by Karole Cozzo
But this is a job. And it’s all part of the job. If you care, anyway.
I turn my head, noticing that the girl working out beside me is staring down at her machine’s screen in concentration, lips moving as she performs some type of mental computation.
I’m sure I know every last formula that she may be applying. I know exactly how many calories you have to burn to rid your body of an extra pound. I know how many calories are in most beers and mixed drinks, a chart I was required to memorize while pledging, and exactly how many extra minutes of cardio are required for each extra drink. An image of the BMI chart has been committed to memory.
I’m sure not a math whiz, and thinking about it, I have absolutely no idea when I started running the numbers. I guess it dates back to high school cheerleading days, when girls first started throwing these terms around and measuring their self-satisfaction in comparison to other girls rather than themselves. Then in the sorority, with its rules about not being seen eating fast food in public and scheduled gym outings, it’s just more of the same. All the girls I have always associated with routinely run the numbers, too. It’s part of our culture, part of our lexicon.
I don’t really know girls whose minds don’t work this way anymore.
With my music pumping and a gym full of distractions, time passes quickly, and the next thing I know, my workout is already half over. Internally, I relax, which I can’t really do until my daily workout is out of the way. It’s why I prefer to get it over with early; otherwise I’ll just keep thinking about it.
Good for you, I tell myself, drinking some water. Way to get it done. It’s all downhill from here.
When I put my empty bottle back into place, I see Harper making her way toward a treadmill. I haven’t seen her in four days, since I met her at the apartment, and I try to catch her attention to say hi. Even though I think she can see me from her angle, I guess she doesn’t, because she just keeps walking purposefully toward the treadmill with her head down. Her earbuds are in, so maybe she’s already lost in her own little world.
I stare at her as she climbs aboard the treadmill. There’s not a single other princess in the row of treadmills, but her choice doesn’t surprise me. There’s something about her that keeps her from fitting in with the group in a perfectly natural way. I watch her, curious, trying to figure it out.
It turns out that Harper’s a runner. Like, a legit runner, hitting the treadmill with such intensity and speed she’s likely already elevated her heart rate from the fat-burn to cardio range. She’s got a runner’s butt, too—full, round, and capable looking. My butt has never looked like that.
Harper’s all business as she runs. Her face is serious, and she appears to be reading something on her phone, the way she keeps swiping its screen, something I could never manage. She’s wearing a loose T-shirt and running shorts, the exception to my “you can tell just by looking” rule. I really wonder how she ended up down here.
Because she basically sprints the whole time, she finishes before I do, chugs her water, and adjusts the speed of her machine for her cooldown. My elliptical switches into cooldown mode soon after, and I decide I’ll wait till she’s done, make a point of saying hi.
I don’t know the seemingly sad story that brought her here, but obviously she’s going through some hard times. She’s down here by herself, in this new, slightly bizarre community. And while she strikes me as the type who doesn’t enjoy pity, I believe there’s a difference between pity and compassion.
At least I hope so, I think, as I climb down and walk toward her when she steps off the treadmill.
When she turns and finds me hovering, she takes a step back in surprise. She doesn’t exactly look eager to talk, first just waving without bothering to remove her earbuds. I decide to wait her out and just stand there expectantly. Eventually she caves, removing her headphones and wiping her forehead on the sleeve of her T-shirt. She’s actually sweating. I can’t remember the last time I actually broke a sweat in the gym as opposed to the parade route.
“Hey, Harper! How are you?”
“I’m good…” She answers slowly, eyeing me warily. Then eventually she asks, “How are you?”
“I’m great now. Glad I got the workout out of the way!” I smile brightly.
She studies me for another moment and then says, “Sorry if I’m distracted. I was reading my school’s law review, and my thoughts are still wrapped up in it.” Harper makes a wry face at the screen of her phone. “I’m missing school way more than I thought I would. And it does pass the time.” She looks around at the myriad of cast members surrounding us. “Kinda get the sense that I’m going to be here a lot. It was impossible to miss the stress they put on maintaining your appearance around here. It’s hard-core.” She lowers her voice. “Talk about making you instantly self-conscious.”
“Try not to worry too much.” I wave my hand, like this is something I’ve mastered. Ha. “Obviously certain people, the ones playing the Little Mermaid, or princess to Aladdin, they don’t wear too much and it’s a bigger deal. Our ball gowns, they’re more forgiving.”
Harper gives me a thumbs-up. “Forgiving. I like the sound of that.” She studies me, then points to my top. “I like your shirt. It’s sweet.”
“Thanks,” I answer, looking down at the glittery tank I’m wearing, which reads, CINDERELLA IS PROOF THAT THE RIGHT PAIR OF SHOES CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE. “It was a gift from my big.”
“Your big what?”
So Harper’s not a sorority girl. Also not a surprise.
“Oh, my, um, sorority big sister.”
Then we stand there, her still panting slightly, and me, quickly running out of small talk. “Well, um, good luck with the rest of your training. Fur can be tough, and the forecast looks relentless.”
“Thanks,” she says. Harper studies me a second longer. “And thanks for saying hi.”
