Clue #1: Calla’s snow white skin; A dead give away; no pun intended.
Clue #2: Calla’s red velvet bow. They’re probably a dime a dozen, but still.
Clue #3: That despicable Huntsman showing up all the time. A coincidence? Not!
Clue #4: Those damn dwarfs. No wonder, they worked for The King.
Clue #5: That unforgettable night when The Prince, drunk out of his mind, called me Branch. Now, I know what he was trying to say-- Blanche, French for white. Damn it! I wish my French didn’t suck.
Clue #6: The cottage-y feel of the Prince’s castle. Okay, it wasn’t giveaway, but still a clue.
Clue #7: The unfinished portrait. I should have recognized the outline of Snow White’s signature cloak and bow.
Clue #8: Marcella’s obsessive collection of old fairy-tale tabloids; they must be filled with Snow White gossip. Of course, she’d want to know everything about The Prince’s #1 wife. With the exception of me, what #2 wife wouldn’t?
Clue #9: One of the most obvious clues of all. No RSVP to the ball from Snow White. Dead people don’t do balls.
Clue #10: My stupid-ass looking glass. No wonder, my “magic” mirror didn’t mention Snow White’s name in the dumpster. Duh! She was history!
And, of course, only her gorgeous little daughter Calla Rose could take her place. How could I be so stupid? So clueless! So totally clueless! If only in the dumpster, for that one time only, my mirror had been magic. It could have said something, and I wouldn’t be in this horrible, horrible mess.
Questions pummel me like rocks, each one coming harder at me than the one before. What am I going to do? How can I stay possibly stay here? What am I going to tell The Prince? And Calla? Oh, by the way, sweet girl, I forgot to tell you that I despised your mother and tried to kill her. Not once. But three times. Actually, four times if you count The Huntsman. Oh and do you want to hear something else? I kissed your Papa today! And guess what! I liked it!
Who am I kidding? I more than liked it! It wasn’t me who pulled away! Oh God, why did I have to run into The Prince this morning? Why did Shrink make me work at this castle? Why did I have to do rehab at Faraway? The Huntsman should have let me rot in that dungeon or done me in when he had the chance. None of this would have ever happened. None of it! This wasn’t meant to be!
I’m an emotional wreck. I desperately need to talk to someone. Someone who can help me navigate my way through this miserable maze of confusion, guilt, and shame. “Oh, Gallant, I’ve got a little confession to make…” No, NOT The Prince! I need someone like Shrink who could listen with her “third ear” and offer me advice.
What’s the point of dreaming? It’s futile. There’s no one I can talk to. No one. I’ve got to get my mind off what’s happened. “Hard work makes strong minds,” the Badass Fairies preached at Faraway. I compulsively start straightening and polishing everything in sight. When I glance down at the polished surfaces, I see my reflection. My evil self! Aagh! I try a couple of bars of “lalalala.” That’ll cheer me up. Forget it. I know. I’ll try meditating. Perhaps, if I can silence my mind, I can…
“JAAAANE!” My meditation is shattered by Marcella’s shrill scream. Still sitting cross-legged on the floor, I pop open my eyes and find her looming above me.
“Where’s my ball gown?” she snaps. “And what are you doing in that ridiculous position?”
Oh no! I’ve totally forgotten about Marcella’s gown. I’ve got to get to The Trove before it closes and pick it up from Emperor Armando.
The Trove! A glimmer of hope flashes before me. Yes! I’ll talk to Winnie and Elz. They’ll know what to do.
CHAPTER 32
“This is awful!” says Elz.
“It could be worse,” says Winnie.
“How could it be worse?” I gasp. I’ve just relayed my recent, life-shattering events at an emergency meeting with my two best friends at Sparkles. A plate full of chocolate cupcakes lingers on the table. No one has taken a bite.
Thumbing her lips, Winnie ponders my question. Finally, she says, “You’re right. This is bad. Very bad!”
Let’s face it. My life is a disaster. A living nightmare beyond all nightmares. “What should I do?” I plead to my friends.
