Cindy and the Prom King

by Carol Culver

  Once again she tugged on the low neckline of her dress so that it covered more of her pale white breasts, then went out to the dance floor. The music from the live band was loud but danceable. If no one asked her to dance, she could at least go out on the terrace and pretend to be interested in the gardens.

  Then she saw Marco. Even across the room he was hard to miss, dressed as he was in a dashing pirate costume. She broke into a smile as she admired his disguise—the striped shirt over his broad shoulders, the hat on his dark hair, the patch over one eye and a stuffed parrot on one shoulder.

  He caught her eye and smiled back at her. She pressed her gloved hands together and took a deep breath. In a minute he’d crossed the room and was at her side.

  “Who are you, mi bella donna}” he asked, taking her gloved hand and kissing it.

  He didn’t recognize her! She couldn’t believe it. Her disguise must be better than she thought. “Marie Antoinette,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Of course.” He stepped back and let his gaze roam over her body. “I didn’t recognize you at first. Would you dance with a commoner?”

  Cindy only nodded. Half afraid to trust her voice, half afraid of being discovered, she silently let herself be led to the dance floor. He pulled her close and her knees buckled.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, bending down to breathe into her ear.

  “It’s the corset,” she said breathlessly. “I’m not used to it.” Not used to being held so close to him she could smell the faint odor of leather and sandalwood and feel the brush of his shadow beard against her skin.

  She saw Marco glance down the front of her dress. Thank God for the “plunge” push-up bra she’d allowed Scott to talk her into. Those things accomplished miracles. No one who knew how small her breasts were would ever recognize her.

  “I’m surprised, Marie, that you come out in public,” he said. “Are you not afraid of losing your head?”

  Losing her head? If he held her any tighter she’d lose more than that. “Why?” she asked with what she hoped was a flirtatious smile. “Have you heard any rumors about a revolution or anything?” During the day Scott had given her a crash course in the history of the French Revolution, his favorite period. Now she knew more than a little about the queen’s unfortunate demise at the guillotine and what had followed.

  “Nothing to worry about,” he said, tracing the outline of her cheek with his thumb. “The Jacobins are not at the door yet; neither is the headmaster. Tell me more about yourself, your life at court. It must be very dull.”

  “Nothing like the life of a pirate, I’m sure. You know all about me, but I don’t even know your name.” Cindy was feeling more and more like a queen and less and less like an unpopular and geeky high school junior. It had something to do with the costume, but mostly had to do with the man who was holding her like he’d never let her go.

  “Guess,” he said, pressing his cheek against hers. “Blackbeard?”

  “Not so famous, but twice as ruthless. I eat little children for lunch and seduce a dozen women before sunset. I am Italian, after all. I have a reputation to think of.”

  “An Italian pirate, I… uh … Should I know you?”

  “By the end of the evening we will know each other very well, I promise you, your majesty, because I won’t let you out of my sight. You are not like these other American girls. So simple, so shallow, so empty in the head.”

  She flushed under her makeup. “Are you Captain Hook?” she asked in an effort to change the subject.

  Marco laughed and Cindy felt the vibration right through her seam-free, label-free, stitch-free bra.

  “Captain Hook? No, I said Italian. All right, I will tell you. I am Pescatore. I captured many ships and took many hostages in my time.”

  “I suppose some were women?” she asked boldly, looking up at him from behind her mask, more and more confident he had no idea who she was.

  He chuckled, an evil pirate chuckle. “Many, but none so beautiful as you, your highness. By the way, is your husband, Louis the Sixteenth, with you tonight?” He looked over his shoulder as if Louis might be lurking with a sword in hand.

  “Yes,” Cindy answered, “but we have an arrangement. He goes his way and I go mine. He only wants me to have a good time. He’s the one who gave me this necklace.”

  Marco fingered the faux diamonds Scott had supplied for Cindy. At least she thought they were faux. With Scott she never knew. He liked gems. He said his mother had a large collection. Marco’s fingers were cool against her warm skin.

