Samantha and the Queen

Once upon a time in an alternate universe there lived a woman named Samantha, who was filthy rich.  She wasn't royalty or anything.  In fact, the place was ruled by a committee that made all decisions by consensus.  But as one of the leading organic farmers in the land, she was the richest and most powerful citizen. With so many important decisions to make she needed a trusted advisor, Sylvia, who was the second richest and most powerful woman.  Sylvia was a teacher.
 
One day Samantha's husband kicked off and she needed a new one, and so a bunch of her friends got together for a little matchmaking. They searched the land and took turns inviting eligible bachelors over for coffee. The guys went gaga over her beauty and her wealth, but none of them caught Samantha's eye.

“Oh, Sylvia, what's wrong with me? Here I am, trying to find true love, and you and the other girls are being absolutely fabulous about helping me. But all the guys in the land seem so-- I don't know, immature. I wouldn't feel right about marrying someone when I know I'm just going to be bored with him later on. It wouldn't be fair to him.”

“I know what you mean. If you ask me, honey, you're out of their league. Tell you what, I'll call up my sorority down south and see if they know anyone. Meanwhile, you think up some riddles for them. Difficult ones, you know, so that you'll be able to pick out the plums from the lemons.”

Samantha thought that was a very good idea. So it was that two days later another man came over for coffee, the quarterback of the football team from Sylvia's alma mater. He sat uncomfortably on the edge of an antique chair, taking tentative sips of cappuccino, but Samantha was willing to overlook inexperience on the part of a member of such a disadvantaged class, especially if he was a horny bo-hunk. After a little chit-chat, she got down to her first riddle.

“Tell me what you think. I have two pairs of earrings here, silver ones and gold ones. Which do you think looks better with this new red blouse I'm wearing?”

The quarterback gawked at her, opening and closing his mouth like a beached flounder, and ran out the door.

“Hmm,” said Sylvia. “That didn't go so well. Too bad, he was cute. Ah well, let me try my old aerobics instructor. She moved north last year, and says there are some nice guys up there.”

This time a stockbroker showed up. The poor man's clothing was frayed and he looked as if he hadn't eaten in weeks, and in fact was almost fainting. The two women sat him down and plied him with high-calorie baked goods and chai. He proved personable enough, and entertained them with stories of the clever ways he'd found to subsist on his meager wages. When the women spoke of heavier matters--childcare, for instance--he had a hard time keeping up with the conversation. He simply nodded and seemed to agree with whatever they said.

Samantha decided it was time to present him with a riddle. She walked him out to the deck, saying, “I think these slacks make my butt look fat. What do you think?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, followed immediately by, “No! I meant to say no. Or maybe I did mean yes. Or no. Or-- aaaaaggggghhhhhh!”

The man couldn't stop screaming, so that Sylvia, taking pity on him, dragged him out of the house. She came back shaking her head. “Never seen a grown man wee-wee in his pants like that.”

Samantha said, “Why don't you try the girls from our book club, out west. Maybe they know someone.”

The book club sent a poet a few days later. Since writing poetry was the most lucrative career a man could aspire to, this fellow knew his way around a latte. Samantha enjoyed their conversation so much that she invited him to sit out on the deck with her to enjoy the sunset.

“Tell me,” she said, as they sat close on the wicker loveseat, “how does this sunset make you feel?”

The poet, unfazed, said:

         terror blossoming
                 bending ratchet phase

     insatiate the mass
  spectre of
                    tertiary love unbound

But when he finished his poem, he sprang to his feet. “That was brilliant,” he cried. “I must write it down before I forget it! Excuse me, please.” He ran off, repeating his poem as he went.

Samantha turned to Sylvia. “What was that?”

“No freaking idea.” Sylvia sighed. “Well, that leaves only one more group. Let me try my goddess spirituality group out east.”

Samantha was about ready to give up hope, but agreed to give it one last try. She was so disgusted, however, that she insisted that this man would have to answer all her riddles, not just one.

The girls out west sent a man of the profession formerly known as barrista. Men had only recently begun to learn this trade, and the title had been to “coffee server” to avoid sexism. He looked buff in his designer suit, prepared the drinks himself, and chatted easily with the women.

After a round of brioches, Samantha looked at Sylvia, and Sylvia nodded. Time for the first question.

“Tell me, which of these earrings do you think looks better with the blouse I'm wearing?”

“Oh, definitely the gold ones.”

Samantha put them on, walked over to the mirror, and came back smiling. “I think you're right.” Before sitting back down, she smoothed the blouse and frowned. "You know, I think these slacks make my butt look fat. What do you think?”

“Obviously you're not fat, but you're absolutely right that those slacks aren't quite the right style for you. You have an unusually narrow waist, has anyone ever told you that? Probably a low-cut waistline would show off your figure better.”

Samantha grinned. “Could be. Come on, it's gorgeous out and the sun is about to set. Let's go out on the deck, just you and me. Sylvia can stay in here and clean up.” She winked at her friend.

Outside, the coffee server took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing shapely arm muscles. Samantha kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her, snuggling up close to him, and asked how he was feeling.

“Wonderful,” he replied, smiling deeply at her with his warm, hazel eyes. “Oh, Samantha, sunsets always get to me. They have such a unique heat, like the heat inside a diamond. And the light! It's that kind of light that, if you could bottle it, you'd have pure liquid joy that would never lose its radiance.” He looked down, blushing like a little boy as he continued. “But it's more than just the sun warming me tonight. It's you. You make me feel like springtime, as if you and I could make any plan in the world, and between the two of us there would be enough magic to make it happen.”

“Thank you for your time.” Samantha stood up. “You can go now. Someone will call you.”

When he was gone, Sylvia came out on the deck. “Gay?”

“Definitely. ”

“Thought so. No doubt just after your money and status.”

Samantha sighed. “Oh, Sylvia. I don't understand it. I mean, here we are in this alternate universe where everything has obviously been stacked in our favor. So why can't I find a decent guy?”

Sylvia shrugged, and taking her friend's arm led her inside. “I don't know, honey. It doesn't seem fair. There's only one thing left to do: break out the chocolate.”

It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Written in response to:

ID: 1643719   (Rated: 13+) Samantha and the King  A fairy tale by Trevor Prescott