One more minute.
I only need one more minute and I’ll be prepared to face this day. This type of meditation, eyes closed, inhale, hold for five seconds, and exhale, usually works for me. I would keep at it until I was calm and felt like myself, but my uncle interrupts me.
“Mary-Mary-Mary Elizabeth! You better not have fallen asleep.”
Like I could ever sleep in this car. I refuse to open my eyes before I am ready. I do an over-exaggerated nod before putting my head back against the headrest. “I may become a queen today, Uncle. Let me enjoy my last few minutes of being insignificant."
When I begin to feel centered enough, I let my eyelids flutter open. The limousine is barreling down the double lane road at a speed I think better of. Fantasies of this car careening off the cliff side as the guide rail gives way flash into my mind. I wonder if the driver is trying to make contact with every pothole. Being bounced around every forty seconds isn’t helping my anxiety. My uncle takes it all with his normal stoicism, a fixed sternness which makes the lines around his eyes deepen. The mid-day sun is relentless, streaming through the car’s tinted windows. I’ve noticed the many winding streets in this, my new country. Roads lead to the high-rise apartment buildings that dot the landscape. I allow my head to fall to the side. My uncle focuses his attention on me. The sternness is gone and concern fills his eyes.
“I’m cool, Uncle Braden. I’m anxious for negotiations to be over with.”
“Mary Elizabeth, I need you to pay attention. This meeting is to finalize negotiations. You can help by not refusing them for a third time.”
“What is that?” My uncle doesn’t answer me right away so I look to see if he heard me.
“What do you mean, Mary Elizabeth?”
“That mountain in the distance, what’s it called?”
He removes his phone out of his breast pocket and glances at it before shoving it back in place. “It’s not just a mountain. It’s a volcano.”
“Is it active?”
“Mary Elizabeth, I know you just got here and there’s much you should see…but I need your attention--”
He has some of my attention, just not all of it. I can’t give up all of it. I need some for myself. I’ve let him keep me isolated. I should be taking this country in, at my own pace. Instead, I’ve let my uncle dictate it to me. I want answers, even if he considers them mundane and simple.
“Is. It. Active?”
He keeps his cerulean eyes trained on me, blinking a few times before he answers. “Yes.”
“Oh. I’ve never been around one. The closest volcanos to Detroit are all extinct. People live so close to an active volcano?”
His mouth remains in a stern hard line and his eyes never leave mine as he answers my question. “Yes, I know there’s a lot you haven’t seen of Obduro but we need this contract signing to go well. I don’t think we’ll get a fourth chance.”
“The first two offers were egregious. I didn’t choose to do this to be ornamental. I want to do so something; make a difference, help people. I don’t want to be a do-nothing queen, whether they like it or not. Do you think they are as anxious as I am, if at all?”
“Yes, but not for the same reasons. It’s been three months since the election and everyone wants to see you settled, including the Councilmen. It’s their job to finalize this contract. Publically, I don’t think the delay looks good for them”
The familiar reassuring warmth has made its way into his voice. I get my anxiety under control with a deep breath that I hold for five seconds. Uncle Braden’s words always carry the corresponding effect for his intent. It doesn’t always do the trick; that pent-up, hairball of tension is still churning somewhere inside of me. I look to my uncle; his stoicism is an example I should follow. He takes notice of my regard and now I owe him an explanation.
“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for this opportunity.” I smile, hoping that will lighten the mood.
“You don’t have to thank me, Mary Elizabeth.”
I shake my head. “Yeah I think I do. You plucked me from obscurity and delivered on everything you promised. That deserves thanks; I think.”
“Let’s get through the next few hours. You can thank me afterwards.”
The limousine continues its rapid pace through the narrow streets. Cars are parked on both sides, giving them a claustrophobic feel, and I keep expecting someone’s side mirror to get taken out.
“There aren’t very many people out on the streets. They’re practically deserted.”
“It’s Sunday morning, Mary Elizabeth, most people are at church. Something you should think of doing too.”
“I don’t go to church.” His only response is to shoot me a look that communicates “shut up.” I decided to change the subject. “I like how the streets are so clean, not one cigarette butt or soda bottle.”
“The city council has strict rules about litter. Just about everything within city limits is tightly governed. Space is limited, that’s why the buildings are so close together. Most of them are interconnected. Littering, trash pick-up, noise levels, there’s even an eleven o’ clock curfew within the city. But that’s only in Pecora, since it’s the capital.”
The limousine pulls up to our destination as I am still trying to digest my uncle’s words. For a major government facility, The Assembly House looks more like an elementary school house from the, ‘50s: two stories, red brick, with a single double blue door for an entrance. Two unassuming windows frame the simple, blue door. The only element that gives it any kind of official, governmental appearance is the large rotunda looming in the background. This is the front façade of the major governmental building of my new country. The United States Congress has the Capitol Building and this is what my new country has.
Uncle Braden already has his phone in his left hand, giving a to-the-point list of orders. Then the phone disappears back into his suit jacket pocket. Ten seconds later the door is opened by an assembly page. We wait thirty seconds longer for the driver to open the car door for us. I’ll have to get used to the courtesy. Uncle Braden is adamant. Queens shouldn’t open their own doors. I permit myself to take a moment. A breeze picks up and I can smell the salt sea air. It’s faint. Gardenias grow wild all over the islands; their perfume is everywhere.
