“And they’re all real! And the pearls? To die for. Oops, I suppose you do know about those. You’d think you wouldn’t be able to lose something that big,” Glenda admonished, clicking her tongue with disapproval. “It would take a life of indentured servitude to pay for that necklace. In fact, if you don’t find it, that may be just what’s in store for you! Do you mind pouring me a glass of water?” Glenda asked with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “These desert conditions do make one quite thirsty.”
“I’m off duty,” Louise grumbled. “I’ll find the necklace. It’s got to be around here somewhere. I wouldn’t mind some help looking, though. My mother is probably really worried about me,” Louise said, missing her mother very much. She wondered if she would ever be able to talk to her about these adventures. Maybe she would have some advice as how to get out of the predicaments she always wound up in.
“She probably is, poor dear. Although she wasn’t always such a nervous Nellie,” Marla responded, shaking her head sadly, which was now adorned with a jade-encrusted cobra. Louise was about to ask again how Marla had such insight into her mother’s state of mind, but Glenda interrupted.
“Well, best of luck, dear! You do know this palace is one-third the size of Alexandria? But I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for. Where did you uncover your last treasure?” she asked cryptically while wrapping herself in another layer of eggplant-colored silk and looking more and more like a colorful mummy.
Louise heard Cleopatra call from outside the dressing room. “Charmian, have you prepared my trunks?” she asked urgently. “We must depart immediately.”
“I’m working on it,” Louise replied quickly. “I just need a few more moments.” Before Louise turned back around, the spicy smell of incense and sudden burst of violet-colored smoke alerted her that the witchy salesladies had disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. Once again, Marla and Glenda were not going to help her out of the mess she had somehow gotten herself into. They showed up only long enough to remind her that she needed to help herself.
Louise walked over to a barred window and peeked down at the crowd through the ivory linen curtains. The sound of the angry mob outside the palace gates was now deafening. Louise felt like she was back in the French Revolution. In the olden days when people were upset, they certainly let you hear it. Men were now trying to scale the tall gates, others were launching flaming torches, and some were demanding to see King Ptolemy.
“The caravan has been organized. Collect my jewelry box, and I will meet you by the back staircase in a few moments,” Cleopatra told her.
“I’ll be right with you!” Louise cried, trying to keep it together. She knew she had only a couple of minutes to find the necklace and make her escape.
Louise opened Cleopatra’s enormous jewelry box on the low wooden table and once again searched desperately for the pearl necklace. She pulled out gold cuff bracelets, long dangly jade earrings, rings with humongous amethysts and rubies, and what seemed like a ton of gorgeous and insanely expensive jewels, but where was that one invaluable necklace?! Cleopatra was definitely wearing it at the dinner with the Roman general, so it had to be around here somewhere. Where did she find her last treasure? She remembered back to the trunk in her closet, where she uncovered her mother’s photo and realized it could be hidden in a secret compartment or false bottom. She ran her fingers along the bottom of the silk case, and eased the edge of the fabric off. Underneath she felt the delicate chain and triumphantly yanked it out of the box.
“The queen is ready to depart,” she heard a deep male voice announce from the other room. It was time for Louise to leave Egypt as well.
“Almost ready!” Louise yelled, hoping to buy herself another second so she could make her escape.
She clumsily attempted to secure the thin gold chain around her neck and was fumbling with the delicate and complicated clasp just as one of Cleopatra’s burliest and meanest-looking bodyguards walked into the dressing room and saw Charmian surrounded by the queen’s priceless jewels while trying to smuggle out perhaps her most valuable necklace. Oh, no, Louise realized. She could definitely see how this might be misinterpreted.
“It’s not what you th-think.…” she stuttered.
“Thief!” he yelled, alerting the security in the other room as he rushed toward her and reached for his sword that hung in a case on his leather-studded belt. “In the name of Isis, put that necklace down.”
Her hands shaking and without a moment to lose, Louise managed to hook the solid-gold chain in place. In that instant, she collapsed to the cold, hard, mosaic-tiled floor, barely missing the guard’s unsheathed, shining steel blade, which was aimed directly for Charmian’s heart.
