One Perfect Knight

  "Shush," Julie started. "It's not a good idea to shout in places like this."

  Nathan was not in the least bit deterred by his glowering knight.

  "Sir Lancelot du Lac was the fallen knight of Camelot," he began, as if reading a school report. "At first, he was King Arthur's favorite. But eventually, he proved himself to be a… well, he was just a bad guy."

  "No," Julie interrupted. "That's not true. The whole thing with Guinevere never happened. There was no romance between them, absolutely none, so there was no betrayal."

  "What thing with Guinevere? What on earth are you talking about?" Peg asked.

  "You know, the fatal triangle."

  Peg shrugged in bewilderment, and Julie continued more emphatically, as if stating the facts in a more certain tone would clarify the situation. "The lovers' triangle of Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot. That's what destroyed Camelot, but I changed that ..:"

  Lancelot had been staring at her, his blue gaze penetrating with intensity.

  Julie continued. "You see, one version of the legend had Lancelot and Guinevere falling in love, and the whole kingdom falls apart while poor Guinevere joins a convent and Lancelot becomes a monk."

  "A monk!" Lancelot shouted. "Can you imagine, me a monk?"

  Again, the restaurant hushed.

  "What's going on here?" Peg asked, no longer entertained by their act. "You're beginning to frighten the kids. For that matter, you're beginning to frighten me."

  "Please, Lancelot. We'll go into this later. Nathan." She turned to Peg's nephew. "Could you please tell me more about Sir Lancelot?"

  "Sure." The boy eyed Lancelot before beginning. "Lancelot stole Excalibur from Arthur."

  "I did not!" Lancelot's face was mottled with outrage. With a palpable effort at self-control, he took a deep breath and spoke to Nathan in a calm, smooth tone. "What else happened?"

  "Well, first, he got a wicked crush on Guinevere, but she never really liked him back. Not that way. That's where the crone came in. He was so totally bummed out about Guinevere that the crone saw her chance."

  "The crone?" Julie asked, perplexed. "Who on earth is the crone?

  "Go to the other stuff," urged one of the boys. "The cool stuff."

  "Well." Nathan began to tick off the offenses on his moist, salty fingers. "Lancelot stole the sword Excalibur. He ran off with it; some say he sold it to Arthur's enemies to make his way back to France. Others say he was trying to raise an army to conquer Arthur and to rule Camelot for himself He had this evil woman with him, a witch they called the Crone of Camelot. She was really ugly, like over a thousand years old and all wrinkled with hairs on the tip of her nose. But she cast a spell on everyone, especially Lancelot, who thought she was beautiful. So did everyone else, but at night she'd get all ugly again. When she was pretty she called herself Lady Julia, which I'm sure you know, Julie, since you dressed up like her."

  "I think she should have dressed up as the crone," suggested another boy. "That would have been much more fun."

  "Nah," said Nathan. "You know girls. They usually want to be the pretty princess. Anyway, Arthur could never recover from the betrayal. And without Excalibur, well, we all know what happened then."

  Julie was frozen with shock. They had assumed he stole the sword. What else could they have concluded? That before things could be put right, before he could explain what had happened, Lancelot decided to go to New Jersey?

  And she was a crone?

  "Was Lancelot ever found?" Julie's voice was a bare rasp.

  "Nah. But he also killed the gallant Malvern. Well, not only Lancelot. He didn't act alone. The real mastermind of the whole thing was the Crone of Camelot. It's like she possessed him or something."

  "Yeah," added a kid with ketchup on his cheek.

  "Just like Fatal Attraction or something."

  "Your mom let you see that movie?" asked another.

  "Well, not really. But I saw an ad for it once. Go on, Nathan. Tell us the rest."

  Nathan was just beginning to savor the topic, speaking with scholarly animation, when he was interrupted.

  "I…" Lancelot began. "I did not… never…" He began again, and suddenly he stopped and stared at Julie. His expression was one of pure incomprehension, his eyes wide but unfocused, his mouth just slightly opened, as if he would speak to refute it all, yet no words alone could possibly begin to resolve what he had just heard.

