Danielle: Part Two

The night of the ball was a dizzying flurry of activity and colors, people shouting and scurrying about, all without a second of peace. Gretchen had made an unfortunate choice with a spray on tan, and I was left to my own devices in dressing myself while my mother spent all of her energy trying to make Gretchen look less like a pumpkin. I would have gone mad if Cindy hadn’t graciously lent a helping hand.

After Cindy had helped me into my sleek pink ball gown, I turned to her with an ancient question on my lips.

“Cindy,” I asked quietly, “why do you put up with Gretchen and Mother and all of the crap they make you do? Why don’t you just tell Brian or run away? You can’t possibly be happy.”

Cindy took a long pause before answering. She drew a breath and looked at me with an expression of resigned sadness.

“My father loves you and Gretchen and Cecelia very much,” she started slowly, “but I am all he has left to remember my mother by. She was the love of his life, you know,” she added with a hint of pride in her voice. I nodded.

“If I were to leave, or to tell him how Cecelia treats me, it would break his heart. I don’t want to disappoint him like that.”

I nodded slowly, suddenly very aware of how similar my step-sister and I were. We were both desperate not to disappoint the ones we loved, even if it meant sacrificing our own happiness. We were living for other people and denying ourselves the right to be happy, and in that one moment of perfect clarity, wrapped in pink silk and seeing my dull future play out in my head, I realized that was no way to live.

“I think I understand,” I said to Cindy, sitting down on my bed to put on my shoes, “but I don’t think I agree. You spend all of your time being miserable so your father can be blissfully ignorant. It’s a noble gesture, but where does it leave you?”

“I- I don’t know,” Cindy replied quietly. She stared at the floor for a long moment, deep in thought.

“You need to do something for yourself,” I said, “we both do.”

We were quiet then, both of us lost in our thoughts. We were on the verge of having one of those meaningful bonding moments that they always show in movies and fairy tales when the Witch burst into the room, a mess of red fabric and sequins, and raging mad.

“Cindy! Where did you put my pearls? I can’t find them anywhere!” she screamed. “You can’t expect me to meet the prince without my pearls! Find them for me!”

Cindy left the room without a word and my mother turned to me.

“Stand up,” she ordered. I obeyed and she surveyed my appearance. “Well,” she said when she had inspected me thoroughly, “at least I have one daughter I can count on. Don’t disappoint me, Danielle.”

“Of course not, Mother,” I replied, though I was afraid that disappointing her was exactly what I was going to have to do.

******************************************

That night, as we made our way to the car, I had my purse clutched in one hand, and a small square of stationary in the other. When Connor took my hand to help me into the car, I pressed the note into his palm.

"After the ball," the note read in my messy scrawl. "I'm finished with ball gowns and princes and this fake life I'm living. Let's go."

******************************************

The ball was dull, to say the least. It was a dog show, a long line of hopeful, naïve girls in pretty dresses prancing around for the bored prince. My mother fretted over Gretchen and me endlessly, reminding us over and over to curtsy and bat our eyelashes when presented to His Highness. I was relieved when my turn was over and I was left to sit alone, looking ladylike and demure, counting down the minutes until the end of the ball, until I was back in Connor’s arms, until my life truly began.

I didn’t know what was happening at first. There was a collective gasp from the congregation on the dance floor, and everything seemed to slow down. As she descended the grand marble staircase, the prince dropped the hand of the maiden he was being introduced to and moved towards her without seeming to think. He bowed to her in a way only a prince could, and promptly swept her off her feet. I practically heard my mother’s jaw hit the floor and the disappointed sigh of a hundred hopeful bachelorettes resigning themselves to the lives as spouses of congressmen and merchants.

There was no doubt in my mind –or anyone else’s- that she was the one. He didn’t take his eyes off of her, and for that I was glad. I didn’t stand a chance, and it would seem that the road was clear for me to run away with Connor. I really felt like things were finally going my way, and nothing was going to ruin it.

******************************************

It was one o’clock before the ball ended, and at two thirty, I was sitting in the kitchen with my bag packed and my hair tied back in a loose ponytail, trying to work up the nerve to walk out of the house for good. I was pacing in my mind, trying to keep my breathing under control and my nerves calm. It was three steps to the door, but it might as well have been a thousand miles.
The door opened with a soft moan, threatening to disturb the peace of the house. It was dark, and I heard the quiet shuffling of someone removing their shoes and shrugging out of their coat. But the sounds were all wrong, too dainty and light, it definitely wasn’t Connor.

I almost panicked. Who could be sneaking into the house at this time of night? I looked around for something to protect myself with, and came up with a rolling pin. I was just raising it over my head when the intruder made herself visible.

“Cindy?” I asked, astonished. I lowered the rolling pin and looked at her. Her hair was a mess and her simple black skirt torn in a few places. She was flushed and out of breath, as if she had been running. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, eying my luggage, “going somewhere?”