A wash of Technicolor images flooded over Louise and swept her away. She saw the royal library on fire and the burning of thousands of scrolls into a pile of ash. She saw Cleopatra standing next to a silver-haired general in a red cloak raising a baby in the air for all of Egypt to see. She saw the queen wearing a headdress with three intertwined snakes sitting regally on a throne with a son on either side of her. She saw armies fighting, warships sinking, the crumbling destruction of the great towering lighthouse as it collapsed into the choppy water, and she watched as a snake curled up around Cleopatra’s leg slithering up to her heart. Then a giant tidal wave rolled over the wide ancient streets and washed the great port city of Alexandria out into the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea.
Louise gasped for breath as though she were drowning. Her eyes flew open and for a flash she saw the angry, pursed red lips of Irene Sharaff yelling for her assistant. “Joan! Where did you go? Can we please get some work done around here? This is already the most expensive movie ever made without your antics! I need that belt immediately!”
I’m sorry, but I’m not Joan! Louise wanted to scream, but she couldn’t speak. The sound of her voice got choked in her throat as she panicked, jumping up and desperately searching the wardrobe tent for the purple dress from the Fashionista Sale. She spotted it; a crumpled ball of silk dropped on the floor behind the rolling rack where she had changed earlier, and Louise quickly threw it back on over her clothes. As she fell deeper into the abyss, she found herself looking directly up into the unmistakable violet eyes of Dame Elizabeth Taylor sparkling at her, laughing, and then before she could so much as ask for an autograph she was sucked back down once again into the vortex of blackness.
Louise opened her eyes just as Brooke burst into the store. “Lou, I made it! Why haven’t you been responding to my texts? I bet you didn’t even miss me! Wait, where are you?”
“Over here,” Louise’s voice croaked, desperate for a glass of water. It turned out her best friend had made it after all.
“Ooh, I love that dress!” Brooke said, looking down at her.
Louise cracked a smile and rubbed her throbbing temples, so happy and relieved to be looking at her friend’s familiar face and not Cleopatra’s. “I was going to wear it to your dinner. What do you think?”
“It’s awesome, and I think Peter will definitely approve,” Brooke replied with a giggle. Louise felt her cheeks burning up.
“What did you do to your eyes?” Louise asked. Brooke’s pale blue eyes were lined in dark black liner that was eerily reminiscent of the era Louise had just returned from.
“Just experimenting with makeup. I saw it in a magazine. Do you think it’s too dramatic?” she asked.
“It’s nice. I can give you a few tips,” Louise said knowingly.
“You can?” Brooke asked, surprised since Louise wasn’t even allowed to wear makeup yet. Brooke turned toward Marla and Glenda, who were hovering nearby. “Do you have another of those in pink? Maybe I’ll get one, too. And why are you on the floor, Lou?” she asked, shifting her attention back to Louise, who was in fact still sitting in a pile of lavender silk. Helping Louise up from the dressing room floor and onto her shaky legs, Brooke gave her friend a questioning look. “You really shouldn’t do that. It’ll get wrinkled.”
“It’s one of a kind, dahling. That’s the beauty of vintage: You can’t just order it off a rack,” Marla interrupted, pouring Louise a glass of water from a blue ceramic pitcher. Just looking at that jug made Louise’s muscles ache—she was definitely glad to be back home, where the most that was required of her was to refill the Brita.
“The early bird gets the worm, as they say. Or the Yves Saint Laurent, as I say. Now, let’s find something fabulous for you to wear! These dungarees are so déclassé!” Marla and Glenda guided Brooke in her heather gray tank top and skinny jeans to the other side of the store as Louise, still in a daze, drank the cool water in two refreshing gulps. She changed out of the long pleated gown and back into her hot pink Chuck Taylors and blue paisley Laura Ashley sundress. It felt as if she were recovering from the worst jet lag ever. In a way, she supposed she was.
Louise glanced at her familiar reflection in the changing-room mirror. Unfortunately, the zit on her chin had come back to the twenty-first century with her. Ugh, apparently time travel was not good for the complexion. She also realized she was still wearing the pearl necklace from the wardrobe tent clasped around her neck. She fingered the large smooth orb and thought for a second about keeping it. It could probably pay for her college tuition. Actually, it could probably pay for the entire college. But, just as quickly, she decided against it. It felt wrong to have that in her private collection, besides the fact that it wasn’t really hers, and she did not want to end up in ancient times again.