Elz thinks I should tell Gallant the truth. The truth is always better than not telling the truth. I remind her of the time she confronted her mother with her true feelings and sent her to her grave. Tears well up behind Elz’s spectacles.
“How could you say that!” yells Winnie. “Especially after what happened last week with Sasperilla.”
Yes, the fire was headline news. Elz bawled her eyes out over her sister’s heinous crime. I hate myself for making the cruel comment about her mother. I apologize. I’m not in my right mind.
Truthfully, I’d be better off dead. I should stick my head in the hearth or jump into the lake with a boulder strapped onto my body. Wait! It’s simple. I can whip up an evil potion--I’m sure I can rustle up the right ingredients--and chug it. I’ll fall to the ground and die instantly. People will say I died by my own hand. She got what she deserved. That’s it…
“I’m going to kill myself!”
“SHUT UP!” shout Winnie and Elz in unison. I’ve never seen them so angry with me.
“You’re being irrational,” says Winnie. “There has to be a reason why this is all happening.”
I adore Winnie, but I’ve had it with her “everything’s meant to be” attitude. Shrink had no clue what she was doing when she placed me in the Prince’s household. There’s only one reason this is happening: I’m evil! I’m being punished for all the terrible things I’ve done.
“Come on, Jane. Look on the bright side,” she continues.
And enough with this bright side crap. For once, can she not say that? There is no bright side. I want to explode! Self-destruct!
“Winnie has a point,” chimes in Elz. “He kissed you.”
Oh God, the kiss! That unforgettable kiss. A fire resurges inside my body.
“What was it like?” asks Elz, with wide-eyed curiosity.
My heart pounds madly. The truth is, I’ve relived it all day. His mouth parting my mouth, my breath warmed by his, our bodies one.
“I can’t explain it.” The magical kiss that saved Snow White has awoken every fiber of my being. Yet, I’m at a loss for words.
“Why do you think he kissed you?” asks Winnie.
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
“I’ll tell you why,” says Winnie. “Because he’s in love with you.”
Her words reverberate in my head. The Prince…in love with me?
“And you, girlfriend, are in love with him.”
Me…with him? Why does Winnie always have to be right? Oh my God! I am! I’m in love!
I burst into tears. Unstoppable, scalding tears.
“What should I do?” I splutter. “He’s marrying Marcella!”
“Don’t let him go,” says Elz. “Your prince comes along only once in a lifetime.”
How does she know? Hook doesn’t count.
“Elz is right,” says Winnie, the relationship guru. “Don’t let him go.”
Don’t let him go. The words whirl around in my head and cloud my thoughts. Only one thing is clear. If Gallant were mine, I could never live with myself knowing what I did to Snow White. Never. A greater force has conquered my desire. My conscience.
Remembering Marcella’s gown, I leap up from the table without saying good-bye to my friends. Or thanking them for their advice. This time, girlfriends and chocolate did not have magical powers.
With tears storming down my face, I stagger about the mall, unsure if I’ll make it to The Ballgown Emporium. I hate Marcella but hate myself more. So much more.
***
Armando’s Ballgown Emporium is pure mayhem. It’s packed with last minute shoppers, buying gowns for the ball. As I stumble into the store, I bump smack into The Queen of Hearts. Folded over her blubbery arm is an extravagant heart-print gown.
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Trying to stay calm, I hastily curtsey before her. I keep my head bowed, hoping she won’t notice my tear-soaked face. She doesn’t.
“My dear, are you here to pick up your gown for the ball too?”
She actually thinks I’m going to the ball? Me? The woman whose head she wanted for the attempted murder of her late daughter-in-law?
My lips quiver. “Um, I’m actually here to pick up Marcella’s gown.”
“I understand she and Gallant are making a very important announcement tonight.”
I fight back tears. Of course. Their engagement before the entire kingdom.
“Ta-ta,” says The Queen with a dainty little wave. “See you at the ball.”
***
Aided by a swarm of sprightly pixies, Armando is crazy busy with last minute alterations. He has a tape measure around his neck; a pair of shiny scissors in one hand and, in the other, a felt cushion filled with pins and colorfully threaded needles. Oh God! Why does the pincushion have to be a big red apple with bright green leaves? And remind me of Snow White?
