“It's Amy,” I said.

I was the donkey at the party with the tail about to be pinned to its ass, the piñata that was going to be whacked, the—you get the idea. It was going to be uncomfortable, that much I knew, but what I didn’t know was from which direction the jab would come and if I could escape without losing much blood.

I noticed three other people in the room as I walked through the glass-paned French doors, all female and none too happy with me, it seemed. The oldest of the women was a pretty lady, in the way that older English women are: no wrinkles, no sun spots and very fair with full cheeks even though the rest of their bodies are slim. She had her blonde hair styled into a bob and sprayed stiff with hair spray (to combat the rain here, I supposed) and her clothes were well-tailored, of course.

The other two looked as if they had been shipped over from an American mall just today and would say, “Hi! Like, did you see this new lip gloss that I just now bought? Oh. My. God. It is sooo pretty!” any second. Pretty girls, with curly brown hair and loads of energy that barely contained itself in those cushy leather chairs.

Each of their eyes landed on me just as I had gotten through scanning them and the spacious, state of the art conference room we were in.

“Hullo!” Penelope piped up. (It was no “Hi!” but it was close and said with as much exuberance as any American kid I knew.)

They all leapt out of their chairs and bounded over, even Lady Langdon, in her own dignified sort of leaping manner, who, lagging behind her daughters considerably, made her way over.

“I’m so sorry l’m late. Please accept my sincere apologies. I was… detained. Out front. By him.” I shot Earl the Black Pearl a look of contempt as I pointed at him over my shoulder. While he glared at me as if he were bored by the very sound of my voice, his sisters looked at each other with raised brows and faint amusement. Lady Priscilla simply smiled and changed the subject to something along the lines of “How was your flight?” Translation: “I am changing the subject at once to avoid this uncomfortable feeling i have now because my son is clearly a jackass.” (OK, so that was my translation, but I was sure I wasn’t far off from her meaning.)

Nick handled the introductions and I jumped right into the speech I had prepared. You do realize, however, that this speech was written with the intention that I be able to recite it all at once, smoothly, in about fifteen minutes and then get straight into setting up the job? Sure, it sounds like a reasonable expectation, but no one told that to the jerk in the front row who asked me a completely unrelated question just as I was making an important point.

“Do you require any batteries for your camera?”

“No. And actually, I was commenting that your collection seems to be quite impressive and has many pieces from the Regency era, which happens to be my favorite to study.”

“Don’t you just love Jane Austen?” Penelope piped up.

“Yes, Penelope, I do! She was a fantastic writer and timeless in her observations.” I smiled and winked at her.

“So, as I was saying, the main reason we want to set everything up in here is for logistical—“

“Do you really admire Jane Austen?” His voice was so…venomous, that I couldn’t ignore him, nor could I slap him in front of his mother, however much my fingers twitched to do so. I did snap my pencil in half, however.

“Yes,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

“Why? I find her sexist, boring and clannish.” He leaned back in his chair expecting an argument from the looks of it.

I felt my mouth gape open and hang there like a fly catcher.

“Are you allergic to shutting up? Or do you have a touch of diarrhea of the mouth?” I hastily shuffled my papers and mumbled to myself under my breath, “Ha! He calls Jane Austen sexist, boring and clannish…I can’t think of three more apt words to describe him in the English language…” Then, just as quickly as I had began my mumbled tirade, I stopped, fearing I would be sent home on the next flight by Lady Priscilla in a matter of minutes, if I didn’t. Say goodbye to your new promotion, and your job, Maisie…

Instead of the ripping of a new one I thought I’d get from Lady P., what I heard and saw were three females stifling laughs while one pig-headed male turned all shades of red and stared daggers through me until I’d finished talking. But–oh-so-thankfully–he did keep his mouth shut and l yanked my self-assurance back to front and center using my bad attitude as an impetus.

“Any questions?” I asked cheerfully as I zipped my bag closed.

