God Help Me

I stepped down from my official role at The Palace a little early yesterday and turned power over to Crown Prince Boris (the King and Queen have been secluded at their country estate all week and Boris and I have taken care of the usual things like plots and revolts). I chose to go to the open, north bar as it was filled with good looking young men. A fine selection it was, too; a couple of blonde Dutch boys, a gaggle of cute, pasty Brits, the usual preponderance of hot Latinos, and even some Americans.

It was a warm, sunny day and a volleyball game manned by incredibly buff boys across the street on gay beach was drawing the attention of many customers. I was sitting next to a Cuban friend of mine and our conversation centered around one of my favorite, shallow things: gossip. Gossip leads to silly and we started talking about what "assumed" name we would travel under. He said he'd like to assume the name, Lilly Langtry, which--given his dark skin and black eyes and hair--made me smile. I said that, although I already had several assumed names, I would choose Lady Castlemaine as it had a nice ring to it and was the name of a famous courtesan. Courtesans always have a lot of fun until they die of consumption.

All seemed fine until I noticed a few, startled looks across from us. I spun around and eyed a man about 6 foot 3, disheveled and scruffy, looking like he hadn't had a bath in weeks. His beard looked as if "things" were living it, BUT most startling of all? He had a huge, black leather-covered Bible with a red cross on it in his hand. I had seen this guy before on the street. He immediately approached the British boys who looked horrified when I jumped off my barstool, walked over, thrust myself between him and the boys and said, "You cannot bother our customers. Get out." "But, I only..." "Get out!" "The Lord..." "GET OUT NOW, OR I WILL THROW YOU OUT!!" (by this time staff members were positioning as a rear guard, so that was not as brave as it might sound.) He looked at the rear guard, looked me in the eye (I could read his mind; it was thinking "God will get you."), and quietly walked out. I took my seat next to my friend again and looked over at the Brits; they waved. My friend said only, "Mrs Astor, Mrs. Astor".

I felt so righteous I could have died right then and gone to heaven.