As I’m verging on another onslaught of tears, The Emperor spots me. He sashays up to me, planting his signature kiss on both cheeks.
“Dahling, what’s wrong?” he asks. “You look like you’ve lost the love of your life.”
I have lost the love of my life. How did he know that? I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrored walls. With my swollen red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, I look beyond terrible. This is all too much for me.
“I’m here to pick up Marcella’s gown,” I say feebly, averting his question
“I just finished it!” He orders his pixie assistants to retrieve it.
With a thumbs up, the tiny fairies zip off. In seconds, they’re back with the red satin gown. It takes more than a dozen of them to hold up the twenty-foot train, their wings drooping from the sheer weight of it. The Emperor relieves them of their burden.
“Isn’t it to die for!” he gushes.
Totally. It’s a work of art! Marcella will indeed be the belle of the ball. And how fabulous she’ll look on Gallant’s arm. Tears flood my eyes yet again.
The Emperor carefully places the gown inside a long, protective muslin bag and folds it over my arm. It’s almost as heavy as my heart.
“Dahling, I must go.” He gives me a big hug. “I’ll see you later.”
Later? He must mean when Marcella shows up tomorrow to order her custom wedding gown. My blood churns.
“And dahling, please don’t cry. It’s so bad for your complexion,” he shouts out as he rushes off to help a princess in distress.
Dragging the gown, I slump out of the store. A flurry of pixies surrounds me.
“Lalalala!” they sing in perfect harmony. “You’ve just won our ‘Be Our Guest’ sweepstakes.” One of them hands me a flyer.
HOORAY FOR YOU!
Be our complimentary guest at The Enchanted Spa.
Offer expires Sept. 30th
September 30th? That’s today! My chest tightens. What am I going to do? The ball is just hours away. I’ve got to get back to the castle with Marcella’s gown. And get her ready.
I read on about the spa’s services…a relaxing aromatherapy massage with magic hot crystals…a soothing mineral bath in their mermaid lagoon…a deep cleansing facial. And that’s just for starters.
God, this sounds divine. And it’s all mine--FREE! Temptation gnaws away at me. Maybe, I can squeeze in a visit--it’s exactly what I need to clear my head and figure out my complicated mess of a life. A little voice in my head says, “Go for it!” “GO FOR IT!” it says again, this time louder. Yes! Hooray for me! My decision is made.
***
The Enchanted Spa is all that I remember it to be and more. A luxurious, tranquil wonderland with creamy marble walls and floors, gurgling fountains, and lush lounging areas. Scented candles are everywhere.
Several gorgeous princesses, holding muslin bags like mine, are reading beauty magazines on a plush velvet divan. One of them looks up at me and makes a horrified face. Do I look that bad?
I recognize the front desk receptionist--that peachy-skinned nymph from my previous brief visit. Her head is buried in her reservation book. “What time is your appointment?” she asks me, without lifting her head.
“I don’t have one.”
“Sorry. We’re all booked up today because of the ball.”
I slap the flyer down in front of her. She takes one look at me and shakes her head. “I’ll squeeze you in.”
I must look that bad. My fairest days are definitely over.
“Beauty is our duty,” says Miss Peaches and Cream. She tosses me a white fluffy robe and whisks me off to my first treatment…a deep cleansing facial.
Inside a small, sterile room, an attractive woman, who calls herself Fiora, plunks me down on a pink leather reclining chair. She applies a hot towel to my face. It feels good.
“Beauty is pain,” she says. Removing the towel, she squeezes my pores.
OWW! She wasn’t kidding.
“Your complexion is beautiful,” she says, still poking my face. “I know so many princesses who would kill to have skin like yours.”
The irony of her words tenses up every muscle in my body. I think of Snow White again. Of how I so envied her fair skin. Her incomparable beauty. I wanted her dead, out of my way. My body quakes. How can I ever face Gallant again?
