Glass Slippers, Ever After, and Me

by Julie Wright

  Anders stayed through the remainder of the meal. Lillian had welcomed him to come along with us, but he had declined, claiming that he was tired from all the graveyard shifts he’d pulled. He kissed me goodbye and left. I was glad he’d be getting some sleep. He’d had several rough nights in a row, rough enough that sleep was desperately needed.

  “What if no one shows up to the launch tonight?” I asked Lillian later that day.

  She put her hands on my shoulders and said, “That’s not even a possibility. Too many other authors have shared this event with their followers. I have several dozen of my own fans who are committed to coming. And Toni has done her job in regards to creating an aura of approachable leader about you. Besides, you already have a fan base in all those reviewers who seem to think no good life advice had ever existed before you showed up on the scene. What I’m trying to say is that people will be there.”

  The pep talk worked, allowing me to stamp down my paranoia for a bit. As we stood in the boutique, trying on clothes that would be appropriate for the night, I passed by the gowns and ran a whisper-light hand over the various fabrics, listening to the swish of them as I made my way past. Tonight was not a ball-gown night, but it felt like it should be. I smiled at Lillian as she looked over the sorts of clothes that made more sense for me to wear to a launch party. What would she say if I told her I wanted a ball gown and a tiara? Toni would put her foot down so firmly on such an idea that she’d likely break through to the earth’s core. Lillian would go with it.

  I had told her that I wanted to wear a pantsuit for the night.

  But that had been what Toni wanted me to wear.

  “You know, Lillian, I think I want some new jeans.”

  Lillian turned to me with a knowing grin. “Being you for your launch is a great idea. Let’s get out of here then.”

  I ended up with an amazing pair of skinny jeans that featured a woven denim pattern that ran along the double set of pockets. “Pants with pockets that actually work!” I’d gushed to Lillian enough times she likely wanted to pull a pair of socks from the display and stuff them in my mouth to keep me quiet. But really, why did designers assume women didn’t need or want pockets?

  Finding a top had been more difficult. I imagined Kat’s voice in my head with every piece of clothing I picked up until finally I heard her say in my mind, “Do it!”

  It was cream colored and almost looked like a blousy pirate shirt. I tucked it into the jeans and rolled the pant legs up to just above my ankles so I could show off the ankle bracelet Kat had made me for my twenty-seventh birthday a few months prior. Over the shirt, I put on a black sleeveless jacket that hung down to my knees. I sighed at myself in the mirror. Toni probably would never have approved.

  I exited the dressing room to see what Lillian thought.

  “I love this outfit, with a caveat. Those flats make it too casual. You need some killer heels.”

  She picked me out a pair of black heels to match the black jacket. Before Toni, I’d never been able to walk in heels, but after much insistence on her part, I’d trained myself to not stumble like a toddler walking over rocky terrain. I was glad I’d learned to walk in heels without falling because Lillian was right: the shoes finished the outfit. “Classy, chic, and casual all at the same time,” she said.

  We arrived in front of the bookstore early enough that we should have been among the first ones arriving. But the store was already filling up.

  “And you thought no one would show up,” Lillian said as we entered the bookstore.

  “My mistake,” I whispered.

  “Are you here for The Cinderella Fiction signing?” an employee with a name tag that read Theo asked.

  “She is the signing,” Lillian answered. “This is Charlotte Kingsley.”

  As if Lillian had handed me off like a baton to another runner in an urgent race, Theo bustled me over to the small dais where Jen and Melissa were talking with several other store employees about the reading, the question-and-answer session, and the crowd flow for the signing.

  Jen hugged me when she saw me. “You look stunning! How was the day?”

  “Amazing. Thank you. Both of you. It was unexpected and generous and meant so much to me.”

  They were both pleased with my report and explained the itinerary for the night.

  “Lettie!” Kat wove through the crowd of people choosing seats for the reading part of the evening and nearly knocked me over.

  “You look great! I couldn’t have dressed you better myself!” She was wrong though. Her own clothing choices proved she knew her business. She wore a tangerine button-up that was blousy and casual while looking incredibly whimsical and vogue. She wore it over black jeggings that tucked into low-heeled black ankle boots with what looked like small silver button embellishments done in a circular pattern. The day bag slung over her shoulders with embellishments that matched the boots made me think they must be her own design.

  They were fantastic.

  Maybe I’d ask her to make me a set for Christmas.

  She circled me. “And those shoes. The next book you write could be a murder mystery. You could call it Stabbed by Stilettos.”

  “I call dibs on that title!” Lillian said.

  “Kat, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, L. M. Christie.”

  My sister’s mouth dropped open, and for the first time since I’d met my sister, she had no words.

  “Did that sound like I was name dropping? Because I totally was, but I kinda hoped it appeared like I wasn’t.”

  “It totally sounded like you were name dropping,” Lillian said. “I’d make a joke that I didn’t think we could be friends if you were just going to use me like that, but, since we’ve already stunned your sister, I don’t think she’d know I was kidding.”

