Chapter 3 :

Hello, Prince Charming

Hours later, as she stood at her empty apartment with her few precious valuables crammed into a beaten-up duffle bag, Cinderella didn't feel too sorry about leaving. She'd informed her landlord, paid him last month's rent, and packed up her items within a half hour. It seemed odd to her that her whole life could be stowed in a single bag, without the hefty moving trucks and muscle-bound men to heave furniture in and out.

On the way to the manse, Cinderella passed by the chic boutiques on Rodeo Drive, strolled past baby boutiques and doggy boutiques without a second glance. Then, approaching North Beverly Drive, she stood in front of The Cheesecake Factory, debating whether she should buy herself a large slice of cake. After all, she no longer had her monthly rent to worry about.

The door popped open and out walked the most gorgeous of Hollywood's leading men—Preston Carter, or as the tabloids loved to call him, Prince Charming. Before she could revel in his awe-inspiring aura any further, he tripped, propelling the large cake box in his hands forward…and onto Cinderella's just-washed jeans.

"Oh god, I am so sorry," He breathed, staring at the spectacular mess of whipped cream and cheesecake splattered down her front. He whipped off his sunglasses—(why did celebrities wear sunglasses after dark anyway?) and glanced around helplessly for tissues. Possibly inside the bakery he'd just walked out of??

Cinderella, however, couldn't say a word. She realized how ridiculous she looked with cake hanging down her front, but she was simply mesmerized by the way his dark-green tee-shirt clung to his well-defined abs, or the way his faded jeans…well. Let's not go there. Knowing full well that her cheeks were flaming scarlet, she looked up to meet the sparkling green eyes she'd seen plastered on buses across L.A.

"Um, well, I just, um," Crap. What the hell was she saying?

"Listen, I'll just go get tissues, but uh, I'll pay whatever dry-cleaning bills I caused." He rushed back in.

Dry cleaning bills? Dry cleaning bills?? Her jeans had gone through so many broken-washing-machine-washes that they changed shades on a weekly basis.

Before she could drool over his dreaminess, he came back out with wads of paper towels, half damp with club soda and water. Smart man.

"Um, don't worry about it, it's okay," Cinderella insisted, but he'd already attempted wiping away the cheesecake. In years to come, she would strongly recall his fingers brushing ever so lightly against the creases of her jeans.

"I'm really sorry," He said again finally, fishing out his wallet from his back pocket. "Here's a fifty—"

"No, no, it's really okay, it's fine." Cinderella found herself blushing once again.

"Well, okay then," Preston Carter stood hesitantly, the wads of sticky tissue still hanging limply from one hand.

"Yeah. Um, you might wanna get a new cake." She offered uselessly.

"Yeah. Yeah," he motioned towards the doorway. "Okay then. Sorry again," He waved goodbye and headed into the bakery.

"No problem," Cinderella murmured at no one in particular. Passers-by glanced fleetingly at her creamy, sticky jeans with distaste. She couldn't care less. Walking all the way up Beverly Hills to the Cummings' mansion, Cinderella shuffled on a cloud of air a foot above the ground, all thoughts of a birthday cake forgotten. She couldn't remember another birthday when Hollywood's Prince Charming almost fell into her lap.

When she finally reached the wrought-iron gates of the Cummings mansion, she crept into the side-entrance, hoping that she could avoid being told off for her disheveled appearance. The side-entrance led to the pantry, where she hoped that Esmeralda, the Cook, would ask few questions and allow her to change in the safety of her new bedroom.

Unfortunately, Second Butler, a strict, appropriate man, opened the door to usher her in. "You're late." He sniffed disapprovingly. "Madame has been inquiring as to your tardiness."

"Sorry, I got held up," Cinderella apologized. "Could I just change quickly?"

"By all means," Second Butler waved her away as though she were a pesky fly. "Report promptly to the kitchen when you are finished…tidying yourself. Cook requires your help." And with that, he turned on his well-polished heel and left.

The servants' quarters were almost a separate building from the rest of the mansion. The butlers' rooms were rather larger and more comfortable, Cinderella considered, whereas hers was the tiniest and most modest. This was the hierarchy of the household staff—First Butler, Second Butler, Cook, then Maid. She couldn't complain, however, as the 'tiny' room was moderately spacious, with crips white linen sheets and simplistic décor. She even had her own bathroom—a significantly added improvement from the grubby hallway toilet in her old flat. Though she longed to take a long, cold shower after her long day's work, she settled to wiggle out of her sticky jeans and slip on her maid's uniform. Running a hand through her messy hair quickly, she tied it back into a simple bun before slipping out into the kitchen.

"Esmeralda?" She asked the Cook tentatively, "Butler said you needed help."

The plump woman turned and beckoned her to the sink. "Yes, can you please wash up those dishes—I've been swamped with endless cooking since noon. Ay, these people never stop eating, but they're still thin as a stick."

Cinderella dutifully picked up the heavy china piled next to the sink and began soaping each dish and rinsing it thoroughly, again and again.

"Even worse, there's that party they're having on Sunday!" Esmeralda continued, garnishing mini tartlets with juicy strawberries. "They say they have Wolfgang Puck catering but the old witch is still making me make appetizers all over the place. She tells me you trained in some fancy cooking school, that true?"

"Oh! No, just plain old home-cooking." Cinderella answered honestly.

