The Thrill Is Gone

The third quarter had only just gotten underway when there was a knock at the door. Paulina and Rodolfo didn’t notice it right away. The first knock hadn’t been loud enough to compete with the noise coming from the football game on the television, but the second knock rang much louder, it was obvious that whoever was standing on the other side of the door was in a hurry, but even that knock – with its intensity – wasn’t enough to tempt them into tearing their eyes from the screen, there was a touchdown had just been scored by Detroit and they had to see if the team would make good on the extra point. So whoever was knocking, could stand to wait a few more seconds, because there was no way in hell that Paulina was going to miss that play, not when she was rooting for Detroit’s kicker to fuck up so that the Packers could keep a comfortable lead.

With eyes filled with worry, she watched as the play was put into action, and then, when the kick was made and the extra point was gained, she let out a long string of profanity that was so loud, that it masked the knocking that rang from the door. It wasn’t until after she’d finished throwing her little fit that she remembered that someone was standing out there.

“Want me to get that?” asked Rodolfo from his place on the couch, his bloodshot eyes intently fixed on his curly haired friend’s face. “I can look through the . . . the . . . that fucking hole thing, and tell you who’s out there.”

“Nah man, I’ll get it. Thanks though.”

Paulina pushed the coffee table away from her, and then lazily made her way towards the door, grumbling all the while. She expected to find a neighbor standing there. Her neighbors had a habit of locking themselves out of their apartments, so it wouldn’t be out of the norm for one of them to ask if they could borrow her mobile to phone the building manager, or maybe it’d be a stranger that had ended up at the wrong apartment. They were both likely options, and so, as she neared the peephole, she fully expected to find someone in their early twenties standing on the other side of the door, but when she looked into it, she didn’t see any of her neighbors or anyone that looked like they’d associate with them, she saw two broad shouldered men in suits that strongly reminded her of Alistair.

The first thought that came to her mind was that something terrible had happened to Harry, and that security details had been sent over to personally inform her, but that absurd thought was quickly done away with. If something had happened to Harry, it would’ve been all over the news. That was just the nature of things, so Paulina could breathe easy that Harry was fine, but she was still left with the uncertainty of who the men at her doorstep were. Her next thought was that they were Mormon missionaries or the equivalent of that to some other religion, and it was that thought that she acted on.

Had she been in the mood to humor strangers, she would’ve perhaps handled herself a bit more warmly, but all she wanted was to be rid of them so she could return to the pizza and beers that she and Rodolfo were feasting on as they watched the Green Bay Packers play.

“I don’t want to hear whatever faith you’re here to talk about!” she told them, not caring if she came off as rude. “I'm set as a Catholic so go bother someone else.”

“We’re not here to speak religion, Miss Balcázar.” The stockiest of the pair spoke, his hazel eyes firmly fixed on the door. “If you would please be so kind as to open your door, we might –”

“I'm not opening my door.” She cut him off. “Why would you even think I’d open my door if I don’t know who you are? And how do you know my name?” Her brow furrowed in annoyance. “I don’t make a habit of opening my door for strangers who know my name, so you better come on and tell me who you are. And just so you know, if you’re from the press, I’ll contact the authorities right away because coming into this apartment complex is trespassing! I know my rights!”

“We’re not from the press.” The other man informed her, a man with sandy blonde hair and sharp eyes. “If it pleases you, we might slide our identification under the door. That way you can verify it for yourself, and decide whether or not it might be prudent to let us in.”

She thought it over for a moment, contemplating whether or not she should trust the men to give her valid identification. They were, after all, strangers and there was a possibility that the identification which they planned on showing her, could’ve been falsified in an attempt to gain access to her apartment. She knew it sounded absurd; a stretch even for her paranoid mind, but there was a possibility of that. And as she stood there, with her lips pressed into a thin line and her right hand resting on her hip, she wondered as to whom the men standing at her door were, and what business they had being there. She was curious to know, and as much as she hated to admit it, she knew the only way she’d find out what they wanted was if she went along with them, so with a sigh, she told them to slide their identification under the door.

They did as they were told, sliding their identification under the narrow space between the wooden door and the tile. The identification lay untouched for only a moment, Paulina was far too busy staring at the fine leather case that was embedded with a familiar insignia to pick it up, but when she regained her wits about her, she crouched down and picked them up off the ground. She held them carefully in her hands, almost as if she were afraid a sudden movement would damage that leather, but in time, her curiosity got the best of her, and there inside, lay the badge and identification card which informed her that the two men standing at her door were from the Royalty Protection Branch of London’s Metropolitan Police Service. They were security details, whom like Alistair and Kamal, had their own personal royal to look after.

