“I know we can’t gain weight. I’m just tired of everyone saying I’m so statuesque,” Camille whined.
“What’s so wrong about being statuesque?” Symone asked. “Marilyn Monroe was statuesque and men fawned all over her every time she entered a room. The woman was a Goddess among mere mortals.”
“Yeah, but I’m not Marilyn Monroe,” Camille replied in a somber voice.
“You could be,” Cecelia immediately responded. “You’re absolutely gorgeous and everyone knows it. Men love you. Women want to be you. Hell, there are days I would give my right arm to be you. I’m not afraid to admit it. I have a little statuesque envy going on here,” Cecelia professed.
“Well, when you put it that way, I guess I could be the hero of your little play,” Camille sighed in defeat.
“Now that you two have resolved your issues, I just have one question. What do our costumes look like?” Symone asked with excitement in her voice. The more she thought about “The Nutcracker” and the beautiful costumes the performers wore, the more enticing CeCe’s idea became.
Shaking her head in exasperation and laughing, Cecelia looked at her best friend and said, “You’re incorrigible, Symone, but that’s why we love you.”
“Don’t judge me! Now, let’s see these costumes,” Symone giggled.
CHAPTER TWO
“I thought we’d perform Tchaikovsky’s version of “The Nutcracker”, where the Sugar Plum Fairy rules over the Kingdom of Sweets, which is only fitting since I’m the Queen of Sweets, as Camille so eloquently reminded me.”
“Honey, you may be the Queen of Sweets when it comes to baking, but when it comes to eating, Camille has you beat by centuries,” Symone laughed.
“Exactly! That’s why I’m the one who should be playing the Sugar Plum Fairy,” Camille insisted, as she swallowed another bite of the Santa cookie she had stolen from the coffee table.
“Hey, I didn’t say you could start eating the cookies,” Cecelia exclaimed.
“You also didn’t say we couldn’t start eating the cookies,” Camille smirked, as she grabbed a gingerbread cookie that looked like Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.
“Fine, but I’m still playing the Sugar Plum Fairy. Besides, you merely eat the cookies, not create them, which is the job of the Sugar Plum Fairy. She is the Queen of Sweets after all. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. In Tchaikovsky’s version, the heroine of the ballet, Clara—played by the lovely Symone—helps the Nutcracker—played by Camille—kill the Mouse King—who will also be played by Camille—and breaks the magic spell,” Cecelia explains.
“Wait a minute! You want me to try and kill myself? Honey, I’m good, but I’m not that good. You do realize there’s only one of me, right? I didn’t come here to do battle with myself. Hell, I do that all year long. This is supposed to be a relaxing evening full of fun, laughter, Christmas movies, and cookies,” Camille explained.
Once again, irritated by the interruption, Cecelia took in a deep breath to calm herself and then through gritted teeth said, “If you’d let me finish, I’ll explain how you will portray the Nutcracker and the Mouse King.”
“I guess. Please proceed,” Camille said doubtfully, as she grabbed another sugar cookie from the coffee table and moaned. She hadn’t been joking. Cecelia made the best Christmas cookies in the world. She had no idea why the Fates had saddled her with the necromancer job. They had definitely screwed up there, but she would keep that to herself for fear of being smit on the ass, which had happened to her on more than one occasion. When the bolt of lightning suddenly struck the right-side of her butt cheek like a bulls-eye, she yelped from the pain. “Hey, that wasn’t nice, especially since today is about love, kindness, giving, and not smiting witches in their dairy air,” Camille professed, as she shook her raised fist at the ceiling and yelled, while rubbing the sore spot on her butt with the other hand.
“Serves you right for talking smack to the Fates—again. Will you never learn? Now, where was I?” Cecelia asked, shaking her head in disgust while trying not to laugh.
“You were about to explain how Camille was going to battle herself in “The Nutcracker,” Symone replied, still laughing at her friends’ antics, which were priceless.
“Right. She won’t actually battle herself. I thought we could conjure up a fake Mouse King and she could kick his butt real quick before turning into a Prince and escorting Clara to my kingdom where I, as the Sugar Plum Fairy, will preside over the festivities held in her honor. Then, I’ll dance my solo number, the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” the most famous piece in the entire “Nutcracker” ballet, and the Prince—Camille—will spin me around. Easy-peasy!” Cecelia said with a radiant smile on her face.
