Chapter 13
Lucy the Wench
Well, true to his word David has backed off considerably and has allowed me significant breathing room. We’ve talked a lot on the phone for the last few days and I’ve started to remember what attracted me to him in the first place. I think that just about every aspect of our personalities complements one another. I really have never met a man with whom I have so much in common.
He even waited long enough to suggest a date again that I was beginning to wonder if he had left me too much space. Of course I jumped at the chance to see “the new and improved David” when the opportunity finally did present itself.
One of his interests, he had explained during a phone call that had lasted into the early morning hours, is a group that gets together to do some role playing. They go into great detail making their own Renaissance period costumes and homemade wine, and planning “battles” in which a new king and queen can be crowned to reign over their “kingdom” (AKA campground they’ve rented for the day). At the end of the day, he explained, they would have a gourmet meal prepared with genuine Renaissance period recipes. A wood burning stove would even be utilized for some of the food preparation.
David asked if I’d like to join him for this group’s largest event of the year which happened to be this weekend, and although I thought this an unusual interest for a grown man, I agreed. I kept reminding myself that on my internet dating profile one of the statements I make is that, “I try to keep an open mind with respect to other peoples’ beliefs and interests.”
David explained that when attending this event it would be mandatory that I wear period clothing. Of course I had no acceptable Renaissance garb and so he said he would borrow a dress from a friend who was just my size.
When I met him at the campground, to my surprise he was wearing a green dress and tights. I have to say that this would certainly go down in my dating history as a first.
“Nice frock,” I said.
“Oh, it’s not a frock, my lady,” David corrected. “A frock is a woman’s dress. This is a bowman’s tunic straight out of the 16th century worn only by noblemen.” He bowed at the waist, took my hand, and kissed it. As he did, a bow and pack of arrows fell over his shoulder.
“Nice prop,” I said.
“This is most assuredly not a prop,” David said. “These are genuine 16th Century arrows and a replica bow which would certainly have been used to feed a kingdom.”
“Well, all right, then,” Shallow Lucy sighed.
“It’s good to know I won’t be going hungry,” I said.
David handed me a borrowed dress.
“I can’t wait to see you in your wench’s dress,” he said.
“Wench?” I inquired.
“Yes, wench.”
“You get to be a nobleman and I have to be a wench?”
“It was the only dress I could borrow on short notice.”
“I couldn’t be a princess, or at least a lady in waiting, huh?”
“This is it,” he said, “take it or leave it.”
“Is it too late to leave it?”
“Yes. Please go into the “privy” and put it on. I don’t want to miss a moment of action. I’m scheduled for a fencing match at 10:00.”
“Fencing?”
“Yes, fencing.”
I could tell this was going to be a really interesting date.
I donned the borrowed dress and realized the friend he borrowed it from was obviously much better built for a wench’s costume. After I added my Victoria’s Secret Bombshell bra that gave the illusion of a full cup size larger breasts and some awesome cleavage, I took a look at myself in the campground’s mirror. I was really quite pleased with my reflection, and I had to admit that I may be able to get into this role playing date after all. Who knew, I thought, this may become a new interest of mine.
When we checked in we were greeted by a knight in a suit of armor. He held a spear which he used as a pointer, directing us to the various activity areas. The knight took my hand and kissed it and as he did his mask slid down.
“Welcome to our kingdom, lovely wench,” I heard from a voice that sounded like it was speaking from inside of a can.
We headed over to the first exciting fencing event of the day; the “Al la macchia,” described on the sign-up sheet for the laymen as “An informal rough and tumble duel in the woods.”
I waited with bated breath as David entered the fencing arena (AKA horse stable). The only other spectator to this event was a woman wearing a lovely gown of deep purple adorned with gold thread and a gold lace bodice.
“Your dress is beautiful,” I commented as I unfolded my camping chair and sat down next to her.
“Thank you very much,” she replied. “It’s actually made of a linen fabric I ordered from Italy. I designed it based on Italian clothes worn in the year of our Lord 1570.”
“Impressive,” I said.
