the woman said.

  "Peg!" Julie relaxed against her pillow. "How are you? I tried to call the other day, but ..: "

  "I need to ask a massive favor of you."

  Peg Reilly was one of Julie's first real friends in New York. Even after they stopped being roommates and Peg went on to graduate school and a career as a psychologist, they remained close friends and confidants. Two years older than Julie, Peg had a no nonsense style that Julie found both amusing and vexing, depending on the circumstance. And Peg's family lived on Long Island, her parents and a married sister with two kids and a minivan, so Julie always had a place to go for the holidays.

  "So you have a favor to ask of me," Julie repeated warily. "Just how massive a favor?"

  "Very massive," Peg conceded. "You may wish you never met me."

  "That doesn't narrow it down much. Does it involve travel to a Third World country?"

  "You only wish."

  "Does it involve baby-sitting your sister's kids?"

  "Ha! Child's play, my dear, compared to what I need."

  "Peg, spit it out. You're making me nervous."

  "Okay-here goes. Today is Nathan's birthday party." Nathan was Peg's nephew, the older child.

  "Go on."

  "And Lucy has an earache." Lucy was the four year-old.

  "And?"

  "And someone has to stay home with Lucy. So we have a choice, you see."

  "We do?"

  "Yep. We can either take care of Lucy, who has been in a less-than-cheerful mood with her earache. My sister says she's in a Linda Blair, headtwisting sort of mood, poor thing. That's one option."

  "Or?"

  "Or we can take cute, healthy Nathan and a handful of his little pals, one or two of whom may have single, eligible, and financially solvent fathers for us to flirt with, and ferry the sweet little guys to a fun-filled afternoon at…"

  "At? Go on, Peg. Where. Bloomingdale's? That new brunch place on Sixty-fifth and Third?"

  "Not exactly. This is the fun part, Julie. We get to drive my sister's minivan! Isn't that cool?"

  "Yeah, Peg. Way cool. Especially since you haven't been behind the wheel of a car since the early lays of the Reagan administration. What about your fuu-loving brother-in-law?"

  "Good point! Chuck's in Atlanta on business. Just listen, this is where it gets even more fun. You, my dear, lucky pal, get to drive my sister's brand-new minivan! Full sound system, cup holders-this thing is fully loaded."

  "And where does the lucky pal get to drive the fully loaded van to?"

  "New Jersey."

  Julie paused for just a moment. "Why?"

  Finally, Peg laughed. "To Knight Times, that theme restaurant. Please, Julie, I'll do anything for you. Nathan's on this knight kick, and since it's almost something historical, they figure they should jump on it. B
elieve me, it's a vast improvement over the Power Rangers."

  "I'll bet it is. He was on the same kick when I saw them a few months ago, but I thought it was beginning to fade. And how much influence did his aunt Peg and her penchant for the odd and bizarre have to do with his conversion?"

  "I am proud to say it was almost all my doing. I took him with me a few months ago to some of my village haunts, and he loved those places."

  For the first time, the jocular tone left Julie's voice. "Ah, Peg. Was that such a good idea? Those old shops are creepy. Especially that one place with the stuffed dead animals. I swear, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up just thinking about it."

  "No big deal. You said the same thing about Bruce."

  "Don't mention him. I'm only just speaking to you again after that last setup. Seriously, though. Does Betsy know you took her only son to a shop that sells magic potions and funky old books bound in human skin?"

  "Good old Cauldrons & Skulls. Nope. I did not go into those details. I described it as an old bookstore with first-edition classics."

  "Yeah, nice technicality."

  "Anyway, how about it, oh great driver? Please? If you can't do this, Nathan will have a miserable tenth birthday and will most likely remain in therapy for the rest of his life. Not to pressure you or anything."

  "Well… how do I get from the city to Long Island and the fully loaded car?"

  "This is the exciting part," Peg enthused. "We get to take the train together in forty-five minutes. Long Island Railroad. Penn Station on an early Sunday morning! Hey, it just doesn't get any better than this."

