Serena sat, staring intently out the car window. In her hand she clutched the bag that Diana had given her, stroking the beading from top to bottom. It and its contents were without contest, the finest things she had had in her possession, and the way she had come about them seemed surreal in an almost distressing way. Her fingers traveled up to her lips, touching them as if a trace of that haunting room had lingered. She swallowed deeply and with deliberation, the smell and taste of it still hung thickly in her throat. In the window, she saw Andrew, his reflection, and the concern in his eyes. Neither of them had spoken much since leaving the store. The peculiarity of the scene had struck her so deeply that she could think of little more. She had made it out of the dark room with slight difficulty, the same way she had come in—alone.
It will bring you out by the light of the moon.
After Diana had left, her voice had seemed to linger and hang in the air, almost like a mental echo. She had been told to trust it—trust the dress as if it were something alive and breathing, something you could tangibly put trust into, but it was a dress—cloth and stitches, simple and white, nothing more. What had she meant? Light of the moon?
When asked, Andrew replied that she was a peculiar woman. She worked in her own ways, and sarcastically, Serena retorted that she sounded like God.
"But God's a bit less mysterious," she thought. In her mind, she reran her encounter with Diana, and slowly, she painted her fingernails a red lacquer, her eye-lids a shock of blue, replaced the lanky black dress she wore with old gypsy garb, and wrapped her hair in a vibrant cloth. Mentally, she saw a mystical, a fortune telling witch.
She flashed a quasi-smile in Andrew's direction that seemed to qualm the escalating tension, at least, on his part.
"How do you like your dress?" he asked.
"It's great," she nodded, pausing slightly, "When should I return it to you? Or should I bring it back to Diana?"
He gave a slight chuckle, shaking his head, "Keep it. I assure you; I won't be wearing it. Besides, I couldn't have you return it to Diana. You'd get lost a million times trying to find her place."
She laughed a little, glad for his comedic relief, but interjected quickly, "I couldn't possibly keep it. It must have cost…"
"Cost isn't an issue," he smiled kindly, "I'm sure you have enough problems on your hands to keep you from worrying about my financial ruin, which won't come about with one little dress. Keep the dress. It's the least I can do." The grin on his face turned sheepish, "I must have ruined your clothes with all that coffee."
She nodded dumbly, not wanting to stray into the topic of money, or in her case, the lack of it. Suddenly, she felt a stinging pang of guilt. Why had she even agreed to come today? To go to his gala? She knew. In the corner of her mind, it had been a chance to escape her life of poverty. She could rub shoulders with the richest men and women in Manhattan, and in the process, deny herself of who she really was, or rather where she really was—one step away from welfare. Her eyes drifted to the nicely pressed man beside her: his silk shirt, styled pants, and shoes—perfectly shined shoes, and felt painfully conscientious of her own old and worn attire. She crossed her legs and pulled her bag over her lap in a deliberate attempt to cover herself from him. She looked down at her fingers, half-expecting to find them smudged with dirt, and she hid her nails in the folds of her hands when they did turn out soiled. She felt like a peasant next to her lord, and it didn't seem quite fitting that he ride around with her—as friends even. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, acutely aware of the soft smell of leather in the vehicle.
"Thank you for all of this," she mumbled, almost to herself as if it had suddenly struck her that she hadn't expressed enough gratitude for his charity. She bent her head low above her lap, suddenly feeling the weight of peasantry.
"There's no need to thank me," Andrew said. He forced a smile, noting the lost relief in atmosphere, "I'm glad to. Really."
"No, but I…" Serena stopped herself just as abruptly as she started, not having anticipated her own explosion of words, and her volume had been higher than expected. Then, almost as swiftly as she had spoken, her face broke out flushed. She clenched her hands, feeling the perspiration growing there. With each second, she felt her anxiety swelling. This was unfamiliar environment that she was finding herself in, like a river fish taken out to sea, about to steal away for land, and her mind raced, the period of silence she prolonged not sitting well with either passenger of the car. She shook her head, as if the action could break the silence, but despite it all, both she and Andrew stood quiet, not knowing what to do or say. He knew her doubts about money; he had guessed them from the very start, but to call her on them would prove embarrassing to both.
"I don't think…" she stammered, "I don't think I can take this." Serena gestured towards the bag, demonstrating it slightly higher than necessary. "I mean, at least let me pay you back. I'd be sure to get the money to you in about a month. Or just—" she pushed it towards him placing it beside his lap, "just take it back. I'm so sorry. I just can't go to your gala. You don't understand, it's not just about the money. I feel like…I feel like I'm—"
"Betraying yourself," he finished, "I know—it's about pride."
