The Royal Treatment

by Lindsey Leavitt

  I raised my hand to my heart and stared straight into the spotlight. After clearing my throat, I dove into the monologue.

  “Call me fair? That fair again unsay.

  Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!”

  My voice came out squeaky, definitely not theatrical or Shakespearean. I wrapped my arms around my middle and looked away. I thought of the meaning behind the words. Helena liked the guy who was in love with her best friend. Here she was saying that she’d give anything to have Demetrius feel that love for her instead.

  I knew that ache. There’d been my stupid crush on Hayden, and then the whole Karl-Elsa thing, which could be a Shakespearean play all by itself. If only there was a guy out there who liked me as Just Desi. Someone who appreciated me in my own world.

  I stared back into the spotlight. My whole body throbbed with Helena’s angst. I tingled all over with emotion, almost to the point that I was Helena. It was the same sensation I felt when I connected to my princess clients, when my MP was tuned in. But magic only happened when I wore the Royal Rouge makeup. How could I have this magical feeling happen at home, away from Façade?

  I spoke again, punctuating the monologue with my swelling energy.

  “…My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,

  My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.

  Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,

  The rest I’d give to be to you translated.

  O! teach me how you look, and with what art

  You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.”

  A splattering of applause rang out in the theater—which had to be a good thing, right? I blinked, the magic of the words gone, and I was back to worrying about death by sweat.

  “Um, no wait…thank you.” I curtsied, an old occupational hazard from subbing, and exited the stage. Reed gave me a nod, but I didn’t sit down. Instead, I pushed open the theater door and retreated to the bathroom to undo the Dew.

  I caught my reflection when I stepped out of the stall. My complexion was pale, but also kind of glowing. Who would have thought all those nerves could create such a rush? I lifted my arm to redo my ponytail and stopped. Ew…I may have had that golden Helena moment, but in the process, I’d also gotten sweaty. I swear I’d put on deodorant that morning. Stupid generic brand.

  And…great. There was a huge smudge of chocolate near the bottom right hem of my shirt. Why hadn’t I noticed that before I stood in front of the entire theater department? I hit the faucet and a gush of water squirted all over me. Sweat circles, chocolate, and a half-soaked shirt. Eighth-grade genius right here.

  The shirt wasn’t going to dry out on its own, and I still needed to go back in to watch the rest of the tryouts. A brainiac idea snuck in, but I brushed it away like a piece of lint. No, I couldn’t. Well, I could…

  Wet the whole T-shirt.

  Seriously! Then it would look like I’d spilled soda and had to wash it off. A fully soaked shirt was far less embarrassing than the Sweat Circles of Doom and Choco Stain-o. I crouched close to the sink and hosed myself off. Kind of soothing, actually. When I was good and dripping, I punched the hand dryer to evaporate the drippiness, but it didn’t start. I wasn’t even attending this high school yet, and it was already messing with my head.

  I shook my hands, and when I did, a bubble formed from the droplets of water. Instead of popping, it drifted up to the ceiling.

  Wait…

  Was it…

  Growing? Oh yeah. The bubble morphed from watermelon size to beach ball to full capacity.

  I nearly shouted “Ta-da!” when my princess agent, Meredith, stepped out.

  “Darling.” She leaned against the other sink, her nose scrunched in disgust. “I’m rather positive A Midsummer Night’s Dream does not have a wet T-shirt contest in it.”

  “Meredith!” I covered my chest. “Why do you always pop up like that?”

  “I travel by bubble. I find popping is a rather apropos entrance.”

  I finally realized what seeing my agent meant—work! Blessed work! I squealed and gave her a hug. “You’re back! Does this mean I’m ready for Level Two? Did I get all my training in? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Where are we going?”

  She jerked out of my embrace. “Let’s talk in the bubble. The fluorescents in this bathroom make my hair look limy. And your hair, well…just get in.”

