Holiday
Chapter 1
So Happy
"Goooood daaaay Aaammmmerrrrica.!" The pretty blonde television reporter smiled vapidly out at her early morning audience. "This is your style reporter, Ashley de La Feu, bringing you an update on Princess Isabella's visit to Asheville, North Carolina, the tenth stop of her much-publicized goodwill tour of American cities!"
Images of a petite pretty brunette in high heels were flashed behind Ashley as she breathlessly continued, "Her first stop, you remember, was San Francisco, California, where she charmed the natives eating street food in famed Chinatown. Then it was off to Seattle, Washington, where, of course, she went to," Ashley paused dramatically, "a coffee shop. Then Denver, Colorado, Austin, Texas, and so on in a whirlwind of eating, shopping, visiting historic sites, attending sporting and cultural events. This gracious, young member of one of Europe's oldest ruling families enchants crowds wherever she goes."
"Ashley," an older, attractive woman addressed her from across a table, "The Princess is known for her philanthropic work with children and for her fashion style, isn't she?"
"Mallie, do you ever have that right. At twenty-three she is already a fashion icon. She is known for wearing designer clothing and shopping at little upscale boutiques but, how can any of us forget when she, unexpectedly, dropped into a Target store in Denver, which I imagine was a security nightmare, but she came away with a cute little denim skirt and floral top, both of which promptly sold out. Looked fantastic on her. She just has an innate sense of style and what works for her."
The other woman nodded, "But Ashley, isn't this schedule a strain? I mean, she's been in the public eye twenty out of twenty-four hours for more than two weeks."
"Well, anybody else keeping this schedule would have had their head explode by now." Ashley smiled brightly at the camera, "I guess that's what makes her a royal princess."
A Posh Gathering
"Her Royal Highness." At this announcement, the room full of dignitaries, glittering women, and self-sufficient men, became quiet.
Princess Isabella stepped through a wide doorway dressed in one of her latest designer gowns, a lovely white dress with slight blue trim, wearing her diamond and sapphire tiara along with a sapphire necklace. She stepped into the room and slowly made her way to the dais. She was accompanied by an older man, the Ambassador himself, an attractive older man with a scowl on his face, dressed in a formal military uniform. She was followed by Countess Cora du Coeur and General Le Roy Rêveur. As she made her way down the aisle, she smiled and nodded, occasionally stopping to speak to one or the other guests. Many bowed or curtsied as the Princess went by. Belle, as she was known to her confidants, family members and close associates, made her way to the dais, stepped up and, smiling, turned to face the guests. She was about to sit down when the Ambassador gave her a silent signal, touching her arm and almost imperceptibly shaking his head. She remained standing as the guests formed a line, each to be presented to her Royal Highness.
The line seemed endless. Belle was drawing from her French, her Italian, her Spanish, her Russian, her German, her Japanese, her Farsi and a few other languages that she had forgotten she knew, in greeting the seemingly infinite parade of guests.
She stifled a yawn, somehow managing to keep a smile on her face. After about twenty minutes, Belle realized that she shouldn't have worn the shoes she selected. They were amazing shoes, but their comfort level on a SUD scale was, at most, a two.
Her feet were killing her.
She glanced down. No one could see her feet underneath her voluminous skirt. She slipped her left foot out, all the while greeting somebody in German. There was immediate relief and she rubbed her foot against the back of her right leg.
She smiled at the next guest, recognizing the language as Farsi. She put her left shoe back on. That felt good.
"So good of you to come," she greeted another guest as she slipped out her right foot and began to rub it against her left leg.
The Duke of Weselton was announced. The self-important emissary approached and grabbed her hand pulling her off balance, "Oh Princess. You are more beautiful in person than in any of your pictures." Belle lurched and knocked over her shoe in the process.
The Count was taken aback but recovered, assuming that his extraordinary good looks had knocked the Princess off balance. Rêveur noticed something was not right and stepped up to keep a closer eye on the Princess.
Belle continued smiling and greeting the seemingly endless line of well-wishers and guests, but all the while beneath her formal gown, she was frantically waving her foot about, desperately trying to set her shoe upright so she could get it back on her foot.
But she was unsuccessful.
Finally, the last guest was greeted and it was time for her to sit down. The band started to play a waltz. As Belle stepped back to the chair, the offending errant shoe was left on the dais. She made a vain attempt to draw it back under her skirt but couldn't quite reach it.
General Rêveur saw what was happening. He stepped in front of Princess Belle. "Milady, would you do me the honor of this dance?" he asked her smiling.
Belle nodded and rose, moving to stand so that her dress covered the shoe and, now able to put her full attention to the task, she righted it and slipped it on. She gave her arm to the General and they danced. He was soon interrupted by the pompous Duke who gave Belle a lively dance. Then they were interrupted by a solemn gentleman and then another smiling guest and so on.