She looked at him, astonished, "No—I mean, yes. It is…but how would you know? I mean, look at you. You're successful, good-looking, insanely wealthy. You've been fed your whole life with a silver platter…" Her voice trailed off, Serena turned away from him, realizing what she said. "I'm sorry Andrew. I didn't mean that."
He shook his head, "It's all right—you're not entirely wrong. I was born into a well-off family, raised by a well-off family, and still—live in a well-off family. Silver platters weren't altogether rare when I was growing up, but I do know what it's like. I've had my own experiences." He smiled softly, signaling the driver to stop. She looked at him questioningly.
"Darien and I had a rebellious year. It was our freshman year of college, and we both decided that we had grown sick of silver platters," he chuckled. "I guess we wanted plastic for a change. We did everything we could to defy our parents—and their wallets, until finally, the both of us were cut off. Darien first; I quickly followed. So we spent a year impoverished, both of us capable men, but neither of us with any sense as to how to live on our own. I'll never forget how it was to live day by day, not knowing how much we could afford to eat tomorrow, and—" he laughed, "learning the proper way to fold my underwear."
Serena cocked her head, laughing, "Always an important skill."
"Isn't it though?" he smiled, "That's how I met Mina. I had just learned to do my laundry. Although, a great deal of my clothes and Darien's too, had been ruined in the process. So there I was in the Laundromat, throwing the whites—some of them pink by this time—into this dingy little bucket. She came over and decided I needed help. Didn't even ask—just started folding my pink underwear."
Serena expressed her amusement unabashedly, "Love at first sight?" she asked.
"Nearly. She was gorgeous. I wanted to die away from embarrassment, but at that time, she had loads of money. I told her my story after some prodding. We had great chemistry, you know, but that's really the only thing that kept us apart. I thought she was trying to give me charity, and I was too proud to take it."
She nodded, "So then what?"
"I got over myself, and we fell in love." His smile broadened, "It's tough, but don't let it ruin your opportunities. Let yourself live. I get the feeling you don't allow yourself that privilege too often."
Serena shook her head, almost astounded, "It's amazing how sure you are of yourself."
"Years of practice pay off." He quipped.
She chuckled, "Who would have guessed? I've hardly known you a day, and you've got me figured out even better than I do myself."
He smiled eagerly, pressing the strings of the bag back into the palm of her hand, "So you'll go?"
Her eyes sought out his for some sort of last minute validation—could she do this? The question then, stood as to just what she was going to do, and why her gut seemed to harbor a feeling of dread she couldn't shake.
"You'll be there?" she asked.
He nodded, and she sighed. Whether it was a sigh of relief or defeat, she couldn't determine, but her head followed his, giving a slight nod of reassurance as if her words weren't enough.
"I'll go," she said, and in the speaking of her declaration, she felt an old knot at the pit of her stomach unfold and untangle—a puzzle finally broken through.
********************
Serena sat impatiently in a solitary chair—an old Lazy Boy that looked like it had been allowed to relax too much. It slumped outward in every which way, and at the same time, seemed to cave inwards at the center. She liked it because it was comfortable, but oftentimes, she muttered that it better have been. It was the lone piece of furniture in her tiny living room.
"Lita!" she shouted. She had left her waiting for nearly twenty minutes, the hair on her head an indiscernible mass. Serena had called her for help, not knowing the woman would go insane. They had been at it for hours, trying to mold the jungle on her head into something remotely distinguished, and Lita had brushed and pinned and curled and pulled and jabbed like a mad woman, insisting that the final product would be well worth the pain.
"Hold on!" Lita called back. She comically stumbled into the room, while supplies seemed to pour out of every side of her, especially her mouth. "How do you live like this?" she mumbled. Her words formed a muffled nonsense. "This place is a mess, and to top it off, you have so much unused closet space!"
Serena laughed at her friend's sincerity, as if unused closet space was a genuine sin, "How much longer Lita? I've been sitting here for hours."
Lita ran a hand through her own hair, now shockingly red, and gave an exaggerated snort, "It's only been thirty minutes, and judging from the looks of your head, we might be here for a while."
The blond pouted, pulling the corners of her lips to impossible depths. "It's taking forever," she whined.
"Yeah, yeah. Well, this fairy-godmother doesn't have a fucking magic wand so Cinderella's just going to have to wait." She pulled a jeweled come from her mouth and tucked a few strands of hair into place, "It'd be nice if your hair wasn't so difficult to work with. It's so fine that it feels like silk, but no one ever said silk was easy to mold." She jabbed a bobby pin into her head.
Serena gave a cry of pain and leapt from the chair, but two strong hands forced her back down.
"Hold still!"
She winced, trying to pull away from Lita's harsh grasp, "I would if you would stop—ow!—pulling!."