“What are those?” asked Rodolfo as he looked at her with eyes swimming in confusion.

“I – well, they’re security details for royalty.” She handed the badges over to Rodolfo. “These are legit,” she said, knowing very well that Rodolfo was going to ask after the validity of the badges. “I’ve seen Alistair’s before so I know these are authentic, but I just don’t know what the hell they’re doing here.”

“Maybe something happened to Harry?”

She shook her head. “It would’ve been on the news. There would’ve been a breaking news alert for it.”

“Hmm, well, I guess the only way we’re gonna find out what’s going on is if you let them in.” Rodolfo handed them back to her. “Do you want me to go to the room area to give you some privacy?”

“No.” She replied, quickly. “You can stay here. In fact, I’d prefer if you were close by just in case – well, I don’t know in case what, but just stay by. Yeah?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be close. I’ll just grab a beer from the kitchen, that’s close, but far enough to not seem too nosy. That work?”

“Yeah, it does. Thanks, Rudy.” She shot him a grateful smile, and then turned towards the door, slowly turning the knob and pulling it towards her to let the strangers in. “I believe these are yours.” She said, handing them back. “Come in.”

Paulina stepped aside, letting the men stepped into the apartment. The door was locked behind them, and then she was left to nervously stand in their presence, unsure as to how to proceed.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I have a feeling you’re not here for water or some soda.” She’d meant to make light of the situation, but there was no trace of a smile on the face of either man. “What can I help you with? Is everything alright with Henry?”

“There is nothing the matter with His Royal Highness.” Mason Harris reassured her, he was the security detail with the sandy blonde hair and sharp eyes. “We are not here on His Royal behalf.”

“Then why are you here?” she inquired. “Did Prince Charles send you over?”

“No,” replied James Nguyen, the other security detail. “We are here on Her Majesty’s behalf.”

Suddenly, there was no air in her lungs. It had all rushed out at the mention of Her Majesty, leaving Paulina gasping for a breath that refused to come. Her dark brown eyes were wide in confusion, and her lips hung open as she attempted to sort herself out, to remember how to breathe.

“H-Her Majesty?” she stuttered. “As in . . . as in the Queen?” she questioned, desperately needing them to repeat their prior statement. She feared she’d gone mad; that her mind had disconnected with reality and forced her to hear things that weren’t true.

“Miss Balcázar,” James said her name slowly, butchering the last name. “We are indeed here on behalf of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.”

He’d said it again, explicitly stated that they were there on behalf of the Queen, but for some reason, she couldn’t believe him. What the hell did the Queen want with her? Why had she sent men to her doorstep? No. Her mind refused to believe it. There was no way in hell that they were there on the Queen’s behalf; it was a joke, some prank that wasn’t the least bit funny.

And in her disbelief, Paulina let out a laugh, a nervous little laugh that made it clear she thought the entire thing ridiculous. Her laughter, which started off little and very much contained, grew much louder, until her entire body trembled from it.

The men stared at her in confusion, Rodolfo included. Why was she laughing? There was nothing remotely funny about what they’d said. No one had done anything that even slightly resembled something comical. So why the hell was she laughing? Why was she standing there, with a stupid smile on her face, and with laugh induced tears beginning to make their way down her cheeks?

“Excuse me? Miss Balcázar?” Mason called to her, exchanging a questioning look with James as he did so. “Miss Balcázar?” he said a bit more forcefully.

That was enough to snap her out of the laughter. “You guys are hilarious. Honestly, saying you’re here on behalf of the Queen! Hah! As if she’d ever have anything to do with me. She can’t stand me! Why would she send you here if she can’t stand me?” She sought a reply from them, a reply that would somehow make her believe what they were saying, but they gave her none. “You’re from the media, aren’t you? I bet you are. This is a prank. It has to be a prank! Where are the cameras? Come on, I know they’re somewhere out there. Rudy!” she turned to her friend. “Can you believe these guys? Saying they’re from the Queen . . .” she shook her head, an amused little smile still on her lips. “I have to give you props though, those badges are top notch. They look exactly like the ones –” A knock came from the door. “Who the hell’s that? I swear everyone decided to swing by today.” She stomped over, not even bothering to check in the peephole before she swung the door open. “K-Kamal?” she stuttered, unsure as to what he could’ve been doing there. “I . . . what – is everything okay? Is Harry, alright?”

