Authors: E.L. Sarnoff
When I lick the rich chocolate frosting, I practically melt. It arouses memories of my chocolate-fest with Elz and Winnie. I’m instantly in a much better mood. Recharged to resume my shopping expedition with Marcella, who’s nowhere in sight.
I’m quickly detoured again. Still on my chocolate high, I stumble upon The Enchanted Spa.
“Spaaaaah!”
Just saying the word makes me relaxed. I’ve got to check it out. Maybe this will be the real thing. A spa experience is exactly what I need after my depressing castle encounter. I deserve it! I’ll squeeze in a facial. A quickie. Before the shopaholic discovers I’m missing.
Inside, The Enchanted Spa is everything I wanted Faraway to be and more. Luxurious! Pampering! And magical! “Can I have a facial?” I ask the dewy-skinned nymph at the reception desk.
“Jane, what are you doing here?” The voice is familiar.
I whirl around. Marcella!
“I’m setting up your spa appointment--#6 on your To Do List,” I stammer. It’s a lucky thing I remembered.
“Good. When you’re done, meet me at The Ballgown Emporium.” She tears out the door.
I set up her spa day, then arrange for my facial. When I find out how much it costs, I slink away.
Right next door is a toy store. Mother Goose. I’m reminded that Marcella wants me to buy a toy that she can give to Calla. I eye a beautiful porcelain doll in the window. Calla will adore it. And Marcella will score points with The Prince. There’s nothing like buying love. I think about my mother and how she used to buy all kinds of presents for Snow White—whom she secretly despised—to impress The King. Using the money
I
earned. And, of course, she never got a thing for me. Not even a tiny toy.
Inside, the store is a child’s dream-come-true playroom. Amazing toys, games, and crafts are everywhere. Wow! There’s even a princess dress-up kit. I would have loved that as a child.
I gasp. Smack in the middle of the store, a menacing life-size green dragon soars to the ceiling. It’s just a toy, of course, but still, it reminds me of my life-and-death encounter with the real thing at Faraway. A little boy in velvet knickers (obviously some young prince) is trying to slay the beast with his pretend sword, much to the dismay of his worn out nanny.
A trim woman, holding a large staff and wearing an enormous bonnet that hides her face, marches up to the little boy. She slams down the staff.
“Excuse me, young man. You’re going to hurt the dragon. Mother Goose says to put down your sword,” she says in a threatening, put-on voice.
Startled, the youngster drops his sword and flies into the arms of his nanny. He sticks his tongue out at the big bonnet woman. What a brat! Mother Goose doesn’t flinch; she simply steps down hard on the dragon’s foot. The dragon roars and, out from its fanged mouth, shoots a breath of fire. I jump away. It’s way too real! Yelping, the little brat and his nanny bolt out of the store.
Pleased with herself, Mother Goose walks away from the dragon. Her face is finally visible. It’s freckled, and she has long red pigtails. Oh my God. Can it be?
“Winnie!” I scream.
“Jane!” she screams right back at me.
I drop all of Marcella’s purchases and run over to hug her. Our arms tangled, we jump up and down like two little kids in a toy store.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m on a late lunch break. I’m actually doing my post-rehab apprenticeship next door at Sparkles.”
A bakery? And no ordinary bakery. Why would Shrink and Grimm put a woman with an overeating problem to work at a place filled with zillions of tempting sweets? There must be a reason to their madness because Winnie looks fabulous. She’s half the size of when I saw her last.
“I come over here during lunch because I enjoy helping out with the children. Plus, I get a big discount whenever I buy something for Hansel or Gretel. What are you up to?”
Quickly, I tell her about my PIW position. How awful it is.
“Marcella makes Sasperilla look like a sugarplum fairy. At least, the skinny bitch didn’t boss people around like she owned the world.” I tell her the only good thing about my job is Calla. “I want to buy her a doll. That one in the window.”
“A great choice!” Winnie heads over to the window and scoops out the doll. When she returns, she gently places it in my arms.
I examine the beautiful doll, noticing that it bears an uncanny resemblance to me, once you get past her long, silky hair and richly detailed royal attire. Sewn into the backside is a label that puts a big smile on my face. “Hand Made by Pinocchio”
Pinocchio!
