Part One - Chapter Two

Chapter Two

1

Growsers rule! Randy and Sandy didn’t mean to act smug, but the noble line of growsers had ruled the Earth—well, inhabited the island, at least—for eons before the coming of those like Vincent. Growsers had no natural enemies, being intelligent enough to stay out of trouble and, slight and nimble as they were, not worth the effort to hunt down, catch, and—Heaven forbid—gobble up alive! The reigning race of big-bald-mamas-on-two-legs just made the growsers’ lives a little easier and more interesting. (How fortunate that growsers aroused their maternal instinct.) And Randy and Sandy truly loved Vincent—he was a good provider, he was affectionate, he was respectful of the growsers’ noble station, and, perhaps most important of all, he was warm. They could snuggle in his clothes for hours on end without a care in the world. How they loved his clothes! Billowy, baggy, soft, and full of interesting pockets.

When it came to the big bald mamas, Vincent was quite special indeed. And while he was balder than most, he made up for it in splendid whiskers. Presently Randy and Sandy were nestled deep in the interior of Vincent’s jacket, resting contentedly—that is, until the music started up.

2

Princess Janeva Brown had a whole new attitude. “Now, this could be fun!” she said, peeking inside the cozy-looking Twisted Tulip lounge. She was ready for a little cocktail right about now, she reckoned. For a while there, she’d been having serious second thoughts about the whole trip, despite the fact she’d won it in a radio station contest back in the States.

Heading two days out of the Port of Maiyami aboard the festive M.S. Bloemendam, it had been relatively smooth sailing until about the last half hour of the trip. First, a little airplane almost crashed into the ship just as they were approaching the port; then her luggage got lost. Well, not lost, actually. She’d just had trouble finding it among the thousands of bags lined up in rows inside the cavernous cruise ship terminal. She’d never been on a cruise before, and probably wouldn’t have gone on this one if it hadn’t been free. Even then, she almost didn’t go. She had no desire to hang out for days with a bunch of gay white boys. But her friends told her it would be fun, and that there would be plenty of black boys, too. Well, she had no desire to hang out with gay black boys, either. “Oh, come on, honey,” her cousin and best friend Sondra had told her. “There’s plenty of straight boys, too. You’ll have a great time!” Sondra had visited Kings World before, so she knew. Still, Princess Janeva—Jane, as she insisted folks call her—wouldn’t have gone on the trip if it hadn’t been free.

At least she’d had no trouble checking into her hotel or getting the proper currency—she was able to use her teller card for that, just like in the States. Only the machine dispensed crowns—clowns she called them as she stood counting them out, smiling as she went. The man at the front desk of the hotel had been most polite and helpful, directing Jane to the bank next door to get her money and, when Jane asked where she might go for a drink and a bite to eat, he’d suggested the Twisted Tulip; it was right down the street from the hotel.

So now with clowns in hand, she stopped at a gift shop along the way to pick up some postcards to send to back home, even though she figured she’d be back home herself by the time her friends got them. No matter; Jane enjoyed sitting and writing postcards. (She was a writer at heart.) She bought postcards whenever she went on a trip, some to send and also some to keep as souvenirs. The photographs on the cards were always better than what she could take with her own camera. Nonetheless, she had her camera with her, too.

The gift shop had an impressive selection of colorful cards—and some off-color ones, too, which had Jane turning a deep shade of purple. She was already glad she’d made the trip; boys or no boys, it appeared there would be plenty of things to do. There was the “Dark Ages” chamber of horrors—that looked pretty scary! And “King Ludwig’s Castle”—in pastel colors, no less—and “The General’s Tomb” and “The Cathedral of Brotherly Love.” There was even a Statue of Liberty one and a half times as tall as the original; Jane had seen it from the ship. (She wouldn’t bother to send that card since it looked too much like New Yauk.) There were all kinds of rides to go on, too, plus museums and parks and casinos and live revues and free concerts and parades and cool shops and restaurants and bars. One postcard had a recipe for guacamole and another for key lime pie. Then there was the “Forbidden City” at night—which she certainly was not about to miss!

Jane picked out a dozen or so postcards and paid for them with her clowns, getting back even more-ridiculous currency in change. She smiled again and proceeded down to the Twisted Tulip. It was getting to be Happy Hour already, time for a cocktail and an hors d’oeuvre or two.