Later that Same Evening
Belle kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed.
"Oh no, Princess. You'll ruin your dress," Cora chastised her. Cora was from one of the oldest royal-related families in the kingdom – but, well, not exactly. Cora was a commoner who had married into one of the oldest families in the kingdom. But she took the job of being royal-related very seriously.
"So what? It's not like I'll be wearing it again. It will end up in some museum or in a charity auction," Belle protested. But, nonetheless, she got up and stood so that Cora could unzip her and help her out of the gown.
"This is certainly one of the prettiest dresses you've had, Miss Belle," Cora chattered on. "You looked especially lovely tonight except for that shoe fiasco. Who was that funny Duke that kept getting you to dance with him?" Cora hung up the exquisite gown and then sat down in one of the deeply upholstered chairs, put on some reading glasses and picked up some crewel embroidery which she attended to while Belle finished changing her clothes.
"Duke Weaseltown or some such from Arendale. I have no idea what he's doing in town," Belle replied, taking the pins out from her up-do and letting her waist length hair drop down. She stripped down and put on a silk champagne-colored nightgown with spaghetti straps. It was cut on the bias and surrounded her body in a swirl of flattering shimmering vanilla fabric. Lady Cora handed her a hairbrush and Belle began to brush her hair.
Belle looked down at her nightgown. "Why do I have to wear this nightgown? I hate this nightgown. I hate all my nightgowns. And I hate all my underwear too."
"But dear, you have such lovely things," Lady Cora put down her embroidery. She was clearly puzzled at Belle's reaction.
"But this looks like something I would wear on my wedding night. It's not my wedding night," Belle protested. "Why can't I sleep in some little sleep shorts and a tank top?"
"Sleep shorts and a tank top!" Lady Cora was obviously scandalized. "Oh, please tell me you aren't thinking of taking another one of those outlandish trips to . . . what was that awful store? Bullseye? Red Dot? Target?"
"But everybody loved that. And I got the cutest little outfit," Belle protested.
"It was a lovely one-time gesture," Cora agreed smoothly picking up her handwork and taking a few more stitches. "But not something of which you would want to make a habit."
Belle rolled her eyes. "Maybe I could start sleeping in something truly naughty, like panties and a man's shirt." Belle considered, "Now where could I get a man's shirt? Maybe Le Roy would lend me one. Certainly, that silly Duke would lend me his."
Cora shook her head, frowning. "Well, I certainly hope you have the good taste not to ask either one of them for their shirts."
Belle lay down in the bed, but she felt strangely restless and could be still for only a moment. She heard something.
"What is that sound?" she asked sitting up. "It's music!" She identified the sound, got up and ran over to look out the door that opened onto a balcony.
"Get your robe," Cora called after her. "You need to put it on and get away from the window." There was a knock at the door. Cora answered it and brought a tray into the room. "Here are your milk and cookies."
Belle dutifully put on the matching lace-trimmed silken robe. She stepped away from the window and took the tray. She sat on the bed and pouted. "Everything we do is so wholesome."
"This will help you sleep," Cora told her, unmoved.
Belle sighed but took a drink and a nibble of a cookie. "I'm too tired to sleep. I won't be able to sleep a wink."
Cora put away the embroidery and took out a notebook. "Now, my dear, tomorrow's schedule. At eight thirty, we'll have breakfast here at the hotel with your staff. They've reserved a room in the dining hall for us. At nine o'clock, there will be a press conference here. You will be meeting with a," she paused. What she had next to say was distasteful. "A herd of reporters," she finished.
Belle began to rub her head, "Sweetness and Decency." She named the memorized speech and crossed her eyes.
"At ten o'clock," Cora continued unperturbed, "we leave for the Polinory Automotive Works where you'll be presented with a small car."
Belle sighed, playing with the napkin that had been placed under her cookies, "Thank you," she said in a monotone. She seemed subdued.
"Which you will not accept," Cora admonished her.
"Oh. No, thank you," Belle corrected herself, still in her monotone.
"At eleven, you will visit the Western North Carolina Farmer's Market where you will be presented with a large basket of fruit and vegetables."
"No, thank you," Belle repeated, her mood continuing to drop.
"Which you will accept," Cora corrected her.
"Thank you."
Cora continued, "At twelve, you will go to Mission Hospital and preside over the opening of their new pediatric wing. You will give the same speech as you did in Houston.
Belle furrowed her brow, "Trade Relations?"
Cora shook her head, "No dear, not for the children."
Belle thought a moment, "Youth and Progress."
"Precisely," Cora confirmed. "Then at one o'clock, we will return here for you to rest . . . ," she looked down at the schedule. "No, that's wrong. Oh yes, at one o'clock, there will be a luncheon with the Governor and several state representatives. What do you think? Prada or Vera Wang?"
