Two Tickets to the Christmas Ball

by Donita K. Paul

  Zee thrust her fingers into her hair. The beautiful concoction of gauze, feathers, and lace that crowned her head poofed into the air and showered down in a confetti cascade over her shoulders and gown.

  “This is… this is… It’s insane!” Zee spun around and raced for the door, trailed by blue dust. Palm-sized bits of fabric floated away from the train of her dress. Her wings drooped. Obviously her crowning moment at the ball had already passed.

  “Is she going to be all right?” asked Sandy.

  “I think so. She’s probably mad. So much for the chicness of wearing an antique dress.” Simon put an arm around Sandy’s shoulders.

  “It’s magic,” said Sandy.

  “Magic?”

  “That was Cora’s dress, not hers. It was supposed to be on Cora, so it just fell off in bits and pieces. You shouldn’t put a magical dress on the wrong person.”

  Simon studied his sister’s solemn face. Sandy usually kept a level head and preferred factual explanations. She liked literal stories rather than make-believe. What was she thinking? Should he challenge this nonsense? No, he wanted his sister to have a good time.

  But she wouldn’t be totally happy. Cora was supposed to be with them. He knew what he needed to do.

  “I’m going to go get Cora. Do you want to go with me?”

  “Yes!”

  As she donned each layer of her costume, Cora’s excitement rose. A flexible hoop in the hem gave body to the satiny slip. As she twisted and twirled in her bedroom, the underskirt swayed and settled with a satisfying swish. Betty draped the swag of golden satin by hand, adjusting the height and flow of the material so that it accented Cora’s slim waist. The brocade bodice went on like a bolero jacket. Cora worked the multitude of tiny buttons into the fabric loops in front as she sat on a stool before her vanity. Bonnie styled her hair and secured the elaborate headdress.

  Through the entire procedure, the shop owners chattered about former balls and the music they preferred. Of the two, Betty had a more classical bent in her tastes. Bonnie favored the big band sound of World War II.

  “This gown will do well.” Bonnie patted Cora’s shoulder. “Whether you and Simon are dancing more sedate waltzes or shimmying to something with a little swing.”

  Bonnie’s words had produced an odd stiffness in Cora’s body, as if she’d been transformed into a waxen statue. Cora met her own eyes in the reflection of the mirror. She looked real enough, but she could well imagine this character, fashioned by the sisters’ hands, in a painting or a historical diorama, like in a museum.

  Except she didn’t belong in a display, at a ball, or in Simon’s arms. The last thought made her eyes widen, tears push at the back of her eyes, and a lump form in her throat.

  “No, no, none of that,” exclaimed Betty.

  “You’re a princess,” declared Bonnie.

  Cora snorted. “How do you come up with that?” Looking the part did not make her royalty.

  Betty looked into the mirror, her eyes meeting Cora’s. She spoke with solemnity. “We are children of God. We are also heirs—heirs of God and coheirs with Christ. And what would you call a child of a King?” She paused, cocked her head, and a twinkle sparkled in her eyes. She nodded. “A princess.”

  Cora didn’t return her smile. “I’m a child of two drunks.”

  “You were, indeed. But since then, you were reborn into a royal family. Do not deny what God has given you. No matter who your earthly family is or how they failed you, your heavenly Father will never deny you nor forsake you. You are what you are, and He made you just so.”

  Cora took in a long, deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Cautiously she pulled her gaze away from the friendly old woman and examined her own image. Yes, she did look like royalty. She allowed herself to smile. She did feel special, like someone’s cherished child, a princess.

  She gave a nod to the young woman in the mirror. “Let’s go.”

  18

  Simon held Sandy’s hand as they wove through the crowd.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Billy blocked their path. “It’s time for Miss Derrick’s photo.”

  Simon paused, irritated by the interruption. “I don’t remember signing up for a photograph.”

  “Yes sir.” Billy motioned toward a side hallway. “It generally takes ten minutes or less.”

  Simon said nothing.

  Billy leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The photo shoot is part of the ball package. There’s no extra charge.”

