15 Shades Of Pink (42 page)
Fairy Tale Flirts
5 Romantic Short Stories
By Lisa Scott
Copyright © 2012 Lisa Scott Macdonough
Table of Contents
Cindi
Cindi Midas could still smell bleach and latex on her hands as she rode the elevator to her apartment. Coming home to posh Grimm Towers from her early morning cleaning job at the Castle Hotel was always embarrassing. Most people probably assumed she was the hired help as she rode the ornate elevator to the 55th floor where she lived with her stepmother. But since she didn’t pay Cindi for cleaning their apartment, technically, she wasn’t the
hired
help; she was the free-room-and-board help. Luckily, Cindi was a horrible cook or her stepmother would probably have her doing that, too.
It was just before noon and she let herself in the door, desperate for a shower and a change of clothes. Once she got her party planning business off the ground, she’d burn her pale pink polyester uniform and move out. She kicked off her shoes and wandered into the kitchen.
Her stepmother and stepsister sat at the table, the chandelier twinkling overhead. “Sorry, Cindi. You missed breakfast,” her stepsister, Gloria, said, shoving a croissant in her mouth.
“I ate when I got up at four this morning.” She opened the fridge and grabbed a yogurt. “This is lunch.”
Her stepmother, Hildy, splayed three golden tickets in her hand at the table. “Forget food, look what Mother got! I’ve been waiting until you got home, Cindi.”
Cindi dropped her spoon. “Impossible,” she whispered, while Gloria clapped and rushed over to hug her mother.
Once the shock wore off, Cindi practically squealed. “I can’t believe we’re going to the Jiminy Shoe trunk sale today!”
Maybe wishes really do come true
, she thought, fully aware it was a shallow-as-a-puddle wish, but damn it, she was meant to live in designer wear. Her christening gown had been couture from the looks of the pictures in her old photo album. But that was then. Long before Hildy wriggled her way into her father’s life.
However, Cindi could find some forgiveness in her heart with one of those tickets. The Jiminy Shoe trunk sale was the most exclusive sale in New Royalton and she’d never been to it. Sure, she’d dreamed of going, making lists in her head of all the shoes she’d buy if she won the lottery; or if her father had set up a trust fund for her instead of leaving it all to her stepmother.
Oh, she had real, responsible dreams, too: a successful party planning business, moving out, and finding love someday. But her shallow, greedy dreams glittered with the latest shoes and clothes and cosmetics. A pair of Jiminy Shoes was at the top of her list. Every self-respecting twenty-something-fashionista-wanna-be deserved a pair. And for a moment, while wearing those shoes, maybe she could imagine the life she would have led if her parents hadn’t died. Surely, they would have bought her Jiminies.
Gloria had given her a hand-me-down pair that didn’t fit her. Cindi kept them on a shelf in her bedroom because she enjoyed looking at them, and occasionally stroking the luscious, buttery leather. Finally, she’d have a pair of her own. Luckily, she had a few hundred dollars saved. She practically purred like a cat licking its chops before devouring a plate of tuna.
Her stepmother blinked at her. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Cindi. You misunderstood. I’m not bringing you.”
Her stomach tumbled. “But you waited to tell me. And you have three tickets.” She held up three fingers to make it clear.
Hildy blinked and smiled. “Yes, I wanted to share the news with you. But I had to beg for these tickets so I could take my daughters.”
Knowing she didn’t count as one of the daughters, Cindi fought back the tears. “Veronica’s going? I thought you disowned her.”
Her stepmother scrunched up her carefully sculpted nose that had taken four trips to the plastic surgeon to perfect. “Oh, that was just my temper talking when she refused to follow my plans for her future. She’ll see the light soon enough, but she’s not going today.” Hildy shrugged. “I merely told the organizers it was for her, but I’m giving it to Kate Robinson.” She snarled as she said her name.
“The lady down the hall? You don’t even like her. You tried to kill her dog.”
“That was an accident and no one can prove otherwise,” her stepmother said in a sing-song-I’m-lying-voice.
It was humiliating, but Cindi made a pathetic pleading gesture with her hands. “Please? You know how much I love Jiminies. I’m sure you could help me find the perfect pair. I could never be as skinny and pretty as you, but maybe I could have shoes as nice as yours.” After her father had died, any niceties her stepmother had shown Cindi had disappeared. But she’d learned that sometimes begging worked, just so long as loads of flattery—no matter how farfetched—was involved.
Her stepmother put her hands on her hips; Cindi recognized her lecture mode when she saw it. “Mrs. Robinson thinks I owe her a thousand dollars to cover the vet bills for stepping on that walking wig she calls a dog.” She sighed dramatically. “Since these are priceless tickets, we should be even now. Really, that woman.” She shrugged. “Sorry, you’ll have to get your own ticket.”