“Connor and I are leaving,” I said simply. She raised an eyebrow at the name, but didn’t ask any questions. “Your turn.”

“I was doing something for myself,” she answered, offering no explanation.

“And that includes a magical midnight run in the woods?” I asked.

She shook her head and smiled at me almost sadly, sighing. “There is no magic, Dani,” she said quietly, brushing my hair back from my face in a very sisterly sort of way.

“Why do you say that?” I asked. She had always seemed so hopeful and optimistic; this quiet, submissive way of speaking wasn’t anything like her.

“Just trust me, Dani,” she said, “nothing is for good. It can all just disappear.”

“I don’t think I understand,” I said cautiously, not sure where she was going with this.

She shook her head, trying to grab hold of another way to convey her message.

“Do you love Connor?”

“Yes,” I breathed, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, with all my heart.”

“Then just go,” she said, “get out of here now, before the magic fades. Go before you change your mind or lose your nerve or let life interfere. Just go.”

I nodded again, unable to find words. Had I been able to, they would have come out shaky and jumbled, rushing to escape my lips. I stood slowly, my legs feeling extremely weak, my knees knocking together, and managed a weak smile in Cindy’s direction. I pulled my bag over my shoulder and looked back at her one last time.

“Go,” she mouthed, encouraging me. I pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered in her ear.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” I said, “I hope you get your fairy tale.”

“You too,” she replied, pulling away.

I wasn’t sure, but the way the moonlight shone through the open window and struck her face just so, I almost thought I could see tears shining in her eyes.
We would both get our fairy tales, I was sure of it. My Prince Charming was waiting for me out in the garage in his beat up old Mustang, and hers was inevitably on his way. How could he not be with the way he had looked at her that night? We were both going to get our happily ever afters. I could just feel it.

The End

Danielle: Part One

This is the first, unedited part of the reworked version of Cinderella I'm writing for Creative Writing. I desperately need someone to review it for me. I'll love you forever and probably bake you cookies if you do. Please?

xo
Helen

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“Cindy!” my mother screeched, “Cindy! Get in here!”

“I can get it, Mom,” I said, stooping down to pick up the pieces of broken glass. I was clumsy like that, always breaking things. “It’s my mess, anyways.”

Just then, my step sister appeared in the doorway.

“What do you need, Cecelia?” she asked my mother in a bored tone.

“Clean this up,” my mother responded, as if she should have just known. Cindy sighed and kneeled to pick up the shards of broken glass. I always felt guilty for letting my mother make her clean up after us, but there was nothing I could do.

When my mother and Cindy’s mother were teenagers, they entered the Miss Ever After pageant. When Cindy’s mother –Jacqueline- won the title and the crown, my step-father instantly asked for her hand in marriage. My mother came in third and wasn’t invited to the wedding. And now, after Jacqueline had passed on and her widower had married my mother, she was still playing out her rivalry, taking out years and years of pent up anger on Jacqueline’s poor daughter. My step father, Brian, was too busy golfing and writing his screenplays to notice, though. And my mother always praised Cindy when he was around. It’s a miracle he couldn’t see through her fake smiles. I suppose when you work with celebrities, you stop noticing all the fakery.

Cindy took it with grace, though. She never complained or questioned, just went about whatever useless chores my mother presented her with and moved on. With her cool demeanor and peculiar charm, she could have been the perfect, prince-pleasing daughter that my mother wanted, had she not fallen victim to petty revenge and jealousy. Cindy was the spitting image of her mother, who had been named the fairest of them all at that pageant. She only grew lovelier with age, and my mother’s looks were slowly fading with time.

“Thanks,” I whispered to Cindy with a sheepish grin. She only shrugged.

When Cindy had gone, my mother continued the conversation we had been having before I had broken the glass.

“As I was saying,” she said, lighting a cigarette and putting it into a long, old fashioned cigarette holder. She fancied herself an Audrey Hepburn look alike when she did this, but in all reality, she looked ridiculous. I had to close my eyes to keep from rolling them. “There will be a ball at the palace this Saturday night. You and Gretchen will attend, and by the end of the night, one of you will be in line to be queen.”

“Really, Mother,” I said, trying to hide the horror in my voice. I didn’t want to be queen any more than my mother wanted to be known for her inner beauty. I wanted to travel, I wanted to learn as much as I could about everything, I wanted to do something truly important. I could never be anything if I was resigned to a life of orchestrating tea parties and state dinners. “That’s quite ambitious, but its not as if the prince is destine to choose one of us. There are plenty of lovely girls in the kingdom.”

“Danielle,” she scolded, “what have I been telling you since the day you were born?”

“That my ears are too large for my head and my hair is a punishment from God?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well if you would just try to flatten it…” she started, and then changed the subject. “No. That the prince would be lucky to have you, and if you play your cards right, this kingdom could be yours.”