  “Very lovely,” he said in a low tone that made Cindy’s heart thump erratically. “Let me see, I think I read you were married at fourteen. They say you didn’t have sex for six years. That you and your husband were virgins. True?”

  “Well…”

  “But now you are a woman of the world, I should think and eager to make up for lost time.”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely,” Cindy said. “If you saw the movie about me you know I love to have a good time. And there’s not much I don’t know about sex or whatever.”

  “Perhaps you could even show a pirate some new tricks.” Cindy gulped. She told herself it was all a game. A play, a masquerade. Was this flirting? Was this what she’d been missing? “Mmmm,” she murmured. Behind the mask she could be whoever she wanted to be. Whoever he wanted her to be. A rich, sexy, desirable queen. Why not?

  “Do you know, your highness, that your family has a connection with mine?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said. No one in Cindy’s family was even one tiny part Italian.

  “Your sisters were both married to Italians.”

  “My sisters?” Not Brie and Lauren, but Marie Antoinette’s royal sisters. “Oh, my sisters, yes of course. Nice girls.”

  “Of course there was no Italy as such in those days, but still one sister married the Prince of Parma. I have been told by my grandmother, who keeps track of these things, that another of your ancestors had an affair with one of mine.”

  “Really? Your grandmother must have a good memory.”

  “And she loves to talk. Since she can’t speak English she has to talk to me, night and day, endlessly.”

  “She lives with you?” Cindy asked sweetly.

  “She’s just visiting. She came to check up on me and make some food for me. I think her checking is almost finished and the freezer is full of marinara sauce, so now she can go home.”

  They danced some more. Slow dances and fast dances. He swung her around and then he held her close. Cindy, who’d never been a dancer, could have danced all night. Like Eliza Doolittle. Like Eliza she’d been transformed by Scott, her own Henry Higgins. But she’d fallen in love with Marco, not Scott.

  A girl cut in to dance with Marco. Cindy didn’t know girls did that. Apparently Manderley girls did. At least they did when Marco was around. He turned her down and said he would dance with her later, but he didn’t.

  Cindy told Marco her head felt light, lighter than air.

  “Like a soufflé?” he asked. “Yes, mi amor, you are like a soufflé. A lemon soufflé, tart and sweet at the same time.”

  Cindy’s heart fluttered in her corset. So this was what she’d been missing all these years. Flirting with an Italian. No matter what else happened at Manderley, tonight was worth every penny of the tuition she didn’t pay but she would if she could.

  The band took a break. A buffet dinner was served. Cindy and Marco went and filled their plates. There were other couples at their table but Cindy didn’t know them. She didn’t know what she ate either. Or what anyone said. Then they danced some more.

  Sometime soon the homecoming king would be crowned. Cindy hoped it wouldn’t be Marco. Then he wouldn’t be hers anymore. He’d belong to the world. The world of Manderley.

  Marco suggested they take a break from the crowded, noisy dance floor. They went outside and stood on the stone terrace of the country club gazing out at the formal gardens. For a while they didn’t speak
.

  Cindy knew she’d never be there again. After all, the membership was exclusive. It was the kind of place Irina would kill to belong to. She’d have to kill, because there was a waiting list, plus an exorbitant initiation fee. It was all make-believe. Her being there tonight in this dress with Marco. At midnight she’d turn back into a high school junior, a part-time spa assistant, and the flirtatious, sexy woman in the queen’s costume would be gone forever.

  Marco would be the same. Pirate or not, he’d be handsome, dashing, super-confident, sexy and charming. She’d be shy, stiff, skinny, nerdy and unconfident around guys.

  They would still be friends. He might teach her some Italian words. He’d still play the duet with her. But he’d never know, never guess, never believe she was the same girl he’d danced with tonight.

  And she’d never tell him.