“Excuse me, I found this… in a trunk,” she said as she took off the illicit ancient artifact and handed Glenda the necklace. Marla’s eyes gleamed with approval, and Louise knew that finally she had made the right decision.
“Thank you, sweet pea. We’ve been looking all over for that.” Glenda chuckled. “For quite a long time, in fact. Now, I think it’s best if you two head home. You don’t want your dear mother to be any more worried about you than she already is. Shall we wrap that gown up for you? It seemed to fit you rather well.”
With a noticeable sigh of relief, Brooke took off the floppy Kentucky Derby–style hat piled high with pink feathers and ribbon that she had been reluctantly dressed in.
“Yes, please.” Louise handed over the dress and tried not to laugh as the salesladies frantically ran around the shop looking for tissue paper and shopping bags in the oddest places. Somehow a customer making an actual purchase always seemed to catch them off guard.
“Oh, dear, how about we put it in this instead?” a frazzled Marla asked as she rolled the gown into a giant messy ball and shoved it into a large buttery vintage Birkin bag that was hanging on a nearby coat tree.
“Works for me!” Louise replied quickly as Brooke looked on wide-eyed. Even though Brooke wasn’t into used clothes, she wasn’t one to turn down a free Hermès bag, either. Even if it was from the seventies.
Bring bring briiiing! Louise was startled to hear the sound of an old-fashioned telephone ringing from the depths of the shop. It seemed odd that such a temporary store would have a landline.
“Oh, my, who on earth could that be?” Glenda looked at Marla with an alarmed expression.
“Are you expecting anyone, dahling?” Marla asked Louise, puzzled.
“And where did we put the phone?” Glenda scrambled in the direction of the incessant ringing, finally uncovering a black rotary phone hidden under a pile of dark brown mink stoles.
“Fashionista Vintage Sale, how may I direct your call?” Glenda asked, pausing, her cat green eyes growing wide with alarm. “She’s where?” Glenda trilled.
Marla rushed over to her and leaned her mousy head in close to the receiver so she could hear as well. The two anxious women shooed their only customers out of the store with a distracted wave without so much as saying good-bye.
After that unsettling exit, the girls silently walked home from the shop. Louise adjusted her newly acquired Birkin bag on her shoulder, feeling immensely relieved to be back in her old hometown with her best friend, who, not surprisingly, had left the sale empty-handed. Each adventure seemed to be getting progressively more dangerous, and this one was a particularly close call.
“Sorry for not answering your texts. I’m really glad you came. I know that vintage shopping is not exactly your favorite weekend activity,” Louise apologized, kicking a rock with the toe of her pink sneaker.
“I wouldn’t miss it for all the lacrosse games in the world,” Brooke joked. “Sorry for being so late.”
“So, how’s Kip?” Louise asked, realizing this was the first time she had actually initiated a conversation with Brooke about her new boyfriend. Maybe she hadn’t been that good of a friend herself. “Did they win?”
“Yes, it was such a good game!” Brooke started excitedly. “And he looks so cute in his lacrosse uniform. There’s this guy Nathan Levine on his team who lives in Eastport that you might like. Maybe we can all hang out together sometime.”
“That’s okay.” Louise smiled. She was happy for her friend but didn’t really have any desire for a boyfriend herself right now. The guys she had met recently—Benjamin Guggenheim, Louis XVI, Ptolemy—they just seemed to make life way too complicated.
“Right, you’re too busy deciding between Todd Berkowitz and my cousin Peter,” Brooke teased. Louise smiled, but stayed silent. The real reason was way too complicated to explain right now.
“And now that you have this all-consuming vintage obsession, at least I’ll have someone to hang out with,” Brooke said teasingly, although Louise could detect a hint of sadness in the way she said it. Maybe it wasn’t all a joke; maybe her best friend was just as scared of losing her. She had never thought about it that way before.
