Chapter one
Erika
-Done at last!-
Erika held the blue gown with both her hands, proceeding to throw it on the pile of already finished robes that stood on the working table. She got up from the chair, reaching for the hoodie she had left abandoned on the coat hanger for hours. How many? She would have said ten, but they probably were just four.
-I'm going out, Bertie-, she announced to the young woman sitting on the other side of the table.
The other looked concerned; Erika had seen it coming.
-Again?-
-I'll be right back-, she assured her. –I won't leave you all the work to do, I promise.-
Bertie gave her fellow seamstress a nervous glance.
-You know that's not what I mean-, she replied, shaking her head. –I just don't want you to get into trouble. It's the second time this week, and if Madame catches you…-
-She won't.-
Erika knew she couldn't be sure. Worrying wouldn't be of any help, though, and she desperately needed to get a breath of fresh air: she started to sense how claustrophobically small the store was, how gloomy and dark even with all the windows opened wide.
-She won't-, she repeated, as if trying to persuade herself of the fact. Almost out of the room, she added a last: –I'll be careful.-
She could see Bertie's smile and hear a whispered "Good luck" right before the door of Madame Carp's Boutique closed behind her.
Erika walked fast, dribbling the anonymous crowd that packed the sidewalks. Her hood on, she felt like she could have been anyone: her life was hidden to all those nameless faces, unwitting companions for that simple moment.
She put her hand into her sweatshirt's pocket, fishing a black, squared object out of it. The above-mentioned was one of her most precious belongings, an MP3 Player from the late Nineties-a gift from her mother. What did she care about Ipods or Smartphones? She didn't have that much of a choice, considering the amount of money she owed to Madame Carp; nevertheless, she wouldn't have traded her walkman and her good ol' Nokia who-knew-what for any super-modern technological marvel. After all, it was all that her parents had had the chance to leave her; that, and a good deal of IOUs. She didn't blame them for that, though: they had only had the misfortune of taking out a debt with the most interest-charging woman in town in order to guarantee their little daughter a decent life; a debt they would have extinguished themselves, hadn't they died after a car ran over them, mercilessly putting an end to their existences after a few days in a hospital bed.
Erika, fifteen at the time, had found herself in custody of Madame Carp.
She remembered the nights she had spent crying her heart out, the morning in class when she couldn't concentrate, those days that had passed without a difference to be noted. Madame Carp hadn't comforted her much –it just wasn't her forte-, but neither had she forced her to work, she was ready to wait for some months. Surprisingly, it had been Erika who had insisted to help in the store in the afternoons: she wanted to learn how to be a seamstress now, to work that tragedy off, to get rid of that debt, to be free.
The years went by, and what have been inconsolable despair mellowed into a melancholic feeling of nostalgia; she knew no one ever –and surely not Madame Carp- would treat her as her parents did, and she also reckoned that such a sadness would never fully vanish. But she thought she had finally understood what they would've wanted for her, which was as simple as it could be: happiness. And she was perfectly aware of what made her happy.
She returned to her long-lost habit of singing, at anytime, anywhere. Bertie, her co-worker, would say she had the voice of an angel. Madame Carp, on the other hand, would grumble that she wasn't running a cabaret; Erika pretended not to notice.
When she had finished High School, Madame Carp had obligated her to keep on working in the Boutique; she had gone easy on her because of her grief, but she wouldn't let her out of the store until she'd paid every single coin she owned her, and most certainly wouldn't tolerate having her behave like a prima donna, belting out 'silly songs' over and over again. It was then that Erika had begun to sneak out of the boutique to sing in the streets for money.
Once she had discovered it, Madame had angrily asked her if she didn't feel ashamed of being a vile beggar, to which Erika had given the witty answer that she was simply being paid for her work, just as normal people did. She had been locked up in the shop for a day in response.
Despite of all this, she hadn't given up. Her brief escapes had continued, and there she was, MP3 in her hand, heading to the main square in town. Determined, although all the odds were against her.
A barking sound made her suddenly turn; her tone was soft as she spoke to the calico cat standing in front of her.
-Hello, Wolfie. I was just thinking about you, fella. You have been wandering around all morning long, ain't you?-
The feline seemed to nod, as Erika took him her arms: she loved that stray cat she'd rescued more than she could possibly say. A barking cat, a fellow outcast who returned her accepting him as he was.
-Today's going to be a great day, Wolf. I feel it.-
Encouraged by a bark of approval, she started mentally rehearsing the song her mother had taught her.
Hey there, I'm the author ;D
I don't know what got into me, but it is a matter of fact that I've decided to write a Barbie Fanfiction. In English, of all things! It isn't my mother tongue, so forgive me for all the awful mistakes I'll make and for the simple vocabulary/construction I'm forced to use, lacking of better means. ;)
When I was younger, I used to like this movie quite a lot -maybe because of Erika being a brunette, I don't know-; the other day it came into my mind, and, well, here I am. This is supposed to be a Modern AU in which things haven't particularly changed, at least for Erika, who works in an old-fashioned, "exclusive" boutique. In the upcoming chapter we'll meet Anneliese; this will happen soon if new ideas will be so kind to come to my head. I hope you'll like it!
L
