The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 8: "To be a Knight" B

 The Knights of Sheba 108 B…Start

 

            Claude stares at his phone, which sits there silently, not staring or moving at all.  After a few hours of contemplation and imaginary conversations, he finally gets the courage to call.  After few more hours of getting courage, and one attempt that led to him hanging up after the first ring, Shirley calls him.

            “Claude,” Shirley says.

            “Shirley.”

            “I have a missed call from the hotel.  Figured it was you.”

            “Uh, yeah.”

            “So, I called back.”

            “Yeah,” he says.  “Hi.”

            “Hi.”  She pauses.  “So…”

            “The front desk told me that you had called.”

            “Yes, I did.”  She laughs ruefully.  “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to call back.”

            “Really?”

            “It’s been the better part of a day, Claude.”

            “Well.”  He sighs.  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

            “It’s fine,” she says, and he almost believes her.  She sounds sincere at the very least.  “So, I’m glad to hear from you.” That, he readily believes.  “Do you want to meet up and talk?”

            “Yeah, actually, I do.”

            “Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.”

            They hang up.  A few minutes later, Claude waits in the foyer, watching the front door for Shirley’s car.  It is snowing again.  Fat, white piles of snow gather around the parking lot.  Were he on shift, then he would be out sprinkling salt and shoveling.  The hotel gets business on days like this.  The restaurant doesn’t.

            Shirley pulls up to the front and Claude hurries out the door.  Cold bites deep at his exposed flesh.  He offers a brief greeting from the passenger seat before they pull out.  Shirley gets them on the highway before speaking.

            “So, where do you want to go?”

            Claude shrugs.  “We could just drive.”

            “We could,” she says, flowing through traffic.  She is a safe, if somewhat haphazard driver.  It isn’t that she multitasks poorly, but that she seems lackadaisical.  It is part of her charm.

            They drive down the highway.  Cars drag slowly around them.  In the distance, the city shines as it always does.  Above, the clouds gather the light and swell with it like a purpling bruise.  Claude has never seen a true winter before and finds the fragile beauty of fresh snow fascinating.

            “So,” he says after a lingering silence.  “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

            “You know what I want to talk about.”  She glances at him.  “We need to sort out that argument we had.”

            Claude goes quiet, thinks.  He slouches in his seat and stares out the window, and everything he had to say suddenly seems like a lifetime ago.  “There’s nothing to sort.  We already said everything we could.”

            “No, we didn’t,” she says.  “Listen, I’m sorry if what I said was hurtful or mean.  I know that doesn’t take it back or make it better, but it is true.  I really am sorry, and I’m just worried about you, and, honestly, a little offended.”

            “Offended? Why?”

            “I came up here to help you, Claude.  I dropped everything I had, left everything I know, for you, and you seem upset at me for it.”

            “No one asked you for your help.”

            “I never said anyone did!  I’m just,” she sighs, “You don’t need to ask for help to need it, and you definitely need it.”

            “I’m doing just fine.”

            “You’re living in a hotel.”

            “You keep bringing that up.  I’m living off people’s charity, but how is it different if I move in with you?”

            “Because…”

            “It’s not, Shirley.  It’s just me living off of your charity, and I refuse to burden you like that!”

            “I want the burden!”  She twists the wheel and the car sways.  After righting the car, she says, “Claude, I didn’t follow because I had to.  I followed because I wanted to.  I WANT to help you.  It’s not a burden.  It’s my choice.”

            “Fine, that’s fine, but this is my duty.”

            “It can be ours,” she says, her tone softening.  “Just—come see the apartment, okay?”

            Claude pauses, watches the snowflakes dance by.  The sun is already down, and night is gathering, but with the clouds holding the light, the world remains bright.  The snow on the ground reflects the light of the streetlamps in the most beautiful way.

            “Fine,” he says.

            Shirley takes them off the highway and into downtown.  The streets here are long and narrow, and the buildings tall monuments to labor and, possibly, hubris.  She moves through the winding streets with familiarity and finds a parking spot across the street from a tall, old brick building.  The fire escapes look like they were built before Claude was born.