  Then he looked at Nathan and the little boys, all watching him, apprehension shadowing their freckled, unguarded faces.

  Again, he turned to Julie.

  "I…" His voice was a hoarse rasp. "My God, my God," he said quietly, almost as a prayer. And then his heavy shoulders slumped forward, and he shook his head slightly, as if negating the world.

  "Lancelot, I'll take you home," she whispered.

  At once, an expression of hope sparked momentarily on his face.

  "No, no," she rushed to say gently. "Not to your home. To mine, in the city."

  "The city?" He mouthed the words mechanically.

  She was about to speak; instead, she just nodded.

  Peg stood up. "Well, kids, shall we go back to Nathan's for some cake and the goodie bags?"

  At that, all the boys cheered. The confusion of the moments before left the children but not the adults. Peg turned to Lancelot and Julie. "So, should I drop you guys off? If I were you, I'd grab the chance. I haven't driven a car on the Long Island Expressway since high school."

  "Do you mind? Sorry about not driving the van back," Julie apologized. "It's just, well, I want to get, eh, Lance back home as soon as possible."

  Peg nodded, and Julie took his arm. He did not respond, and she walked him back to the van.

  The ride to New York was very quiet for the adults.

  Lancelot's eyes did not widen in wonder at the sights of nighttime Manhattan. He did not "ooh" or "ah" at the bombardment of lights or at the throngs of people marching or strolling or simply standing on the streets and sidewalks. The bustle of Broadway on a Saturday night, with the flashing marquees and the glorious theatrical tawdriness, did not even cause him to turn his head. Instead, he stared straight ahead, focased, it seemed, on someplace just down the street that must be better or more familiar.

  When they reached Julie's apartment, he remained in the van as the women stepped out.

  "He's fabulous, Julie. Really." Peg gave a concerned glance at the front passenger seat, where Lancelot remained immobile. "I'm sure you guys can work out whatever problem you have."

  The tone of her voice implied an absolute lack of conviction.

  "I don't know, Peg. This one is much worse than someone with an adored ex or a domineering mother."

  Peg nodded. "He's not from around here, is he?"

  "Nope."

  "Does he have a job?"

  "Nope. He did until recently, but I guess you would say there was a restructuring at the office."

  "Poor guy. Being laid off really messes with men's psyches. It's a whole identity thing. They don't know who they are anymore without their job to tell them."

  Julie looked at her friend and smiled. "You know, Peg, you're absolutely right. Especially in this case."

  "Can he find similar work here in New York?"

  "I'm not sure. His talents are rather specialized."

  "Well, if the job exists, it's right here." Peg studied Julie's features. "Hey, if you need to talk, give me a call."

  That's what Peg had always said, and, as always, Julie knew she meant it.

  "I might take you up on that."

  The kids in the van were quiet; some had even fallen asleep. Nathan was flipping through a Camelot comic book, occasionally glancing over at Lancelot, comparing the cartoon image in his book with the genuine article in the front seat of the van.

  There was an uncanny resemblance, even down to the blue tunic and black hair. Only the Lancelot in the comic book had evil eyebrows, thick and pointed, while the Lancelot in the car seemed nice, with kind eyes t
hat sparkled in the beginning but now seemed sad. And he paged on, looking at the other people in the comic book. Then he looked at Julie.

  "No doubt about it," Nathan said to himself, hoping someone else would be curious and ask what he was talking about, but no one did.

  Peg looked at her watch.

  "Well, I should get the kids back to their respective cells. Thank you again, Julie. It was… well, fascinating. I'm sure this is a birthday Nathan will never forget."

  "Neither will I," Julie confessed.

  She opened the door to the van, and Lancelot did not move.

  "We're here." Slowly, she unbuckled his seat belt and shoulder harness, and automatically he slid out of the car like a mindless toy. He stood on the curb, face expressionless.

  Suddenly, he turned to Peg.

  "Thank you, Peg. I hope young Nathan had a good day."

  Peg and Julie were both taken aback by his sudden declaration.

  "Um, you're welcome," Peg replied. "Thank you for going out of your way for a kid's party, Lance."