  Julie moaned just once. It might do her good to have a complete change of scenery. Maybe some brilliant idea would come to her, something that would help salvage the account. And Peg was just the person to bounce ideas off. She knew all sorts of subliminal ways to sell products. "Sure, Peg. Count me in. When should we meet?"

  "About two minutes. I'm calling from your lobby."

  "Pretty confident I'd say yes, eh? Okay. Come on up."

  And as Julie waited to let Peg in, she wondered should she tell her about the man on the answering machine?

  The instant she saw the van, Julie regretted her decision. It was the size of a tank, with only slightly less grace and style, a boxy metallic green monster.

  "What is this thing?" she whispered to Peg as they walked up the driveway.

  "It's the El Caracca. The very car you helped sell to the world last year."

  "I had no idea it was so… Betsy! How wonderful to see you!"

  "Go ahead." Betsy laughed as she emerged, the screen door slamming behind her. "You had no idea the minivan would be so ugly, eh? And aren't you the one who wrote that award-winning copy?"

  Julie winced. "If I recall correctly, I emphasized the safety factors. Is this a special paint job?"

  "No. It's called Rain Forest Green. Rather special, isn't it?"

  "Special. I like that," Peg agreed. Just then, a piercing scream came from inside the house, and both Betsy and Peg ignored it.

  "That's just Lucy," Betsy explained.

  "I really have to drive this thing?" Julie peered in at the driver's seat, which was covered in a camouflage material.

  "The upholstery is Jungle Beige. Goes with everything," Betsy offered.

  Just then, Nathan came out of the house.

  "Hi, Aunt Peg. Hey, Julie. Today I will answer only to Sir Knight."

  "Then good day, Sir Knight." Julie extended her hand.

  "Good night, Sir Day," Nathan responded with a flushed smile.

  Within a half hour they were on the expressway, van fully loaded with boys, bound for New Jersey. As she drove, Julie managed to duck soda straw wrappers that shot past her head as Peg struggled to maintain order. In the rearview mirror, Nathan waved, his face covered with more freckles than Julie thought possible.

  Peg turned to her. "Really, it won't be so bad once we get there."

  The restaurant itself was precisely what Julie had imagined-all facade, fakery, and fun. But the boys didn't see the tawdriness. A reverential silence descended over the van as they pulled into the parking lot and accepted a scrolled stub from the ticket dispenser, a plywood creation designed to look like a small turret.

  "Wow," breathed Nathan, his eyes widening as he took in the magnificence of the four-story pink castle complete with triangular flags of no particular meaning and moat with no particular water.

  At the front door they were greeted by scads of undergraduate stydents in costumes of varying degrees of authenticity. Julie overheard one of the girls explain that most of them were from the theater department of the community college in the next town.

  "That explains why the wenches are within," Julie whispered to Peg. "Cramming for ye olde political science exam.

  Peg pushed the last boy through the door. "I can sure use ye olde ladies' room. Can you get them seated?"

  The interior of the restaurant was just the way a Hollywood set designer would imagine a medieval restaurant accepting all major credit cards should look-lots of exposed plastic wood, menacing iron cauldrons, and oversized tools that looked suspiciously like used barbecue utensils.

  "That one's to pull out your guts," one boy stated wisely as he pointed to a pair of tongs.

  They were ushered into the main room, a darkly lit place that smelled like last night's dinner mingled with something sticky. That something sticky was explained by rows of large plastic soda pitchers. The odor of last night's dinner remained mercifully, for the moment, unexplained.

  Once her eyes adjusted, Julie realized the room resembled a large indoor riding arena. The center of the circular space was covered with packed dirt, and off in a distance could be heard the neighing of horses.

  The boys filed into a row of chairs at a long plank, with a handwritten sign that read, "Lord Nathan's Party.