She then continued on about the historic significance of her dress, the time period from which the design was derived, and the passionate response she had elicited from her husband upon first trying on the finished article. This went on for an unimaginable period of time until at some point my mind drifted away completely. I wondered what Jessie would be doing today and when I would have time to pick up dog poop again. And what I could do about those stubborn calcium deposits that were building up on my shower walls. And still the woman droned on about the dress and 16th century Italy and how the fabric would have been dyed to reflect the royal colors.
Mercifully the duel began, and the woman assured me she would wrap up our tantalizing discussion following the fight.
David entered the arena with his sword pointed directly at his opponent. In his green dress and tights I could not help think of the main character in “Robin Hood, Men In tights.”
“I see my royal husband will be fighting a simple nobleman today,” my newfound friend said. “Don’t get too comfortable; this won’t take long. My husband is undefeated this season.”
“Really?” I said. “And how long has the season been running?”
“Since the north wind blew in the torrential rains, of course,” was her answer, her head held high, her nose in the air.
“Of course,” I said. “I can’t believe I did not remember that. My, how time flies when the north winds blow like that!”
And then she cocked her head with a look of complete surprise on her face and said, “Do you mock me, simpleton?”
“Oops, was I mocking you?”
“You’ve mocked me again. I assure you, strumpet, you will indeed rue this day in your ill-bred life,” she hissed.
At that point the fashionista stood up, folded her camping stool, and moved to the opposite side of the arena away from the riffraff. By this time the arena had filled up with others in costume.
“Nice throne, Queen Victoria,” I commented as she moved away.
Her eyes threw daggers my direction and I settled in to watch the fencing match. Who knew people would take this so seriously?
She was, however, quite right about the short amount of time the fencing match would consume. It was announced a mere seven minutes into the duel that the nobleman had suffered the loss of his dominant arm and the king was deemed the indisputable victor. The referee invited the audience and participants to join him in a nice tankard of home-brewed grog, the likes of which, he explained, “would most likely staunch the flow of the nobleman’s blood.” Well, at least David’s make believe wound would be treated appropriately.
Before they left the ring, the king extended his hand to David and said, “'Twas a noble fight indeed, dear sir. I thank you for a most invigorating duel.”
“I’d shake your hand,” laughed David, “but you’ve gone and chopped it off.” The king found this most humorous and they both had a hearty laugh. Queenie sat aloof and glaring at me still.
On our way to the grog tent I heard a voice fr
om behind us.
“Well, Nobleman David, thy fly-bitten boar-pig, what a sight for sore eyes you are, man!”
“Sir Mathias!” David shouted as the two men greeted each other in a bear hug.
“And whom might I ask is the fair maiden who accompanies a frothy foot licker like yourself?”
“Maid Lucy,” David said. “I’d like to introduce you to my beef-witted mate, Sir Mathias.”
Sir Mathias kissed the back of my hand as he bowed. I wondered how many times this would happen today, and suddenly wished I had brought my Germ-X.
“Most pleasurable to meet you, fair Maiden Lucy,” responded Sir Mathias.
They turned their attention back to one another.
“Well, good morrow, my old friend,” said Sir Mathias.
“And a good morrow to you,” replied David.
“In which direction will you be venturing?” asked Sir Mathias.
“To the fairsite to partake in some Dragon Piss,” answered David.
“Your lovely wench would make for a great game of hogtie.”
“Try it and I’ll solicit a privy monster to hunt you down, you horn beast!”
“Mayhaps I’ll join you two lovebirds, then, after I’ve found my way to the privy.”
“A Pox upon you until then,” said David.
“And upon you,” said Sir Mathias with a resounding laugh.
Where the Hell was I? Had I been beamed up to an alien Renaissance ship? This was getting WAY too weird. I suddenly wished I could just go home where everyone speaks my language, where no one would “partake in Dragon Piss,” where there would be no Queen Meanhead shooting daggers at me from her evil eyes. There have been few times in my life when I felt so completely out of place.
When his friend had left, I turned to David.
“I feel like I should press 8 to hear that conversation in English,” I said.
“You’ll catch on eventually,” he chuckled.
“What did you two just discuss?”
“I told him that we’re on our way to get some drinks and he said he’ll meet us there after he finds the bathroom. I told him I hope he contracts a horrible disease and he returned the wish in kind.”