  Cindy thought no one would know who she was. But she was wrong. Someone knew. Someone who wanted to get rid of her. Not for good. Just for tonight. And that someone did.

  thirty-four

  All I say is kings is kings, and you’ve got to make allowances. Take them all around, they’re a mighty ornery lot. It’s the way they’re raised.

  —Mark Twain

  When Marco was announced as the winner of the homecoming king crown, the whole room erupted into cheers.

  He grinned at Cindy and squeezed her hand.

  “What do you say, will you be my queen?” he asked.

  Cindy nodded. But deep inside she knew it couldn’t be. It was all a dream. Her, Cindy Ellis, homecoming queen? In a minute Marco would look at her, really look at her, and he’d see not a glamorous, tricked-up, decked-out eighteenth-century queen, but rather an ordinary teenager. Not even ordinary. Downright plain. And he’d drop her as a romantic interest as fast as he’d picked her up. It didn’t matter. She’d always have tonight. And he’d always be her friend. That would have to be enough.

  “I’ll be right back,” Marco said. Then he went to the bandstand to accept his award and he left Cindy’s side for the first time that evening.

  Cindy’s cell phone beeped. She pulled it out of the tiny pocket hidden under the voluminous fabric of her skirt and listened to her voice mail.

  “Cindy, where are you? Your stepmother had a heart attack. She needs you. Come home right away.”

  Cindy didn’t know who’d called. She had no time to think. She ran out to the driveway and begged one of the waiting limo chauffeurs to drive her home. A heart attack? She remembered when her father had his. It was a massive coronary and she’d barely had time to say good-bye before he died in the cold, impersonal hospital room. It would be different with Irina of course. How do you say good-bye to someone you don’t like?

  Marco was crowned king in front of his classmates, who whooped and cheered as if they’d known him for years. He said a few words about how happy he was to be at Manderley, at homecoming and in America, then the band started playing again and he hurried back to find Cindy so they could continue dancing and having fun. But she was nowhere to be found.

  He did find her sisters, the two blond girls with bland faces who wore too much makeup and laughed too much.

  They didn’t see him come up behind them.

  “Can you believe that was her?”

  “It had to be. Who else is that tall and that geeky and would wear that ridiculous costume?”

  “But dancing with Marco? I don’t get it.”

  “I know. You know he plays poker. Well I bet one of his poker dudes bet him he couldn’t spend all evening with her. So he did. Just to win the bet. Why else?”

  “You’re right. Why else?”

  Marco only understood half of what they were saying before he butted in. “Where’s Cindy?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your sister. Marie Antoinette.”

  They stared at him blankly. “Oh, Cindy,” Brie said after a brief silence. “She was bored so she left early. That’s Cindy. She’s weird. She got a ride home from some guy she knows. Said to tell you to have a good time and good luck.”

  Marco frowned. Good luck? Cindy was bored? Cindy left without saying anything? With some other guy? He thought they were having a good time pretending he didn’t know who she was and flirting with her. He was having a good time. The best time of his life.

  Cindy’s sisters grabbed him and made him do one of those ridiculous line dances. He couldn’t refuse without being rude, but he was no longer having a good time.

  When he finally got away he could hear them talking about Cindy again, but he’d heard enough.

  Riding in the limo toward her house Cindy felt guilty even thinking about Irina dying. Maybe it was her fault for not being nicer to her stepmother. Maybe she’d sensed Cindy’s hostile thoughts. When Cindy got out of the limo she saw the house was dark. Had Irina already died? Been taken to the hospital? She ran into the house and up the stairs, her dress dragging behind her, her wig askew, her mask hanging by a cord around her neck.

  When she opened the door to Irina’s room, her stepmother sat up in bed and screamed.

  “Oh my God, Cindy, you scared the shit out of me! What do you want?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I was until you woke me.” She switched on her bedside light. “What’s that you’re wearing? You look ridiculous.”

  “You mean you didn’t have a heart attack?”

  “If I had, you would have been responsible, bursting in here like that.” She snapped off the light. “Get out.”