  Lancelot smiled, a sight far more unexpected than his restored powers of speech. His face was dazzling, even in the shadowy glow of a streetlight. Yet his expression was not one of genuine joy, although Julie alone was aware of the difference. She had seen him really smile, with his eyes incandescent and his face full of warmth. This was imitation delight, a poor substitution for the real thing.

  "Going out of my way?" he repeated. Then he looked at Julie, again the completely charming, completely artificial handsome man. "Out of my way." He seemed satisfied with the words. "Yes, Lady Peg. I am out of my way, vastly so, but I will find my way soon, I hope."

  Peg hesitated, as if wondering if she should leave Julie with this strange man. One of the kids shouted that he had to be home by eight because his grandmother was coming in from Queens.

  "The queen?" Lancelot blinked.

  "No. I'll explain later." Julie began to push him toward her door. "Thanks again, Peg!" she shouted over her shoulder.

  Peg watched the two as Julie's doorman opened the front door.

  "Whatever," she whispered, climbing into the van. Nathan had jumped to the front seat.

  "Aunt Peg, look at this comic book. Doesn't this guy look sort of like Lancelot? I mean, the one we had today?"

  Peg gave a quick glance, began to put the keys into the ignition, then stopped. "Wait a minute, let me look at that."

  She pulled the oversized book into her lap and stared at the image. It was a book she had gotten for her nephew at one of her odd lower Manhattan bookstores, the one Julie always thought of as "creepy."

  Nathan was right. The image in the book did look exactly like Julie's friend, the guy who never did give his real name.

  A shiver went through her for just an instant, a small shock, like touching a frayed electrical wire. Then, just as quickly, the feeling passed. She had an urge to laugh and almost ran after Julie and her friend to say what had happened.

  "Nathan," she said in her best wise-aunt tone. "I'm sure Julie's friend simply dressed up to look like the Lancelot in the book. Remember last year, when Jeff was Freddy Krueger for Halloween? Same thing. It may be impressive, but it's still just dressing up and pretending."

  "Oh, yeah?" Nathan offered. "Then who is this?"

  Still smiling, Peg looked at the small figure to the left of the evil-incarnate Lancelot.

  It was a surprised-looking squire in a blue crown and a bib that read, in blurry, cartoon-distant letters, "Ye Olde Bib." But in spite of the indistinct smudge that was part of the background scene, she could see the squire's face clearly. And the features were as unmistakable as they were familiar.

  The squire was Julie.

  An oath exploded from Peg's mouth.

  "Aunt Peg! Mom says you're never supposed to say that word in front of me!"

  "I know, Nathan," she said as evenly as possible, trying to concentrate on merging with the traffic while keeping the trembling of her limbs to a minimum. "But sometimes that word is the only word that works."

  "Yeah. Well, look at this picture. It's the Crone of Camelot when she was dressed up as Lady Julia. See? She's wearing the exact same dress. And check out her face."

  The same word came out of Aunt Peggy's mouth when she saw the illustration.

  That seemed to satisfy Nathan and the few stillawake, grinning boys in the van.

  And in her mind, Peg repeated the word all the way to Long Island.

  The doorman gave Julie and Lancelot a most peculiar look, eyeing the flashing Excalibur, glancing again at the very large Sir Lancelot. Then, in the manner of most New York doormen, his expression went carefully blank, and he bounded over to the open elevator and punched her floor.

  "Good evening, Miss Gaffney." He touched the bill of his cap. "Sir," he added warily to Lancelot.

  "Hi," she replied, hoping nothing difficult would occur for the next few minutes. She stepped into the elevator and waited for Lancelot to join her.

  "What is this small chamber?" he bellowed, poking the sword into the space beside Julie.

  "It's an elevator," she explained between clenched teeth. The doorman's face remained impassive.

  "Any trouble, Miss Gaffney?"

  "No, not at all. It's just, well, my friend is from out of town."

  Lancelot was touching the sides of the elevator, sword at his side, knees bent in case he needed to spring into action.

  "Ha!" he shouted when the lights blinked. "I saw that!"

  Julie patted Lancelot's shoulder. "He's from way, way out of town."

  "I see," said the doorman, who really did not but was used to the eccentricities of tenants.