  Chapter

  4

  The interior of Meredith’s bubble was more fabulous than ever. Instead of the one office with a sitting area, she now had a reception room with a couch, TV, and a wet bar. A massive gift basket covered a coffee table. Her office, visible from behind the cracked door, had the same monochromatic color scheme as before, but with nicer bookcases, a glass-top desk, and a painting that I was pretty sure I’d seen in one of my art books. She pointed to her new hardwood floors. “Drip, drip, drip. Must you always return to me looking like a wet dog?”

  “I had a sweat situation.”

  She sighed. “You are a situation.”

  “Hi, Desi!” I said sarcastically. “Welcome back to work. Sorry I didn’t get you earlier but…”

  “But”—Meredith handed me a towel and pointed to two chairs circling a chrome end table—“you weren’t ready. Remember, Façade is about quality versus quantity at Level Two, so we don’t like to rush. I gave you your BEST requirements and you’ve now completed them.”

  “I did? How?”

  “Well, you barely scraped by with the music—let’s hope all your classical research is enough since your violin playing sounded like—”

  “Screaming cats. I know.”

  “Please. That’s an insult to felines everywhere. I’ll have to inflate your skills on the BEST report. And you just completed the public speaking task with your audition.” Meredith tugged her low green ponytail tighter. “And don’t dwell on this too long, but I think you did rather well.”

  “Really? I’ve gotta tell you, Meredith, it was so bizarre. Like, I was on that stage but also somewhere in England with Helena, you know? Remember when you told me that if I went Zen, I could really feel my MP? Well, I focused on Helena, and all these…these feelings came flooding in, and it didn’t matter that I was talking all Shakespearey. I’m sure it makes no sense, but it felt like full-blown magic. I know subs need the Royal Rouge for magic to even happen, but maybe this was, I don’t know, mini-magic?”

  “Is this your scientific term? Mini-magic?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re talking about. And you’ve been here for two seconds and you’re already grilling me.” Meredith drew herself up to her full height, which couldn’t have been more than five feet two, although her attitude took up a lot more space than that. “But I am happy to see you doing so well at home. I’m making an espresso. Do you want one?”

  “Hot chocolate?”

  “Beverage of the juvenile. Hold on.”

  She got to work making our drinks with her new fancy coffee machine. And although I managed to get hot chocolate on my shirt in five seconds, Meredith’s gauzy white top and green linen pants stayed clean and pressed, just like her brown skin always looked airbrushed and her nails perfectly manicured and…Wait, linen pants? What happened to her power suit?

  “So what’s with all the changes?”

  “Instant coffee is disgusting.”

  “Not that. The office. Your look.”

  “My look? Following the trends of the season, darling. And the office is a bonus. After you did so well at the Court of Royal Appeals, Genevieve decided all my previous privileges could be restored. Welcome to the Level Two treatment. Speaking of which, that gift basket is for you.”

  “Me? Can I open it?”

  “That’s usually what you do with gift baskets.”

  I rushed over to the tower of treats. The card inside read,

  Desi,

  We’re so excited about your advancement. Welcome to L
evel Two, darling.

  Royally yours, The Façade Agency.

  I untied the elaborate bow holding the cellophane together, and pushed back the tissue paper until I got to the goodies. And holy goodies: inside was high-end makeup, scented lotions, three cute tops, funky heels I would never dare walk in, gourmet chocolates, and a watch that was way too fancy for a teenage girl from Sproutville to ever pull off. I oohed and ahhed over each gift, still in shock that any of it was mine. “There has to be hundreds of dollars of stuff in here.”

  “Try thousands,” Meredith said. “That watch alone is eight hundred.”

  I fingered the watch. My mom’s Miss Idaho tiara didn’t even cost that much. “But…this is the royal treatment. Why are they giving this to me? I’m just a sub.”

  “A Level Two sub. You’re about to start a whole new ball game. You’ll see how different things are when you get to your first job.”

  I smeared on some pink lip gloss. “And when is that going to be?”

  “You’ll get an in-depth report on it once you’ve gone through a quick Level Two initiation. You do feel ready to take on a higher-level princess, yes?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Slap a job right on me.” I smacked my lips and reached for the box of chocolates. “I’m easy.”

