Let
it be Done
I: Friday, August 13, 2004:
Ancestral Estate of Robert Lancaster II, Wessex, England
The thirteen days were now two.
It was time to see what Fatalism had planned.
Miami awaited.
I had prepared my bag and had made the arrangements to depart for
Miami, alone.
Marissah had left days ago, to return to New York City.
I was lonely, but I had the Crusade to think of, and wreck my brain
upon. And I had my training to occupy my days. I brutalized
myself with hopes of withstanding what may come my way in that ring.
And I was prepared. I anticipated this great test with much
eagerness. What it would bring however...
I could not wait to find out.
My mobile rang. The airport limousine was waiting outside, as I
felt like taking it easy on myself and sparing the drive to Heathrow on
my own.
Down the stairs I went. Simkins awaited at the front door, which
was ajar. A slight bow, as always.
"Simkins, take care of
yourself. I'll see you in a few days."
He nodded his head, but gave no hint of a smile.
Something was afoot.
"Simkins, anything you'd like
to say."
"It's about the lady, your Grace."
I was not pleased to hear that. I dropped my case, and closed the
front door.
"What about the lady."
"May I be frank, your Grace."
"I've never known you to be
otherwise."
"I do not know exactly what is
going on between your Grace and the lady. But I have great
misgivings."
I sneered. "You're
right, you don't know what's going on with her and myself. Nor is
it any of your business."
I picked up my case but was stopped in my venture to exit by his
continued badgering.
"The welfare of the House of
Lancaster and the Duchy of Wessex is my business. I have been a
servant of the House of Lancaster for fifty years. And I shall
not see you endanger it because of her."
I knew he was insubordinate. I did not care for his patronizing
tone, however.
"Please don't patronize
me. The subject is closed Simkins. Let me proceed."
"Your Grace, I fear for you, and
if you continue your association with her, I foresee..."
"I didn't know you were a
profit," I interrupted him, and glared into his eyes. "I shant say this again. Mind
your own bloody business."
"Or what, your Grace?
Whatever you may do to me, shall not be as detrimental as what she will
do to you, or this House."
I never thought I would ever utter these words.
"Perhaps not. But I shall
do something to you, regardless. Your services are no longer
required. I expect you to leave in an hour. Good bye,
Simkins."
I picked up my case, and slammed the door.
II: Saturday, August 14, 2004: Trump
International Sonesta, Sunny
Isles Beach, FL, approx. 9:30PM
The two days were now one.
All I could do now, was wait.
Had I been ten years younger, I would be out in the most exclusive of
Miami's clubs, drinking, dancing, and attempting to get laid by as many
beautiful women as I could.
That was then.
This was now.
I sat alone, with the windows open. The sea air filled my
nostrils, pacifying any anxiety that remained about tomorrow night.
There were no more thoughts to be had really. Only the same
images, ideas, plans, swirling about the salt air, with a generous
helping of a nice little Australian white wine, 1998 Penfolds Yattarna
Chardonnay.
I closed my eyes, grasping my wine glass by the tips of my fingers.
Tomorrow could not come soon enough.
I dozed in and out of consciousness.
Various images flashed throughout my mind.
What had brought me to this point seemed so surreal.
Over five federations. Ten championships.
Now but one quest, and potentially four matches that would alter the
outcome of my career - yet again.
Enough.
I shifted in my seat.
Enough...
I let emptiness, nothingness, sweep over me.
It is already written. Let it be done.
Finally, the knock at the door I had been expecting.
I jumped up from my chair, nearly dropping my glass, and opened the
door.
There stood Marissah Whitely, beaming.
The soon to be Lady Marissah Whitely-Lancaster.
Duchess of Wessex.
