I’d wanted Maleficent to end up with the prince. By the time I was fourteen I realized how ridiculous this wish was. Princes belong with princesses and black haired witches become dragons that breathe fire and die when their heart is pierced by the sword of truth.
In my case, the sword of truth was real life.
I grew to dislike the prince for being so taken with a vapid sixteen-year-old who dances with animals barefoot in the forest.
These were my thoughts as I ran across the parking lot and finally arrived in the make-up room. My unruly black hair was especially chaotic, and I plopped down in the beautician’s chair feeling exhausted and anxious.
“Did Jennifer find you?” Ben, my make-up artist, frowned at me in the mirror, “Hon, they want you to go to central casting.”
I shook my head. “No, I just got here. Should I go now?”
He dipped a sponge into a circle of green paint and began dabbing it on my face. “After the noon parade I think. You’re the only Maleficent on the schedule today.”
I nodded absentmindedly, my thoughts turning inward as he readied my face and attempted to tame my curls.
I’d been called down to central casting only three times in my six years at the park. All three times had been for raises and character promotions. Somehow I didn’t think today’s sudden summons had anything to do with good news.
Make-up on, I was encased in my robes with my headdress in place. Miraculously, I was seventeen minutes early for the parade. I stood in the tunnel where the floats wait before rolling out to Main Street and leaned against the tile wall. I closed my eyes, focusing only on my breathing and not the anxiety of the unknown.
“Mal.”
I stiffened at the sound of my name, and my eyes opened to find Phillip—my Phillip—dressed as Prince Phillip. He was Phillip squared.
As was his way, he was just goddamn fucking crazy handsome. But now he was also fantasy handsome in his prince costume, a prop sword at his waist.
I blinked at him from behind my false lashes and the adrenaline of both desire and dread warred for dominance.
“Phillip,” I breathed his name, my heart constricting at the sight of him. It was the first time we’d spoken to each other at the park without following a script.
His eyes skated over my face; I noted frustration in his expression and tone when he spoke. “I want to kiss you.”
I huffed a startled laugh. As soon as it burst forth I knew it was the beginning of an uncontrollable avalanche of hysteria. Therefore, I pressed my lips together and breathed through my nose.
He reached for my hand, encased in a black glove, and moved the cuff to expose the lower palm. When I realized what he planned to do, I tried to yank it out of his grip. I failed.
His eyes held mine, searching and severe, and he placed a meaningful kiss on the inside of my wrist.
“Phillip…” I said his name again. I meant it to sound like a warning, instead it escaped as a tortured plea.
“You’re coming to New York with me. We’re moving in together.”
I stiffened slightly, my fingers tensed and held his.
I hesitated for a moment, then cleared my throat. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
I smiled sadly. “And what will we live on?”
“Money,” he said.
I sighed and tried to pull away. The profound sense of entitlement I’d felt last night had been chased away by the angry, pitch fork-wielding villagers of reality. The reality of life and our disparate circumstances. He didn’t allow me to move a single inch.
“Phillip—let me go.”
“Not now, not ever.”
“Seriously.” I pushed against him with my other hand. “I’m serious, let me go.”
Before I understood his intent, he grabbed my other wrist, stepped forward so that his body was pressing against mine, and held my hands pinned at my sides. I had to lift my chin to maintain eye contact; our gazed met, clashed.
“So am I,” he said. “I’m completely serious.”
I rolled my eyes, my whisper harsh. “And whose money are we going to live off of, hmm? Because your family would rather eat flaming bags of poop then have anything to do with me.”
“My money. Our money. We’re capable adults, we have the ability to make money via these magical things called jobs.”
I shook my head, gritted my teeth. “Other than working at a theme park for fun, have you ever had a job?”
He nodded. “Yes. I have a job in New York.”
I started, my eyebrows jumping on my forehead; even ensconced in green makeup, my face plainly showcasing my surprise.
His expression softened, his mouth hooked to the side. “Don’t look so shocked.”
I stared at him for a long moment, a seed of hope in my chest. But then I shook my head again and sighed, “Phillip-”
“No. This is going to happen.”
“But your parents-”
“I don’t care what they think if their list of priorities places my happiness below their egos.”
“They’ll cut you off. You won’t be able to finish school!”
His small grin transformed into a wide smile. “They don’t pay for my school, Mal. I’m there on scholarship. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m pretty good at sports.”
I stuttered, my eyelashes fluttering. “But- but housing. New York is expensive. How could we-”
“My grandmother left me her apartment when she passed. I own it outright. Why do you think I go to school up there when you’re down here?”
My bewildered stare turned into a glare.
He quickly added, “Didn’t you ever wonder why I was in those plays in high school? Why I come back every summer? Why I work here? Because of you. Because I wanted to be near you.”
I couldn’t speak. Once again he’d successfully cast his spell and the seed of hope became a zucchini plant which quickly became delicious zucchini bread. My heart was running away with his words, and they were setting up house on a desert island in the Caribbean.
His stare was heated yet tender. “From this moment, for the rest of our lives, we will never spend another day apart. I’ve been working toward this, toward us, my whole life. All of my plans have been for you, only for you.”