  “I brought all your books!” Kat blurted out. “Lettie said you’d sign them for me.” Kat pointed at me as if I’d done something bad and she wanted to make sure I got the blame. Lillian laughed and said she’d be delighted. She followed Kat over to where Kat had procured a chair in the front. Just one chair with her box of books on it. No one occupied the chairs near hers. Not my mom. Not Edward. Not Anders.

  And then I saw him.

  Not Anders.

  But my father.

  And he wasn’t alone. Oddly, my mom stood behind him.

  “Daddy!” I yelled loud enough that many people stopped chatting in their little groups and turned to see who was screaming. Then they all turned to see where I was staring. I leapt from the dais and maneuvered toward him until I could let him wrap me up in one of his bear hugs. “I never thought you’d be able to make it!” I said into his leather jacket.

  “As if I’d miss my little storyteller’s first book signing!”

  Tears stung my eyes.

  Don’t cry! I scolded myself and hoped it would work. How stupid would it be for me to be bawling before the whole thing even began? “It’s just so far.”

  “It’s not too far when you consider I haven’t visited in a long time. We were due.” He looked around the store. “Even if our time is shared with a crowd of strangers.”

  “And Mom?” I only said it because her presence actually startled me more than his did. Kat had already said she wasn’t coming because she didn’t feel well. “What are you doing here?” I asked. She had an iron grip on Edward’s hand but an exuberant, borderline-manic smile on her face. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” she insisted, even though earlier that day, she’d told Kat she’d been willing to miss it for a headache.

  Whatever had happened that prompted her attendance, I was glad she was here, glad she’d be able to see this crowd and partake in the excitement. She would be able to see I hadn’t failed.

  My parents exchanged civil, if not exactly warm, greetings. My dad and Edward did better by behaving as they shook hands and asked aft
er each other’s lives. My whole family had come together to celebrate with me. Maybe it was the stress, or the nervousness, but seeing them all in the same room made the back of my throat burn and my eyes sting.

  But where was Anders? Why wasn’t he here? I checked my phone for any missed calls or messages, but nothing indicated he’d tried to contact me. Kat was still with Lillian, so I couldn’t shake her down for information.

  My hands and feet were numb, as if my circulatory system had decided those extremities didn’t actually need blood. My tongue felt fat in my mouth. How was I supposed to speak to all these people when my tongue had decided to hit a growth spurt in the last ten minutes?

  Melissa touched my elbow and smiled at me.

  It was time.

  Time for my book to debut into the world for real, with sales that would be counted. And sure, it had already released in England, but I hadn’t been a witness to that release. This was here, now, tangible, and taste-able.

  Fat tongue and numb feet aside, this was happening.

  I shot a desperate last glance around the crowd to look for Anders smiling at me from among all the people.

  There were friends. People from work. Nate and Ali were seated several rows back. Even Nicole, who hated me while working for Frankly Eyewear and hated me even more for quitting, was standing in the crowd behind the chairs. People from various writing conferences and critique groups beamed at me from where they’d managed to snag seats.

  The world had come to see this moment, to share it with me, but Anders had not.

  “It’s time,” Melissa said, prompting me again towards the dais. Melissa took the microphone and thanked everyone for coming. Applause. Cheering. Whistles.

  For me.

  Though my eyes were on Melissa, my ears were on the noise of celebration. Melissa gave a short introduction, sticking to the bio that Toni had placed online and that had made it to the inside cover of the book. Then Melissa stepped aside, and I had to step forward to take her place at the center of attention.

  I gave the crowd a shaky smile as I heard Toni’s voice chastising me, reminding me that I needed to be confident, to be someone people wanted to follow. I heard her saying that no one wanted to follow timid Charlotte Kingsley. They wanted to follow Char, the girl who has it all and can tell the world how to have it all as well.

  I cleared my throat and wrapped my trembling fingers around the microphone. “Hello! Thanks for coming tonight!”

  More applause, more cheering, but I heard only the static fuzz of the roaring blood in my veins shoving past my ears. I bent down and picked up a book out of the stack of boxes to my right and began turning the pages—past the publisher information and the dedication page to the page that marked chapter one. A survey of the room told me there was still no Anders, but even so, and even though Toni would have shrieked at me for being sentimental at a time when I needed to remain aloof and available, I turned back to the dedication page.

  “To my Asgard hero,” I read. “You are the prince, the frog, the knight, the dragon, the best friend . . . and I won’t call you the fairy godmother, since you’d only be insulted, but you do make it so I don’t need one. Thank you for all of it.”

  Toni had been against the dedication, but after I’d removed the name and changed it to Asgard hero, she’d decided that it added mystique to my situation. After all, the Asgard hero didn’t have to be a boyfriend; it could be a father or uncle or grandfather or brother. “Besides,” she’d told me, “no one reads the dedication anyway.”

  She was wrong. I had read the dedication, but the person it would matter to hadn’t been there to hear it. I swallowed my disappointment. What if he didn’t have a good reason? No. He’d have a good reason. Maybe he’d been kidnapped. Maybe he was being held at knifepoint while the kidnapper wrote a ransom note. Or maybe he was sick and passed out and was now in a coma in the hospital. Or maybe he was lying dead in the gutter somewhere after having been mugged and shot. I briefly considered that maybe he’d been called into work, but he wasn’t on call. Whatever his reasons, Anders wouldn’t have missed this night if it hadn’t been important. I shook off my concerns and my fears that something bad had happened to him and did what everyone expected me to do. Perform.

