I RIDE TO WORK WITH LAYLA ON FRIDAY NIGHT. SOMEHOW A week has already passed since I took Chris’s place as the Red Knight last Friday. I wasn’t scheduled for any shifts during the week, and although I’ve been grateful to avoid Len, I’m in desperate need of some cash.
Today’s training session was the toughest yet for all of us. I’m glad I had some training before, but I feel for the others. Chris drilled us on hand-to-hand fighting for over two hours. Alex and Penny managed to stay on their horses and catch all the rings with the lances we’d made out of garden rakes. And Lizzy brought cupcakes to celebrate the fact that my video is up to half a million views. Our other videos are also picking up steam, and we’ve had some coverage from online news outlets.
“How you doing?” asks Layla as we walk toward Len’s office.
I’ve still not told her about the Castle group rejecting my ideas, and anxiety about that makes it feel like there’s an electric current under my skin. I let out a deep breath. Best to stick to the safe sources of anxiety that she knows all about. At least until I have a better plan in place.
“I’m dreading talking to Len,” I admit. “This could all fall apart if he fires me tonight. What will I tell the others then?”
“You’ve got this, Sweetly. You’re the famous Girl Knight. No man can get you down.”
“Damn right,” I say.
It comes out way more bravely than I feel. Which is fine. Faking it is what we do at the Castle.
Layla gives my elbow a squeeze. “Good luck.”
“If you don’t see me in fifteen minutes, send help.”
“Half a million views and counting,” says Layla bracingly. “You’ve got leverage.”
I think of the comments from my website as I walk into the room. Most of them are from girls all over the country. A few people have even posted videos of their daughters dressed up in knight costumes doing their own Éowyn “I am no man” moments.
The girl who inspired all that is not afraid of facing her boss, even if he also happens to be her uncle.
My confidence wavers as I push open the door to Len’s office.
“Well, if it isn’t ‘the Girl Knight.’” Len’s voice drips sarcasm like my mom’s car leaks oil. “Take a seat.” Len strolls to the printer and picks up a piece of paper.
I clear my throat and sit down. Plunging ahead before he can start a tirade seems like a solid move. “You’re mad at me. I get that. But if I could—”
“I’m not mad,” says Len. “Actually I want to thank you.”
“You’re joking.” My voice is wary.
“What do you think this is?” He drops the piece of paper on the table in front of me.
Lists of names in neat columns line the page. “It looks like next week’s bookings?”
“Exactly. Do you see how many are there?”
“A lot?”
“Three times our normal. It seems you’ve really tapped into the feminist zeitgeist.”
“Female empowerment and gender equality are human rights, not ‘zeitgeist.’” I swig some coffee and make a face at him.
“Whatever. Semantics.” Len grabs the paper and points to a column on the far side. “All the Girl Scout troops in the greater Chicago area are coming to the Castle in the next month.”
“That’s great!” I still can’t believe he’s not yelling. “But I heard the Castle is closing.”
“Nope. I needed an idea to bring more people in, and you’ve delivered one. Do you know that every time someone likes or shares your video, Corporate gets an email?”
I smile to myself at Layla’s brilliance. But if my idea is bringing people in, why did Corporate say no? Has Len not heard about that and he’s just seeing the numbers of guests add up? The Castle is a big enough company that they may not have talked to each other about this yet.
“So, they’re getting lots of emails?”
“They’ve gotten more than a half million emails and they keep coming in… .” Len sits back and folds his hands over his stomach. “It’s a brilliant stunt you pulled.”
“Does this mean I get to fight again?”
Len barks out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Company policy isn’t going to change.”
“Despite me single-handedly bringing in all this business?” I lean forward and grip the edge of his desk.
“Be glad you’re not getting fired.”
The worry I’ve been carrying around like armor lightens a bit. I fall back in the chair. “It’s not fair that you won’t let me fight. I put on a good show out there!” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice.
I don’t tell him that I’ve already started training a handful of other Knights. And that we’re going through with things, no matter what he says. If he’d bothered to watch the videos on my website, he’d know that. It’s not my job to do his research for him.
The preshow trumpet sounds, signaling to us that it’s time to begin the grand medieval game all over again. We both stand up.
“Maybe you can be a Queen someday,” says Len, settling his crown on his head. “Just imagine, Kit. When I retire, all this will be yours.” He gestures grandly at his run-down office, taking in the chipped paint on the walls and the dingy tapestries covering the cinder blocks.
“Thanks but no. I’ve got other plans. Are we done?” I stand up. “I’ve got a long night of wenching ahead of me.”
“One more thing,” says Len. “Did you see this?”
He turns his computer screen around. On it is a video of a local newscaster interviewing members of a kids’ show featuring animatronic dragons. They’re all theater types, and I lean closer to the screen, searching for familiar faces from the Castle. The reporter walks through a set, dwarfed by pink and blue dragons.
I spot my dad immediately. He wears a regrettable green bandanna that’s about as rock-and-roll as my Wench’s uniform. His electric guitar—one that once belonged to his and Len’s dad—is strapped over his chest. He plays a few riffs as the newscaster looks on in feigned delight.
I guess the church thing didn’t work out. Maybe this is why he agreed to the divorce with Mom. Because he needs the money from the sale of the house.
“Oh my god.” I sink back into the chair, half-mortified that my dad still thinks he’s rock-and-roll and half-relieved that he’s still alive. “I thought he pawned that guitar.”
“Me too,” says Len. A scowl crosses his face. I wouldn’t want to be in the same zip code when Len finally confronts my dad about stealing the guitar from his living room.
“Are you going to his show?” I ask, looking again at the dates the dragon show is in town.
“Not even if you paid me,” says Len. He takes a small copper flask out from his desk drawer and takes a long sip. “But if you see him hanging around here, let me know. I don’t want him bothering you and Chris.”
It’s an unusually paternal sentiment that brings tears to my eyes. Which is way more emotion than I can deal with before a double shift.
“Whatever you say, boss.” I knock my paper coffee cup against his flask. Now’s not the time to tell him about my conversation with Mom and the divorce. And that’s none of his business anyway.
He starts to say more, but I stand up and hurry out the door before we can discuss my fame, my father, or my feelings any further.