“I . . . I . . .” I was like a primitive robot, trying to reboot its meager functions. Because in that instant, I couldn’t remember my name. I didn’t know if I had a name. Should I make up a name? Then my ignition turned over and I blurted, “I’m Carter! Carter Ogden!”

He smiled, which is something I’m not yet ready to describe, but I processed instantly that he was accustomed to people acting like lunatics just because they were meeting him.

“Carter. So good to meet you.”

“I . . . I work for Eventfully Yours, we did the event planning for your . . . event.” How many more times could I say the word “event”?

“Aha. Well done. The space looks marvelous. Especially that waterfall moment.”

WHY WASN’T I GETTING THIS ON MY PHONE?

“Would you mind terribly if I ran through my opening remarks? To get a feel for things?”

“I . . . I . . . of course. I’ll just get out of your way.”

As I stumbled backward, out of some dim memory of never turning one’s back on royalty, I managed to ram into the seat at the end of an aisle, almost fall, kick an extra papier-mâché urn I was supposed to put back in the Eventfully Yours van, and finally steady myself as the prince studied me like a researcher tracking a mouse’s journey through a maze.

“Carter?”

“I’m fine!”

“I’m glad, and this is an absurd imposition, and I’ll completely understand if you refuse, but might you perhaps listen to my speech? And offer an honest assessment?”

Okay. Okay. Prince Edgar was now asking me to critique him. He was asking me to be a New Yorker. A gay New Yorker. A gay Jewish New Yorker. Trust me, I have opinions. Did he have any idea what he was in for?

“Um, sure, of course,” I told him, “although I’m sure you’ll be awesome.” Awesome? Awesome? When did I turn into a mumbling middle schooler, slumped from my two-ton backpack?

“Awesome would be lovely, but I’ll settle for audible. I’ve been working on my personal presentation, as my online nicknames include the Little Wooden Soldier, Prince Plywood and His Royal Blore. And before you ask, a blore is a combination of someone bland and a bore. So I’m seeking to improve.”

He was mounting the steps to the podium as I trailed in his wake, standing in the aisle below.

“And we’re off. I’m introduced, to polite applause and not a few yawns barely hidden behind programs. Despite this, I begin. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for allowing me to—”

“Okay,” I interrupted, and I have no idea where I found the nerve to utter a single word, except that my theatrical background and event-planning DNA had kicked in. Telling people how to work a room was my business.