“Yes. Yes. He’s quite well.” He smiled, cheerfully. “Oh, where are my manners, I thought they’d have been here by now, I suppose it falls on me to explain –”

“We’re in the midst of doing so.” Mason spoke up. “Though Miss Balcázar has had some difficulty accepting that which we are saying.”

“Wait.” Paulina stopped them before they could speak any further. “You . . . you mean to say you’re not joking? You’re really here on the Queen’s behalf?”

“We are, Miss Balcázar.” Kamal stepped into her home. “And if you would be so kind as to allow me to explain the reason for our being here, I would be very much obliged.”

“Does Henry know you’re here?” she instinctively asked Kamal.

“No, Miss. He does not. I am here at Her Majesty’s request. She believed a familiar face might be of use.”

“Of use for what?” she found herself speaking in a quiet voice, one she hardly recognized as her own. “Kamal, what exactly are you doing here?”

“He’s not in charge here.” Mason spoke. He was the one with most seniority, the most trusted of the Queen’s security, and his pride demanded he be treated as such. “I am.”

“Well that’s to fucking bad, because I'm talking to him.” Paulina snapped, her voice returning to its usual volume. “What does the Queen want with me, Kamal? Please tell me.”

“Her Majesty wishes to have a private audience with you, Miss Balcázar.” Kamal replied. He didn’t say it in a manner that made Paulina know how much of an honor it was to have the Queen wish to speak to her, he didn’t try to make it seem as if Paulina ought to feel privileged, he said it in a respectable manner that made it seem as if the young American was a close acquaintance of Her Majesty.

Despite the ease with which he said it, Paulina couldn’t fully grasp what it was that he’d just said. An audience with the Queen . . . could it be true? Could the Queen really want to sit down with Paulina and – well, she wasn’t exactly sure as to what the Queen wanted with her, but she was certain that talking would be involved, there had to be. But what would they talk about? Harry was the only topic that came to mind. He was their only common ground. So would the private audience revolve around him, and her relationship to him?

Her mind ran wild with possibilities of what could be said, of what could be done, of what could be worn, and of how low she ought to curtsy to show the appropriate respect. She’d have to call Lady Fellowes to get pointers. Maybe, get Harry on the – no, she couldn’t talk to him, not if he wasn’t aware of Kamal being there. There was much too do, much to prepare, and it wasn’t until she realized that she didn’t know when their meeting was to take place, that she snapped out of her thoughts.

“When?” blurted out Paulina, her voice faint. Realizing that that wouldn’t do, she spoke again, a bit louder, “When does she want to meet me?”

An uneasy look befell Kamal’s face. “Her Majesty wishes to make your acquaintance on this evening.”

“That’s not happening.” Paulina quickly said. “I'm busy.” She knew she sounded absurd, people were meant to jump at the chance to be in the company of the Queen, but Paulina’s pride made her see it as an insult, this woman had sent out three security details to fetch her, without taking into consideration that the young woman might have plans. “My friend’s visiting me. I can’t just up and leave.”

“The Queen wishes to –” Mason began to speak.

“I'm aware of what the Queen wishes to do.” Paulina cut him off, curtly. “But you need to be aware that I'm not going to ditch my friend to run off with you. That’s rude. And she’s rude for –”

“Do not speak about the Queen in that manner!” yelled James, his eyes narrowed in contempt. “You will show her the respect our monarch deserves.”

“She’s not our monarch.” Rodolfo joined in the conversation. “We’re Americans. Our country fought a fucking war to make sure we wouldn’t have to bow to someone just cuz they sit on a throne.”

“This is none of your concern.” Mason declared, growing annoyed. “I recommend you make yourself scarce, Sir.”

“Don’t talk to him like that.” Paulina was growing defensive. “You’re in my home, and so long as you’re in here, you’re going to respect my guests. Is that clear? I mean, I don’t show up at your house uninvited and tell you that you have to run off somewhere and then insult your friends! So don’t you stand there and act like you have a right to be a dick, because you don’t.”

“Miss Balcázar, I understand that this might not be . . . well, it’s not the best scenario, it would certainly inconvenience you, but I must implore that you come with us, please, Miss.” Kamal said pleadingly, urging her with his eyes to reconsider her stance.

“My friend’s only here for five more days, I'm not gonna ditch him.” She insisted. “So go tell her that if she wants to have a private audience with me, she can schedule it for later on in the week, and I’ll make sure to be there, but this – this showing up at my doorstep thing, that’s bullshit. You can tell her I said that.”

