Cinderella gets another kick at the can

The yellow taxicab screeched to a halt. Cindy handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and jumped out. Wow! New York!  She searched for her fairy godmother’s location on the address board.  The elevator took her to the fortieth floor. Goldie Maxi-Mum, Romance Counsellor in large gold letters. This must be the place!   

The receptionist greeted her with a red lipstick smile and ushered her into the office. Was that really her old benefactor behind the desk? Gone was the white gauzy gown, the rhinestone tiara and the flowing golden hair. Instead, a well-coiffed brunette in a tailored black suit rose and wrapped Cindy in a warm embrace.

“Dear girl, it has been so long. I got your email. So it didn’t work out?”

“Fairy godmother! I hardly recognised you! I always thought of you as being the traditional type. The real McCoy.”

“Cindy, please call me Goldie. I have moved on. This is the twenty-first century and I have discovered Prada, the only way to dress for success. Now how can I help you?”

“I was devastated to find Beauregard’s single-shoe collection in his dresser’s secret drawer.  Souvenirs from his many affairs.”

Golda keyed in Beauregard:  his file came up.  “Yes, Cindy, he has an incurable foot fetish. You are going to have to go independent. Seek a career. It‘s your best choice.”

“I had hoped to find a new partner. I thought that you could help me. You got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Cindy, I only did my part. You were a willing participant. A naive young girl who believed that the Prince would bring you everlasting joy. Fortunately, the myth lives on. And you can turn it to your advantage!"

“I am flat broke. Beauregard squandered his money on his lady loves.”

“Cindy, the experience made you wiser. I see possibilities in you; it just so happens that I need an executive assistant. Now first, you will need a complete makeover. You have let yourself go. I am shocked with your appearance.”

“I fell into a depression when I discovered the awful truth.”

“We are going to change all that.  I am willing to finance your makeover and provide you with a suitable wardrobe. Then we will take it from there.”

“I knew that I could count on you.  They didn’t call you “fairy godmother” for nothing.”

“Please, my dear, Goldie is the name. Take a look at these files. All these women are searching for true romance.”

“Amazing!  I mean like thousands of them!”

“Yes, Cindy, the magical belief in Prince Charming never goes out of style. Clients can connect with us via Facebook, Twitter or through our website.  Hey girl, have you caught my midnight special on Fox?  Technology makes it easy. No need to wander around in the dark looking for a rotting pumpkin to transform into a glass coach. Glass slippers are so passé. A click of the mouse has taken on a different meaning.  Not the real live ones, often so reluctant to be coachmen. Dear Cinderella, the times, they are a-changin’. Glad to have you on our team. This new partnership calls for martinis—nothing but Grey Goose will do.”

Noblesse oblige

Bea Nevis was excited when she arrived at school on that bright sunny morning. Her mother was giving a tea party for Lord Belmore. He was the fifth earl to hold the title since it had been created in the eighteenth century. Bea’s mum was a special favourite of his because he was partial to redheads. He had long served on the board of the Girl’s Collegiate school. Bea had three invitations for her very best friends Jayne, Catherine and Peggy. All four girls had just turned fourteen.
At recess, the friends gathered together under the old oak tree and Bea passed out the invitations. She had expected cries of delight but all she got were looks of shock before her friends collapsed into helpless laughter.
 Jayne was incredulous as she said, “I don’t believe that your mum can be throwing a tea party for that obese old man!” 
Peggy chimed in, “I would feel like an idiot. I hear that he expects schoolgirls to sit on his lap and that he is into a bit of snuggling. Yuck!” 
Catherine raised her eyebrows as she remarked, “Bea, your mum has to realise that this is a different generation. We are no longer prepared to be lap dogs for the local aristocrat. It is indecent!"
 Bea frowned and shook her finger at her friends, as she launched into her speech. Bea’s best subject was history and she had all the facts at her fingertips: 
“Okay, he was born in Australia where his dad was governor of New South Wales. He went to Winchester College in England. For your information, that was Winston Churchill’s school. He is a graduate of Oxford, was a barrister in London and in Ireland he has served as High Sherriff in two counties. Also, was a captain in the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers. How about that? And he lives at Castle Coole!”
The girls shrugged their shoulders and chorused, “So what?" 
Bea stamped her foot and continued to press her case; by now, her face was flushed and her eyes were full of tears.
In shrill tones, she cried out,” Don’t you know Castle Coole is an eighteenth-century mansion? There is even a special bedroom where King George the Sixth slept.” 
Catherine remarked,”Yeah, I have heard that  his lordship lives there with his dotty old maid sisters and that he is not on speaking terms with any of them.” 
Bea cried out in exasperation,”You girls have no respect for a true gentleman who has done so much for the people of Ireland. Haven’t you ever heard of noblesse oblige?”
Jayne  retorted,”Sure have. The term means that the nobleman cares for the community. This doesn’t give him the right to fondle nubile schoolgirls.”
 Peggy got the last word as she said, ‘I hear that he can wolf down a whole platter of sandwiches and can polish off an entire fruit cake while he does his bouncy-bounce. Sorry, Bea, tell your mum that we won’t be in attendance.”
 The girls walked away, laughing loudly, as Bea retrieved the invitations from where they lay on the grass. She muttered to herself, “Mum will be furious. I know just what she will say. Something like, “this country is going to the dogs. What’s the matter with schoolgirls who have no respect for the traditions of the past?”