"The Tom Ford," Belle said dully and finished her milk.
"Oh yes, that dress would be perfect. Now at three o'clock, you will be presenting a plaque to city leaders in Pack Square, downtown Asheville.
Belle nodded her head as if she was talking to someone, "Thank you."
Cora continued, "At four forty-five, you will review the police . . ."
Belle nodded her head again, "How do you do?"
"Then you will come back here to change into a formal dress . . ."
Belle continued to nod her head, "Charmed. . . . So happy . . . Delighted."
"So you can meet with the International . . . "
Belle suddenly screamed out up-ending her tray with the glass and plate on it. "STOP! Please stop! Stop!" She was crying.
Cora retrieved the tray, the glass, and the plate. "It's all right dear. Nothing's broken."
Belle had thrown herself back on her bed and shut her eyes. She shouted out, "I don't care if it's broken or not! I don't care if it's shattered!"
Cora stood and calmly surveyed the situation. "My dear, you're ill. I'll send for the doctor."
Belle covered her face with a pillow. "I don't want to see Doctor Whale! Just let me die in peace!"
Cora gave an exasperated sigh, "You are not dying."
Belle, furious, sat up and shouted at Cora, "Leave me!" When Cora didn't move, Belle shouted at her again, "Leave me!"
Cora shook her head, "It's just nerves. Control yourself, Princess."
Belle threw herself back on the bed and pounded her fist into the bed, "I. Don't. Want. To!"
Cora made a decision. "I'm going to get Doctor Whale," and she headed for the door.
Belle sat up and shouted out after Cora, "It will do no good. I'll be dead before he gets here." And then she threw herself back onto the bed again.
The Good Doctor
Cora soon returned with Dr. Whale and General Rêveur. The threesome walked over to the bed and the doctor looked at Belle, who didn't move.
Dr. Whale turned to Cora, "She's asleep."
Cora sniffed, "I doubt it. She was in hysterics three minutes ago."
Dr. Whale put his bag on the table and bent over to her, "Princess Isabella, ma'am, are you asleep?" he asked gently.
There was a muttered, indistinct, "No!"
"All right then. Let's make sure you aren't running a fever," and he took out an old-fashioned mercury –based thermometer and popped it into Belle's mouth. "I'll only disturb you a moment."
Belle talked to him around the thermometer, "I'm very ashamed, Doctor Whale. I . . . suddenly. . . there was music. . . and then we went over the schedule . . . and I just started crying." And tears began to streak down her face.
"You've been under a lot of pressure, Princess Isabella. A few tears are understandable," the doctor told her kindly.
General Rêveur asked the Doctor, "Will she be calm enough to face this press conference, Doc?"
Belle took the thermometer out and she spoke rapidly, "Don't worry everybody. I'll be calm and relaxed and I . . . I'll smile and . . . I'll improve trade relations . . . I will make all the sick children feel better . . . " And the longer she talked, the more tears flowed. Belle threw herself on one of her pillows and started to sob again.
"There she goes again," Cora remarked. "Please Doctor Whale. Can't you give her something?"
"Let's see here," Doctor Whale turned and began to look through his bag. "I think I may have just the thing. A little liquid courage." And he pulled out a syringe.
General Rêveur watched alarmed and stepped away from the group.
"What is that?" Belle asked, peering up at him.
"Oh, just something that will make you sleep and help you relax. It may make you feel a little happy." He readied the injection and as he gave Belle the shot, General Rêveur hit the floor in a dead faint. "There you go," Dr. Whale reassured the Princess.
"I don't feel any differently," Belle said immediately.
Dr. Whale gave her a gentle smile. "Your Highness, you will. It may take it a little while to take hold. You'll be feeling very happy and quite relaxed soon enough. Now just lie back down. All right?"
"Can I keep one light on?" Belle asked as they begin to back out of the room.
"Of course. Just relax here for a while."
As they prepared to leave, the Countess noticed the General on the floor. "Oh, good grief. Dr. Whale. Quick, over here."
They helped the General sit up and he cleared his throat and shook his head. "Oh, my. Oh, I'm all right. Perfectly all right." With help, he managed to stand. "Goodnight ma'am," he bowed and left.
Dr. Whale also bowed, "Goodnight Princess."
"Goodnight Doctor," Belle told them, watching them. The Countess turned off the light as she left, leaving Belle in the dark.
Now alone, Belle looked around the room. It's a posh hotel room but, other than the luxuriousness of the sheets and the heaviness of the furniture, pretty much like any other hotel room. As she lay on the bed, she heard the music again. She got out of the bed and went over to the door to the balcony and looked out.
Across the street, she could see a bandstand and people dancing. She opened the door and went out onto the balcony. There was a gentle breeze blowing onto her as she stood on the balcony. The night was cool, but not too cold.
