"Here, let me try it," the Future King of England asked, holding out his hand for the bag and taking a whiff. "Nope, I cannot smell a thing." He tapped his own nose with his forefinger. "You know, considering the size of it, I hardly ever smell anything. But I can hear you, Daisy. And the sound is making me feel positively inebriated."

"I think I'll kidnap you," Daisy spoke with her mouth full. "Take you back to Danbury with me." She chomped away, merrily gazing into his eyes. "Oh my gosh!" she cried all of a sudden, French fry held aloft, mid-flight. "What about your boys? What about Gaston and Alonzo?"

He looked at her, puzzled for the moment. Then his brow cleared. "Ah, yes, you must mean Wills and Harry. Well, to tell you the truth, I think the move to Danbury might be too much for them." He paused, thoughtfully. "And, besides, Wills would make a much better King."

So that was that.

"Say, by the way, what will we be living on?" the Former Future King of England enquired, as he held open the door of the Connecticut Limousine station wagon for Daisy.

"Well, I've still got a few dollars left over from that paltry million or so that I won in another lifetime. Which should be fine for me, but for you will be kind of like trying to scrape by on Skid Row." She regarded his designer jeans fondly, if a trifle ruefully. Those things probably cost somebody a couple of hundred big ones. "Maybe one of us will have to get a job."

33.

A few days later, in England, the Queen was delivering her annual Christmas message. Televised, the speech was traditionally more social than political.

"We look back upon this year with cement-mixer emotions..."

Christmastime at Windsor Castle was turning into a rather grim affair that year, the inhabitants all cast into a gloomy state of group depression. In fact, the whole of London appeared to be tired of itself, and even the Christmas Carol services, held at Trafalgar Square on evenings in December-great crowds gathering and singing beneath the giant tree that was presented each year by Norway-as well as elsewhere throughout the city, were not the rousing success that they usually were. Everybody's ho-ho, it would appear, had already hummed.

No point in beating a dead horse, the Monarch decided, opting to keep this year's message brief. One had to know when people were in no mood to be jollied and, besides, if one did not have anything nice to say...

"And in closing..." And, here, the Queen held aloft a seemingly simple milk carton, at the express suggestion of her newest best friend, the President of the United States. This, however, was no ordinary milk carton. For, on one side of it, rendered in blue and white, was a rather youthful picture of the Prince of Wales. The Queen dearly hoped that Bill's strategy would work.

"...if anybody has seen this man, please, please do not hesitate to phone the palace." The Queen paused, thoughtfully. "It is not so much a matter of wanting him back, per se, but we do sort of need him..."

Postscript.

An Accident of Birth.

Or It's All Down the Drain,

Part Duh.

Cophetua sware a royal oath.

'This beggar maid shall be my Queen'

from The Beggar Maid.

~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

January.

1.

"I'm in the mood for love,

Simply because you're near me..."

Alfalfa had never sung it so well, but then, Alfalfa had never used a yarmulke to keep his cowlick under control either.

As Charles Silverman, nee Windsor, leaned over yet another toilet bowl-Daisy's Star of David depending down from the chain around his neck-he thought that perhaps American television wasn't as bad as he had previously thought. One could do far worse than to model one's love affair along the lines of Alfalfa and the beauteous Darla.

Charles had kept telling Daisy that he wanted to make himself useful, that all of his life he had been dying to know how the other half lived.

"Well, here's your golden opportunity," she had offered, turning over the reins to the cleaning bucket.

One week's passage of time then found the former Prince, the Former Future Defender of the Faith, emerging from Mrs. Reichert's toilet. In his left hand he carried the bucket. And on his right hand he wore a yellow rubber glove.

"Damn the Bottom Feeder," he muttered under his breath as he slammed the door, rather ungraciously, behind him. That little hoyden should have warned him that this Reichert lady was completely starkers. The woman had kept asking him if he was sexually involved with someone that she referred to as the "Double Banger," whatever the hell that meant.

Still and all, he figured, it was a funny old world and life could certainly be far worse. His ears twitched in delight. At least he had Daisy to go home to.

As he strolled down the street towards the waiting van, Charles whistled to himself, all the while thinking how Daisy had been right and how there was a certain Eastern-inspired religious quality to cleaning things, a kind of Zen and the Art of the Pristine Toilet Bowl. It was all so straightforward: you put a little elbow grease into it, and you came out the other end with a pleasant place to relieve one's bowels. Lovely, really. And not all that much different, when one thought about it, from running a small kingdom, neither in input nor output.