“Okay, we get the big picture, but you didn’t answer my question about the costumes. What do they look like?” Symone asked.
In a matter of minutes, Cecelia had transformed herself into the Sugar Plum Fairy. She was dressed in a beautiful, light pink bodice decorated with exquisite applications that lit up her sparkling, moss green eyes. The tutu’s overlay was made of the same thick fabric as the bodice in the form of six petals. The upper layer of the tutu was embroidered with bugles and was absolutely magnificent. In fact, it took Symone and Camille’s breath away. In addition, her arm puffs were decorated with braids. The applications of different colors, crystals, braids, sparkles, and pearls eluded to the delicacy and exclusiveness of the costume. Her long, vibrant, red hair had been pinned up in a bun and an elaborate tiara with Swarovski crystals sat on top of her head.
“You look magnificent,” Symone and Camille sighed.
“Alright! You’ve won me over with the costume. Let’s get this show on the road,” Camille said. Like Cecelia, she had transformed herself into the Nutcracker with a snap of her finger. White leotards covered her long, lean legs, and a beautiful white vest with gold trim accentuated her shirt. Here hair had been styled like the Prince and all make-up had been removed from her smooth, silky skin. To say Camille had embraced her role as The Nutcracker was an understatement.
Not to be outdone, Symone wiggled her nose and in the blink of an eye, she had transformed from the sexy bombshell in red to the sweet, innocent Clara in a white laced nightgown with ballet slippers. In an effort to make sure Cecelia’s play was authentic, she had conjured up a wooden toy soldier to use as a prop.
While her friends were putting their hocus pocus to good use, Cecelia performed a little hocus pocus of her own. Her living room had transitioned from a cozy, Christmas scene one would find in a Hallmark movie to the fabulous stage of “The Nutcracker”. The transition might have required her to expand the square footage of the living a bit, but it was worth it. She’d always wanted a larger living room anyway. In addition to the new scenery, there were now professional ballet performers bustling around to do her bidding. In essence, she’d thought of everything.
When everyone was in place, Cecelia approached her friends and asked, “Are we ready to do this?”
“Definitely!” Symone and Camille responded simultaneously.
Nodding in agreement, she stepped back, took in the beautiful transformation of her living room, and with all the hope and joy in her heart, she yelled, “Action.”
The beautiful scenery and the emotional undertow in Tchaikovsky’s brilliant score full of color literally brought the story to life, exactly the way Cecelia had envisioned it. She watched Act One with baited breath, as the magician Drosselmeyer attempted to use Clara to free his nephew from the curse that had transformed him into a hideous Nutcracker. Even in their production, the choreography was complex, yet clever. In addition, the eerie, silvery colors and dark chords in Tchaikovsky’s score indicated how high the stakes were for Drosselmeyer. Then, against the rising majesty of the music, the Christmas tree began growing, which left the ballet suspended on a note of sheer wonder. Any audience watching their rendition of “The Nutcracker” would have been spellbound and more than willing to follow Clara in her dream battle with the Nutcracker
against the army of wicked mice. As she watched from backstage, Cecelia couldn’t have been more proud of her friends. Okay, so she might have expanded her living room a little more than she had originally indicated to include a backstage and dressing rooms for the dancers, but she needed this performance to be as genuine and real as the one she had seen in the theatre with her parents as a child.
Symone decided to ramp up the emotion by pretending to fall in love with the Nutcracker, once he was released from the spell, which made Cecelia laugh because the expression on Camille’s face was simply priceless. Score one for Symone, she thought before letting out a boisterous laugh that had everyone around her staring. When the music turned sublime, increasing the depth of the emotion and indicating an undertow of yearning and loss, the nostalgia that’s an integral part of Christmas overtook the room and everyone in it. It was a moment of unlimited possibilities, childhood innocence, and wonder. Everything Cecelia loved about Christmas and “The Nutcracker.”
