The Royal Interview

Chapter One — “I Won’t Go” “No,” she said. “I won't go!” She repeated again with defiance growing in her voice, “I won't go!” The old editor looked with kindly eyes upon his young reporter. He remembered her days as an intern -- her passion, her optimism, her energy -- the sparkle always resident in those clear brown eyes. She had been life in the newsroom, and it had had an affect upon all his staff. He had noticed how heads would turn to watch her slim form pass by. There had been something wildly innocent and compelling in her soft, attractive features. In those days, the editor had discovered his young intern to be a quick learner with unquestioned gifting that held promise of an astute interviewer and brilliant writer, one with a sensitivity to the faces and stories of humanity. He had placed her under the tutelage of some of his most seasoned reporters, and had admitted to himself that he had great plans for her. She had become like the daughter that a confirmed old bachelor had no business wanting. Again her face came into focus. What had caused her to abruptly quit her position last year? And, when he had wooed her back with this created position, what Pygmalion-like transformation had occurred? Where had the life gone? There seemed to be no way to penetrate the cold shell that now imprisoned her vitality. The reporter passion was there; the gifting was there. But there was death where there had been life. What had happened? How could he help her? “Jenny,” he said carefully, “this could be a great story . . .” The young woman was restlessly moving undisciplined parts of her body, her agitation growing. “What is to be gained by visiting that Kingdom of self-righteous arrogant subjects?” she burst forth, slamming her papers on the desk close by. “What is left to say? We all know that they’re long on preaching and short on integrity. They hurl epithets and judgments with the best of them and call it love. Why go?” Her dark eyes smoked as she spoke with her body, as well as her mouth. Puzzling over this hostile response, the old editor remembered the invitation that had arrived that morning. For the moment his reporter was forgotten, and the editor spoke to himself in perplexed amazement. “Never has His Majesty issued a personal invitation to be interviewed -- and including an invitation to tour His Kingdom.” “What!” said the young reporter whose body movement was suspended as a predator waiting to pounce upon its kill. “Did you say a personal invitation and a tour of His Kingdom?” The old editor responded to his young reporter with a tentative smile. “It was an invitation that had your name on it.” Seeing her impassive face, he added with insistence, “His Majesty specifically asked for you.” “Me? But why me?” The editor had no response. A kind of silence settled over both of them as the young woman carefully considered the interview.