Come Dine with Me

            Amanda checked the meat thermometer. The lamb was almost done. Humming softly, she centered the vase of spring flowers on the coffee table.  Her aunts were coming for dinner, eager to see her renovations. She inherited the gardener’s old cottage, along with a small sum of money, from Uncle Roger. He brought her up after her parents died in a car accident.   Aunts Sarah and Bessie had never married and also made their home with their brother.  Amanda had known nothing but love in the big Victorian mansion.  After her marriage broke up, she came back to help nurse her uncle through his final illness. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists for her inheritance had not met with her expectations.

The door bell rang and she ran to greet her aunts. She ushered them in with cries of delight:
 “Dearest dearest aunties, so happy to see you. Come in and make yourselves comfortable.  Try the loveseat. Had it re-upholstered? Like my decor?  Still a lot to be done. It takes money!”
 Sarah and Bessie sat down and Amanda marvelled afresh on how different they were in appearance. Sarah, the elder sister, had an angular build and a pale complexion. Always composed, she now sat with her ankles neatly crossed. Bessie had a short rotund figure and a cheerful face with rosy cheeks. She smiled with ease, her brown eyes sparkling. It was typical of Bessie to get the conversational ball rolling:

“Mandy, I love the way you kept the country look with the flowered upholstery and I see that you did Roger’s chair over in green suede. That old brown leather armchair once was our father’s favourite chair.”  Her eyes brimmed with tears.
 “Auntie Bessie, please no tears. Uncle Roger wouldn’t want it. Spring is here. A time for renewal. I cooked lamb and new potatoes, garden peas. I made fresh mint sauce. Our favourite springtime dinner. Right?”
 Sarah nodded thoughtfully and spoke quietly:
 “Amanda, do you miss your old home? You lived there, on and off, since you were five. Your bedroom is filled with your girlhood treasures. Even your first evening gown and the mink wrap that Roger gave you. Don’t you want them in your new house?”
 “No. no, Auntie Sarah, leave them be. They belong where they are.”
 Bessie chimed in:
 “My love, soon enough the house will be yours, along with a sizable sum of money. Our brother provided well for us, may God rest his soul. But our days are numbered.”
 “Please, please, Auntie, don’t speak of sad things. Only recently, I dried my eyes from weeping for my uncle. I cannot bear the thought of more losses.”
 “Dear girl, I didn’t mean to...” Bessie stammered.
 Sarah raised her hand as she softly said:
“No more grief. Let’s talk of something cheerful.”
 Amanda cried out as she ran to the antique buffet:
 “Aunties, look over here.  Mother’s crystal glasses and a fine sauterne in the decanter!”
 Sarah and Bessie smacked their lips for they loved nothing more than a good white wine. As Amanda approached them, with two brimming glasses, she asked herself:                                                       “Which one will I poison first?”