            They step out into the cold air together, shiver, and cross the street.  Claude trails after Shirley, taking the place in.  Closer up, he can see decks built onto the building, their wood dark with moisture.  She stops at the front and opens it, and she leads them up a few staircases and to an unassuming green door in a hallway with yellow wallpaper and brown carpet.

            She smiles at him.  “Are you ready?”  The excitement shows in her tone and in the way she dances a little as she asks.

            Claude has his hands in his pockets, an image of apathy. He shrugs.  “Sure.”

            She unlocks the door and pushes it open.  It swings in, revealing a single, small room, a studio.  A modest kitchenette is built into one side and a door to the right leads to an even more modest bathroom.  She has a lone mattress on the floor and little else.

            Claude stares, less than underwhelmed and more than a little embarrassed. She, however, is still smiling.  “Isn’t it great?”

            “Uh.”

            “I know it’s small, but it’s homey, and it’s mine.”  She steps into the room, stopping beside the mattress.  “And it could be ours, you know.”

            “Shirley…”

            She walks about, picking up trash and stuffing it into an open trash bag by the kitchenette.  “And it’s bigger than your hotel room. And it’d be yours, really yours.  We could decorate together, maybe display your bows.”  She gestures toward the wall, as if the display is already there.  “It would look good here, don’t you think?”

            “Shirley.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Why are you doing all of this?”

            She stares at him, as if confused by the question, and then says, simply, “I want to help.”

            He approaches her, stares into her eyes.  “I know you do, but why?”

            “Because we’re friends.”

            “We are but,” he shakes his head, “You uprooted your whole life.  For this.  You left your family, your friends, your job, your home, all so you could come live in this tiny room, in the middle of a dirty street, in a big city that hardly knows you’re here. Why?”

            She stares a moment longer, and then she laughs, hard.  She laughs so hard her cheeks reddened and her eyes sprout tears, and she keeps laughing until he begins to sulk.

            “What’s so funny,” he asks as her laughter dies.

            “You’re really something special, you know that?”

            “Is that a joke or something?”

            “No, it’s not,” she says, still smiling, still flushed.  Her face is vibrant and alive, and there is something else Claude can’t quite recognized.  Her eyes look half-lidded.  “Claude. How, after all these years, can you not see it?”

            “See what?”

            “I like you.”

            The words are followed by silence.  Even the traffic outside goes quiet, and the admission hangs there. Then, the three words register, and Claude’s entire universe realigns.

            Looking back, he can see every little hint, every advance.  It leaves him clumsy and self-conscious, and he stares at the floor, bashfully.

            Seeing this, Shirley backs up.  “I mean, that is, I have feelings.  For you.  But if you don’t…”

            He kisses her, awkwardly, her mouth half-open and his eyes closed.  They hardly make contact, but Claude is confident and follows through.  He pulls her close, and they meld together, their bodies connected, their lips finding each other.

            Once embraced, they tumble back onto the bed, and they stay together through the night.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The next morning is cold and distant, framed by a grey sky and fat, crystalline snowflakes.  They gather in in the edges of the streets as the snowplow pushes through.  Inside, hiding from the cold of the day in the warmth and safety of Shirley’s apartment, Claude wakes up naked, covered by a thin blanket.  Beside him, Shirley sleeps soundly and equally nude.

            At first glance, shock sets in, shock at the whirlwind of events that led to this morning.  He remembers waiting anxiously in the hotel’s foyer, remembers a long, tense car ride, remembers the disappointment of the apartment.  Then, there is a blurry haze of limbs and rapture.

            It all felt like a long time coming.

            As the night unravels itself in his mind, horror sets in.  He worries over Shirley, over himself, over the relationship that is not even fully healed.  He remembers how empty his life felt without her, how scared he was of losing her, and can only see how sex complicates it all.

            Then, he looks at her, sleeping beside him, her hair askew, her makeup smudged, snoring softly.  He watches the way she breaths, and he squeezes her tight to him and hopes the day doesn’t come.

            She murmurs and rubs her eyes.  “Good morning,” she says, stretching, and she smiles sleepily.  “So, I have to be honest with you.  I didn’t expect this to happen last night.”

            “Really?”

            “Well, I mean, I planned to get here eventually.  Just didn’t expect it to happen so fast.  But don’t get me wrong, I’m happy.”  She looks back over her shoulder.  “You’re happy, too, aren’t you?”