He must be out of Faraway, doing his post-rehab apprenticeship nearby. With luck, I’ll run into him.
Winnie carefully wraps up the doll, then hands it to me in a shopping bag bearing the store’s insignia, a golden goose. She glances down at her watch. “My lunch break’s almost over. I’d better get out of this costume and back to Sparkles.”
And I’d better catch up with Marcella before she sends a pack of big bad wolves after me. After hugging Winnie, I hastily gather up Marcella’s purchases and dash out of Mother Goose. I can hardly wait to give the doll to Calla; she’ll love it. Shopping’s put me in a much better mood. And, at least, I know where to find Winnie. I can’t wait to see her again.
Wandering through the mall, I bump into Her Royal Skankiness as she breezes out of a palatial store called Lordstrom. Yet another shopping bag.
“Where on earth have you been?” she snaps. “And what do you have in that silly goose bag?” She cranes her neck to peer at Calla’s present.
“It’s a d--”
“Whatever! I’ve wasted valuable shopping time looking for you. Let’s go!”
She points a finger at The Ballgown Emporium and shoves me along. “Move it before some princess wannabe gets the dress I want!”
***
The Ballgown Emporium is dazzling. As big and grand as a palace ballroom, it’s built on three levels, with a sweeping spiral staircase connecting each one. An enormous crystal chandelier hangs in the center.
All around it, spectacular gem-colored ball gowns dangle from the soaring ceiling, ready for their first dance. Weird! The gowns are multiplying. My eyes dart around the store from corner to corner. I see myself everywhere. What’s going on? Then it hits me. The walls of The Ballgown Emporium are mirrored from floor to ceiling. Wall-to-wall mirrors! Everywhere! My heart quakes; my body shakes. All the bags I’m carrying fall to the floor.
Get a
grip, Jane!
I inhale deeply and attempt to meditate. But it’s too late.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest one of all?”
The mirrors respond:
“You, My Queen, are the fairest at the mall,
But a golden-haired child is fairer than us all.”
“Who are you talking about?” I cry out.
Silence.
“Tell me!” I yell louder. “TELL ME!”
“Dahling, are you okay?”
I snap my eyes open and find myself sprawled on a purple velvet fainting couch. A burly man, in a sequined chinoiserie robe, looms above me, fanning me with a peacock feather. I must have passed out. Collecting myself, I sit up. I tell him I’m fine. That the mirrors made me feel a little dizzy. No big deal.
No big deal?
They’ve turned me into a delusional basket case. Wait! Can these mirrors be magic too?
“I love your style,” the flamboyant man says effusively.
I glance down at my plain black dress. He’s got to be kidding.
“Black is the new pink, but no one believes me. I’m Emperor Armando. Let me know if I can show you something for the ball.”
He thinks
I’m
going to the ball?
He’s
the delusional one.
“You’re quite the shopper; I placed your bags over there.” The Emperor gestures to a corner. I’m relieved to see Calla’s gift among them.
“Later, dahling.” He sashays over to hug a buxom, regal woman with short white spiky hair, a small gold crown, and a crimson heart-shaped dress that pushes her barrel-sized chest up to her chin. She looks and sounds strangely familiar to me.
“Armando, dear, how’s my ball gown coming along?” she asks in a deep, booming voice.
“It’s to die for!” gushes The Emperor. He takes her by the arm and whisks her away.
Where’s Marcella? To be dead honest, I don’t really care. The wall-to-wall mirrors are still making me dizzy. Not moving from the couch, I close my eyes and banish them from my sight. Before I know it, I drift off…straight into my dream from the other night.
Wearing an ethereal ivory tulle gown, I’m floating like a feather, high in the sky. Birds flutter around me. Suddenly, the mysterious man with the black mask leaps out from behind a cloud. I float toward him, right into his arms. He swirls me around our heavenly dance floor, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. Like we’ve danced this way forever. “Who are you?” I ask, my heart pounding. Silence. And then an earth-shattering scream hurls me back to reality.
“AAAAARGGGH!” shrieks The Emperor. “What are you doing?”
My eyes flit to Marcella. She’s recklessly yanking down the dangling gowns with both hands.
“You know, mister, I could use some customer service around here,” the PIW grumbles.