I sighed from the pleasure of his impossible words as well as from the unbearable weight of it all.
“New York?” I managed to say, I couldn’t even imagine it.
“I don’t care where we live, just as long as we’re together.”
“Phillip, that’s madness.”
“Maybe. But it’s the truth. My parents have money—piles of it—and it’s brought them misery. I don’t want that for myself, for my future. I want you.”
I shook my head, trying to see clear through the cobwebs of his promises. “It’s not that simple.”
He pulled away, hovered in front of me, his jaw set. “It’s precisely that simple. Do you think I care where I am? What does it matter if I’m not with you? I couldn’t walk away from you before, do you think I could walk away from you now?” As though to illustrate this as fact, one of his hands smoothed up my ribs through my costume and cupped my breast possessively. “Stop saying no to me. Stop saying no to yourself. Just… just give in to it.”
I wanted to, but fear gripped my chest, clawed at my throat. I shook my head, my voice strangled. “This is happening too fast. This is… I can’t. You weren’t even a possibility twenty-four hours ago.”
Phillip’s eyes searched mine, his expression somber, impatient. “I’m going to New York in four days. If you’re not with me then I’ll sell the apartment, I’ll drop out of school, I’ll forfeit my scholarship, and I’ll plague you for the rest of your life.”
He looked so serious, but so much like the fourteen-year-old boy I used to love. I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped my lips.
“Plague me for the rest of my life?” I lifted my gloved hand and threaded my fingers through his hair, pushing it back fro
m his forehead.
He nodded, his thumb teasing my nipple through the layers of fabric and leaned into my palm, which had moved from his hair to his cheek in an absentminded caress. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I am pressuring you. We belong to each other.”
I laughed again, and this time I was gifted with a small smile as he continued.
“We used to do this—well, not this.” He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully before adding. “We used to talk for hours. Being with you is the easiest life has ever felt, the most right. And being with you last night confirms it—for me at least.”
“You’re too impulsive.”
“No.” He shook his head, impatience bleeding through his words. “Impulsive would have been to run away together in our freshman year of high school. Or, get married as soon as we turned eighteen. Both of which I’d seriously considered. Waiting eight years, staying close to you, watching for our chance—that is not impulsive.”
“Having unprotected sex?” I prompted.
He shrugged, had the decency to look a little ashamed, and his hand slid down my ribs to my waist; his fingers flexed on my body. “I did not expect for things to… I wasn’t expecting last night.”
“What did you expect?” I studied him through my eyelashes. “When you found me broken down in the rain.”
He hesitated, gathered a deep breath before responding, but he was interrupted by Sleeping Beauty.
“Phillip!”
Startled, I jumped a little at her chipper voice and knocked his hand away; my eyes darting to the blonde then to the concrete floor of the tunnel. Peripherally, I was aware that Phillip hadn’t turned his gaze from me. Even as she continued his eyes never left my face.
“Hey—it’s almost time. We need to…” Her voice trailed off and I heard her clear her throat. When she finally spoke it sounded strained and tart. “Am I interrupting something?”
We spoke in unison.
“No-” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
I sighed and closed my eyes. “She’s right. We should take our spots.”
I felt him hovering in front of me, felt his light hazel eyes on me, and knew the precise moment when he stepped away. My shoulders sagged, but I didn’t know if were from relief or regret.
“I’ll find you after the parade.”
I turned from him, from them, and called over my shoulder, “I’ve been called to central casting. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Then you call me,” he said and I felt his hand on my arm, stalling my retreat. “Call me when you’re on your way back.”
I didn’t move, didn’t respond. My heart and my head were full as I released a shaky breath. I tugged my arm from his grip and mounted the float.
The parade started.
I played my part.
~*~*~*~
It’s not unusual to see Rapunzel, Captain Hook, or a headless Winnie the Pooh wandering around the halls of central casting. New costumes are tailored at the central office. When I was promoted to play Maleficent I spent four hours getting the headdress custom fit.
I wasn’t wearing it now. I was out of my costume and makeup and allowed my hair to fall around my shoulders. The head piece was heavy and made my scalp itch if I wore it too long. I hoped I was dressed appropriately in my comfy jeans, black tennis shoes, and a black tank top for whatever purpose necessitated my being called out of the park.
I sat outside the casting director’s office, scrolling through my phone. In fact, I was looking at job boards in New York. I couldn’t help it. Despite my misgivings, Phillip’s words kept dancing in front of my eyes like a neon Tinker Bell sprinkling pixie dust of hope.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of spending time with him, talking to him, laughing with him, touching him—whenever and wherever I wanted. These thoughts were tempered with guilt and fear.
Guilt because my brother was in jail serving time for a crime he didn’t commit, and I was thinking of strolling off into my version of happily ever after.
Fear because I knew Phillip’s parents would never let that happen.
“Maleficent Taylor?”
I looked up at the sound of my name, then stood. “That’s me.”
A security guard gave me a once over, then motioned with his head for me to follow. “You have a visitor, a VIP. Said it was an emergency that couldn’t wait.”
