Tea for Two { Another fictitious Romance by Zand }


Tom with tea

If you have ever had an ENGLISH LOVER, this story is specifically written for you. It all started on “Holiday”, when I decided on a whim to fly to London. I flew into Heathrow at 5am, when nothing was percolating except for freshly brewed tea. After a grueling 12 and a half hours on a flight from Los Angeles, when the loos smelled of the fetid stench of rotted bowels, and the passengers looked like they were recently set upon by Jack the Ripper, I finally departed the aircraft. I WAS NOT HAPPY!

What I really didn’t have a clue about was the LANGUAGE. You see, in America we speak American, in England they speak ENGLISH !! As I grabbed my bags from the carousel, I realized that I may need a translator. A man approached me and asked:

“Oye Luv, you gonna need a lift in a cab or you gonna take the tube??”

First of all cab and tube should NEVER be used in the same sentence. I was already confused. I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders in an attempt to answer him. Then I grunted: “Cab?”

The man pointed to a sign on a wall that said: “Livery”. Well I certainly understood that Liver was an important bodily organ, but why on Earth add a “Y” ?

He must have read my mind: “Cabs are over ear” and then pointed to the sign. “Livery”….

I followed the sign and eventually found the famous Black Cab Stand. Livery apparently means “RIDE”, as in Livery stable, as in England, as in I’m screwed because I don’t really speak ENGLISH after all.

I got to my Hotel and found that I was something of a celebrity because I was from Hollywood. I actually work in Hollywood, but I am a make-up artist, not a celeb. It didn’t matter, the staff at the Hotel had me pegged and I got the ROYAL treatment. Which, wasn’t half-bad. When I asked if I could get a translator because I was confused by most of the English, they roared with laughter. They thought I was kidding.

While I was sitting on a stool at the Hotel pub, “He” entered the room. His hair was long and silky and he moved with the grace of a Jaguar. He could have sat anywhere, but he perched his magnificent ass next to mine. I tried my best to ignore this “Vision” of Ultimate Manliness, because I was positive I was NOT his type. He needed a GODDESS to sit next to , not me.

Then he did something, I can not explain. He looked at me, cocked his head sideways, like a curious pup, and asked: “Are you the woman from Hollywood?”

I was mid-sip on an extra-dry martini, and I spit some out, since I could NOT contain my laughter. “Oh sorry, now look at what I’ve done, I’ve spilled vodka on this 500-year-old pub rail. I hope they don’t hang me for it.”

He smiled like it was a game: “In England, you will be happy to learn,we did away with hanging 400 years ago. Allow me to wipe that up.” And darn if he didn’t grab a bar-towel and clean up after me! What a guy!!

“My, my, who’s little boy are you? You certainly have lovely manners!”

“I am Sir Albert Avery Brighton, 75th Earl of York, and 584th in line to the Thrown of England.”

“Okay, that means approximately 583 people have to kick-off before you become the KING of ENGLAND?”

“Something like that. I wonder if you would like me to be your guide and translator? Word has it, that you would like an escort.”

I was struck dumb. For the first time in my life, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. I just laughed.

He held out his “Business Card” and said: “I would enjoy getting to know you better, and I know London like the back of my hand. Call me tomorrow and we can tour the city. ” With those words echoing in my ear, he vacated his seat and existed the pub.

I watched him leave and then flagged down the bartender. “Was that guy for real? Or is this some elaborate hoax?”

“Oh Sir Albert is the son of a very wealthy Duke, and he comes here twice a year to vacation. His family owns this hotel, and half the block. Word is, he is trying to recover from a recent divorce.”

The next morning I called him and we met in the Hotel Lobby. He was occupying the entire upper-floor Pent House, about 95,000 square feet of luxury. After being served a lovely Tea in the private dinning area, he gave me a tour of the Pent House. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was decorated in a minimal style with a modern art theme. It had a lot of white and greys with polished stone slab walls and lush thick carpeting that cushioned the feet as you walked. Even the drapes smelled expensive, and may have been spun from solid gold for all I know. It was surreal to say the least.

That day was spent walking in Hyde Park, browsing local shops, visiting Harrods, and in the evening we went to the Theatre District and caught a play. As we sat in the dark theatre, he grabbed my knee. I felt shivers run up and down my spine. I knew then, that I was turning to liquid. His touch was magic.

I ended up spending six months in Albert’s Pent House. Our affair was just what I needed to bring the sparkle back into my eyes, unfortunately, it was not a permanent situation. He soon grew weary of my endless wit, my American “ways”, and spent more and more time having fun without me.( I was told once or twice,that he preferred the company of his cat Stewart, to me.) I went to Harrods, bought a fluffy cat toy, and propped it on one of his pillows. I left a note that read: “This is Gigi, she is a French Cat, and because she is STUFFED,she’ll NEVER complain, Never leave a mess,and NEVER disappoint you. Love, Lisa your “former Lover”.

{And I went back to Hollywood & became a Famous Director.}

Oh soooo NOT the End.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s