  "I'll be fine." She smiled, and the doorman hit the close button.

  The double metal doors began to slide shut, and Lancelot whirled, sword extended, and threw his entire body between the doors.

  "Devilish contraption! Be calm, Lady Julia. Right will prevail!"

  "No, no…" she began as the doors sprang back.

  Before she could continue, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off the ground. In a moment, they were back in the lobby.

  "Listen, Lancelot. It's really all right. This machine brings us up to my apartment, and since. I'm on the seventeenth floor, this is the best way."

  Another resident entered, a dapperly dressed gentleman with a small, crunch-faced dog under his arm. He calmly picked up his mail and proceeded to the elevator bank. The doorman, who had been watching Julie and Lancelot now with undisguised fascination, belatedly sprang into action. He greeted the newcomer, then dashed ahead to the elevator.

  "Stop, sir!" Lancelot shouted to the man with the dog, sword raised in the right hand, Julie tucked under his left arm. "That is a fiendish chamber! I beg you, do not enter!"

  The tenant looked them both up and down, then turned to the doorman.

  "When is the next co-op board meeting?" he asked the doorman from over his half-moon reading glasses. The dog growled from its underbite.

  "Week after next, sir."

  "Good." And he stepped defiantly into the elevator.

  "I warned you, good fellow." Lancelot shook his head.

  In response, the man slammed the close button with force, glaring at all of them as the doors slid together.

  "Could you please let me down?" Lancelot unceremoniously allowed her to slip from his grasp, but she managed to land upright. "Listen to me. The elevator is safe. I promise you."

  "Stairs." It was more a demand than a question. "Really, just let me show you ..:"

  "Sir?" The doorman smiled. "The staircase is just beyond the laundry room."

  "I'll take the stairs," Lancelot concluded. "It's seventeen floors!" Julie wailed.

  He simply glowered at her, then took long strides to the stairwell.

  "Wait… please! You don't know which floor to..:"

  The stairwell door slammed behind him. Julie stood for a moment.

  "No offense, Miss Gaffney," said the doorman. "But the o
ther residents may not enjoy seeing such a big guy charging up the steps with a knife."

  He was right.

  With a sigh, she followed Lancelot, pausing for just a moment. "It's not a knife," she corrected. "It's a sword."

  "Yes, Miss Gaffney."

  She saw Lancelot above her on the staircase. Was he taking them two at a time? She raced to catch up to him, panting his name, her sides aching, legs shaking.

  After what seemed like hours, the torture finally ended on the seventeenth floor, with an infuriatingly calm-looking Lancelot, Excalibur propped by his side, leaning against the wall.

  Unable to speak, she gestured weakly down the hall. He made an "after you" gesture with his hand, and she tried to smile and staggered ahead.

  Then she realized she had a problem. "Keys," she gasped. "I left my keys in Camelot. In my jeans. I have to go down to the doorman."

  Gallantly, he stepped ahead and opened the stairwell door. She shook her head and went over to the elevator.

  "Please, just stay there," she said, and pressed the button. She stepped in and returned within two minutes with the spare keys.

  By now, she had almost caught her breath and was able to open the door without shaking.

  "Well, this is it," she announced.

  She looked at her place with fresh eyes, the way Lancelot would be seeing it. As impressive as it was, as filled with pricey furniture and expensive paintings and rare carpets, she felt about as much emotional attachment to the apartment as she would to any Holiday Inn room.

  He said nothing as he entered, but she could tell that his eyes were taking in everything, from the oversized leather sofa to the antique coffee table. There was a massive entertainment center, complete with a thirty-two-inch television and a professional-quality sound system. He barely glanced at it, and his gaze moved on to the dining room. A large mahogany table with four chairs, and six more matching against the wall, gave the appearance that she had dinner parties every night of the week. In truth, she usually ate her take-out Chinese food, salad, or frozen dinner in front of the television, by herself.

  "Is there a place we can keep this safe?" He held the sword, and it glimmered, sparkled in her sleek living room.

  "Oh, sure." She looked around, wondering where to put something as priceless as Excalibur. "Maybe under my bed?"