  Simon studied Sandy’s face. She looked as undecided as he felt. “Sandy?”

  Billy cleared his throat. “If Miss Derrick chooses not to have her picture taken now, her name will be moved to the end of the list, which means the next available time slot would be near midnight.”

  Sandy’s eyebrows went up.

  “Most probably, just a few minutes after.” Billy admitted. “Well, during a few of the past balls, the last picture was taken around one-thirty, but that’s not the norm.”

  “Sandy isn’t much of a night owl.” Simon put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. “We could make this little side trip for the photographer and then go get Cora.”

  Sandy nodded. “Mom and Aunt Mae would like a picture and maybe Granddad too.”

  Impatience nearly got the best of him, but Simon put on a happy face. “It will just be a few minutes’ delay.”

  They followed the young man down the hall to one of the last doors. Inside, they saw a room set up with photography backdrops. One section had an old-fashioned parlor ambiance. Another had a thick, plush, black cloth. A balustrade and painted night sky gave the illusion of an outside balcony. Another set looked much like snowy evergreen woods. Simon sniffed and noted a pine scent on the air as they passed. He glanced down and saw a stack of fresh-cut wood, then spotted a blazing fireplace that served as the last choice of backdrop.

  He wondered how a real fireplace had been set up in a hotel room.

  “Come in, come in,” instructed a small man, wearing black slacks, a black turtleneck, and black shoes. “I am C’Maine, an artist of film. You are Miss Derrick.” He frowned at Simon. “My notes say this is a single portrait. Would you like to be in the picture?”

  “No, this is Sandy’s night. I’m content to watch. Um, we are in a hurry.”

  “Yes, yes, the hurry.” C’Maine came forward and took Sandy’s hand, drawing her to the center of the room. “Sandy Derrick, I am charmed to meet you. Your dress is exquisite. May I suggest a shot with the plain background first? That helps me to test the lovely image you project in your costume.” He turned to Simon and pointed to a bench by the wall. “You may sit there.”

  “Don’t forget,” said Simon as he sat on his designated spot, “we have to leave soon. We’re picking up a friend.”

  “Of course. I understand the hurry.” C’Maine gave Simon a dismissive nod, then beamed at Sandy. “Your complexion is angelic. Pale with just the right blush of pink, like the petals of a glorious rose.”

  Simon rolled his eyes and rested his back against the wall. The man’s accent was sliding all over Europe. But Sandy was eating up the flattery.

  The photographer’s attention was solely on Sandy. “Please, come stand here. So.”

  He took a moment to pose Sandy and flick the folds of her dress into an attractive drape, then went to his camera and looked through the lens. “Something is not right.”

  After pulling his head back, he frowned, then looked again. “A shadow that should not be.” He strode to Sandy’s side and turned to study the bank of lights. “Aha! ’Tis simple. I must replace a bulb.” He clicked his heels and gave a quick bow to Sandy. “A minute, you must wait. I apologize. Please, sit with your brother. I do not want the flower to wilt in the blazing lights.” He shooed her off the set.

  Sandy plopped down next to Simon, her eyes wide and sparkling. “I’m the flower that will wilt in the lights, Simon. This is fun!”

  Simon deliberately smiled at her to mask his growing frustration.
“This is pretty fantastic, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, busy examining all the nooks and crannies of the crowded room.

  “Sandy, I’m going to step out and call Cora on my cell.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll be all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He patted her hand and headed for the hall.

  The door opened as he got there, and Billy jerked back as though startled to see him. “Where are you going?”

  Tension put an edge on Simon’s tone. “To make a phone call.”

  “But you can’t. It’s against policy.”

  “Making a phone call is against policy? What kind of policy is that?”

  “No sir. Excuse me. I meant it is against policy to leave a young female guest alone with one of our male employees.” He peeked around Simon’s solid form and waved at Sandy. “We like to protect young ladies from what might be an awkward situation. A chaperone, in the old-fashioned sense of the word, is needed.”