Once through the front door, I get some relief from the oppressive sun. The air conditioning envelops me in a crisp coolness as we enter the reception area. Two TVs hang from the overhead wall, side by side. Several worn beige office chairs are positioned around the small room. I recognize the man standing at attention behind the counter. His nametag says ROBERTO. He’s been on duty every time I’ve been here. The page leads us to the small, central elevator. Uncle Braden and I board it alone, the page remaining on the ground floor. The elevator is efficient and before I can appreciate the space, the door opens. Across the hall from the elevator is the main conference room. The double wooden doors are open, inviting us inside. I take a deep breath and stride forward, head up, shoulders back. It’s a large room; large enough to make the center conference table that sits up to twenty people look small. Several large black and white framed photographs line the walls. They’re all landscapes taken by some local photographer from around Obduro. There are four men in the room, strategically seated around the conference table. I take a moment to look around and greet each of them in succession with a smile and a nod. The four men rise to their feet with no prompting when I walk in. Two of them are the assembly councilmen who have been elected to negotiate my sovereignty contract. The remaining two are my current unofficial advisors.
My uncle and I take our seats across the table from the two councilmen, who each in turn sits. One of my advisors is on my right and the other on Uncle Braden’s left, the four of us versus the two of them. This should be the third and final negotiation. I’m not doing this shit again next month.
I seat myself across the table from Chief Councilman, Martin Morris, who begins by sliding one folder to myself and another to Uncle Braden.
“Miss Mills, we believe we have a final draft that will be satisfactory to all. Mr. Donovan and Mr. Bretton have already looked it over and they are satisfied.”
I glance to my right and Mr. Donovan returns the look, letting a slight smile spread across his narrow face. He’s got a good face and he controls it well. His dark blue eyes never reveal what’s going on behind them. A sturdy jaw gives his face a trustworthy appearance, one that I enjoy looking at and calms my nerves enough to let me think.
“I hope so, Councilman Morris. It’s been over ninety days. The citizens of Obduro are tired of waiting.”
“Mary,” Mr. Donovan says, “they addressed the issues you had with the previous contracts. You will have some opportunity, legislative and executive, as requested.”
Mr. Alexander Donovan has a deep voice that is light on the Obdurian accent due to his years of travel and living abroad. The cadence of his speech makes his words flow like a poet’s. It’s something that I find myself growing to appreciate.
I flip the folder open and start scanning the text for the mentioned passages. All eyes on me, a feeling that my uncle says I should get used to. “The first contract reading was like a slap in the face, gentlemen. Seventy-six percent of this country voted me in, worlds away from what you told me to expect.”
The two councilmen give no response, their eyes darting to one another before settling back upon me.
“Before the vote, I possessed no real expectations. Now I’m brimming with expectations…aspirations.”
Chief Councilman Morris clears his throat, keeping it brief and quiet. “Of course, Miss Mills. We welcome you to participate-
“Do you? Really? That first contract was only five pages long.”
It wasn’t good and they knew it but I got the point. They want a figure-head, the face of the new and improved nation of Obduro. First Lady influence with none of the appeal. I will not be a damn mascot.
The two men in front of me freeze and I smell fear. No not fear, terror. I adore that smell.
Chief Councilman Morris adjusts his tie before he leans forward, placing both of his hands on the table. He keeps to a solid wardrobe, dark suits with a red tie. Everything is tailored to perfection. He’s trying to look older, more experienced. It’s why he keeps his dark hair slicked back; at least that’s the impression I get.
“Miss Mills, please. We now understand. Please, take a look, please.”
I make it a point to hold his gaze for five seconds before I do as asked. The first thing I check is the number of pages. They’ve increased by a dozen. My judiciary power would be limited but I do acquire the right of pardon and I will be able to break a tie in the assembly, in the event of one. I gain the right to appoint imperial and court officers, plus I get full regalian rights, which include all crown assets acquired under my sovereignty.
The “hold out” strategy has paid off. I look to my uncle. His features are statue still. Only his blue eyes communicate his opinion. His silent determination leads me to the natural conclusion he wants: agree to this. My other advisor, Douglass Bretton nods his head when I turn to him. The look on his young face is the opposite of my uncle’s. There’s no sternness, only perpetual optimism that adds to his youthful appearance.
I continue to read and re-read a few paragraphs until I’m ready to go forward. “Thank you, Councilman Morris. I am content. I will need a pen.” The councilman slides a weighted ballpoint pen across the table. It is a game changer and feels like it. I file through the paperwork till I find where I am supposed to sign on the last page.
“What about a salary? I asked about a salary.”
The councilmen’s faces react with surprise then devolve into sheer panic. Their startled silence carries on for a second too long for my liking. Councilman Peers summons his courage and speaks first.
“Miss Mills, unfortunately, there are not enough funds in the open accounts, at this time…”
His deadpan delivery does nothing for me. I don’t hear the rest of what he’s is saying. My full attention is diverted. I can’t help but think of what my response should be; graciousness or tantrum? I let my eyes scan the document again and they land on a single part in the contract, “full regalian rights to all crown assets acquired under Her Majesty’s sovereignty…” I decide on the former. “That makes sense, Councilman Peers. I think I can work with that.”
I scrawl my name at the bottom of the last page and print it below the signature. The finishing touch is my initials on every page. There’s a swelling in my chest which I’m sure reaches my face. I feel my smile growing wider as I initial every page in succession