“Of course!” I tighten my ponytail, then offer a quick wave and turn to go.
I think I feel her eyes on me as I leave, perhaps trying to figure me out the same way I’m trying to figure her out.
chapter 5
I spend Friday morning doing meet-and-greets at the base of the drawbridge leading to the Diamond Palace. A long day awaits—I’m working until closing because I’d submitted a request for tomorrow off since some of my favorite Zeta girls are driving up to visit. Typically I don’t mind double shifts at the park, but we’re experiencing record heat and humidity for the last couple of days of May. By ten thirty in the morning, I’m already suffering. Cinderella’s ball gown is even more cumbersome than her dreamy wedding attire—it’s made of several layers of silk and taffeta beneath the delicate gold lace filigree. The only (small) blessing is that my hair is upswept and the occasional breeze feels like salvation when it hits the perpetual trail of perspiration running down my neck.
I feel almost guilty about the number of water breaks I request, which will impact my daily guest count that an attendant carefully records with a clicker concealed in his palm. But I’m seasoned enough to know how important it is to stay hydrated. I’d endured several bouts of dizziness and even blinding migraines last summer when I’d tried to tough it out. Today, I have a cooler full of water bottles in the gatehouse behind the castle wall, which I visit frequently.
The added bonus is that the gatehouse doubles as the central first aid station, where Jake is camped out for the day. The walls of the Palace create shadows over the windows, but if I squint, I can see him in there, answering his walkie, joking around with a fellow crew member. His presence bolsters me some.
And he’s concerned every time I visit.
“You okay?” he asks solemnly. “You need anything besides water?”
I smile at his businesslike demeanor, his comfort in the caretaker role.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “This isn’t even August level heat.”
Complaining surely doesn’t help anything.
Besides. My dress is heavy, but as I return to my
post and see Drako the Dragon lumbering past, I mentally give thanks that I’m not a fur character. Cast members have been known to pass out inside their costumes on particularly scorching days. Drako the Dragon is the character around which the Enchanted empire was built, and he’s stuck in one of the worst costumes!
I take my lunch break around noon, deciding to eat at an underground cast cafeteria because one is nearby. Jake’s lunch break isn’t until two o’clock, so I head downstairs by myself, feeling the instant relief from the heat provided by the dark underground tunnels.
When I approach the entrance to the cafeteria, Snow White in glasses, aka Camila, is standing beside it, talking rapid-fire fast in an unfamiliar language to a ride operator. For whatever reason, she practically scurries away from him when I approach, offering a terse wave in my direction.
I approach her with a smile and ask, “Who were you talking to?” I take a second glance. “He’s cute.”
“I’m just practicing my Mandarin,” she responds, clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides. “That’s all.”
“It’s okay to talk to boooys, Camila,” I tease.
She practically glares at me in return, so I let up, gesturing toward the tables inside. “Are you coming or going?”
“I just got here.” And still she lingers near the door.
Geez. It’s kind of like pulling teeth with her. “Wanna eat together?”
“Oh.” It finally dawns on her. “Okay.”
We go through the food line, swipe our badges to pay, and then walk toward the back tables, carrying our trays. Mine holds another bottle of water—I feel like a camel—a veggie wrap, and some slices of watermelon since they’re practically all water, too. Camila and I sit down with the other princesses present without thinking about it. Because the skirts of our dresses are so wide and difficult to maneuver, the princesses always claim the more appealing round tables with comfortable chairs as opposed to the long cafeteria tables with benches.
I eat my wrap quickly and am finishing my bottle of water while chatting with the girls at our table when I see the Meerkats walk in in costume. The pair are two of the more popular fur characters, because they’re hyper and silly and funny, entertaining the masses while they wait in ridiculously long lines to meet the likes of me or ride the newest roller coaster. When they take off their heads and set them down on two chairs to secure a spot, I realize that one of them is Harper.
I wave until I catch her attention and gesture for her to come join us, but she points discreetly toward her partner, indicating she’s going to stay put. Smiling in understanding, I wave a second time before she goes and gets in line.
Well, stumbles toward the line would be a better way of putting it. Harper doesn’t look too fresh. Her face is bright red, yet she looks a little green around the gills. Her braid is coming apart in pieces and her eyes have a glazed look about them. Obviously, she’s struggling with the heat. She returns to her seat a few minutes later with nothing but a pack of crackers on her tray.
Harper sits down beside her partner—I think her name is Kelly—and I notice Yael, Miller’s roommate, scooches down to join them. She appears to be filling the Bear role in the Snow White/Rose Red show today.
Camila tells me she needs to get going, and when she stands up to leave, I stand up, too. I grab my unopened plastic container of watermelon cubes. I’m pretty sure someone else needs them more than I do today.
Lifting my full skirt off the sticky cafeteria floor, I carefully make my way down the narrow aisle toward the fur table. I remove the semicreepy bear head from the chair beside Harper and lower myself into it.
Yael stands, reaches over, and snatches the costume head away and grumbles under her breath. “Sure you can sit there. No one was using that chair or anything.”
Her face is almost as dark red as her hair, and she glares at me from behind her glasses, but I take a deep breath and attribute the bared teeth and snarling to heat and fatigue. Or maybe an attempt to stay in character.
