The Business

'Luce, I swear, talking to you cleanses my soul.'

'You're a fucking atheist, you haven't got a soul.  What are you talking about?'

'If ever I start to worry that I might be in any way deceitful, shallow, vindictive, overly acquisitive, exploitative or cynical, I only have to talk to you for a few minutes to realise that I am something close to a saint in comparison.'

'Bullshit.'

'Don't you see, Luce?  You're the reason I don't need a shrink.  All I need every now and again is to be reminded that I'm not a bad person.  And you do that!  I should thank you.  Actually, I should pay you, but I'm not that saintly.'

'Kathryn, get some help.  Your brain has left the building.  Book yourself into a clinic.  I'm serious.'

'You're not serious, and I'm not ill.'

'You are too!  Talk about denial!  Apart from anything else, you're denying yourself the chance to own half of North York state or wherever this Blisscraig place is, and you're denying yourself to be Queen of an entire fucking country!'

'Look.  Can we come back to this some other time?'

'To talk about what?  The archangel Gabriel appeared before you asking you to be the Mother of God for the Second Coming and you turned that down too?'

'Ha ha.  No, it's an opportunity I have.  I don't know whether to take it or not.  Can I run it past you?'

'Why bother?  The mood you're in at the moment, you'd turn down the offer of a cure for cancer and an end to world hunger.'

'Well…Look, I've been given some blackmail material.'

'Blackmail?  Seriously?'

'Seriously.  Film of somebody fucking somebody they shouldn't be fucking, somebody they're not married to.'

'So this person is married?'

'Yep, she is.'

'Ah-hah.  Anyone I know?'

'No.  Thing is, I only have to say the word and the husband gets to see the film.'

'And you get to see the husband?'

'Well, maybe.'

'Ho ho.  So is this to do with your beloved?'

'Yes.  I can probably destroy his marriage if I want.  Of course, whether he falls into my arms is another matter, but…'

'Okay.  You want to know what I would do?'

'Yes.'

'Let me just check.  Are either of the people in the film richer than you?'

'Eh?  No.'

'Right, so there's no point in, like, actually blackmailing them.'

'Luce!  Even for you —'

'I'm just checking!'

'Okay.  Sorry.  Go on.'

'Right.  Well, I'm very tempted to say, whatever you do, don't use the film, just sit on it.  I feel I should say that because it seems like you always do the exact opposite of what I suggest anyway, so if I apply a bit of reverse psychology and advise you to do whatever is most against your best interests, you'd end up doing the right thing through sheer cussedness.'

'Whereas really you think I should give the word and let him know his wife's cheating on him?'

'Yeah, do it.  If you really want this guy, and you really don't want to ascend to the Yeti Throne or whatever the fuck it is, do it.  Give that film the green light.'

'But then I could be blackmailed by the person who got the film to me in the first place.'

'Hmm.  Hold on, I've got it.'

'What?'

'The solution.'

'What?  What is it?'

'It's this.  Be positive.  Be affirmative.  Say yes to everything.'

'Say yes to everything?'

'Yes.  Take the mansion and half of York state; sell it and buy hospitals and schools for the needy of what's-it-called.'

'Thulahn.'

'Yeah, Thulahn.  Which I think you should become Queen of.  Tell the Prince you'll be his wife, but it'll be one of these formal marriages the Europeans used to have, because you release the film too and do everything you can to be in the right place at the right time to get your guy and carry him off to Thulahn as well, to be your secret lover.'

'So I should suggest to the Prince that we get married but it's never consummated?'

'Yeah.  A morganatic marriage, or whatever it's called.'

'I don't think that's what a morganatic marriage means.'

'Isn't it?  Shit, and I used to think it meant a good marriage, like rich, from J. P. Morgan?  Yes?'

'No, not that either.  But that's your suggestion?'

'It is.  And if it all works out, I expect a damehood or something, or a fucking tiara loaded with diamonds at the very least.  A castle would be nice.  Hell, leave Blisscraig to me if you like; it could be your embassy in England.'

'Hmm.  I don't know that Suvinder would be very happy with an unconsummated marriage.'

'Oh.  Suvinder, is it?  Okay then, consummate it.'

'Consummate it?'

'Yes.  Is he that gruesome?'

'He's a little plump.'

'How little?'

'Maybe an extra twenty, thirty pounds.'

'How tall is he?'

'About my height.  No, a bit taller.'

'That is not grotesquely obese.  Does his breath smell?'

'I don't think so.'

'Does his body smell?'

'No.  Well, only of scent.  Well, I mean…Never mind.'

'Teeth straight?'

'The teeth are good.  The teeth are an asset.  And he's a good dancer.  Light on his feet.  Even graceful.  You could say graceful.'

'Well, that's good.'

'Yeah, but they're old-fashioned dances; waltzes and shit.'

'The waltz may be making a come-back.  That's a neutral, for now.  Could become a plus.'

'Okay.  What else?'

'Full head of hair?'

'Yup.  Maybe too full; slightly bouffant.'

'Irrelevant.  Hair on a man's head is like the opposite of salt in a dish; you can take it away but you can't add it in.'

'That is so nearly profound it's painful.  Keep going.'

'Is he slimy, repellent, actually, like, ugly?'

'None of the above.'

'Can you imagine fucking him?… Hello?  Kathryn?  Hello?'

'I just imagined it.'

'And?'

'It wasn't that good for me.'

'Did you imagine having to fake orgasm?'

'Yes.  Probably.  Maybe.'

'But you don't actually feel sick?'

'Not sick.  Possibly a little soiled.'

'Why soiled?'

'I never imagined fucking a guy I didn't actively want to fuck before.'

'You haven't?'

'Never.'

'You're unreal.  But anyway, it wasn't that awful, right?'

'Right.  But imagining fucking him isn't the same as actually fucking him, is it?'

'That's what your imagination is for, you idiot, it's like on-board VR.  If it's not that terrible in your imagination it'll probably be even better in reality.'

'So I marry him, fuck him, but keep my beloved as lover?'

'Yes.'

'That may be a little sophisticated.  I'm not sure how that'll play someplace where a good wife is worth three yaks.'

'Be discreet.  Anyway, he's a man.  He'll want to play away, too.  Think reciprocity.'

'What about children?'

'What about children?'

'What if I'm expected to produce?  There's a royal line to be continued here.'

'Well…maybe you're not fertile.'

'I am.'

'You checked?'

'I checked.'

'So go on the pill.  Tell him they're headache tablets.  He'll never know.'

'That is almost plausible.'

'Anyway, once you're in a stable relationship, in fact once you're in two stable relationships, with the King-prince and your beloved, you may change your mind.  You may realise you've wanted children all along.'

'So you would have me believe.'

'Hmm.  The Prince; his colouring.  Is he, ah, dark-complexioned?  Compared to the beloved, I mean.  Could you…would it be possible…?'