           

 

 

It takes a dog to know a tree

She and I do the morning walk. I do my business--you know what I mean. We are pleased to get that stuff  done and now I can sit under the red maple tree in front of the house. I am not much for the back yard. So dull, no people, no doggie pals. Nothing to hold one's interest. I spend all summer under my tree, watching the world go by.
On this summer morning, I hear scuffling on the roof. I look up and see a fat smug black squirrel with bright eyes and an impressive tail. He leaps over onto my tree and chatters down at me. I ignore him. When it comes to squirrels, I give up. I call this maturity. In the past  I would chase squirrels. But they run away. I guess that they don't want my friendship.
The tree is my friend. She also likes the tree and sits in a chair reading, all the summer long.Neighbours pass by and discuss the history of the tree. It replaces a birch tree that succumbs to an ice storm many years ago. At first, she didn't take to the red maple. It is a newcomer, but when it is small, she can grow flowers that love the sunshine. As it grows, it provides shade so she has to rethink her gardening. This summer, things work out. Geraniums turn black but revive as fall approaches. Brilliant reds and pinks. In fact, spectacular. She is happy about that. Especially as they make a great background for moi. I am black and white- -what a photograph. One for the album!
The tree starts to shed leaves. Soon I will be an indoor dog with no outside company. I will miss the man who calls me Tiger and asks me if I am protecting the property. He is joking. I weigh thirteen pounds. But I wag my tail anyway. I do love humans like the mailman who thanks me for not biting him. I will miss the conversations. One lady has a white dog called Maggie. An indoor dog. If one leaf lands on her, her mistress flicks it off. Although the lady is interesting. She is into American politics and is convinced that Obama will be a one-term president. She gets worked up like you wouldn't believe. Humans and their problems.
I am content under my tree. I have a pal next door, one of my breed.We tussle a bit. Get our leads tangled. She moans that soon she will be raking leaves. Where will I be without my tree? I am not much for TV or getting salt on my paws. Too much of that when the snow falls. The tree will stand dark and bare, its icy branches tapping on the bedroom window. I'll look wistfuly up at the tree and long for another glorious summer.

Emma's Headache

Emma slammed down her copy of Wuthering Heights and raised her hand.

“Yes, Emma?” Miss Walmsley turned from the blackboard, chalk in hand.

“Teacher, may I be excused? I have a splitting headache.” The English teacher raised her eyebrows. This wasn’t like Emma. She was one of her better students. The poor girl must be ill.

“Emma, go down to the nurse’s office. Maybe she can give you something.” Emma gathered her belongings and wandered down the hall.

“Hi. Can I go home? I have an awful headache. Miss Walmsley sent me down.”

“Emma, go home and rest. Maybe Mom should take you to the doctor.”

Emma let herself in the front door and made for the kitchen. Her parents were both at work. She grabbed a bag of chips and opened the frig. Then she hit the butterscotch ice cream, spooned it into a bowl and topped it with a banana. She threw the whole thing into a plastic bowl and climbed upon her bedroom duvet. Shivering, she pulled the duvet over her. She ate her snack and got chip crumbs all over the duvet. She brushed them onto the floor, along with the banana skin. She lay down and closed her eyes. Maybe, if she lay very still, the headache would go away.

But when Emma closed her eyes, all she could see was Jeff and Lori kissing in the school library. She had caught them there this morning. Jeff and she had been close for at least a week. He had kissed her under the shade of a chestnut tree that was in full bloom. She was thrilled by his kiss—her first real kiss. But her heart had turned to stone when she saw him with Lori. At the memory, her tears welled up and her nose started to run. She wiped it with the edge of the pillow case.

She heard the sound of a key in the front door. Emma staggered out of bed and went out into the hall. Mom stood at the bottom of the stairs with a concerned look on her face.

“Whatever is wrong? You look terrible!” Mom ran upstairs and put her arms around her distraught daughter. Emma laid her head on Mom’s shoulder and sobbed her heart out.
“It’s Jeff, Mom. He has left me for another woman.”

Mom rubbed Emma’s back. “Dry your eyes, darling. I am going to go and turn the Jacuzzi on. You can relax while I cook dinner. We have butterscotch ice cream for dessert. You love that. Maybe we should do a girls’ night out? We could take in a movie, just the two of us.”

