Hi! This story is based on a crazy dream I had last week. I don't know where it's going to go but we shall see. The forces in place are less "Dark Curse" and more "Fate" based. Rosalind is Belle's "real world" name and means "beautiful rose". Hope you all like it!
"Ugh," Rosalind sighed, "I feel like I'm cursed."
"You're not cursed," Nina smiled, "it's just a bad patch. You'll get through it."
"Last year it was my ankle," Rosalind slumped onto a nearby bench in the hallway, "now I've lost my scholarship."
"There was no way," Nina sat beside her friend, "that you could know that the foundation would fold! It does seem odd that the Regal Apple Foundation would just… go under like that but …I'm sure you can apply for other scholarships."
"What I really need to do," Rosalind spied the bulletin board at the other end of the corridor, "is to find a job. I wonder what he's posting about."
Nina shivered, "He looks creepy. Probably another one of those 'dancer' jobs. You don't want to do that."
"Well," Rosalind rose and walked over to the man, "I'm desperate for money. It can't hurt if I just look. I don't know what I'll do about rent next month!"
Nina shook her head in exasperation at her friend, stretched, and went back into the practice room.
Rosalind sidled up to the man as he pinned a paper to the corkboard.
"Personal assistant," Rosalind muttered as her eyes fell upon the job description.
"For my art collection—"
Gold turned to her. He froze. Rosalind raised an eyebrow.
"Your art collection," she said slowly, "to… manage it?"
He said nothing. Rosalind nodded uncertainly.
"An… hourly wage?" She prodded him.
He nodded wordlessly.
"Well," Rosalind took out her phone, "can I come in for an interview? I'm looking for a job for this semester. I just lost my scholarship. A lot of young dancers will be screwed now that the Regal Apple Foundation is no more…"
"…Regal Apple…"
"Yeah, have you heard of it?"
"Yes." Gold bit the inside of his cheek hard.
"So when can we meet?"
"…Excuse me?" There was a coppery taste of blood on his tongue.
"When can I have an interview for the position?"
Gold cleared his throat slightly as he regained his composure, "tomorrow at …4? Erm, 3 East 70th."
"Got it." Rosalind entered the information into her phone.
"See you then," Mr. Gold nodded slightly as he moved for the door, "good night."
"Wait," she called to him.
Mr. Gold could feel his heart flutter at the sound of her voice. He didn't turn around for fear of his eyes betraying his emotion, "Yes?"
"Don't you want to know my name?" She smiled bemusedly.
"Of… course," he shot the answer over his shoulder.
"It's Rosalind. Rosalind French."
He turned away again, took a breath, and closed his eyes for a moment.
"What's your name?"
"You can call me… Mr. Gold."
"Mr. Gold." Rosalind repeated, "well… see you tomorrow."
"Yes. Tomorrow." He muttered and left.
Rosalind knitted her brow in utter confusion before ducking back into the practice room.
After Adagio class, Rosalind scurried into the bathroom and threw on a skirt and blouse. She jammed her practicing attire into her enormous bag. She swung the stall door open and gave herself one quick look in the mirror before flying out the door. She was usually ready to take a nap after her last class but today seemed different.
Rosalind sprinted down 66th street and onto Central Park West. After an extremely close call with a cab and nearly losing a shoe to a steaming pile of horse feces, she made it into the park and slowed her pace.
Why am I running? She thought. I still have twenty minutes.
She took a huge breath and ran a hand across her chignon. It was still smooth. The walk was nice; she couldn't remember the last time she was in the park. Rosalind never usually ventured outside much between school and being at home in her apartment. But then, she was usually sleeping.
It wasn't long before she came upon Fifth Avenue. She made a left and walked four blocks up to 70th street.
"Number 3… number 3…" She whispered to herself, "oh… this can't be right."
Her jaw dropped as she gazed at the building before her. It was a beautiful old limestone mansion. There was a wrought iron fence with a gilded gate around its perimeter. It didn't quite look out of place as the neighborhood was dripping with old money but the energy the building emanated was decidedly otherworldly. It unnerved her.
"This has to be a joke." Rosalind muttered, "This is worse than that craigslist scam. Well, at least Nina will be amused."
But Rosalind didn't leave. Her logic informed her of the strange and possibly dangerous situation she was in but a sensation in her chest cemented her feet to the pavement. She saw a call button by the front entrance of the gate. The voice in her head screamed at her as she moved to it and placed her finger against the button. Her heart jumped a little as the gate swung open.
Rosalind walked up to the entrance and put her knuckles up to the door to knock. The door opened and Mr. Gold stood in the doorway.
"Welcome." He said as the corner of his lip lifted into a small smile.