Belle looked back at the room door, then returned to the room. She then went over to her closet to rummage through her clothes. She soon enough found the little denim skirt and the cute top she'd gotten at Target and slipped them on. She looked at herself in the mirror and grabbed a pair of scissors from the Duchess's embroidery basket and ruthlessly cut her hair, reducing her long tresses to an uneven two inches or so all over. She ran her fingers through it and ruffled it up, the natural curliness taking hold. She then peeked out the door of her room. There was a guard at the end of the hallway sitting in front of the elevator. He had half-way nodded off. Belle returned to her room and went out onto the balcony. She was on the second floor. There were guards and police watching the street near her room. She waited for them to make a circuit. They seem distracted by the dancers across the street. Taking a deep breath, she went over the railing and lowering herself so that she was just hanging on to the bottom of the railing, she dropped onto some bushes. She froze, hoping the noise hadn't attracted any attention and remained crouched down for a while looking around.
She had not attracted any attention.
She took a deep breath and, acting like she was just any other local, walked up the street and then crossed it, heading across the street over to the field of music and dancers.
Poker Night
"So how long were you locked up? I'm betting ten."
"Ninety excruciatingly long days. Ten it is. Dealer asks, how many?"
"Damn. Three cards. Was it rough?" It was a tall lanky young man talking.
"I'll take one," another player spoke up. He was a short man with a bald head and sleepy eyes.
"One," said a fourth player with dark hair and a red nose.
The Dealer answered the question. "I have a new definition of pain. I would have had to rally to die those first couple of days." After checking his hand, the dealer, an older man with a handsome, expressive face, spoke, "Two for papa."
"Clean now?" the lanky young man followed-up.
"I'm betting another ten," said the bald man.
"I'm in," said the dealer and he dropped another ten into the pot. "Totally clean. No drugs, no booze, no nicotine. Hell, I don't even play the lotto cards. The occasional friendly poker game and caffeine are as extreme as I get nowadays."
"I'm out," said the dark-haired man.
The young man added a ten and then dropped a twenty into the pot. "I'm impressed. Good job, man."
The dealer and the bald man each added a twenty into the pool.
The bald man showed his cards, "Two pairs."
The dealer laid his down, "Well, all I got are three shy little sevens." And he began to reach for the pot.
But, the tall young man then laid down his cards, "A nervous straight." And he reached over to pull in the pot. "Very nice gentlemen. I'll be able to buy breakfast in this expensive joint tomorrow. But now I regret that I've got to go before you lot end up buying me lunch too. I think we've all got an early date with her Royal Highness who will graciously pose for some pictures and repeat some crap from a script."
"Early?" said the dealer. "Jefferson, my invite says it will be nine a.m."
"That's early for me, Gold," said Jefferson.
"I'm sure it is. Anyway, although I've got the company Visa, I've only got a couple of hundred in cash to my name to make it to next payday, so none of you are getting any more of me," said Gold, standing to go and grabbing a cane to help him walk. "I'll see you," he said to Jefferson, "at little Princess Izzy's party in the morning. Stay sober everyone."
He left the poker game and limped along the street. He headed down Biltmore Avenue to a cheaper hotel than the one the Princess was staying in – his employer might have been willing to put him up in the pricey place but there simply hadn't been any available rooms. He walked through the field where the bandstand was and saw a few of the celebrants still lingering on. He walked by a bench and was momentarily distracted by a young woman laid out on it. As he walked by, he heard her.
"Soooooo haaaappy."
He stopped and turned around to check on her. "Hey, dearie. You all right?"
"Mmmmmmmm," she murmured and shifted, starting to slip off the bench.
He caught her and sat her back up. She was boneless and floppy.
"Thank you. Very much. Delighted," she said in clipped tones.
"Wake up, dearie," he brushed her hair away from her face.
"No . . . thank you." She offered him her hand. "Charmed."
Gold, nearly laughing, shook his head, "Yeah, I'm charmed too."
"You may . . . sit down," she told him.
"I think you need to sit up. You're much too young to get picked up by the police."
"The police!" she seemed alarmed.
"Yes dearie, the police," he told her.
"At four forty-five I will review the police and then back to change . . ." she nearly fell over again.
Gold pulled her back upright again. "You know, people who can't handle liquor shouldn't drink it."
"I didn't have any liquor. 'I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again.' Do you know that poem?"
"Sylvia Plath. 'I think I made you up inside my head.' Well, you're well-read, well-dressed and you're sleeping on a public bench. Would you care to make a statement?" He was puzzling over what to do with the girl.
"What the world needs is a return to sweetness and decency in the souls of its young men and . . ." her head dropped and she leaned into his shoulder.
She had dozed off again.
"Oh, come on, sweetheart," he told her, making a decision.
.