"Your mama taught you?" Esmeralda asked conversationally. Cinderella nodded. "That's the best kind, mi hija. You know, the Madame don't want me to cook in this house, she want some French chef, but Mr. Cummings loved my cooking—I worked for his mother before. And besides, nobody wants to work as domestic chef for long, they just too busy getting TV shows and working for some big restaurant." She placed the last mini tartlet on a silver tray. "There. Two dozen tartlets for just four people."

Cinderella glanced up from her washing, her stomach rumbling with hunger. She hadn't eaten since the Egg McMuffin she'd grabbed on the way to work that morning. The strawberry tartlets were lined up on the silver tray in an artsy flower-shape.

Esmeralda caught her eye. Cinderella looked away, focusing on scrubbing a Black & Decker blender. "A little birdie told me that it's your birthday."

"Sebastian?" Cinderella looked up in surprise.

"Is that his name? He come in here every time, always going through the fridge and hassling me—today, he came and ate a whole box of truffles by himself, then he annoy me so much I send him off with a sandwich." Esmeralda moved pots and pans aside, wiping the counter beside the immense stove. "I didn't think you got time for any dinner, so I baked you a little something."

Cinderella turned around. Esmeralda opened one of the silver oven-doors slightly and pointed at a tray of cupcakes. "They're not done yet. But I got this recipe for key-lime cupcakes, they're gonna be delicious. I was gonna make a special dinner as well, but I didn't have enough time."

"Wow, thanks so much," Cinderella felt overwhelmed by her generosity. "I know you have tons to do—"

"Hey, I got bored of making mini quiches. And it looks like we got plenty of leftovers, so we'll be fine."

Butler walked in and seized the tray of mini tartlets without a word. His face seemed to be contorted in rigid fury. Esmeralda sighed. "He's actually the nice one, but Second Butler—his name's Paul, he's trying to get Butler fired, so he's a little on edge."

"Gosh, I didn't know that." Cinderella began toweling off the larger pots and pans.

"There's a lot you don't know when you clock out at 6 pm, kid. There's a lotta gossip that goes on 'round here." Esmeralda spread out a sheet of dough and began rolling it into little cups. "You got a boyfriend?"

"No," she answered immediately. A slow blush spread across her cheeks.

"Oh, so no boyfriend, but there is someone! Come on, who is it?" Esmeralda prodded, sticking her spatula out. It dripped creamy sauce on the kitchen floor. "Ay, grab that mop, will you?"

Cinderella obliged. "It's no one, really. I'm not seeing anyone, when do I have the time to be dating when this job takes me from morning till night?"

"That's the problem, isn't it? But a pretty girl like you will find a man soon enough. Maybe a postman or a baker…you know, someone stable."

Cinderella could only think of Preston Carter and his chocolate-brown hair.

"Those twins, they're always comin' home in the early morning, always partying at some club till they get so drunk they pass out." Esmeralda shook her head. "I can hear them comin' in, they're giggling and dropping their keys, then they sleep till noon the next day. Can't get any good man like that. But I hear—" she glanced at the doorway briefly and leaned closer to Cinderella—"I hear that Vanessa has a crush on that actor, what is his name, um, you know the one who's in that movie with that pretty actress, he's so good-looking, he's got these big green eyes—oh! His face is on that bus for some movie advertisement, you know his name?"

Cinderella's heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. "Preston Carter?"

"Yeah! Now he's a handsome man, how old is he, you think? Twenty-five? Twenty-eight? I hear Vanessa want him to come to the party and he's gonna come cause Mr. Cummings, he's the big producer for the film."

Oh.god. OH.GOD. Preston Carter was coming to the party. Here, at the house, where she, Cinderella, worked.

"You okay, mi hija? You look a little pale." Esmeralda's brow furrowed in scrutiny. "Don't worry, we'll be eating soon, after the family finish up."

Cinderella nodded, stacking up the expensive china. Her mind was reeling at this news—what if Preston Carter dated Vanessa? She, the waif with the margarine-blonde extensions down to her waist, with the size-zero ass and the simpering attitude, seemed to have a much better chance at landing a hotshot movie star than Cinderella, the plain, ordinary maid, with the size-six ass and the girl-next-door charms.

"My daughter loves him. She talk all the time bout his movies, and how handsome he is, until one day, I go with her to see his movie just to see what all the talk is about…then I see it myself: he's so charming and so handsome! I say to my daughter, a man like that, he's gotta have lots of girlfriends, and she say 'No Mama, I read Us Weekly all the time, and they all love him, he's never partyin' or goin' to clubs and getting drunk." Esmeralda stacked the pots and pans back in their rightful cabinets.

"God, can you imagine dating a man like that? You gotta be some kind of real princess for him to fall in love with you. He's a real Prince Charming." Esmeralda smiled.

Cinderella fought to suppress a rising giggle. She felt like a schoolgirl, giddy with puppy love of some kind. She'd only met him once—maybe he wasn't as lovely and fabulous as everyone mentioned. "A real princess, huh?" She mused.

"Yeah, like one of those girls who can just say, 'Hello,' and make him fall head-over-heels in love with her. Other girls, they don't stand a chance."

Cinderella turned away. She'd already met Preston Carter. She hadn't said 'Hello' or even 'Hey', she'd mumbled an incoherent 'Afajemkfi," or something of the sort. Silently, she vowed to herself that if she'd ever have the rare chance to see him again, she would demurely murmur, "Hello, Prince Charming."

Author's Note: Two chapters in one night! Phew. Good eye on the accidental 'Preston Burke' typo--I've been watching too much Grey's Anatomy, it seems. P Reviews are always appreciated, and more frequent updates to come.

Coming Soon: The Costume Ball, the magical transformation and another encounter with Prince Charming.