“While I comprehend your stance, I must insist that you accompany us.” Kamal addressed her with warmth that he would a friend, she was agitated, and he understood that his manner of address had to alter itself to suit her mood. “Think of what slighting Her Majesty would do.” He noticed that instead of relaxing, her brows further narrowed. “Think of Prince Harry.” At the mention of Harry, her heart softened, and he took note of that. “She is not only the Queen, miss. She’s His Royal Highness’ grandmother. Do not upset her, I implore you. Set aside your pride, and think of what’s best.”

Harry. She hadn’t even thought of what hell pissing off his grandmother would unleash upon him. It’d be an added torture to the lectures he already received from her, but Paulina really didn’t want to run off just because the Queen called her. There was no respect in that. But, oh . . . maybe, just maybe this was an opportunity, a golden opportunity that would lead to the Queen accepting her. And did Paulina really want to risk ruining that just because she was too proud? She wasn’t sure. Not entirely.

“¿Tu que piensas? ¿Debería de ir o me quedo aquí? (What do you think? Should I stay or should I go?)” she asked Rodolfo, opting to speak in Spanish so the others wouldn’t understand.

“¿En serio quieres saber lo que pienso? (Do you really want to know what I think?)” Rodolfo questioned.

“Pues claro, si no, no te estuviera preguntando. (Well, yeah. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked you.)”

“Pienso que la deberías mandar a chingar a su pinché madre. Eso es lo que pienso. Pero también pienso que hiendo a verla es una oportunidad buena. Alo mejor quiere aceptar tu relación con el güerito. Y si no vas, pues te chingas. Pensando lo bien, deberías de ir. (I think you should tell her to go fuck herself. That’s what I think. But at the same time, I think going to meet with her is a great opportunity. Maybe she wants to accept your relationship with your güerito. And if you don’t show up, you fuck yourself over. The more I think about it, the more I think you should go.)”

“Pero si voy te voy a dejar solo. (But if I go, I’ll leave you alone.)”

“No te preocupes, me quedo aquí viendo el juego y cuando se acabe me veo una película y luego me duermo. Voy a estar bien. Tú ve y da la cara, enséñale que no le tienes miedo. (Don’t worry about me. I’ll just stay here, watching the game, and when it’s done I’ll put on a movie or something, maybe fall asleep during it. I’ll be fine. You go handle your business, show her that you’re not afraid of her.)”

“Entonces voy. Pero me das la bendición por que si la voy andar necesitando. (In that case, I’ll go. But can you give me a blessing? I feel like I’ll be needing it.)”

“Claro, que te la doy. Acércate. Mira, en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Ahora ve a dar la cara por tu amor. Yo cuido la casa. (Of course, I’ll give it to you. Come over here. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Now go stand up for your love. I’ll hold down the fort.)” He did the sign of the cross, like his parents did to him before he boarded his flight to Berlin, and then offered her a smile that he hoped would give her courage.

She turned to Kamal, and after a moment of hesitation, said, “I’ll go. Let me just grab my keys, and use the bathroom and we can get going.”

“Do you not plan on changing?” inquired Mason, scrunching his nose at the attire she wore.

She had on a pair of jeans and trainers, but the most offensive article of clothing was the Green Bay Packer jersey she wore.

“What’s wrong with what I'm wearing?” Paulina knew exactly what was wrong with it, but if she was going to run off to God knows where, then she was going to fucking show up wearing the clothes she’d been wearing all day, to make it clear that the Queen had inconvenienced her. “Are you not a fan of the Packers?”

She was trying to provoke James and Mason. Of that much, they were sure of. Kamal said nothing, having a feeling that Paulina was going to go dressed like that as a sign of protest, but the others felt like they ought to say something. There was no way they could take the young woman dressed like that to the Queen.

“One does not go before the Queen dressed in such attire.” Mason declared, his tone firm, the same tone he used with the press when they became to bothersome. “You would do well to change into something befitting of Her Majesty.”

“And she would’ve done well to give me advanced notice of this audience, but she didn’t, and this is what I'm going to wear. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have to use the bathroom.”

Without saying anything further, she made her way to the bathroom, and once the door was locked, she pressed her back to it and took in several deep breaths to calm her nerves. She was about to set off to see the Queen, the grandmother of her beloved. And try as she did, her mind still couldn’t fully wrap itself around the fact. There was a part of her that thought she’d had a few too many beers, that she’d passed out and would wake up in a few hours, lying on the living room floor, but there was another part – a smaller part – that dared to believe what was going on, that urged her to put some effort into her appearance, to slip on a dress and straighten her hair, but her pride was determined not to. Her attire would show the Queen that she had left her home on short notice, and that she’d been greatly inconvenienced.