When Camille—The Nutcracker—lifted Clara high on her shoulders with the twirl of her finger and then helped her spiral down her body into a low dive, everyone in the room gasped in shock. It seemed as though Camille had perfected a few moves of her own. There was nothing better than watching her best friend perform several precision perfect gargouillades, which she commonly referred to as shaking off her knickers. Heart full of joy, laughter, wonderment, and love, she couldn’t wait until it was her turn to dance. But for now, she simply enjoyed the show. She watched in amazement as Clara awoke from her dream and gave a curious, hopeful look to the nephew. One that indicated a love story was possible and that magic was real.
Initially, Cecelia had been nervous about the lifts, but after watching Camille and Symone, she felt confident her friend would come through when the time came for them to dazzle everyone. She had remembered from dance class that when working with a partner, trust was important, especially when it came to lifts or someone would get hurt. She trusted Camille, not only with the task of lifting her in the air and spinning her around, but also with her life. So, she took in a couple of deep breaths and focused on becoming the Sugar Plum Fairy.
“Do you want to practice the lift?” Camille asked, knowing that her friend was nervous simply by the look on her face.
“I’d love to if you don’t mind, but not because I don’t trust you,” Cecelia immediately replied with a small sigh of relief.
The first couple of attempts were less than stellar. It was obvious Cecelia wasn’t jumping high enough, which was throwing off their balance. Therefore, on the next try, Camille decided to give her a little boost, sort of speak. One minute Cecelia’s feet were planted firmly on the floor and the next, they were flying in the air out of control, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst part came when Camille started spinning her with magic, as she walked into the kitchen to grab a few sugar cookies.
“Camille! What in the Goddess’s name are you doing? Put. Me. Down. Now!” Cecelia exclaimed. Dizzy from all of the spinning, she did her best not to vomit on her best friend, but if she did, it would serve her right. She swore to the Goddess that Camille and those damn sugar cookies were going to be the end of her. The woman lost all focus when it came to eating sugary sweets.
“Sorry! All this lifting was making me hungry,” Camille yelled, unapologetically. Suddenly, she had a new appreciation for men wearing tights who earned a living lifting bossy, grouchy, hungry women who needed to eat more food. No wonder they need all those lean, sleek muscles with a sheen of sweat that look absolutely delectable. Yummy, she thought before biting into another gingerbread man.
“Camille! Are you listening to me?” Cecelia choked out, her stomach still reeling from all of the spinning.
“Yeah! Yeah! I’m listening,” Camille finally replied, releasing Cecelia from the torturous spin that had her butt hitting the floor. Hard.
“What in the Goddess’s name is going on here?” came a booming voice from out of nowhere.
CHAPTER THREE
“Who said that?” Cecelia asked, as everyone in the room turned and anxiously waited for a response.
In a matter of minutes, her question was answered when a blonde-haired witch, dressed in all black materialized. As always, Scroogey looked like she was going to a funeral. If the woman would just loosen up and let her hair down—literally, she would be much more pleasant to be around. Unfortunately, in all the years they had known Scroogey, she’d never given an inch. She held on to grudges like a snake squeezed the life out of its prey.
“Oh! It’s Scroogey” Camille said with disgust and loathing in her voice.
“Of course, it’s me. Who else did you think it was, you dimwit?” Scroogey snapped back. “And for the record, my name is Scroogess.”
“Oh, I know your name, I just don’t care,” Camille replied with all the venom she could muster up. Scroogey had been a thorn in her side from the moment they’d met at Witchery U. She was done appeasing the overbearing, miserable excuse for a witch a long time ago.
“If you know my name, then use it,” Scroogey demanded.
“From your lips to the Goddess’s ears, it shall never be,” Camille said with a smirk and a dare that was obvious to everyone in the room, except Scroogey.
Tired of the annoying bantering between Scroogey and Camille, Cecelia interrupted and said, “Why are you here, Scroogey?”
“Why am I here you ask?” Scroogey replied, letting out an evil laugh that wore on everyone’s nerves.
“That’s what I asked,” Cecelia replied, growing even more impatient with the game of cat and mouse Scroogey seemed to be playing. It was her turn to perform the Sugar Plum Fairy dance, so she didn’t have the time nor the patience for all of this nonsense.
“I’ve watched you three abuse your powers for centuries and now it’s time to pay the piper. In case you haven’t heard, I was recently made a member of the Witches Council. It’s my job to punish any witch who chooses to use her powers for personal gain and if you three don’t deserve punishing, I don’t know who does.”