Armando frantically gathers up the gowns scattered on the marble floor, crumpled up as if they’ve swooned.
“Do you know who I am?” she huffs. “I am the future wife of Prince Gallant, and my ball’s the only reason you’re still in business.”
The Emperor doesn’t care who she is. Doesn’t she know how much these gowns cost?
(Thousands!)
How much time it takes him to make them?
(Years!)
How each one is a work of art?
(They should be hanging in museums!)
“Whatever,” replies Marcella. She demands to try them on.
Practically in tears, The Emperor escorts her to the fitting room, located on the third level. Marcella looks down from the spiral staircase and snaps at me. “This is no time to be resting!”
Jumping to her beckon call, I exchange a rescue-me look with the distraught Emperor.
Dressing and undressing Marcella is a nightmare. As if the complexity of the gowns isn’t enough, I’ve got to contend with the cannonballs on her chest. Plus, she’s a total slob. Hasn’t she ever heard of hanging things up neatly after trying them on? I’m on major damage control, terrified that she’ll ruin one of The Emperor’s magnificent creations.
The Marcella fashion show is no less challenging. The PIW parades before the mirrored walls in one gown after another. She hates everything. No matter how stunning the dress, there’s something wrong with it. From being too frou-frou (“Who the hell wants to look like Bo Peep?”) to being too blue (“Ugh! It’s so Cinderella.”). I have to swallow my tongue when she complains that the last one makes her look flat-chested. Trust me, an army of giants could trample over her without flattening out those cannonballs.
The Emperor’s beside himself, and I’m exhausted. After trying on a dozen more unacceptable dresses, Marcella lights up with an idea. She wants Armando to custom design her dress.
Armando rushes off to get his sketchpad, then sketches one incredible gown after another. Not one of them works for Her Royal Skankiness.
Finally, a dozen sketchpads later, Marcella has a vision. She can see it now. A dress, the reddest of reds--the color of blood--body-clinging with a halter neckline and a detachable twenty-foot long train. Size 6. Armando madly sketches away.
When the PIW sees the finished sketch, she bubbles. “Look at what it does to my cleavage! The Prince will love it. And I’ll be the envy of every princess at the ball.”
The Emperor breathes a sigh of relief. And so do I.
She scowls. “One last thing.”
The Emperor pales.
“It had better be ready for the ball.” She eyes me with the contempt that’s reserved only for a servant. “I’ll send my new assistant to pick it up.”
“How will you be paying for it?” asks The Emperor, clearly relieved.
God knows how much this custom creation will cost.
“Send the bill to The Prince.” She smiles smugly and dashes off.
“Chop! Chop!” she shouts out to me. “We need to get new shoes.”
You mean
you
need to get new shoes.
I
need to get a new job.
Emperor Armando, back to being his effervescent self, hugs me good-bye. “Jane, dahling, I’ll see you soon.”
How does he know my name? I don’t recall telling him.
***
The shoe store, a few doors down, is called The Glass Slipper. Its motto: “
For the
Perfect Fit Shoe.”
Whereas The Ballgown Emporium was large and grand, this store is small and intimate. A boutique. Dainty, candle-lit chandeliers bathe the upholstered pale blue walls in a warm glow and make the shoe samples scattered on glass shelves sparkle like jewels. The boutique’s namesake centerpiece--a giant glass slipper sculpture--sits smack in the middle of a large, circular silk couch.
The couch is lined with dozens of royal women, trying on stacks of shoes. An army of elves runs helter skelter, assisting the demanding customers. I bet every princess in Lalaland must come here. My heart skips a beat. What if I run into Snow White?
Marcella strolls around the store in a trance, salivating over every pair of shoes. I should have brought a bucket.
“Hello, can I help you?” comes a voice from afar.
That voice! I know it! Again, it can’t possibly be…
From a back room, in lopes a tower of a woman wearing white, jeweled cat-eye glasses. She looks at me. I look at her. We scream simultaneously, then run to hug each other. I can’t believe it! Elzmerelda!! This is too much. First, Winnie. And now Elz!
“I love your spectacles!” I tell her. She’s one of those people who actually look better in glasses than without them. They make her nose seem smaller and draw attention away from her other homely features.