“Didn’t mean anything by it.” I try to make a joke of it, patting the bear’s head. “I’m sorry.”
Yael’s face grows redder still.
Okay then. I turn toward Harper instead. “How are you holding up, hon?”
“I’m not so much holding up,” she says, puffing out her cheeks. “I don’t feel too well.”
I nod toward her tray. “I know it might be the last thing you feel like doing, but you really should eat more than what you have there. To drink as much water as you’re going to need to make it through the day, you need some food in your stomach or it’s going to make you feel nauseous.” I set the container of watermelon on her tray. “Watermelon helps. It’s actually ninety-two percent water.” I shrug. “Some websites even say ninety-three percent.”
“Oh. My. God.” Yael pokes Kelly. “Straight from the Sorority Girl’s Encyclopedia of Useless Knowledge.”
Kelly guffaws.
I inhale a steadying breath and keep my attention focused on Harper, who’s pushing the fruit away.
“That’s nice of you. But I’m already nauseous. I can’t really stomach the thought of eating.” She looks at me helplessly, like she’s pleading to be rescued. “I just keep telling myself, three more hours. Today’s my last day in fur.”
Kelly’s head whips around. “What?”
“Today’s my last day in fur.”
“I thought someone told me you were staying in fur.”
Harper shakes her head weakly. “I don’t know…”
“I thought you were training,” Kelly presses. “You’re just doing the requisite five-day stint?”
Harper nods. “I’m starting as a face character next week.”
Yael wrinkles her nose. “Really? Who?”
It’s not a particularly nice question.
“Beauty.”
With this, Kelly actually snorts. She picks up the end of Harper’s undone braid and drops it unceremoniously. “Think you need a makeover first, Princess.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t really look the part.” Kelly shrugs. “That’s all.”
Even though her face is still red, I swear Harper’s cheeks turn even pinker. “That’s kind of rude,” she says.
“Whatever.” Kelly shakes her head and turns her body away from Harper, toward Yael. “Is what it is. Get over yourself.”
Suddenly Harper looks like she’s blinking back tears, and I can imagine exactly what she’s feeling. Training is no joke, between the heat, the long hours, the requisite daily Enchanted quizzes, and the constant demand to be pleasant and entertaining.
“Hey, give her a break,” I insert quietly. I shake my head. “Harper didn’t do anything to you.”
Kelly turns around again, glaring at me with those glacier-blue eyes of her. Yikes. “It’s not Harper, per se, sweetheart. It’s all of you.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re all nice and friendly when you’re working fur, but once you’re promoted to pretty princess, you can’t be bothered.” She waves her hand dismissively toward the table full of princesses. “You’re part of the little clique and that’s that.” She raises her fork to make a point, but it’s inappropriately close to my face. “I’m just as good an actress as any of you. And I know I’m just as pretty. But because I’m a couple inches too tall, I get stuck being a giant rodent and have the pleasure of training a new batch of you girls every few months. Sorry if I’m over it.”
“But you don’t even know me,” Harper protests weakly.
“What the hell’s the point? Conversation over.” With a loud metallic scraping sound, she pointedly turns her chair, its back slamming into Harper’s arm, and positions herself so she’s looking only at Yael.
I’m sort of stunned. I mean, I’ve heard muttered comments about some silly face character–fur divide, this ridiculous idea that we receive better treatment because we’re face characters. But … really? Is this real life?
I stare at Kelly’s ponytail, feeling my nails
curling into my palms, the sound of my heartbeat becoming more apparent in my ears. There aren’t too many things that make me angry. But I truly hate the practice of kicking someone when she’s down. Especially when we’re supposed to be on the same team.
So I shove my chair back, march around the end of the table with my skirt dragging, sticky floor be damned, and make my way back down the aisle until I’m standing directly behind Kelly. Then I gently tap her on the shoulder.
With a pronounced irritated sigh, she looks up over her shoulder. “God. What?”
I smile sweetly. “I’m sorry, but … conversation not over. There’s just really no reason to talk to her like that, okay? Today is hard for all of us. It’s awful out there. Do you really think you’re helping the rest of the day go smoothly by beating her down? That’s not really how we do things around here, at least I hope it’s not.”
I glance down at Harper, who sneaks me a tiny, grateful smile.
I realize the room has gone quiet around us, most cast members turning and watching the scene unfold.
Kelly stares at me flatly. “Suzie Sunshine. Not really in the mood for the lecture.”
“Well,” I continue, folding my hands before me, “I’m sure Harper’s not in the mood to be insulted and dismissed. We all work hard around here, okay? Have a little respect is all I’m saying.”
A few other cast members murmur their agreement, and a cafeteria worker even calls out, waving a spatula in the air, “Preach, Princess!”
“You know what?” Kelly’s on her feet before I know it, turning around, her face only inches from mine. Oh my. She is tall. Tall and strong looking, like an Olympic volleyball player. She grits her teeth. “I said I wasn’t in the mood for this shit.” She has the nerve to flick one of the ruffles draped around my shoulder. “Princess.”