  “No, you aren’t easy. That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” Meredith set her cup on the saucer. “Although you did well enough in court, no more meddling in the princesses’ lives, or kissy business, unless it is specifically noted in the princesses’ profiles, which I sincerely doubt because most girls don’t like subs kissing their prince.”

  Kissing their prince. Ah, Karl. Such a nice mouth. I rubbed my lip-glossed lips together. I wondered if I’d ever run into him on a job. It would be fun to see him. And his soft lips. Did I mention those?

  “You’re not answering. Darling.” Meredith rubbed her temples. “If we get some time in between gigs, I’ll take you around town and introduce you to a nice Parisian boy. They’re far more entertaining and real. I’m sure our cover agency, Mirage, has a cute male model they can spare.”

  I pushed away my Karl thoughts and pasted on what I hoped was a professional expression. “Meredith. It’s fine. I’m too young for all of that anyway.”

  “Really?” She snorted. “Because I saw you buying a certain magazine the other day, and I’m guessing it wasn’t for the ‘Ten Steps to Better Thighs’ article.”

  I almost choked on my anger. “Don’t you have better things to do than run surveillance on my grocery shopping? Yes, okay, so I might have had a tiny, fleeting crush, but I let it go. Just like you did with your prince, right?”

  It was a low blow. When I’d last seen her, Meredith had written a text to the very prince whom she’d dumped after a nearly career-crushing relationship during her days as a sub. It must have been years since they’d last been in touch. True love or not, Façade employees dating royals is way taboo. I had no idea what became of that text, but this wasn’t a secret she would ever want exposed.

  We stared at each other before Meredith dropped her gaze. Point to Desi.

  “Yes. Exactly,” she said. “Now, Miss Professional, if you’ll step out of the bubble, we can get your Level Two initiation done.”

  “We’re here? But…”

  “I wish I could say I’ve missed your endless questioning, but insincerity makes me itch. Yes. We’re here. Smoother landing and improved parking privileges are all part of the upgrade. Leave your gift basket here, and I’ll make sure you get it back later. If you think that makeup in there is a hint, then you’re right. Would mascara really hurt?”

  “You sound like my mother.” I squeezed through the bubble wall. I didn’t need mascara when I was just going to look like someone else soon anyway. And by someone, I meant an important, cultured, Level Two princess.

  Once we were in the lobby of Façade, the bubble floated back into Meredith’s remote. She gave the gadget a squeeze of affection. “I so love my ride.”

  And I so loved the regal grandeur of Façade. The reception area glowed from the sunlight reflecting through the stained-glass windows. Museum curators would salivate if they knew about the collection of priceless royal artifacts—from golden toothbrushes to a marbled baptismal font—neatly displayed throughout the vast hall. But the artist creating a Façade tile mosaic behind the reception desk was new. So were the tables being set up near the tiara wall. Anticipation hummed in every corner.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked.

  “Genevieve’s seventieth birthday is this month, and we’re renovating for the event. Everything needs to be perfect so we can show Specter who is king. Or queen, rather.”

  “Who is Specter? Is he on the council?”

  “Specter isn’t a person. It’s another branch of the agency, a bit of a rival, actually.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Less than they claim.” Meredith waved her hand. “It’s difficult to keep track of all the divisions and their responsibilities. Actually, the big news is Genevieve may be announcing her retirement, and if that happens, the whole council will be reorganized. Promotions will be in store.”

  “You think you’re getting a promotion? Please.”

  Meredith and I both cringed at the voice. We exhaled in unison and turned around to face Lilith, Meredith’s long-time adversary, who was perched on the waiting area couch, sewing a quilt. Long fingers dipped the needle in and out of the fabric. Her domestic goddess look was punctuated by a pressed floral halter dress. Gah, she even had on pearls.

  Meredith smoothed out her shirt and sat across from Lilith on a wing chair. Instead of taking a seat, I stood and let them have their space. Their expressions were so hard, I half expected a bikini-clad woman to parade by with a round-one sign like at boxing matches. Right before the fight bell rings.