“Brooke, I am not ditching you for some old clothes,” Louise said, laughing and throwing her arms around her oldest ally. “You’re always my best friend. I mean, we’ve known each other forever. Our lives are, like, permanently linked together.” The girls hooked arms and continued walking toward home, both closer and further apart than they had ever been before.
When Louise finally walked in the front door of the Lamberts’ rambling Tudor-style home, she was surprised to find the house eerily empty. “Hello, anybody home? Mom? Dad?” she yelled out into the large, drafty foyer. Silence. This wasn’t the concerned, overbearing welcome she was expecting—apparently her parents weren’t so worried about her after all. She checked the time on her cell and realized that even though it felt as if she’d been gone for eons, it had really been only a few hours since she had taken off for the Fashionista Sale that morning. She ran upstairs, excited to dive into her research. She needed to know exactly what she had just been through.
When Louise reached into her soft leather Birkin bag to hang up her dress, a small coin fell out from between the folds of the fabric. She picked up what felt like a misshapen penny from her bedroom floor and discovered that it was actually a small bronze coin with the profile of a woman on it. On closer examination, she saw that it was in fact Cleopatra’s now-familiar profile—her long hook nose, thick neck, and pronounced chin, hair in a bun tied back with a band of ribbon, exactly like the woman Louise just met! She smiled, noticing that it was Cleopatra’s profile, not Ptolemy’s nor Arsinoe’s stamped on the currency. She had gotten her wish after all! It would be her good-luck charm, Louise decided. Just rubbing it between her two fingers gave her a poised and powerful feeling, as though some of Cleopatra’s confidence could transfer to her through the metal. Marla and Glenda must have slipped it into the bag when she wasn’t looking.
Louise reverently placed the Egyptian currency in her vanity drawer along with the diamond-tipped hairpin from Versailles and the newspaper photograph from the Titanic. Like Irene Sharaff, she was starting her own little collection of keepsakes, a way for her to always remember her past adventures.
Louise opened her laptop and eagerly dove into her research on Cleopatra. She wished she could get as excited about her homework assignments at school, but sometimes it was har
d to see how the Pythagorean theorem related to her real life. These historical events felt as if they were her real life. After a few basic Internet searches, she was taken aback to find that this particular investigation wasn’t quite as easy as she had anticipated. When she had looked up the Titanic and the French Revolution, there had been a ton of material online for her to sort through: scanned original documents, articles, photographs, and newspaper interviews with firsthand accounts. But Louise quickly discovered that very little from Cleopatra’s time had survived, and absolutely nothing written by the Egyptian queen’s own hand. Louise thought back to the scroll of poisons that Cleopatra was compiling and got chills thinking that no one but her would ever know about that. In fact, even the streets of ancient Alexandria that Louise had just walked down no longer existed. The whole city was apparently wiped out because of constant military battles and natural disasters.
ALEXANDRIA WAS BOTH THE CULTURAL AND INTELLECTUAL CAPITAL OF THE ANCIENT WORLD, WHERE PHILOSOPHERS, ASTRONOMERS, AND DOCTORS WOULD COME TOGETHER AT THE ROYAL LIBRARY TO SHARE IDEAS, AND MANY OF THE GREAT PHILOSOPHIES AND THEOREMS WERE HATCHED THERE. THE GRAND LIBRARY INADVERTENTLY BURNED TO THE GROUND WHEN JULIUS CAESAR SET A FLEET OF SHIPS IN THE HARBOR ON FIRE AND THE UNCONTROLLABLE FLAMES SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE CITY. WITH IT, THOUSANDS OF IRREPLACEABLE SCROLLS AND TEXTS WERE DESTROYED.
AFTER CLEOPATRA’S DEFEAT BY THE ROMAN LEADER OCTAVIAN IN 30 BC, HER CONQUEROR ORDERED EVERYTHING OF HERS TO BE DESTROYED, INCLUDING ALL HER DETAILED JOURNALS. AS A RESULT, EVERYTHING WRITTEN ABOUT THE MOST FAMOUS QUEEN OF THE ANCIENT WORLD WAS PUT DOWN ON PAPER MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED YEARS AFTER HER DEATH, MOST NOTABLY BY THE GREEK HISTORIAN PLUTARCH:
The Time-Traveling Fashionista and Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile Page 11