            “I’m confused,” Claude says.  “Happy, yes, but also confused.  And about moving in…”

            “You can’t say no now,” she says, “I won’t be your booty call.”

            He laughs and hugs her and buries his face into her auburn hair.  It smells like her.  “I know, and I don’t want you to be.”  He reaches over her body, finding a cell phone and clicking it on.  Seeing the time, he jumps up, rising from the bed in the nude.  Shirley appraises him in the dull morning light.

            “You know,” she says, eying him, “It’s awful cold out.  We could just stay in all day.”

            “Can’t,” Claude says, feeling very self-conscious about his nudity.  He shimmies into his pants.  “I have to work in a few minutes.”

            Shirley pouts and sits up.  The blanket falls down her chest, exposing creamy flesh.  She smiles.  “Really? Because you look very sick to me.”

            Claude stares.  “Really, I wish I was.”

            She shrugs and stands, naked and completely at ease with it.  “Well,” she says, bending to gather her things from the floor, “I guess this gives me a chance to move your stuff in.”  She looks at him, her bra halfway up her arms.  “You are moving in.”

            Claude laughs.  “Yes, I am.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Would you just hold still?”

            “I am holding still.”

            “Well, you need to hold more still.  You need to be holding so much still that your hands are overflowing with it.  But, seriously, more than anything, Genie, you need to stop fidgeting before I hurt you.”

            “By accident,” Geneva asks, holding her head high and her eyes closed.

            “No,” Beatrice says firmly.

            Geneva holds her breath and does her best not to move.  She is sitting in the bathroom while Beatrice fusses around her.  “I can put on makeup myself, you know.”

            “You can,” Beatrice says, pausing to take Geneva in and then returning to work.  “But tonight is a big night, so I’m thinking we might go elegant and attractive and less with the meth-clown chic.”

            “Ha. Ha.”

            “Still!”  Beatrice kneels down.  She holds a brush between her teeth and grabs the tweezers from the counter.  Squinting, she says, “You’ve got a stray eyebrow hair…”

            “I thought they were—Ow!”

            “Got it,” Beatrice says, tossing the tweezers aside.  She takes out concealer and goes to work.  “So, you excited about your big date?”

            “Nervous, more like,” Geneva says.  “Think, monster-zombie butterflies nervous.”

            “Zombies?”

            “They’re eating my stomach, Bea.”

            “Why? You’ve been to a party with her before, haven’t you?”

            “I kind of made an ass out of myself.”

            Beatrice shrugs. “You’re in high school. Goes with the territory.

            “She never makes an ass out of herself.”

            “She’s cool.  Cool kids save all their assery for later in life.”

            “So, it’s not big deal?”

            “Not in the grand scheme of things.”  Beatrice closes the concealer and tosses it haphazardly at the sink.  She digs through a drawer and finds an eye liner pencil, and she blows on it before tilting Geneva’s head back.  “Now, remember, still.”

            “Did you ever do something stupid thinking you would impress a bunch of people, but really you just made yourself look like a fool?”

            “No, but I sort of skipped the whole high school part of development.  You, I’m afraid, have a few years of awkward left in your future.”

            “You give me so much hope.”

            “That’s what I’m here for.  Now, quiet.”  Beatrice drops the pencil to the floor and applies lipstick.  “Now smack them.  Good girl.”

            “We almost done yet?”

            “No, we still haven’t done your hair.”  Beatrice stares at her.  “Up or down?”

            Geneva tugs at her hair, trying to hide behind it.  “Anyway to cover up my forehead?”

            “No, dear.  It’s hereditary.”

            “You don’t have a giant forehead.”

            “I take after the good-looking side of the family,” Beatrice says.  “Hey, is it this dress I loaned you, or are your boobs bigger?”

            “I don’t know,” Geneva says, squeezing and inspecting them.  “They could be.  Maybe Kit’s are radioactive and her boobs are bringing out the bust in me.”

            “That’s so scientific that I don’t even know.  And here, everyone is saying how I’m the smart one.”

            “No one says that,” she feels a pinch on the back of her neck and winces.  “Ow! What was that for?”

            “Because I’m your big sister and sometimes you forget that.  Now, up.  Let’s get you in front of a mirror so you can see the masterpiece I’ve painted upon the canvas of your face.”