I can’t get Snow White out of my head. That is, until Fiora transforms into an ogress right before my eyes. I almost fall off the chair from shock.
“Don’t freak. It happens every day at this time,” she says. “My husband loves me this way. He’s an ogre too.”
I don’t want to know more. Then I make a connection. That dumb-ass dungeon guard--more bad memories!--was an ogre. He told me his wife worked at a spa and got all the latest beauty magazines free. It had to be Fiora! This is too freaky. Why is this all happening?
Fiora slaps my face. “Very good for circulation.” Then she tells me my facial is over.
I can barely stand up. My face stings. And my body is a contorted bundle of nerves. Maybe coming here was a bad idea.
“You desperately need a massage,” says Fiora.
No kidding.
She escorts me to another similar room where Urma, a brawny woman with inky-blue spiked hair and a strand of coral beads around her neck, awaits me. She has eight strapping arms like an octopus. I guess the more the better for a killer massage.
She orders me to remove my robe and lie face down on a body-length, padded table. I take off everything except Shrink’s mirrored locket and Rump’s name bracelet. These gifts never leave me. Ever.
“Are you going to zee ball tonight?” Her heavily accented voice is deep and raspy.
“Yes,” I lie. I’m in no mood for conversation.
“It eez fundraiser for Faraway,” she says. “Very worthwhile cause. I was sea witch before rehab there.”
Octo-mama’s a Faraway grad? This is beyond weird.
“You, very stressed out.” She rubs some warm, soothing oil on my back. “I give you Urma’s enchanted deep tissue massage.”
With her eight powerful hands, she begins to knead my body like dough. Angst oozes out of me. I’m beginning to feel relaxed and wonderful. I only hope she doesn’t imagine her worst enemy and press too hard. Too late! I yelp as she pounds the base of my spine. Surprisingly, she releases a lot of tension.
Half way into the massage, she scatters hot crystals on my back. “Sea salt,” she says.
The crystals must be magic because all my problems miraculously melt away. I feel like a new person.
“I throw een aromatherapy for you.” She dabs some warm oil under my nose. “Take deep breath and relax.”
I inhale. The aroma of the oil rushes into my nostrils and jolts me upright. It’s a blend of lilies and roses. The essence of Snow White! My anxieties charge back into my body like an onslaught of flaming arrows.
Urma tells me I look faint; s
he says many of her clients get lightheaded after her deep tissue massages. “You need restorative mineral bath--hydrotherapy.”
Wrapping her eight strapping arms around me, she practically carries me to my next stop--a tropical lagoon. A dozen gorgeous twenty-something women are soaking in the hot, bubbly water--probably all rich, spoiled princesses wanting to be the fairest at the ball. One of them is a pretty redheaded mermaid who waves at Urma, then at me. I ignore her.
Holding onto Urma to steady myself, I glide into the bubbling bath. AAAHH! The warm, soothing water unlocks every muscle in my body. I feel wonderful again.
Closing my eyes, I let the therapeutic water wash away all my worries. At last, there’s no more Gallant, no more Marcella, and no more Snow White living in my head. I’m in a state of total nirvana.
A cheery voice snaps me out of my mindlessness.
“Hello,” says a spa fairy, carrying a gilt tray. “Can I offer you a refreshing apple?
A refreshing apple!? I almost vomit. The last thing I want to eat is an apple! Forget massage therapy, aromatherapy, or hydrotherapy. I need real therapy. I need Shrink! Help! Get me out of this place!
But I can’t leave. I’m a prisoner! Two portly one-eyed ogres yank me out of the water and drag me to the sauna. One of them pours water over the hot rocks. The other adds a drop of eucalyptus, a scent I recognize from Faraway’s Enchanted Forest. An invigorating steam fills the chamber.
Sitting on a cedar bench, I inhale deeply. On the exhale, I once again feel tension release from every part of my body. A woman, wearing a white towel, matching turban, and blue facial mask, sidles over to me. The steam clouds my vision, but I can tell she could stand to drop a few pounds. Or more.
Plopping down next to me, she says, “I bet you’re going to the ball tonight.”
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