  Marco couldn’t believe Cindy would have just walked out when he’d told her he’d be right back. She was always fun to tease and nice to look at. But until tonight he hadn’t realized she was really beautiful. Oh, he knew she was smart. He knew she was musical and good at math, and he knew she was sweet and shy. But he didn’t know how right she’d feel in his arms and how much he’d want her there again.

  Had she really been so bored she’d left with someone else? In Italy that would be grounds for a duel. Or it would have been in his grandfather’s day. He stood in the parking lot, the cardboard crown perched crookedly on his head, asking himself why he’d let her go even for a few minutes. Did she know who he was? Did she know he knew who she was?

  He paced back and forth restlessly, then he walked out to where the chauffeurs were waiting in limos. He asked one of them if they’d seen Cindy. They said a girl had asked for a ride home about a half hour ago. She’d dropped her cell phone. The chauffeur held it out. Marco said he’d take it to her.

  First he played back her old messages. Her stepmother was sick. No wonder she’d left. But why didn’t she tell him? He would have driven her home. He got into his car and drove to her house. He had the address from the school Facebook. There it was under her picture, which wasn’t at all the way she really looked.

  He knocked on her front door. Nothing. No one. Where had she gone? To the hospital?

  “Cindy, are you in there?” he shouted. Silence.

  Frustrated, he pounded on the front door. Still nothing. He stood staring at the dark house, willing someone to answer. A moment later the front porch light came on. A woman in a robe trimmed with faux fur opened the door and glared at him. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “Is Cindy home from the dance?”

  “Dance? Cindy doesn’t go to dances. Of course she’s home. Now get out of here before I call the police.”

  The woman tried to close the door in his face. He couldn’t really blame her for being suspicious of a pirate with a crown on his head and a funny accent. He braced his hand against the door.

  “She lost her phone. Would you give it to her?”

  The woman snatched the phone and slammed the door. Marco stood there for a long moment, then he turned and went to his car. He drove home slowly, thinking of Cindy, the girl who tutored him in English, the girl who played the clarinet and made beautiful music with him, and the girl who’d danced all night with him. This wasn’t the way the evening was supp
osed to end.

  Cindy had gone home without him because her stepmother was sick. But she didn’t look sick to him. Maybe she really had left because she was bored. If she was, he was going to have to be a lot more fun to be with or he’d lose her. He didn’t want to lose her; not when he’d just found her.

  When he arrived back at his aunt and uncle’s estate, lights were blazing from every window.

  Inside his grandmother was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, her suitcase at her side.

  “I’m leaving,” she said in Italian.

  “Now?” He ran his hand through his hair. His crown fell to the floor.

  “As soon as you drive me to the airport.”

  “Nonna, I’ve had a bad night and I just got here. Can’t you wait until tomorrow? What’s the rush? I thought you wanted to take care of me.”

  She pursed her lips. “You can take care of yourself now. I can see that.”

  “Wait, I need your advice.”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Finally, my grandson needs my advice,” she said. “Very well, sit down.”

  “Is it possible to fall in love in one night?” he asked.

  “Of course. It happens all the time. I fell in love on my sixteenth birthday.”

  “With Nonno?”

  “No, it was someone else. He left the next day to fight in the war. I married your grandfather instead. I’ve always wondered what happened to Luigi.”

  Marco put his head in his hands. He was in no mood to talk about missed opportunities or lost love. “But I thought..

  “Who is the lucky girl? Is it the one with the red hair?” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I’d like to take her home with me and feed her some decent Italian food.”

  Marco managed a half smile. “Yes, it’s her. But she ran out on me tonight.”

  “No one runs out on my grandson,” she said, shaking her fist at anyone who would dare. “Don’t just sit there, do something. Chi dorme non pigliapesci.”

  “He who sleeps doesn’t catch fishes,” Marco muttered. “In other words, I’m not supposed to sleep?”