Emma sat next to her Mom in the darkened theatre. She loved the movie, about a female vampire that made short work of her unfaithful boyfriend. Emma found herself seeing Jeff’s tortured face replacing that of the male actor. The fact that she watched Jeff expire, even if only in her imagination, cheered her up no end. With a sigh of relief, she realised that her headache was gone.

aspects of witchcraft

hallow e’en

whispery wind

full harvest moon

candle-lit

carved pumpkins

small witches

wee clowns

winged fairies

pass down the street

vigilant parents

check the candies

are they wrapped

old woman

with candied apples

must be fifty on that tray

she smiles in welcome

but is her smile suspicious

one tooth is missing

drab black dress

straggly hair

dry fluttering nervous hands

hand out apples

momma wags her finger

move along

maybe razor blades

batman and cinderella

crestfallen faces

old lady shudders

mutters

what a witch

that mother is

likely sucks up bad media

old lady shouts

“candied apples, home- made

come and get ‘em.”

Points of View

The Life of the Party

        

         The bride of two months loved the snowstorm.  She had arrived to a grey Canadian November. But New Year’s Eve would fulfill her dreams; as she danced to the band in her blue gown, outside the world was turning white, white, and white as the gardenias that she wore on her wrist and in her hair.

         She was stunned by the buffet. Rationing I was still in effect in Britain so the array of roast turkey, whole salmon. Baked ham, served with assorted salads and followed by sherry trifle, was mind-boggling. She also was sampling champagne for the first time so all in all, her delighted giddiness knew no bounds.

         She was impervious to the problems of guests who had left young children in the care of teen-age baby sitters and were dismayed when they stepped out into a blinding blizzard. She staggered through deep snow to get to the narrow single bed where she and her husband spent the night.  Being more than a little tipsy, she fell down a couple of times, giggling madly. Her dress was a sodden mess.

         By morning, the dress has had a good night’s sleep and looked as good as new. She stuck the gardenias back in her hair and on her wrist. A snowy return to the Mess to breakfast on orange juice, scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and coffee. The chef served breakfast. Poor man—he looked weary with those dark shadows under his eyes.  But he winked at her and gave her a broad smile. He made the cake for her wedding eight weeks before. He came out of the kitchen to wish the young couple good luck.

         Somebody put on the record player and everybody danced. They sang — like it was hilarious.  Some kind friends drove the newly -weds home. The coal furnace had gone out. She climbed into bed and piled on every blanket and coat that she could find.  Finally, the furnace got going and soon the house was warm and cozy. What a fun New Year! Simply hilarious.

The Chef’s Burden

         Don’t get me wrong. I love my job for I am le chef extraordinaire from la Belle Provence. So I get the job at Camp Borden. It is Ontario and they like plain fare, no lapin or tortiere. But one goes where the job is.  That New Year’s, I prepare the buffet.

         It is 2 am before the staff wash and dry and put away the dishes. At last, the kitchen is tidy and I hang up my apron and take off my chef’s hat. The storm outside is bad. I call Anne-Marie, my wife:

          “Happy New Year, cherie.  Wild out there. Home as soon as I can.  Embrace les enfants for me.”

         Guests were quartered here and there on the base.  Myself and the staff, we sleep in the Officer’s Mess.  Lotta sofas -we cover ourselves with our coats.  Not good but we manage.

 I was awakened by Flying-Officer Jones. Messing officer; I take my orders from him.

         “Hi, Joe.  Looks like you are still on duty. There are a bunch of bods who need to be fed. Do the best you can, chum.  And by the way, Happy New Year.”

         We drag ourselves back to the kitchen. Soon, we have a crowd of hungry people in the dining hall. It seem a festive occasion.  Lots of laughter.  Maybe for them but not for me. The young bride in her pretty blue gown is laughing a lot. I think that, on her wedding day, she seem shy but bolder now. These people get happy as the day progress—will they never stop eating and drinking?

         It is past six in the evening when I make it home.  Anne-Marie makes special Quebecois dishes—I never cook at home.  I stagger up the driveway, open the door and see my happy family.

         Anne-Marie urges me towards the table.  “Non, non!  I see you tomorrow.”

         As I drift off to sleep, I think: “Mon Dieu, the worse New Year’s of my life.”