            Geneva stands and, upon Beatrice’s insistence, closes her eyes.  She is led from the bathroom and to her room by the hand.  “You think mom is mad?”

            “If she is, it’s nothing to do with you, so don’t worry your, if I dare to compliment myself, pretty little head over it.”  They come to a stop.  “Now, open!”

            Geneva opens her eyes to find someone else staring back from the mirror.  The person in the mirror isn’t an awkward teenage girl but a woman.  The makeup ages her elegantly, accentuates her strengths while playing down her flaws.  It makes her proportions work to her advantage, while the dress fits her well about the midsection, enhancing and flowing from there to hide her baby fat.

            After a few seconds, Geneva says, “Wow.  Bea, thanks!”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Truth told, I was working with good material.  You’re a nice-looking girl, Genie, you just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

            Geneva blushes, looks away.  Her eyes keep coming back to her reflection.  “I wouldn’t say that.”  She smooths her dress, puffs her cheeks like a fish to make sure it’s her.  Then, she smiles at Beatrice.  “Think Kit will…”

            “If you’re a virgin after tonight then that girl isn’t really a lesbian.”  Beatrice tilts her head to the side.  “Did I just say that about my own sister?”

            “Yeah. Weird.”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “By the by, you losing weight?”

            “Oh?”  Geneva pulls the dress against her body.  “Maybe.  I guess I have been exercising lately.”

            “Goodie for you,” Beatrice says, slumping onto Geneva’s bed.  She stretches her legs languidly.  “I, for one, don’t have the energy for that nonsense.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Trust me, it’s not my choice.”

            “What?”

            “I just.  Gym.  I’m in gym class.”

            “Ah.  Don’t have those in college.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, looking away.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Beatrice does Geneva’s hair before leaving her to pace around the room while waiting.  Geneva is partway through her fourth round when she hears Kit’s car pull up and rushes to the door to meet her at the door before her parents can intercept.  They meet in the front yard, and Geneva regrets not bringing a coat as her feet sink into the mud.  Luckily, Kit is there with a jacket for her.  She slips it onto Geneva’s shoulders before taking the time to appraise her.

            “Wow.  You’re in a dress like that.”

            Geneva blushes, feels momentarily like she is on display.  “Is that bad?”

            “No.  You look amazing.”

            The blush deepens.  “Thanks.  Bea helped me.  She did my makeup and—Ah!  We should hurry, shouldn’t we?”

            “No rush.”  Kit checks her phone. “We have all the time in the world, and I don’t mind standing here and watching you talk.”

            Geneva flips the jacket collar to hide behind it.  “I do, though.  I’m freezing.”

            “Then your chariot awaits.”

            Kit leads Geneva to the car and holds the door for her.  Then, she gets in on the driver’s side and they set out.  Geneva folds Kit’s jacket up and rests it on her lap before fiddling with the heater.

            Kit glances at her.  “Well, aren’t you just comfortable in here now?”

            Geneva glances, recoils quickly.  “Sorry, I didn’t—I was just cold.”

            “It’s fine,” Kit says, smirking.  “I’m glad you’re loosening up.”

            “Well, I won’t get too loose tonight.  I promise.”

            “What, you don’t get a repeat performance of your birthday?”

            “Ugh,” Geneva says.  “Sorry. Apparently, I’m a lightweight.”

            “You’re fine.  Besides, it got me into your bed.”

            Geneva blushes again and doesn’t even have the jacket to hide behind.  She fiddles with the knobs of the heater to look busy.  “We, uh, we didn’t…”

            “I already told you.  No, we didn’t.  Just cuddled.  It was nice.”

            “Well, if you liked it so much, maybe we can try that again tonight,” Geneva says.  “The cuddling, I mean.”

            “Yeah?”

            Geneva tries out a smirk and finds it helps her feel more confident.  “Depends on how the night goes.”

            “In that case, I promise to be on my best behavior.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            When Nina gets the call she leaves immediately, speeding through the city streets and skidding to a halt at the school parking lot.  From there, she runs through the snow, ignoring the bite of the whipping winds, and makes her way to the woods just off grounds.  She can see the Gate Tree in the distance, shimmering faintly in the darkness.

