Part 18 (1/2)

”Might? I'm sure of it. But I wish the Bible writers hadn't skipped all the good details.”

”I told you it had s.e.x in it if you used your imagination.”

”Oh, I'm using it. I'm using it hard.”

”Go use it to do your homework.”

”First day of school. I don't have any homework.”

”Did you do your other homework I gave you?”

”Oh, yeah. You're totally full of s.h.i.+t. Psalm 116. And I quote, 'The Lord is the keeper of the little ones, I was little and he delivered me.' G.o.d loves little people, He keeps them and He delivers them. I'm short so G.o.d is going to keep me and deliver me because I am a little one. Considering He sent you to keep me out of prison, I think I have all the proof I need.”

”Very good, Little One.” He smiled broadly and for a moment she was nearly blinded by it.

”Don't call me Little One.”

”Do you hate it?”

”Totally.”

”Good. Now go find something to do, Little One. I'm working on my dissertation and you are detrimental to my powers of concentration.”

”What am I supposed to do?”

”You could use your impressive powers of imagination and your newfound prowess as a Bible scholar to formulate a theory on what Esther did to earn the king's favor.”

”So I'm supposed to figure out what made her better in bed than anyone else?”

”Precisely.”

”My kind of homework.”

Eleanor left S0ren in his office with his eight billion books and his dissertation. She hid out in the food bank pantry and rearranged the cans of green beans on the floor into columns like she'd seen in pictures of exotic palaces.

As she stared at her green bean palace in front of her, Eleanor picked up a pen. On the top of a clean sheet of notebook paper she wrote: One Night with the King.

For the fun of it she wrote underneath, By Eleanor Schreiber. And then she wrote for four straight hours.

13.

Eleanor One Night with the King By Eleanor Schreiber Tonight was my night.

For a year now I'd been going through the training-how to curtsy, how to simper, how to dance, how to whimper. They dressed me and pressed me and made me beautiful. For twelve months I had to listen to the girls talking all around me, deciding what gift they'd give the king, what they'd do to impress him.

”I have composed him a hymn,” one girl said.

”I have written him a poem,” another announced.

”I have knitted him a cardigan,” said another girl.

Everyone had looked at that girl like she was an idiot. She was an idiot. It was ancient Persia. Kings didn't wear cardigans. Cardigans hadn't even been invented yet.

I spent most of the day in the bathroom getting ready. By evening I smelled like orchids, looked like a princess and had no unwanted body hair.

Then Hegai came for me.

”Are you ready?” he asked.

”I think so.”

”Are you taking anything with you for the king?”

”I have a hymn.”

”You're going to sing?”

”No. Sorry. I have a hymen. I get them mixed up.”

Hegai left me at the door to the king's chamber.

I opened the door.

At first I didn't see anybody. All I saw was chamber stuff-big s.e.xy-looking couches, tall s.e.xy plants with big s.e.xy flowers blooming on them, a long s.e.xy gold mirror for checking out how s.e.xy you look in it. And it had the biggest, s.e.xiest bed I'd ever seen in my life. Red silk sheets, red-and-gold pillows and those fancy bed curtains only people in the past had before central heating existed. It's good to live in the past. It's s.e.xier here.

The big door to the balcony was open so I stuck my head out the door and saw a man standing by the ledge staring out on the kingdom.

Before I saw the man I thought the palace was beautiful, I thought the kingdom was beautiful, I thought jewels were beautiful. But they were nothing compared to the king.

He had blond hair and was so tall I knew he was probably doing it for attention. He wore jeans and a white T-s.h.i.+rt. I thought jeans hadn't been invented yet but then I realized they had been invented because they looked so good on him.

And if anyone had put a gun to my head and told me I had to say who the most handsome man in the kingdom was, I would first remind that person guns hadn't been invented yet.

And then I'd point at the king.

”Him.”

”Him, who?” asked the king as he turned around to look at me.

”Oh. Sorry. Did I say that out loud? I was having this bizarre fantasy about a guy holding a gun to my head.”

”Guns haven't been invented yet.”

”That's exactly what I told him.” I took a step forward and held out my hand. The king shook it. ”I'm Esther. I'll be your entertainment this evening.”

”Oh, G.o.d, did you bring a poem?”