  C’Maine called out as he climbed down the stepladder. “The old light bulb is gone. The new beams upon us. Come, my young subject. Pose and we shall be done.”

  Sandy jumped up and returned to her position. C’Maine made a few adjustments to Sandy’s dress and the line of her elbow.

  “A masterpiece,” he muttered as he again gazed through his camera. A series of clicks, as he rolled the apparatus closer and then to each side, testified to a great number of images being collected.

  He gave a thumbs-up to Sandy. “You may relax. Please choose one other background. To complement your dress, I suggest, with my eye of an artist, the parlor or the balcony.”

  The man went to work rearranging his bank of cameras.

  Simon sighed as he stepped forward. He might as well help, or it would take forever to get this quick photo done. He tripped as his foot caught on a cable, but he recovered enough to avoid decking an expensive-looking camera on a tripod. He counted himself blessed until he heard C’Maine sharply utter some foreign phrase that did not bode well. Simon glanced up and saw that his clumsiness had dislodged several reflector panels, which were part of the elaborate lighting of the studio, from their moorings.

  “Bird!” exclaimed C’Maine.

  At the same time, Billy yelled, “Duck!”

  Heavy sheets of shiny material swooped down into the center of the room.

  Simon watched in horror as the panels leaned in. How could an electrical cable yank the moorings of the giant reflector sheets?

  Sandy screamed. They all covered their heads and crouched close to the floor. The giant reflectors swung back and forth. Slowly the speed and scope of the dangling menace lessened. Sandy straightened and searched for her brother. “Simon, are you all right? Mr. C’Maine?”

  Simon appeared from behind a screen. “I’m fine, Sandy.”

  “Alas!” said C’Maine as he dodged a gently swaying reflector. “The diffused lighting is kaput.”

  “Well, then.” Simon cleared his throat. “Perhaps Sandy and I should leave while you put them in their proper places. We’re obviously in the way.”

  “Not a problem,” said the cheerful photographer. “You must stay. Never has C’Maine failed to please a client.” He pointed to the ceiling. “A knot, maybe three, and the light panels, they all hang in their proper places. You must not feel bad, Mr. Simon Derrick. Only a misfortune. Delays us two, three minutes. Billy, you are to grab the boom arm and attach this like this and that like that.” He demonstrated as he spoke.

  “We really must go,” Simon explained. “We want to pick up a friend so she can come to the ball.”

  “Miss Derrick, parlor or balcony? Your brother is in a hurry.”

  “Balcony.”

  “Excellent choice. Now I know how these dangling light panels must be in positioned. You, beautiful princess, sit. Brother Simon, friend Billy, and I will fix this accident of misfortune.”

  Simon figured it would be quicker to help than argue. He followed C’Maine’s instructions, and the light reflectors soon hung just as the photographer desired.

  “You are so patient, Miss Sandy.” C’Maine maneuvered her back in place. “I commend you.”

  By the time C’Maine clicked a hundred or more pictures, Simon held on to his patience by the last hair on the tail of a stubborn pig. He wanted out of there. With barely a gracious word to the artist, he grabbed Sandy and propelled her toward the hotel lobby.

  Billy dogged their steps as he explained how they would pick up the photos later that evening, then rushed ahead to the large glass doors at the entrance. Simon readied himself to pick up the pest and bodily move him aside if he tried to delay them one more time. But as they approached, a server opened the door and bowed them through.

  Sandy pointed. “A limousine!”

  Parked across the red carpet, a long, sleek, and very, very old black limo blocked their way.

  Simon gritted his teeth. “We’ll just go around.”

  “Simon, wait! Look!” Sandy tugged away from his iron grasp.

  Betty Booterbaw stood by one of the back doors. Bonnie emerged next. They wore elaborate gowns from their store. The next passenger leaned forward and came into sight. A tall, glittering, cone-shaped hat pointed out of the passenger door.

  Simon heard Sandy catch her breath. “She’s a real princess.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Maybe a fairy princess!”

  “Sandy, there are no real fairy princesses. That’s just someone else who got her dress from the Booterbaw Costume Shoppe.”