“Or Gretchen’s,” I added. My older sister had been convinced by our mother’s assurance that she would one day be queen, and she behaved as though her marriage to the prince was just a formality she would have to endure. She conducted herself with such an air of arrogance and superiority that one would believe that she had been born noble.

"Well, yes, I suppose," my mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She then leaned close to me and whispered, "But it is no secret that your sister lacks the features of a suitable bride."

That much was true. Gretchen had long, blond, straight hair, an average figure and average features in general. She looked exactly like nearly every other maiden in the kingdom, and no one could imagine the prince choosing to be with someone as average as her. She was generically attractive, but she was no more unique than a shiny penny. Fascinating, sure, but in the long run, not very impressive.

Gretchen would be best off marrying a merchant or a congressman like all of the others like her.

On the other hand, I was exactly what my mother and the kingdom wanted for the prince. I was blessed with wavy jet black hair and striking green eyes. I was tall with long, slender limbs, which was an attractive when I wasn't knocking things over or tripping over my own feet. And despite my too-large ears, my mother and her peers considered me a front runner in the unspoken competition for Prince Jonathan's affections.

“But what if I don’t want to be queen?” I wondered aloud. My mother laughed. The high pitched squeal probably could have been heard around the kingdom, and I could have sworn I saw the chandelier shake.

“Danielle, you’ve always been a funny one, but you mustn’t speak like that. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Yes,” I mumbled sarcastically, “and what a shame that would be.”

Just then, my sister stumbled into the room, her arms laden with shopping bags and her face partially obscured by a pair of oversized sunglasses.

“Hello, Mother,” she said, “Danielle. What’s up?”

“I was just telling your little sister about the ball,” my mother gushed. Gretchen’s face lit up.

“Oh!” she gasped. She dropped her bags and began rummaging through them. “I got my dress!” she stuck her hand into a large, pink shopping bag and produced a mess of a dress. It was acid green with black lace trim. I had to stifle a laugh. My mother’s lips were pressed into a thin, tense line.

“I’m going to go,” I whispered. My mother didn’t notice, she was too busy trying to find a gentle way to tell Gretchen that her taste was deplorable.

I slipped out the side door and into the garage. When I got there, I was surprised and slightly disappointed to find that I was alone.

The garage was larger than most. Brian was a writer first and foremost, but his second passion was antique and luxury cars. There were at least twelve in this garage and even more in various storage facilities.

I moved to the far corner and delicately removed the heavy cream colored cover from my favorite car. It was an exquisite Ferrari Enzo, cherry red with a black leather interior. I ran my hand over the polished hood and signed. I loved this car. I dreamed of driving off into the sunset in this car, the perfect ending to my own personal fairy tale. Of course, it would never work out this way. For one thing, this was Cindy’s car (even though my mother never allowed her to drive it) and for another, I didn’t have a prince charming. Or at least, not the kind of prince charming that my mother planned on.

Suddenly, a large, muscular arm reached out and wrapped itself around my waist. I gasped, but relaxed instantly when I felt Connor’s soft lips brush against my hair.

“You’re too jumpy,” he teased, “I think the Witch is putting something in your tea.” I smiled at his taunting nickname for my mother.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” I scolded, turning around and looking into his light hazel eyes. “Stranger danger!” I laughed, “I need an adult!”

“I’ll save you,” he said. He stared at me and it was hard not to get lost in his eyes. I wanted to get lost with him, as crazy as that sounds.

About six months ago, Connor was hired by Brian to fine tune and watch over his precious cars. He’d worked for us for approximately two months before I realized I was madly in love with him, and now we both lived for moments like these. In my fairy tale fantasy, he was the prince charming sitting in the passenger seat while we drove off into the sunset.

“Can you save me from the Witch and her insistence that I marry the prince?” I asked.

“I think His Highness and I are going to have to have a chat if he thinks he’s going to be marrying you,” Connor replied.

I didn’t reply. I let my mind wander to a place beyond balls and gowns and princes, to where it was only me and Connor and the car, and maybe a beach and a dog. It was nice to dream like that, but it was all in vain. I could never escape the gowns and the balls and the princes without disappointing my mother, and no matter how wicked she was, I wasn’t sure that I was capable of betraying all of her hopes and dreams for me, even if it was at the cost of my own happiness.

“Are you thinking about running away again?” Connor asked me in a gentle, but desperate voice.

I sighed. “I just can’t,” I said softly, “I’m not ready to let them all down yet.”

He nodded, and I pretended not to notice the way his face fell ever so slightly. “Whenever you’re ready,” he agreed, “we’ll get out of here and you’ll never have to wear one of those stupid ball gowns or pretend to swoon over a prince ever again.”

“I like the way that sounds,” I replied, resting my head on his chest, taking in the steady rhythm of his heart, holding my breath in a vain attempt to make the moment last.