“Speaking of which, what are you doing here? I never asked you,” Rufus said. “According to Wiki it’s more of a symbolic role.”
“Well, for one thing, I personally own a significant percentage of Royal Dutch Shell.”
“Shell? The Shell? The oil company?”
“Yes. So, even if I were not the Queen of the Netherlands, I could exert some influence over who sits on their board and so on.”
“And Shell has a lot to answer for, global warming wise.”
“Indeed we do!”
“Well, that is interesting. But you are.”
“I am what?”
“The Queen of the Netherlands.”
“Yes.”
“And in that capacity—”
“I can do nothing,” Saskia said, “except change my facial expression while reading an annual speech that is written for me on Budget Day.”
“Whoa, you lost me there!” Rufus chuckled.
“In, let me see, about ten days,” Saskia said, “the Dutch Parliament will open. It is the tradition that the king or queen goes there in a fancy carriage—”
Rufus waved her off.
“You’ve read about it on Wikipedia.”
“Yeah. Oh, I don’t mean to be rude. Just sparing you the effort. You got to go there and sit at the front of the room, all the ladies wearing fancy hats, and you read out a speech.”
“That is exactly what I do. The speech is written for me. It would be improper, you see, for the monarch to write his or her own speech.”
“Who writes it?”
“Parliament. In the Netherlands we call it the States General.”
“And who you reading it to?”
“The States General.”
“So you could just be cut out of the loop and save yourself the trouble!”
“It has symbolic importance. And I get to adopt facial expressions.”
“Yeah, that’s where you lost me.”
“Also, I can pause. Raise or lower my voice. Adopt various positions. Talk slow or fast. When I do these things it’s thought that I am, perhaps, reflecting the attitudes and priorities of the Dutch people.”
“Well, you must be very good at it.”
“That is very kind of you, Rufus. What makes you say so?”
Rufus’s face warmed as he became aware that he had stumbled into something. “Oh, I didn’t mean nothing by it. Just that you have a very . . . beautiful presence that is warm and that expresses your feelings.”
Saskia blushed.
He thought it might help extract him from what had become a bit of an awkward situation were he to draw a contrast: “Ol’ Sylvester Lin, now, he would not be the man to give that speech.”
She shook her head and smiled at the thought.
“Or maybe he would, but you wouldn’t have a clue what the man’s emotional state was!”
She nodded, still smiling, and averted her gaze. It would seem that a lot was going on in her mind.
“And you’re saying,” Rufus continued, “that by the power of that you can affect what happens.”
“So it is said,” Saskia replied. “And!” She clasped her hands together. “In that vein . . .”
“What vein?”
“Saskia letting her feelings be known.”
“Oh.”
“From the first moment we met in Waco, and you bravely put yourself in harm’s way to assist Lennert, I have admired you, Red, and felt grateful to you. Those feelings only increased and deepened as you helped us get out of the airport and down the river to Houston. After that, T.R.’s program pulled you and me in opposite directions and so I never got around to expressing my gratitude—as well as expressing my admiration for all that is so personally attractive about you, Red. And now suddenly I find myself on the eve of departure. A summer storm is blowing up in the North Sea and forcing us to depart early in the morning so that we can get there before the winds become too high. I’m afraid that much time might go by before we cross paths again. I didn’t want to let the opportunity just slip by.”
“Opportunity?”
She made a face and shrugged as if to say, Who knows?
“For what?”
“Well,” the queen said, and a thoughtful look came over her face for a moment, as if she were pondering an important phrase in her speech to the States General and wanted to be quite certain that she said it in just the right way and that the millions of Dutch people watching would feel what she was feeling. “A blow job would not be totally out of the question, but I was rather hoping to see those cargo shorts hit the floor.”
Rufus had been expecting her to give him a medal or a letter of commendation. Blow job hadn’t entered his mind. He got tunnel vision and felt his heart pounding in a way that hadn’t happened since he had been on the runway at Waco, closing in on Snout and unslinging his Kalashnikov. He now wished that he had taken an extra minute to put on clean underwear, since his penis was getting bigger and rubbing against the rugged mil-spec stitching. “You have a problem with cargo shorts?” he asked, stalling for time.
“Only when they are in the way. I see their practicality.”
“Well, I just wouldn’t feel right about the first option you mentioned. It doesn’t seem decent given your dignity and so on. I would feel bad.”
“It was just an example.” Saskia’s phone buzzed and her eyes flicked to it. “My daughter,” she said, “demanding a progress report.”
“On the conversation you and I are having right now!?”
“On my romantic life in general. She worries about my solitude and wonders if something similar is in her future.”
Saskia’s face then fell as she perhaps realized that the remark was double-edged. Rufus too was solitary. But he had no Lotte to look after him. Just occasional check-ins from Mary Boskey.
“What about that Michael character?”
“You mean Michiel?”
“Yeah. I saw you checking him out.”
“Did it make you jealous, Rufus?” she asked hopefully.
“Oh, I never dared have any such thoughts. There’s a history here, in Texas and in the South—”
“I know.”
“One of the worst lynchings was actually in Waco.”
“I shouldn’t have gone there. You asked about Michiel. He is obviously attractive. The sort of man that the tabloids would set me up with, if they had the power. But there isn’t the connection.” She pointed back and forth between herself and Rufus.
“Of what happened on the runway, you mean?”
“Partly that. But . . . both of us suffered losses some time ago and have been alone since then. That’s really what I meant.” Saskia’s phone buzzed again. With exaggerated annoyance she picked it up and held down the button that shut it off.
Rufus made himself a little more comfortable by plucking at his shorts and leaning forward, elbows on knees.
“It has been a long time for me,” he said. “I’m worried I forgot where everything goes.”
“We can google it.”
“You think Google will come up with anything?”
They both laughed.
“I ain’t coming over there because of the history I alluded to,” Rufus said. He looked at the chair he’d been sitting on. It was narrow, hard, old-fashioned Antiques Roadshow stuff. He eased down out of it and sat on the carpet, back against the wall. “Plenty of room here now, though, if you are feeling disposed to come on over my way.”
Saskia glanced at the door (still locked) and the window (curtain still drawn), then padded over and sat down next to him, very close. She put her head on his shoulder. This felt so good he was stunned for a few moments. Then he summoned the presence of mind to put his arm around her.
“You have beautiful arms,” she said.
“Push-ups,” he explained. “Got no time for gyms. Look now, in case something happens and we get carried away, I gotta ask . . . birth control?”