"Is this your….?" Rosalind stammered as she stepped over the threshold.
"Home?" Mr. Gold finished as he led her through the entrance hall into his study, "yes. When this opened up, I just couldn't resist. It was quite a deal."
Rosalind consciously closed her mouth in order to refrain from looking like a gaping codfish.
"It's unbelievable." She breathed as she gazed at the large paneled room.
The sunlight streamed in through large arched French windows. The Persian rug seemed to be over a hundred years old but it was still soft and plush beneath her feet. A large grandfather clock ticked in the corner.
"Have a seat." Mr. Gold gestured to the Chippendale chair in front of his desk as he took the one behind it. "So, tell me about yourself… Ms. French."
Her name seemed to roll off his tongue with a familiar level of ease that intrigued Rosalind. She smiled.
"Well," she breathed, "I've danced for as long as I can remember. I grew up in a small town but I wanted more than the country life. Too provincial for me, you know? So, I got a scholarship for ballet and I've been studying here for three years. In March, I'll audition for the company. In May, I graduate.
"It's expensive for a student to live in New York and I've been living in a virtual closet in Hamilton Heights for the past year. It costs nine hundred dollars a month. I lost my scholarship last week and now I don't have any means with which to pay for school, let alone rent or other expenses.
"I did help my father out in his office when I was younger—he's in sales. So I have some administrative experience. Other than that… I…love… art?"
"I can offer you twenty five dollars an hour."
"That's great…." Rosalind huffed incredulously, "how many hours a week?"
"Around thirty." Mr. Gold replied, "Maybe more. I want to be as respectful of your studies as possible but my collection is very big... and, at the moment, very disorganized. Don't worry, you won't be lifting anything – I have people for that. I don't want you to be physically compromised in any way, knowing that it's your livelihood."
"Thank you."
"There may be some late hours," he continued, "I have various events I attend, gallery openings and such. I'll need you to handle everyday operations of the overall collection: monitor room temperatures, hire restoration specialists and keep track of my items. I have a variety of things."
"I… can see that…." Rosalind glanced around the room.
There were Ming vases, Roman artifacts, and Flemish tapestries from the fifteenth century. All priceless objects but only one thing caught her eye.
Rosalind rose from her chair and started toward it before nervously glancing at her new employer.
"May…I?"
He nodded slightly, his eyes trained on her as she gravitated toward the tiny thing. Rosalind bent down and studied it.
"It's a chipped cup." She grinned without hiding her puzzlement.
"Yes." Mr. Gold expelled a steady breath from his lungs.
"I… I…" Rosalind stuttered, "I think I had a tea set like this when I was young… though… I can't quite remember… the pattern, it looks so familiar."
"Does it?" His heart was in his throat now.
"Yes… but…"
"What?"
"Oh, never mind." Rosalind waved her hand and stood up straight, "it's funny, though."
"Funny?"
"Yes. I mean, you have so many valuable things and then… you have this. Why?"
He was silent.
"I'm—I'm sorry," Rosalind blurted out, "I shouldn't have pried."
"No worries." Gold cracked a smile, relieved he didn't have to answer her question. "So can you begin on Saturday?"
"Well," Rosalind thought for a moment, "I have a workshop at ten. I can hop over after that. It ends at noon."
"Perfect." Mr. Gold said, "I'll see you on Saturday, Rosalind."
Her eyebrow went up at the emphasis he put on her name.
"See you then, Mr. Gold." She giggled.
He saw her to the door and closed it tightly after she'd left him. He'd spent so many years combing the city. He wandered the streets at night, wondering where she was. They had been placed here for a reason but the Evil Queen got more than she bargained for when she'd made the deal with him. With the knowledge he'd retained, Rumpelstiltskin knew Belle was somewhere in this chaotic urban mess but the Queen had kept her hidden away from him. He had begun to believe it was a lost cause.
He'd gone to all the colleges and had put up job descriptions every once and a while, knowing Belle would fall into the age range. He'd always kept up his hopes that she'd be a student somewhere – and not out, alone, on the streets.
He was just going through the old motions the day before at the ballet school's practice building. He'd even been there a few times before but never had seen her. Truth be told, he spent the majority of his time at the city libraries scanning the stacks for her face.
A dancer. A ballerina. It made him ecstatic and anguished in the same moment. She seemed truly happy to be pursuing ballet. Her face had ignited with that same passion he'd dreamed of every night since she had left him. It was a remarkable feat that she'd found such joy in this place.
With his cane guiding him, Mr. Gold shuffled into his parlor. He gazed out the window just in time to see her cross the street and disappear into the park.
A second chance. He'd never had one before.