“Lovely, and what’s the “game of hogtie” with your wench?”
“A childish game where men surround a woman and she has to kiss her way out of the circle. All in good fun of course.”
So, this is his idea of fun. It’s good to know. My only hope at this point was that the Dragon Piss would be 100 proof.
We stopped off at David’s truck and he brought out a bottle of homemade wine, a wooden box, and an elaborate wine glass that really did look like it was from the Renaissance period.
We headed to the pavilion where lunch was starting to smell phenomenal. We took a seat at a picnic table and David poured a glass of wine. I wondered if he had decided not to drink since he would soon be driving home. Could this mean this incredibly weird date would be over soon?
“Will you not be drinking?” I asked as I watched him fill the single glass with wine.
“Of course I will,” he said, “we’re going to share the glass because it’s more romantic that way.”
He pulled me closer to him and put the glass to my lips.
“Really?” said Shallow Lucy.
“What’s in the box?” I asked, not really knowing if I wanted to hear the answer.
“We have to bring our own plates and cutlery,” he said. “They’re all designed to reflect the time period in which the character we portray lived.”
For what seemed like the next six hours he showed me the details of each fork, knife, spoon, and plate which reflected another place in time. I have to say that I was getting somewhat desperate to see this horrible date come to an end, but David had other plans.
“Let’s take a walk to the river,” he said. “I want you all to myself.”
Before we left the pavilion he refilled the community wine cup. The river was beautiful and he spread out a blanket near a patch of tiger lilies that were in full bloom.
“I know we talked about slowing our relationship down,” he started. “And I have every intention of doing what I promised. I just want to let you know that as soon as you’re ready to take our relationship to the next level, just give the word and we can make whatever changes we’ll need to make in order for that to happen.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to see that you’ve slowed things down,” I said, perhaps a bit too sarcastically which immediately put him on the defensive.
“I’m just saying that it’s completely up to you and I will not push you at all.”
“I appreciate that, David.”
“No need to thank me. I understand your need to be sure about us before you make that commitment.”
“What commitment?” I asked.
“The one I absolutely know you will ultimately make to our relationship.”
“Again, really?” Shallow Lucy dripped with disdain.
“Confident, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I would like to ask you a question about the future, though, if you don’t mind.”
“OK,” I said, although I really did not think I wanted to hear this question.
“Just out of curiosity, no pressure of course, what is your five-year outlook for your life and where do you see me in that plan?”
Shallow Lucy made an appearance then. To my surprise she was wearing a lovely gown that clearly reflected royalty.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Shallow Lucy. “I don’t recall inviting you.”
“I’m here to help you write that five-year itinerary,” she replied. “I know how you struggle with making plans for the future.”
“Why are you dressed like royalty?” I asked.
“Those wench costumes just look so slutty,” she said. “I couldn’t bring myself to wear one.”
“That’s very funny,” I said, tugging my borrowed dress up as far as it would go, but still not able to cover my cup that runneth over it. “You don’t need to stay; I’ve got this.”
“Just here to help,” Shallow Lucy said. “This is only your fourth date and he wants to know how much space he’ll be occupying in your life five years from now. I can answer that if you’d like.”
“Tell me, then, Queen Shallow Lucy, what kind of grim future does your crystal ball show?”
“I see you and David in your house with a new picket fence.”
“That sounds nice,” I said picturing my new, improved yard.
“I see you and David leaving for a walk,” Shallow Lucy continued.
“Sounds romantic,” I said. “I love going for walks hand in hand.”
“You’re not hand in hand,” Shallow Lucy said. “David’s actually got you on a rather short leash. You know, the leather ones with the poky metal spikes.”
“Thank you for the heartwarming picture of my future,” I said.
“Now, please go away.”
“What do you want to bet David’s next move will be to flip open a flow chart showing maximization of the power of your fifth date which will in turn lead to a quick trip down the aisle shortly before your sixth date?”
“You’re such a drama queen.”
“Well, I’m certainly dressed for it.”
I waved Shallow Lucy away and turned back to David.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t rush things,” I said.