3

Vincent was in a quandary over being spotted. It happened three or four times a year—that is, outside of his official public appearances, rare as they were, and notwithstanding the fact that he wore disguises, even if only a pair of sunglasses and a hat. In fact, trying to spot Vincent had become something of an amusement in itself for park-goers, knowing that the king might be lurking in disguise somewhere in their midst, and Vincent knew that, of course, and tried to be a good sport about it.

He used to be spotted even more frequently, before he had his official portrait removed from all government buildings, and as ridiculous as that old photograph had been, too, with the Snidely Whiplash mustache and the old ermine draped around his neck, devouring her own tail. In light of the fact that his predecessor, the General, had been assassinated, Vincent preferred to stay out of the picture—or out of the sights, as it were—although from the safety of the Royal Apartment he blogged fearlessly throughout the day, on matters ranging from accuracy in the media to global warming, and at night enjoyed chatting on the Royal Chat and catching up on emails. (Though he was careful to mind his words if he was tipsy.) Vincent saw no reason to hold daily public audiences outside the official residence, as the General had done.

Meanwhile, he ordered another vodka and tonic and had Nikolai crank up the music videos. It was almost Happy Hour and Vincent had had quite enough of the vapid Holly Rawling and the bombastic Rev. Beau Farley and the endless invective dressed up in religious drag. Besides, it was making the customers flinch. Vincent stuck his tongue out at the Anchorwhore one last time before the videos came on, stretching his mouth wide between his forefingers.

* * *

It was time to kick back. Exhale. Ruminate a spell. The world, Kings World at least, was a much safer place than it had been when the General came to power, thanks of course to the General. For one reason, the General had been instrumental in getting handguns outlawed, holding himself out to be something of an authority on the subject, given his military background. Handguns were designed primarily for the purpose of shooting people, he argued, and by allowing their indiscriminate possession, the state was complicit in the killing and maiming of its own citizens. It had been a controversial move at the time.

Even more controversial was his ultimately successful campaign to have the death penalty revoked, again asserting his authority as a military man. He’d insisted that, except in times of war, the state had no business killing people, much less its own, especially since the state outlawed the practice in the first place.

But those initiatives were mere warm-up exercises compared with the sweeping “Reformation” (as he called it) the General would usher in, centered on wresting power from the prying preachers and the less than scrupulous lawyers and establishing the new regime.

And while these controversial moves had the ultimate effect of making the island nation a safer, more livable place for all, they had the immediate effect of making it a more dangerous place for the General. Suffice it to say, he made a lot of enemies along the way. And as events played out, the controversial handgun controls did nothing to stop one disgruntled and vengeful lawyer from using a hunting rifle to assault and mortally wound the General as he sat sipping a mint julep (with Vincent, his consort, seated beside him) on the veranda of the Taj Mahal discothèque, the assassin’s erstwhile palatial home.

Vincent took a deep breath and exhaled. How vividly those memories lingered. It was little wonder that Vincent shied away from controversy himself—most especially in public—although he didn’t appreciate being called a “wuss.” That pissed him off royally. It wasn’t as if Vincent had backed off from the General’s reforms—absolutely not. It’s just that Vincent wasn’t nearly as vocal (to put it nicely) as the General had been. He didn’t have a bunch of enemies.

No, Vincent really needn’t fear being assassinated. He had protection anyway—the General hadn’t—so why worry. He took a slow sip of vodka and closed his eyes.

The General’s assassin, Clay Pidgin, had been found guilty of aggravated regicide and sentenced to life in prison without parole. Pidgin was presently residing in the federal penal institution, open to the public and one of the island’s most popular tourist attractions. And the now aged and decrepit Pidgin was presently its main draw.

On his deathbed up in the castle, the General expressed no regrets. Vincent had been right there beside him—it had been their bed, after all. The General said he was proud of helping to establish the gay nation and “banishing the preachers,” and of turning the sleepy little island resort into a world-class amusement park. He said that, once he’d decided he had to be true to himself, he’d always enjoyed being “out” in public with the people; that he was sure that Vincent, so long as he remained true to his own self and his role as king (warning that it would no doubt be a challenge), would make an excellent successor; that he was old anyway; and, lastly, that he loved Vincent with all his heart. And with that said, he heaved a big sigh and peacefully passed on.

Vincent wiped a tear from his eye and looked around the bar. So he’d been spotted. So what! Yeah, he’d had a couple of drinks; he was feeling no pain. He’d come right out and announce who he was and buy the whole bar a round.