Naughty Nelle

by L'Amour, Nelle

  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!” snaps 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.

  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 hor
rified 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.

  Halfway 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; she 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.”

  That voice! I recognize it instantly. Oh no, no, no, no, no! It’s Marcella! What is she doing here? Then I remember. When we went shopping, I arranged a spa day for her—on the afternoon of the ball—just like she requested on her To-Do List.

  In a panic, I bury my head between my sweaty knees so she doesn’t recognize me.

  “It’s going to be divine. I planned the whole thing myself,” she continues.

  You planned it? You didn’t do a damn thing, you lazy cow.

  “What are you wearing?” she asks.

  “Something plain and simple,” I mumble, masking my voice. “I’m actually a reporter covering the event for the Fairytale Tattler. What made me say that?

  “Perfection! Emperor Armando custom-designed my gown. You’re going to die when you see it.”

  I have seen it. And you’re not going to be able to get your fat ass into it!

  “Well, since you’re a reporter for the Tattler, I might as well give you the scoop since my waste-of-time assistant didn’t.”

  Her waste-of-time assistant!? I want to drown her in her sweat.

  “Tonight, Prince Gallant’s going to make a very important announcement.”

  A very important announcement. The exact words spoken earlier by The Queen of Hearts.

  “He’s going to say ‘I do’ in front of the entire kingdom. Well, at least, everyone who’s anything. We’re getting married!”

  They’re getting married? Her words hit me like a firing squad. I’m going to black out.

  “You’re hyper­vent­ilat­ing,” says Marcella. “You’ve probably been in here too long.”

  Way too long. I can’t cope with this. Any of it! I’ve got to get out of here. Now!

  Dripping with sweat, I spring to my feet and sprint out of the sauna. Marcella’s shrill voice trails behind me. “See you at the wedding.”

  The spa was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Where have you been?” shrieks Marcella. “And why does your skin look better than mine?”

  I shuffle into her chamber, her red gown in its bag draped over my arm. I don’t know or care how she got back to the castle before me. My shock, rage, and despair have succumbed to num
bness.

  Clad in her feathered leopard negligee, she’s seated at her vanity, doing her makeup. I catch a glimpse of her face in the mirror. With her plaster-white skin, blood-red lips, and serpentine brows, she looks more like a monster in the making than a bride-to-be.

  “I spent a fortune at that ridiculous spa,” she hisses. “Why didn’t you make them throw in free makeup and hair?”

  Choosing to ignore her, I silently hang the bag with her gown over her closet door. Her chamber is a pigsty. It’s as if never existed. Her bed’s a mess; clothes are strewn everywhere, and fairy-tale tabloids are scattered all over the floor. Straightening things up, I come across an old front-page story that makes my heart jump:

  SNOW WHITE TESTIFIES:

  EVIL QUEEN DOOMED!

  A Fairytale Tattler Exclusive by H.C. Anderson

  The Evil Queen, charged as a possible suspect in the near-fatal poisoning of Snow White, was convicted today. Minutes before sentencing, Prince Gallant, who saved the beautiful princess—often thought to be the fairest in the land—told reporters, “I hope The Evil Queen gets what she deserves.”

  Oh, God. I have gotten what I deserve. Death would have been a kind punishment compared to what I’m suffering now. I force myself to read on.

  Medical tests have revealed that The Evil Queen poisoned Snow White with a rare snake venom, that caused her to go into a deadly, deep sleep.

  Snake venom? Wait a minute. This shoddy reporter got his facts all mixed up. My evil potion, the one I used for the apple, was made with powdered stinkweed, bulbadox juice, and dragonstone extract. I didn’t use any snake venom. Not a single drop!

  Before I can read more, Marcella eyes me in the corner of her vanity mirror. “This is no time to be reading gossip magazines!” she snaps. “You’re supposed to be dressing me!”

  I let go of the magazine and slump over to her gown. Carefully, I remove it from the garment bag. The long train puddles on the floor.

  Marcella gives it the once-over. “Perfection! Now, get me into it.”

  Ripping off her negligee, she exposes her corseted body. My eyes pop. Who knew what really lurked beneath that towel in the sauna. Her tummy bulges as if it’s hiding a loaf of bread; saddlebags line the sides of her cottage cheese thighs, and her cannonballs are the size of small planets. She’s easily gained fifteen pounds, thanks to my high caloric diet potion. Yet, another one of my brilliant plans gone bad. Getting the skank into her slinky gown is going to be a lot harder than I imagined. A contest of mind over matter. War.