“No? OK, then I have one: may I see the collection now?” To say I was anxious to see what they held would be an understatement. My fingers tickled to don those gloves and lovingly caress the priceless capsules of history. I couldn’t wait to see each piece, touch it, imagine what the person’s life was like who wore such an elaborate costume. Only the richest of the rich preserved their clothing through time; everyone else wore and recycled their clothing until it was in tattered rags. Poor me, to be forced to handle fine silks, cottons and wools in some of the most skilled handiwork ever. I sighed happily from the burden.

“Of course, Maisie! Let’s get started right now, in fact.

Nicholas, would you please unlock the door to the storage area?” Priscilla (as she directed me to call her after I floundered over ‘Mrs. Lady’ and ‘Your Royal Errrr’…) asked Nick as we all made our way down the large hallway and down a flight of steps.

Nick nodded and jogged ahead of us to get the keys. I kept one eye on Priscilla and the other on Nick’s shapely backside. Sue me for having eyes that work too well sometimes. And what a nice sight it was.

“Whew! It’s cold in here!” I said out loud to distract myself from looking at him too long.

“Yes, it is. It’s temperature and humidity controlled to protect the clothing,” Captain Obvious announced as he flipped on all the lights.

“I know, I am familiar with the field in which I work. I was simply making an observation.” I scanned the room and saw racks and racks of covered garments. It felt like Christmas.

“Oh,” he said as if I had dejected him out of the room, right onto his ass.

“Sorry Nick, I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just that I’m really tired from my journey.” Priscilla and the girls went off to investigate why one of the racks was slightly crooked; I heard their clipped feminine voices echo as they walked away. I turned to Nick. I did feel guilty for being snippy, and I was about ready to apologize for everything nasty I had said since I arrived. I studied his actions as he waited for his mother to get out of hearing range; only when she had gone far enough, did he walk slowly up to me, lean down into my face and make me think he was going to kiss me. My heart started to race from seeing his nicely shaped mouth up close and I backed away with a frown that was soon to be paired with a roundhouse kick if he didn’t quit it. He chuckled, I guess due to my expression, and backed off.

“What are you doing?” I whispered loudly. I turned to walk away and I heard him say my name softly. I hesitated only because of the tone of his voice. It was intriguing.

“What?”I rolled my eyes as I waited.

Stupid man, he leaned into my face again! “Hey! I told you—” I swatted him away.

“Maisie, I think it’s important that I tell you this with discretion,” he whispered softly, his rich eyes looking deeply into mine. I felt my toes go numb.

“Wh, wh, what?” I stuttered uncoolly.

“Maisie…” he hushed, his breath tickling my face.

“Yes?” I breathed. He brushed his thumb along my face, sending chills up my arms. (Check: toes were still numb.)

“You have a piece of food stuck to your face. Looks like scone…saving it for later?” He opened my hand and placed the yummy treat I had overlooked into my palm. I cursed myself silently for doing a hasty job of checking for crumbs in the rearview mirror. Nick bowed to me as he elegantly backed away, flashed me a blinding smile and winked as he called to his mom, “Mum, I can fix that rack, if you wish.”

Prequel I is here

Prequel II is here

Prequel III is here

And where it all started (sort of) The Traveler is here

Image credit: Kevin at thebeginningatlast9.Wordpress.com

This is my friend Petey. His full name is Peter, but his mom only calls him Peter if he is in trouble.

Petey is my neighbor’s dog. I’ve known him since he was a puppy. He is now about two years old. He gets very excited to see me when we greet each other at the back fence. One time he peed a little, he was so happy to see me. I take that as a great honor. (But it’s only an honor for dogs, not people.)

When I first met Petey, it was at the fence. I never saw him outside of the fence until I went to a party at his house. He could not believe I had legs. After the party, I returned to my home, and again was trapped by the fence, legless.

I don’t see Petey very often, but when I do, I run out the front door to chase him down when he’s on a walk. Or, if he’s in the backyard, I will wave, but I will try not to disrupt him from his resting spot in the sun. I saw him Friday afternoon while he was walking. I chased him down and he came back. He was excited to see me, and he was wearing a cap.

Petey is a mutt. He is very cute and I love him.