            The area is in ruin.  Trees have been uprooted or tossed aside.  Those that stand are shattered and splintered.  Two elven soldiers lie dead on the ground, their bodies crushed as if by a giant boot, their insides left outside.

            Other elves are on scene, gathering their allies remains and investigating the damage.  Erak stands among them, his coat tail tossing in the wind.  He surveys the scene from behind his hand, his skin pale, his eyes wide.  His other hand clutches an unlit cigarette.  When he sees her, he composes himself, drawing up to his full height, squaring his shoulders, and taking a deep breath.

            “Lieutenant, it’s about time you showed up.”  His voice is shaky.  He lacks his usual resolve.  Nina remembers that he, like many of the others on the border defense, have never seen live combat.

            She salutes. “Sir, what has happened?”

            “Isn’t it obvious?  We’re under attack, and as far as I am concerned, it’s a declaration of war.”

            “Sir?”

            “What else could it be?  The first were scouts, but this…This has to be a raiding party.”  He looks around at the scattered tree trunks, at the broken bodies, and shudders.  “What?  What could have done this, Olivier?”

            “Monsters,” Nina says.

            “Demons,” Erak whispers.  He turns to her.  “We’ll be mobilizing all troops.  You should contact the girl.”

            “Geneva?”

            “She’s a knight, isn’t she?  If I recall, her kind are supposed to be well-suited for fighting demons.”

            “Yes, sir.  But…”

            “This is your chance, Lieutenant.  Prove her worth to me,” he says.  “Why have a weapon if you can’t even use it.”  He turns his back on her, and the conversation ends.

            Nina lingers, shivering in the cold.  She looks at the dead bodies being scooped up into bags, at the trail of chaos leading off to the highway.  The enemy is strong, perhaps numerous, and Geneva is unready, but Nina has her orders.

            She pulls out her phone and makes the call.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit and Geneva arrive to a sea of people.  They pull up beside a long line of cars and get out.  Kit is quick to run around and hold Geneva’s door for her, and she unfolds her jacket and slips it around Geneva’s shoulders again.  Then, she puts an arm around her.

            Geneva smiles, her stomach fluttering.

            They walk together, bodies close, up to the front lawn.  The house is modest and packed with people.  Light spills out from the upstairs windows, looking like two giant, shining eyes.  There are a few people on the porch smoking as they approach.

            Kit opens the gate and stares at the house.  “I was afraid we would be the only ones who showed considering the weather.”  She holds out her hand to catch a few snowflakes and shivers.

            “Come on,” Geneva says, taking Kit by the hand, “Let’s get you inside before your chivalry freezes you to death.”

            Kit smiles.  “Yes, ma’am,” she says, and she follows Geneva through the yard.  Frosted grass crunches under their feet.  People wave from the front as they approach, and Kit waves back.  Geneva sees Rebecky among them and gets to wave, too.

            They are halfway there when Geneva’s dress buzzes.  At first, she stops, horrified, and then remembers her phone.  She stares anxiously, and she finds Kit waiting.  “Give me a second,” she says, turning and answering her phone. “Uh, hello?  Yeah.”  Geneva plugs her ears and steps away from Kit.  “Now?  But…” She sighs.  “Fine, fine.”  Geneva finds a street sign and gives the address.  Then, she hangs up and tucks her phone back into her bra, where Beatrice had told her to keep things in the first place.

            She turns to Kit, who is staring.  A few seconds pass, and then Kit says, “You have a cell phone?”

            “Well, it’s a long story.  You, uh, you see, it’s complicated.”  She paces away from Kit.

            “Genny, what’s going on?”

            “I’m sorry, Kit.  Really, I am, but I don’t have time to explain.  Or I don’t know if I can.  It’s just one of those things.  If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”  She laughs.  “But, seriously, I’m really sorry.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            A black SUV pulls up, and Ms. Olivia honks from the driver’s seat.  Geneva looks back and thinks that she made good time.  Then, she grabs Kit’s coat and tosses it to her.  “Really, I’m sorry,” she says, and she bunches up her dress and stumbles her way toward the street and to Ms. Olivia’s car.

            Kit watches from the lawn, more shocked than hurt, and holding her jacket.

 

The Knights of Sheba 108…End