  The reading of the first chapter mesmerized the audience. People laughed. People nodded. People cheered. My words evoked real responses from the crowd. I ended my reading of the first chapter by calling out the last lines—the ones that had been repeated several times before in the chapter. “Because what do I not believe in?”

  “The Cinderella Fiction!” They all called back at the same time I read the words. I hadn’t expected them to say it with me, and their response startled me enough that I fell silent halfway through and let them finish.

  How many people were there? Several hundred at least. The store had become hot and humid with all those bodies pressed tightly together, in spite of it being a chilly night. All those people chanting my words.

  The signing met and exceeded all expectations. My father hovered near as if the line to get books signed was a reception line at a wedding. He talked to people still waiting, though he shut up and let them talk to me when it was their turn to get a book signed. His pride in my accomplishment shone around me and radiated through me.

  My mom gave no indication that she might have had a headache. She and Edward had ended up running into a group of friends who had come to the signing at the recommendation of others. Their friends hadn’t even put together that I might have been my mom’s Charlotte because of the last name difference.

  People had their picture taken with me as if I was some sort of celebrity. They also had pictures taken with Lillian. Several of her fans had been in the crowd. They made themselves obvious by the shirts they must have had privately made. One of the shirts said, “L. M. Christie I love you!” Several shirts had crying emojis on them and the words “Why did you kill Carmichael?” It made me wonder why Lillian ever posted publicly where she might be. The passion of her fans was slightly terrifying.

  My hand felt abused by all the personal notes of good will and best wishes written into the fronts of books over the night. My parents left when they realized the line didn’t seem to be shrinking and they would never get a chance to have a private moment with me. They promised to be in touch. Kat went with Mom and Edward. I wanted to ask if she knew what had happened to Anders, but the line demanded my attention, so I had to let her walk away.

  When it was over, and the last patron left with my book in a store bag, Jen, Melissa, and Lillian took me out for a late-night snack to allow me to regain some of the energy I’d spent in the night.

  “It’s hard to be ‘on’ at events,” Lillian said. “It takes more out of you than you can know. Make sure while you’re on tour and doing your speaking circuit to stay hydrated, eat often, and exercise appropriately. You need the physical exertion to help balance the mental and emotional exertion.”

  I felt like I should have brought a pen and paper to take notes with all the advice the three women had for me.

  While we finished our beignets, Melissa tilted her head to one side. “So if you don’t mind me asking, who is your Asgard hero? Was he there tonight? Jen and I made guesses on who he might be. These are mine.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a dozen pictures of various men.

  I laughed. “You stalked the audience? Wow. I’m torn between being impressed and being creeped out.”

  She flicked her hand to shoo away my comment. “Be impressed because some of these pictures were really hard to get without getting caught. So? Were any of them right?”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Ha! That means I win,” Jen said.

  Melissa narrowed her eyes. “You don’t win by default. You could be wrong too. You have to at least show Lettie.”

  I appreciated that none of these women called me
Char.

  Jen scooted her chair close to me so she could show me the pictures on her phone. Part of me had held out hope that maybe they had seen what I hadn’t. Maybe I’d just missed him in the crowd, but none of the pictures were of Anders. “Sorry, Jen,” I said.

  “Was he even there tonight?” Lillian asked, a small wrinkle above her brow. She’d met him. She knew he wasn’t the type of man to abandon me on the most important night of my life.

  Yet, he had done exactly that.

  “No. I guess he wasn’t.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “When the dance is done, and the gown and glitter are gone, what is left of you? Who are you when the clock strikes midnight?”

  —Charlotte Kingsley, The Cinderella Fiction

  (The “Reality Check” Chapter)

  When I was finally alone in my apartment, I paced. The evening had been wonderful and magical and lonely.

  Even with my dad, who hardly ever made his way to New England, even with my mom who’d never before worked to show me actual support in my endeavors, even with my sister and my friends and the crowd of supportive and excited strangers, I had never felt more alone.

  And the downstairs neighbor, who would be bothered by my pacing, was the reason for the pacing. I’d texted him three words: Where are you? but received no response. I called his phone, but it went to voice mail. I considered calling the police, but he was a grown man. A grown man not answering his phone didn’t constitute an emergency to anyone except me.

  What if something had happened to him?

  I stomped down the stairs and to his apartment door, where I thumped on the wood hard enough that Ms. Schofield opened her door as wide as her chain-lock would allow so she could glare at me. He didn’t answer. I tried the knob, but, unlike me, Anders always locked his door.

  I called the station. He wasn’t scheduled and wasn’t on call. He’d arranged for this night to be free months earlier, but I still made the call. “Hey, Jazzy,” I said as soon as Jasmine answered the phone. “By any chance, did Anders go into the station tonight?” I held my breath. This was the moment between me putting in a call to the police and me spray-painting unkind graffiti on his door.