  From the shadows of the street, a figure charged toward the car. Her high-pitched screech galvanized several men standing nearby into motion. Simon left Sandy’s side and placed himself between the new arrivals and the harpy whizzing their way. Two more men intercepted the woman and held her as she struggled wildly.

  “My dress,” she wailed. “You ruined my dress.”

  Simon gaped at the woman shrouded in dull gray rags. Zee fumed, kicking her captors and uttering oaths. Even with rage snarling her face, Simon felt compassion for Cora’s sister. But her tirade opened a well of protectiveness for the quiet young woman from his office. Whenever they finally reached the apartment, he intended to wrap his arms around Cora and vow to keep her safe.

  Betty and Bonnie Booterbaw flanked Simon. Disapproval flowed between them. Simon drew back as he felt an almost tangible cold barrier form in front of him.

  Zee renewed her struggle to get loose. “You’re part of this, aren’t you?” She sneered at the women. “You’re all on her side. You’ve ruined me.”

  “Nonsense, girl,” said Betty. “Your greed eats away your pleasure.”

  Bonnie nodded. “Your dishonesty tarnishes all you possess. One of our dresses was bound to fall to pieces on someone unworthy.”

  “Unworthy!” Zee strained against the arms that held her. “You can’t judge me. Nobody judges me, because I don’t give them the chance.”

  The Booterbaw sisters looked past Simon at each other and each gave a smart nod.

  “She would be a challenging project,” said Betty.

  “Almost beyond our powers,” agreed Bonnie.

  “Not almost, sister. I believe this project is irrefutably beyond our ability.”

  Bonnie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, what a blessing. I love it when He has to help us out because the job is too big. Can we begin tonight? Our work for the ball is done.”

  Betty gestured to the men holding Zee. “Put her in the limousine, and we’ll take her for a nice cup of tea.”

  Simon stood aside, vaguely aware that Sandy had come up behind him and beside the mysterious woman who’d arrived in the long black car. Eyes widened with curiosity, Sandy watched all the different players of the silly drama.

  Under the soothing chatter of the old ladies, Zee calmed down. “Tea?” she whimpered. “You’re giving me tea?” She looked Betty in the eye and summoned a tentative protest. “I don’t want tea.”

  Bonnie patted her
arm. “Tea with cream. And some sweets. Little cakes and some sandwiches. You’re probably hungry.”

  Betty moved closer and wrapped her arm around Zee’s middle. “Goodness, you must be cold. Come. We’ll find you something warm to wear.”

  As the sisters persuaded the reluctant but noncombative waif in tatters into the limousine, Simon reached for Sandy’s hand.

  “Come on, Sandy. If we hurry, we can still make it.”

  “Simon?”

  Sandy dragged her heels, but Simon wanted to get to Cora. He pulled his sister along the sidewalk and stepped off the curb behind the long car.

  “Simon, we don’t have to go.”

  He turned to gaze into his sister’s troubled eyes. “I have to go, Candy-Sandy. I don’t want to disappoint you, but this is about being where God wants me for the rest of my life, not just tonight.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very.”

  Sandy grinned and looked over her shoulder at the few people still standing on the red carpet in front of the Melchior Hotel. Simon followed her gaze.

  The passenger from the limousine faced them, her hair swept up under an impossibly tall medieval hat. A sparkling veil trailed from the tip and covered her shoulders, framing her face.

  As Simon pulled in a long, slow breath, warmth spread through his limbs, and his heart thumped inside his chest until he knew everyone around could hear.

  Cora, a vision, stepped forward. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “To find you.” He took her hands in his and pulled her closer.

  “Why?”

  “Because I suddenly realized I’ve been looking for you for a very long time.” He kissed the back of one of her hands, then the other. He let go, then encircled her waist and closed the small gap between them. She tilted her chin up, gazing into his eyes, and he took that small token as encouragement for a much more satisfying kiss.

  The limo engine started, and the car eased away from the curb. Cora pulled back from Simon and stared at the departing vehicle. “Will Zee be all right?”