  “Did I give you a tour of my new bubble, Lilith?” Meredith raised an eyebrow. “It’s a model NT-94. I think you’re still in a JD-35, yes?”

  Lilith busied herself with her sewing, the design a multicolored tree. “Bubble models matter little compared to cold, hard numbers. As commoners say, my promotion is in the bag. And yours, well, more likely in the trash.”

  “Careful, darling. Arrogance will make that little wrinkle on your forehead grow.”

  “Please. Your chances of moving out of mid-list obscurity are about as good as that prince of yours proposing.”

  Meredith’s smile tightened. I sucked in a breath. I was not a Lilith fan, but I had to hand it to her—she knew where to strike.

  “That prince,” Meredith said evenly, “is my past. If we’re bringing him up, why don’t we also mention that you were the one who shared all the details with the council, the details I told you in confidence as a friend. Backstabbing doesn’t seem like a trait that would get you on the council, now, does it?”

  Whoa. Lilith was the snitch? More surprising—they used to be friends? I needed to get my manual out and take notes. Juicy, juicy stuff.

  “It’s business, Mer.” Lilith bit neatly on a thread. “You have to know the rules and where you fit. See this quilt I’m making for Genevieve’s birthday? It’s her family tree.”

  She held it out for Meredith to take in the details. Meredith tried to act uninterested, but her eyes kept drawing back to the design. Carefully stitched names and dates wove up the branches.

  “Four of her family branches have royal bloodlines.” Lilith pointed to a branch. “Four! It’s almost enough to earn her a title.”

  “What’s your point?” Meredith asked.

  “Our reputations aren’t our only defining traits. Sure, you can sit around patting your back because of all your do-gooding, but it doesn’t change where you came from. If I were making a family tree for you, it’d be nothing more than a stump.”

  “Pedigree stopped mattering two hundred years ago. Royals don’t even care about bloodlines anymore—the Crown Prince of Norway met his wife at a rock concert, for heaven’s sake,” Meredit
h said.

  Lilith leaned over and patted Meredith’s knee. I could tell it took all of my agent’s self control to not kick Lilith in the face.

  “Of course he did, dear.” She lowered her voice. “But to put it bluntly, the agency wants to know we’re devoted to these clients, and being cut from the same cloth makes it that much easier to assimilate into royal roles. I had two counts and a duchess at my boarding school. These people were in my circle before I even knew about Façade.”

  “Assimilate? I went through five foster homes. Don’t tell me I don’t know how to assimilate.”

  “No hard feelings.” Lilith shrugged and folded up the blanket. “When I move up, I’ll make sure you get more of those Level One surrogates you’re so fond of.”

  I hated when Lilith called substitutes surrogates.

  “Ahem, Level Two right here,” I said, regretting it as soon as I spoke. Their attention shifted to me, the informative feud over.

  Lilith sniffed. “Did you forget to wipe you shoes before you stepped out of the bubble, Meredith? Smells like…Idaho.”

  I pursed my lips into a smile. Lilith had charmed me during my Level One training, but now I saw how deceitful and condescending she was. So, yeah, she did kind of own the whole lavender-and-lace look, but she was a total snob. Seriously, Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind was a sweetheart next to her. “Hi, Lilith.”

  “Oh, Desi dear!” Lilith gave me the once-over. “I didn’t even notice you.”

  Meredith stood. “Well, we couldn’t help but notice you, darling. Your fragrance is so cheap, how could we not?”

  “This is from the Façade boutique.” Lilith looked down at her wrist. “I like to support this agency any way I can.”

  “Like perfume is supportive,” I said.

  “Spoken like a non-deserving, uneducated Level Two.” Lilith rolled her eyes. “You probably can’t even apply eyeliner.”

  I snorted. “Eyeliner has nothing to do with being a good sub.”

  Meredith squeezed my elbow. “She’s right. You’re digging a hole. Let me talk, okay?”