“Ah… okay.” I nodded, confused, and trailed behind the guard.
When we came to a door labeled Cinderella Conference Room he motioned with his chin. “He’s in there.” Then turned and left.
I blinked at the door then at the retreating form of my escort. I glanced back at the card labeling the room and moved to reach for the handle. However, before my hand made contact with the metal, I heard a voice—a raised voice, as though he were reprimanding someone—from within, and I sucked in an alarmed breath.
I immediately recognized the owner as Phillip’s father, Mr. McAlister. Stumbling away from the door as though it might burst into flames, I gulped three large breaths and tried my best to swallow the panic down, down, down.
I glanced at my phone and brought it back to life. I needed to call Phillip. I needed him. I found and dialed his number.
It rang twice before he answered, “Mal?”
“Oh my God, Phillip—your father is here.”
“What?”
“He’s here, at central casting.”
I turned and managed three steps before I heard the sound of the door opening. My shoulders tensed, and my heart skipped a beat. Adrenaline borne entirely of fear soared through my body.
“Ms. Taylor.”
My spine stiff and straight, I closed my eyes. The physically painful, breath stealing dread I’d been trying to manage all day seized my stomach and chest.
A large hand closed around my upper arm and halted my retreat.
“You’ve kept me waiting.” Mr. McAlister’s voice, so close, so threatening, turned my blood to ice. “It’s time for us to have a little chat.”
My arm was forcefully yanked, and the big man hauled me into the conference room, the door slamming shut behind him. I was surprised to find that the room was empty as I’d heard his raised voice just moments ago; tangentially, I concluded that Mr. McAlister must’ve been yelling at some poor soul over his cell phone.
His hand at my upper arm released me and he walked behind me, his voice just as cold and detached as I remembered. “You can put your phone down right there on that table. What I have to say to you doesn’t concern anyone else.”
Without thinking, I switched the phone to speaker then darkened the screen, making it appear as though the phone was off. I leaned my thighs against the table as I placed my cell on it.
My head was bowed and my voice was less than steady when I responded. “I’m not going to call anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Mr. McAlister laughed, cruel and superior. He was pacing at my back; despite the coolness of his voice, I felt his restlessness, barely contained energy. “Who would you call? Your brother? He’s in prison, I made sure of that. Your aunt? Last I heard, she’s barely sober.” He stopped at my side, leaned close to my ear. “Your father? No, no. I imagine he can’t stand looking at you. Do you even know where he is?”
I lifted my head, gritting my teeth, and dared to make eye contact with the man I considered a monster. I tried not to tremble when our gazes met, his face—so like Phillip’s—was twisted with perverse humor. His golden eyes like a snake’s.
The truth was, I didn’t know how to contact my father. He left us after the divorce and hadn’t—to my knowledge—tried to make contact.
“Not your mother.” Something sinister flashed behind his stare, his lips twisting in a smirk. “She wouldn’t help you, she can’t even help herself.”
I firmed my lips, pressing them into a tight line, but said nothing. He searched my face, scanning my features, then added, “You know, you look exactly like her, exce
pt your eyes… how extraordinary. Are they violet?” His hand lifted, and I flinched away before he could make contact. My sudden movement made him laugh, and the sound turned my stomach to stone. “I can understand why Phillip wants in your pants.”
I breathed in through my nose, ignoring his disgusting words, and finally finding my voice. “What do you want?”
His earlier warped amusement fled, leaving only repugnance and steely determination. “If you value your well-being and freedom, you need to break things off with my son.”
His words hung in the air between us for a long moment. It occurred to me that I was having a staring contest with the man who had basically orchestrated every miserable tragedy in my life.
Startlingly, the fear gave way to anger. I grabbed on to the new and surprising emotion and anchored myself to it. Fear would do nothing for me, it gave him all the power. At least with anger I might be able to harness it and launch an attack.
I straightened from the table and crossed my arms over my chest. I watched with disgust as his eyes moved to my breasts and lingered. He was revolting.
“If I value my well-being and freedom? Are you threatening me?”
Without glancing away from my chest, he mimicked my stance and tilted his head to the side, as though observing my cleavage from an alternate angle. “Yes. I am threatening you.” He said the words plainly.
I couldn’t help the slight lifting of my eyebrows at his bluntness. “What are you going to do? Set me up for drug possession, like you did with Lincoln?”
His attention flickered back to my face and a smirk twisted his mouth. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”
“You admit it? You admit that you set him up?”
My feet stumbled backwards as Mr. McAlister shoved his face in mine, his voice suddenly full of rage. “Of course I set him up! The little fucker, he had no right, NO RIGHT touching my daughter, just like you have no right even looking at Phillip. You’re trash! Your whole family is trash!”
I put my hands up to ward him off and twisted to the side. Even though his response was startling, some part of me wanted to make sure I stayed near the phone. I sent up a little prayer that Phillip was still on the line, I wanted to make sure he heard this. Maybe I could even get him to testify against his father.
Forbidden Fruit Vol 2 Page 51