“Are you freaking kidding me? Were the Fates high when they put you on the Witches Council?” Symone asked, obviously blindsided and unhappy by her revelation.
“I don’t joke about important things like the Witches Council,” she replied with glee.
Sighing in frustration, Cecelia looked Scroogey dead in the eye and said, “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“I’m here because of this,” Scroogey replied, as she waved her hands around the living room. “Not only have you violated multiple rules in the Christmas Book of Shadows, but you’ve also bought presents for one another using your magic. Not to mention this elaborate little show you’re putting on that I’m positive breaks every rule in the Book of Shadows. You all should be ashamed of yourselves,” she scolded.
“Maybe if we had re-enacted “A Christmas Carol” instead of “The Nutcracker”, she could have played the heroine. Then maybe. Just maybe, she wouldn’t be acting like such a biach right now,” Camille hissed.
“I don’t think she’s acting,” Symone countered in a nonchalant voice, as she continued repairing her broken nail.
“I heard that and I promise you will pay,” Scroogey exclaimed, anger rolling off her in waves.
“Oh for Goddess’s sake. Take a chill pill. You know they didn’t mean any harm,” Cecelia admonished, obviously annoyed by their nemesis’ interruption. They had just been getting to the good part, provided she didn’t barf up her lunch. In all honesty, she was still a little dizzy from all of the spinning.
“Shush! I’ve had enough of all of you,” Scroogey yelled.
“Did she just shush us?” Symone asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Mm-hmm,” Camille replied with a smirk.
“Aw hells to the no,” Symone said, pulling off her earrings and ballet slippers. She had been gunning for a fight all day, especially after that little kid ate the last brownie at her niece’s Christmas pageant
. She loved double, chocolate chip, fudge brownies, as much as Camille loved sugar cookies, but she didn’t get her fix today because some little, snotty nose, fifth grader had the nerve to eat the last scrumptious brownie.
Letting out a loud whistle, Cecelia took in a deep breath and screamed, “Will everyone just calm down. You’re ruining my Christmas buzz here and I don’t appreciate it. I worked hard to put this production together tonight, and now it’s all ruined.”
“Now who’s getting their panties all in a wad,” Camille said.
“Put a sock in it Camille, or I’m going to be spinning you around and I promise you won’t enjoy it,” Cecelia threatened.
“I’d like to see you try Miss Christmas on steroids. Scroogey is here because it’s obvious your hair-brained idea has gotten us into trouble with the Witches Council.”
“Why are you assuming it’s all my fault? I wasn’t the only one using her magic. Have you looked at the stash of gifts you have over there? I mean really, who needs all of those designer shoes, handbags and expensive jewelry. At least I kept my purchases down to a minimum,” Cecelia pointed out. If she was going down, she wasn’t going by herself.
“Look at all of you. I knew you’d turn on one another at the first sign of trouble,” Scroogey said with righteous indignation.
“Oh, I’m about to turn on someone alright, and I promise you’re not going to like it,” Symone threatened, as she stared the trifling witch down.
“You wouldn’t dare hurt a member of the Witches Council,” Scroogey replied, but the tinge of fear in her voice was obvious to everyone in the room.
“Try me,” Symone countered though gritted teeth. She was tired, hungry and ready for bear. The appearance of their archenemy had totally ruined her night of fun with her best friends. She had actually enjoyed playing Clara and couldn’t wait to see the finale, but that was not to be because of a vindictive biach who needed to be put in her place once and for all. She still couldn’t remember how they had ended up on Scroogey’s shit list. In the beginning, they had been nothing but nice to her at Witchery U. In fact, they could have been good friends, but she couldn’t release the stick stuck up her ass long enough to realize the opportunity she had kissed goodbye with her obnoxiousness and need to always be right. From what she could remember, the woman had managed to alienate everyone at Witchery U, which was a feat in and of itself given how many witches were trained there. Maybe her parents constantly dropped her on her head when she was younger and hadn’t realized there had been serious brain damage? Symone thought. Quickly shaking her head in denial, she finally murmured, “Nah, she’s just a biach.”
A Witchin' Winter's Night Page 2