“I’m not rushing anything. If I was trying to rush things I would have asked you where I fit into your one-year plan. I’m allowing you to take all the time you want, i.e., five years. That is enough time, isn’t it? Because if it’s not then we could talk about a six year plan instead. I’m willing to wait that long.”
“Why on earth are you still standing here?” Shallow Lucy asked.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” was all I could manage to say.
“The pr
ivy is that direction,” he said. “I’ll walk you there.”
“No, you wait right here,” I insisted. “I’d hate to lose our spot by the river.
I stood up, straightened my bodice, and dashed to the “privy.”
Once inside the stall, I grabbed my cell phone nestled in my enhanced cleavage and called Jessie.
“Hello?” Jessie said.
“It’s me,” I whispered into the phone.
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
“What’s up? Why are you whispering and why is your voice echoing?”
“Ignore the echo,” I instructed. “I need you to call my cell phone in about three minutes.”
“Good, lord, woman. How many bad dates do you expect me to bail you out of?”
“Who knows,” I admitted. “Could be dozens. Just do this favor for me, please.”
“All right, then,” she said as she laughed quietly and hung up.
I returned to the river bank where David was finishing off our glass of wine.
“So,” David started. “What about that five-year plan?”
Just then the phone rang.
“Your cleavage is ringing,” David said. “Did you want me to get that for you?”
“I’ve got it,” I said.
“Hello?”
“Hey, mom.”
“You did what? How deep is the cut?”
“So, I’m bleeding this time,” Jessie said. “Sounds painful.”
“It sounds like you’ll need stitches,” I said. “I’ll get right home so I can take you to the hospital. Keep the bandage on, keep your hand above the level of your heart, and continue to apply pressure to the wound. I’ll be there soon.”
“Nice touch of realism,” she said.
I hung up and placed the phone back in its cubby.
“I’m so sorry, David,” but Jessie cut her hand and I really have to get home so I can take her to the hospital.”
“By all means, fair lady,” he said. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“I want to take the dress off first so you can give it back to your friend. Please tell her thank you for loaning it to me.”
I returned to the bathroom and quickly changed clothes.
“When can I see you again?” David asked as he closed my car door and I started up the engine.
“NEVER!” Shallow Lucy screamed. “Just drive and don’t look back.”
“I’ll call and we can set something up,” I lied.
“Think about that five-year plan,” he said hopefully.
“Oh, yeah, David, I most certainly will,” said Shallow Lucy.
“All right, David, I’ll give it some thought.” I said.
I think I actually whimpered a bit as I smelled the food that I would not get to enjoy. Just one more unpleasant aspect of this date in which I felt so incredibly out of place. Such a perfect man in so many ways but looking for so much more commitment than I would be ready to make any time soon. I would never fit into the world of fantasy in which he so clearly thrived. So close and yet so far.
I was loath to stay long enough to enjoy the food that was being prepared at the Renaissance event lest I produce a five-year plan for David. However I took solace knowing that LeAnnie, Joye, and Kim would be game (pun intended) to join me for one of David’s favorite Renaissance meals.
The Frothy Foot Licker’s Favorite Game Hen
2 Cornish game hens
1/2 cup melted butter
1/2 onion, chopped
1/2 stalk celery, chopped
1/4 yellow bell pepper, chopped
1/4 red bell pepper, chopped
1/4 green bell pepper, chopped
1/2 cup chopped mushrooms
1 zucchini cut into bite-sized pieces
1 summer squash, cut into bite-sized pieces
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon dried basil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
Salt and pepper to taste
2 tablespoons olive oil
3/4 cup melted butter, divided
1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
2. In a small bowl combine the 1/2 cup melted butter, onion, celery, bell peppers, zucchini, summer squash, mushrooms, garlic, basil, oregano and parsley.
4. Rub olive oil all over the hens and season each with salt and pepper. Place the hens on a baking sheet pan with plenty of space between them. This will allow them to crisp up and they will not need to cook as long. Loosely stuff the cavities of each hen with the vegetable mixture. Place any extra veggies in a covered glass baking dish.
5. Roast the hens at 375 degrees for about one hour or until a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh registers 165 degrees and the juices run clear. Remove the hens from the oven, loosely tent with foil and let rest 10 minutes before carving or serving.
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