Now, if he could only get the Bottom Feeder off of his back, Charles Silverman would be all set, in Schaeffer City, as it were. The synagogue, after all, was the perfect ruse for a life to be lived incognito. And those jaunty little yarmulkes were just the ticket for camouflaging that nasty bald spot that had been growing in-or growing out-of late.

2.

When Charley arrived home, later on that evening, Daisy was already in bed.

"I got a letter from Bonita today," she muttered, half asleep.

"Mm, what did she have to say?" he asked, nuzzling her neck.

"She's remaining in London. She and Sturgess are to be married in the spring."

"Mm... do you think we should go?"

"Are you crazy?" she laughed. Then she thought about it for a moment. "Well, I'll probably be pretty big by then. And if we were to sneak in and be real quiet about it... between that and your yarmulke and my size... Oh..." She yawned, rolling over. "We'll see."

Charles spooned behind her, gently caressing the slightly swollen abdomen. The Silverman Succession had been secured.

"You were wrong about one thing."

"What's that?"

"People can change."

"Turn out the light, Charley."

3.

Once upon a time, in a not-very-faraway place, little Daisy Silverman's parents told her that it would be just as easy to fall in love with and marry a rich man as a poor one.

So, Nu? Do you think she listened?.

More from Lauren Baratz-Logsted.

The Sisters Club.

Some families you are born into. Some you choose. And some choose you.

Four women have little in common other than where they live and the joyous complications of having sisters. Cindy waits for her own life to begin as she sees her sister going in and out of hospitals. Lise has made the boldest move of her life, even as her sister spends every day putting herself at risk to improve the lives of others. Diana is an ocean apart from her sister, but worries that her marriage is the relationship separated by the most distance. Sylvia has lost her twin sister to breast cancer, a disease that runs in the family, and fears that she will die without having ever really lived.

When Diana places an ad in the local newsletter, Cindy, Lise, and Sylvia show up thinking they are joining a book club, but what they discover is something far deeper and more profound than any of them ever imagined.

With wit, charm, and pathos, this mesmerizing tale of sisters, both born and built, enthralls on every page.

The Thin Pink Line: A Jane Taylor Novel.

Jane Taylor is a slightly sociopathic Londoner who wants marriage and a baby in the worst way, and she's willing to go to over-the-top lengths to achieve her dream. When Jane thinks she's pregnant she tells everyone. When it turns out to be a false alarm, she assumes she'll just get pregnant, no one the wiser. But when that doesn't happen, well, of course she does what no one in her right mind would do: Jane decides to fake an entire pregnancy!

Crossing the Line: A Jane Taylor Novel.

In the madcap sequel to the international hit comedy THE THIN PINK LINE, London editor Jane Taylor is at it again, only this time, there's a baby involved. Having-SPOILER ALERT!-found a baby on a church doorstep at the end of the previous book, Jane is forced to come clean with all the people in her world when it turns out that the baby is a different skin color than everyone had expected Jane's baby to be. As Jane fights to keep the baby, battling Social Services and taking on anyone who seeks to get in her path, what kind of mother will Jane prove to be?

Only one thing's for certain: no matter how much kinder and gentler she is now, she is still and will always be crazy Jane.

The Bro-Magnet: A Johnny Smith Novel.

Poor Johnny Smith.

At age 33, the house painter has been a best man a whopping eight times, when all he's ever really wanted is to be a groom. But despite being everyone's favorite dude, Johnny has yet to find The One. Or even anyone. So when he meets high-powered District Attorney Helen Troy, and falls for her hard, he follows the advice of family and friends. Since Helen seems to hate sports, Johnny pretends he does too. No more Jets. No more Mets. At least not in public. He redecorates his condo. He gets a cat. He takes up watching soap operas. Anything he thinks will earn him Helen, Johnny is willing to do. There's just one hitch: If he does finally win her heart, who will he be?

Isn't It Bro-Mantic?: A Johnny Smith Novel.

What happens after Happily Ever After? That's what Johnny Smith is about to find out. Having wooed-and won!-the girl of his dreams in The Bro-Magnet, he is ready to take on married life. Finally, Johnny will be the groom. But right off the bat, during the honeymoon, things start to go wrong. And it only gets worse when the newlyweds return home to their new house in Connecticut. Different taste in pets, interior design, friends. Too much togetherness. Jealousy. Nothing is easy, given that neither Johnny nor his wife has ever even had a roommate since college. Can this couple, still so in love, share a home without driving each other crazy?.

Also by Lauren Baratz-Logsted.

The Sister's Club.

Jane Taylor Novels.

The Thin Pink Line.

Crossing the Line.

Johnny Smith Novels.