  "That's me!" Nathan squealed, for which he was alternately punched and shoved by his friends. They sat eagerly, exploring the oversized napkins and plastic wooden bowls and large stainless steel spoons.

  "This is so cool," said one kid.

  "Awesome," agreed another.

  Then their serving wench appeared.

  "Good evening, sires, my lady. I am Trudy, your faithful serving wench for this evening," she began. "I have traveled from shores far beyond to serve you the finest foods of the kingdom."

  From her accent, Julie placed her as a native of shores no farther than the kingdom of Bayonne, New Jersey. In her hand was a large covered tray, and she pulled the cover back to reveal something made of paper.

  Thus, with great solemnity, they were presented with blue and gold crowns and matching bibs.

  Peg returned, a smile on her face.

  "Thank God. I was afraid I would miss the coronation," she mumbled as she slid into her seat.

  " How do I look?" Julie asked. The blue and gold cardboard and paper crown was a subtle accessory to the beautifully accented bib, which read-in faux calligraphy splendor"Ye Olde Big Bib."

  The bib all but covered her scoop-neck red blouse and very nearly came to the knees on her jeans. She struck several poses for full effect.

  Peg laughed. "Perfect! I think you have your new outfit for casual Friday at the office."

  "Please. Don't remind me," Julie moaned as she sat back down.

  "Trouble in River City?"

  "Yep. I'll fill you in later, maybe on the way back. It might ruin the party mood if Lady Julie of Gaffney began bawling like a damsel in distress."

  Peg eyed her friend. "Hmm. Later, then. Oh, look. The festivities are about to commence."

  A solitary man walked to the center of the arena. Even from a distance, Julie could not help but notice that his legs, in bicolored tights of yellow and orange, were particularly thin, almost painfully so. The puffy pleated shorts, balanced on such scrawny legs, gave the impression of a two-legged pumpkin. Upon his head was a round cap with multicolored spikes for the brim, much like the hat one of the kids in The Litt
le Rascals always wore.

  The spotlight followed him as he paused and put a long trumpet tied with what seemed to be dozens of ribbons to his lips. It was then that she saw his nose twitch.

  "Oh my God," she hissed. "It's Orrin!"

  "Who?" Peg asked, but Julie could not answer as Lord Orrin blew his horn. His face reddened with every note, and his left foot tapped, as if he had suddenly become Benny Goodman at Carnegie Hall.

  His shoes were pointed.

  That's all she could see. It was too much.

  Great waves of laughter overtook her, between which she gasped for air before doubling over once again with the weight of the hilarity. Everyone in the party of Lord Nathan stared at Julie as she attempted to quiet herself, bit her lip, fixed her gaze straight ahead, and began the treacherous rise from shoulder shaking giggle to loud guffaws once more.

  Now other lords and ladies of the realm began to stare at her, and even Trudy the faithful serving wench shot her an annoyed look.

  "I have to go to the bathroom," announced one of the boys.

  "Me, too."

  Peg stood up to take them, but Julie waved her hands wordlessly. She attempted to say that she would take them, but she was still unable to speak.

  "You'll take them?" Peg asked.

  Julie nodded.

  "Are you okay?" Peg asked, noting the wary expressions on the bathroom-bound boys' faces. They now numbered four.

  Again she nodded, the strains of Lord Orrin's horn echoing in her ears, and took them to the back and downstairs.

  " She's mad." one of the boys said to another.

  But she was still a grown-up, even if her behavior , not to mention the crown and bib , bespoke otherwise. And like any responsible grown-up, she led them safely to the little lords' room.

  "Okay, guys," she began, her voice raspy from laughter. At least she had managed to regain some measure of control. "I'll wait out here in the hallway, and when you're done, we'll all go back together."

  They all nodded, except one boy who, from his expression, made it clear that he felt they were far safer on their own than under the guidance of Julie. And as a group they marched into the dungeon-doored men's room.

  At last she had a chance to catch her breath. Scrubbing her face with her hands, she relaxed and then took a glance at the corridor.