And so, after splashing a bit of water on the base of her neck, and reapplying some make up, she stepped out into the apartment. The three security details stood rigid in the entryway area, and Rodolfo stood a few feet from them, eyes narrowed in distrust.

A few words were exchanged between Paulina and Rodolfo; he reminded her to take her cell phone, to call him if she needed anything, and after a brief hug, she was on her way. She walked with Kamal to her right and James to her left, Mason walked ahead, leading them down the halls. She was curious as to how they were going to slip out of the apartment building unnoticed. It may have been the holiday season but there were still a couple of photographers lingering outside the building, waiting for her to do something of interest.

But surprisingly enough, when they stepped outside, the faces that Paulina had grown accustomed to seeing were nowhere to be found. She wanted to ask the men how they’d managed to get rid of the photographers, but the cold kept her from doing so, she was far too focused on the cold wind that nipped at her face.

“In you are, Miss.” Kamal spoke, holding his hand out for her to take as they climbed into the vehicle. “Are you comfortable?” he asked her, as he took a seat beside her.

“Yes, Kamal. Thank you.” To him, she would continue to be polite, the others had rubbed her the wrong way, and she had absolutely no intention of forcing herself to be friendly. “Where am I meeting the Queen?” she asked Kamal, inquiring for the first time as to what exact location they would be taking her to.

“Sandringham, Miss.” Kamal braced himself for the outburst that would surely accompany his response.

“What?” and sure enough, there was the shout. “That’s three hours away from here! I thought we were just going to London or somewhere nearby! Fuck that. I'm not going to Sandringham.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, and made a move towards the door, but when she pulled the handle, nothing happened. “What’s wrong with the door? Why won’t it open? I know for a fact it’s unlocked!”

“There’s a child lock on it.” Mason spoke as he started up the engine.

“Why are you starting the engine? I'm not going with you guys!” she bellowed, her temper getting the best of her. “You better turn off the engine and let me go! I'm not kidding. I refuse to go to Sandringham. I'm not about to be driven three hours in God knows what weather to get to a meeting that’ll probably last five minutes tops, now let me go!” she started hitting the back of his chair, but it was of no use, he put the gear into drive, and that was when she lost it.

She didn’t think of the repercussions of her actions. She only thought about getting the hell out of there, so like a gazelle, she leapt into the front row, thinking that maybe she could sneak out via the front passenger door, but the alcohol in her body had robbed her of the grace she had, and instead of executing the leap as she’d planned, she leapt face first into the dashboard.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” cried Mason as he put the gear in park. “Kamal, grab her, and put her back there.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” cried Paulina as she thrashed about, trying to make an escape. “STOP IT!” she shrieked when Kamal, reluctantly, grabbed her by the feet and pulled her backwards. “Let me go!” she cried.

“For fuck’s sake!” hissed James. “Hurry up back there, we’re not meant to keep Her Majesty waiting!”

“She’s not cooperating.” Kamal snapped. “Maybe we should just let her go; it’s obvious she’s changed her mind. Let’s just –”

“The Queen is expecting her arrival.” Mason barked. “And Her Majesty receives what Her Majesty desires!”

“She’s going to fight the entire way.” Kamal hoped that would convince his superiors to let the young woman go.

“He has a point.” James conceded. “She’ll be squirming the entire way.”

“Then cuff her.” Mason ordered.

James arched his brow. “Don’t you think that a bit extreme?”

“If you think that’s extreme then by all means, you’ll be the one to inform Her Majesty that we returned without her guest.”

“She said to escort her to Sandringham, not to treat her as a criminal!” Kamal yelled as he struggled to calm the thrashing Paulina. “Do you want to be the one that explains to Prince Harry why his girlfriend’s been disrespected?”

“I’d rather explain that to him than show up to the Queen empty handed. Now, James, go on, sort this out so we can get on the road.”

In a panic, Paulina glanced back at Kamal, begging him to let her go, to just please let her fucking go, but he turned away. Mason was his superior, and as much as Kamal hated it, he had to follow his orders, so he held her in place as James struggled to cuff her, and freed her from his hold when her hands had been robbed of their freedom by the handcuffs. And such was the start to the drive to Sandringham.