The redhead sighed, as she tucked another tuft of hair beneath a pin, "Beauty knows no pain Serena."
"Well then I must not be a beauty. I know it personally."
"Serena my dear," she said, "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but I must say—" she took a step back to admire her work, "I am impressive—a master." Her hands flew about the blond head in a frenzy, tucking stray strands back into place, fluffing things that needed to be fluffed.
"Stick a fork in yourself Serena," she laughed, "You're done."
"Good!" Serena leapt from the chair, which let out an odd wheezing.
Lita shook her head, tut-tutting at the aged leather seat, "Poor thing."
"Poor thing is right. I pity it."
"But not as much as I do," Lita said sympathetically, "You're getting back on it." She grinned deviously as she pushed the blond playfully into the seat.
"Hey, hey!" Serena protested, "Watch the hair." She paused, searching Lita's face for any hint of what more needed to be done.
"What now?" she asked, "Make-up needs retouching?"
She shook her head.
"Then stop with the poker face!" she cried, "You're frighteningly good at it."
Lita broke into her characteristic grin, "There was a box left for you at the store this morning, and as if that wasn't enough—just wait till you see what's inside!"
Serena raised an eyebrow as she pranced out of the room, her long legs flailing about in an almost awkward manner, "Since when do you open my packages for me?"
"Since you started cavorting with rich, good-looking men and hogging all the fun, my dear," Lita called back.
Serena laughed as she brought it back, "Well, go ahead and open it then!"
Lita brushed away the hair that had fallen into her eyes, positioning her fingers at the edge of the lid. The corner of her mouth crooked up in a mischievous half-grin, "You ready?" She watched her friend sigh frustratingly before opening the box top, and her eyes widened. Inside were shoes—the most astonishing shoes either of them had seen. They were dainty, small and white, but most of all—they seemed to shine with an almost ethereal glow. Anything the dress was lacking, the shoes made up for.
Serena raised a hand, almost afraid to meet them. "Beautiful," she breathed. Her eyes stole a furtive glance at Lita, "Are these from…?"
"You guessed it. She gestured towards the corner of the box with her head, "Check out the card he left."
She lifted it, reading the message. The shoes came as a gift from Diana, free of charge, and by their side lay a gorgeous earring set and necklace that shone with such vigor, they almost struck her fancy as being alive.
"Oh my goodness," she breathed. Her hand fluttered to her chest, "Now I really do feel like Cinderella."
"Well your Fairy Godmother says the clock is ticking. Hurry up and get those on." Lita giggled excitedly, "ooh Serena, you lucky duck. What I would give to be in your position." She swooned with exaggerated dramatic flair, "To spend the night with that Mr. Prince Charming of yours."
Serena hurriedly slipped on the shoes and put in the earrings. "Andrew and I are friends," she protested, "Can you help with the necklace?" She draped it over her neck and felt the clasp snap shut in the back.
"The final touch," she whispered, almost to herself. Doubt had somehow grown wings in the pit of her stomach. It fluttered about, creating wave upon wave of uncertainty. She turned around to face her friend, "I don't know if I can do this," but Lita stood still, her pretty mouth hanging open, and she was much too astonished to speak. She hardly recognized her friend. She was gorgeous, like something straight out of a picture as if she had transformed in the few seconds she was turned away. How had she changed so much in such short time?
"Serena," she blinked, only half-believing what stood before her eyes, "If you can't do this, I doubt anyone could. It's—you look amazing. How you look Serena…It's—it's beyond words."
She smiled reluctantly, "You flatter me Lita."
"No," the redhead pulled her towards the window's reflection, "Take a look for yourself."
Serena gasped, looking into her image. She was—beautiful. She didn't look like herself. She laughed incredulously; Serena James was pain at best—never beautiful. Even with the jewelry, the dress, the shoes…she hadn't expected such a dramatic change. She felt doubt receding.
"Is that me?" she asked, suddenly breathless. Her fingertips sought her likeness in the window.
"It is you," Lita replied, she smiled softly at the gentle knock on the door. "Are you ready?"
Serena shook her head, "I don't know."
She patted her friend affectionately on the shoulder. She didn't know what had happened, but whatever it was—it was magic. She took in a shuddering breath. It wasn't often that she got a chance to believe.
"Serena, something wonderful is going to happen tonight. I can feel it."
"I need you to be there with me Lita," she chuckled nervously, "I can't do this alone."
Lita laughed, "Well, it's a little late for that." She smiled, "You'll be fine, now go."
Serena breathed deeply before gathering up her skirt, and self-encouragingly, she nodded. "Just one night as the princess," she thought, "No more of this ugly-stepsister business." Her fingers gathered on the doorknob and gave a firm twist, opening the night.
And Cinderella was off to the Palace ball.