“But there are only two hundred! And you have to know someone to get in.” She hadn’t whined like this since she was ten and wanted a pony. And she’d gotten one. They’d kept it stabled just outside the city. It was the first thing her stepmother had gotten rid of after Father died.
Hildy grinned like she was downing a glass of bad lemonade. “True. And you don’t know anyone, do you? Besides, I don’t trust that you could compose yourself at an event like that. You’d probably embarrass me. You’ll have a nice quiet day at home. Perhaps you can organize Gloria’s closet like you promised.”
That had been a joke, although Gloria’s closet did look like the aftermath of a home invasion. But some cleaners didn’t do bathrooms, others didn’t do closets. Cindi fell in the latter group. She rested her chin in her hand, feeling like a chastised child left sulking at the table.
Her stepsister gloated. “We’ll be back later. In fabulous new shoes!”
They left the apartment in a swirl of perfume and giggles. Cindi walked into the living room and slumped on the couch. She looked down at her bare feet, her toenails painted with a French manicure she’d done herself. Nope, no spa visits for her either. She blinked back the final tears she was going to let fall over this. Not everyone is destined for fabulous footwear.
But someday, I’ll have great shoes.
After allowing herself to pout for a few more minutes, she jumped in the shower, changed, then pulled out her laptop and looked for potential party clients. While her stepmother insisted her daughters look for rich husbands instead of work—something Veronica had ignored at first—her stepmother didn’t expect Cindi to land a wealthy man. “I know you’ll have to support yourself,” she’d told her.
But Cindi wanted to work. Relying on Daddy to cater to her every whim had worked for twelve years. She’d been spoiled and that had taken a long time to get over once he was gone. She’d never be dependent on a man again. Didn’t matter if she married a millionaire, she had hopes and dreams and visions for the future. She just wasn’t entirely certain what they were.
Hopefully, party planning was her calling. She’d always envisioned herself attending fancy charity balls and events. At age twenty-four, she’d already tried waitressing and retail along with the cleaning job. None of them had been the right fit.
She started compiling her daily list of ten businesses to contact about her party planning services. Clearly, she was very skilled at making lists, but no one hired you to do that. She’d been making ten new contacts a day, and had landed half a dozen event-planning jobs that way. But it still wasn’t enough money for her to move out of Grimm Towers.
The doorbell rang and she set down her computer, ran to the door and peeked through the peephole. It was Mrs. Robinson from down the hall. She opened the door. “Hi Mrs. Robinson what can I do for you?” Her fluffy little brown dog sat at her feet. What was it, a Poo-hau-hau? A Shitz-aranian? Maybe she could be a designer dog breeder if the party planning didn’t work out.
Mrs. Robinson held up a golden ticket. “Your stepmother left this with a note under my door. She thinks a ticket to the Jiminy Shoes trunk sale is suitable payment for Cricket’s vet bills. Totally unacceptable. I expect her to pay me. This ticket is the last thing I need. Give it back and tell
her
to use it instead.” She handed it to Cindi.
“She’s already at the show.”
Mrs. Robinson raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to go?”
“More than anything, but I wasn’t invited.”
She frowned. “I tell you what. I’m going to act like I never saw that ticket. I’ll tell her Cricket must’ve eaten it, if she was foolish enough to leave it under my door. You take it and go to the sale. But do not let your stepmother know I gave it to you.”
Cindi took the woman’s head in her hands and kissed her cheek. “You are a fairy godmother. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” There were a few benefits of living in the swankiest apartment building in the city; the castoffs from Grimm Tower’s residents were splendid.
She took the ticket from Mrs. Robinson with a trembling hand.
She winked at Cindi. “Now go spiff yourself up and have a good time. Maybe you’ll find the shoes of your dreams!”
***
Cindi changed into her favorite Dior knock-off dress, grabbed her cash and stuffed it into her fake Gucci. Then she looped her phony Prada shopping tote on her arm, slid on dark sunglasses, and tucked her hair under a floppy beret. She could not let her stepmother see her. Butterflies did the Mambo in her stomach as she took the cab to the hotel downtown where the trunk sale was being held.
She caught her breath as she handed over her ticket at the door, and walked into the first room of the sale. Sliding off her sunglasses, she gazed around, taking it all in. The sight of so many gorgeous shoes almost made her dizzy. She took a deep breath. Now the challenge was finding a pair that fit. Most designers only had so many size fives in stock. Her tiny feet seriously tormented her sense of fashion.
Turning in circles, she didn’t know where to start. What should she buy—a pair of practical pumps? Party shoes? Boots? Her heart raced with the possibilities. Then her eyes were drawn to the most beautiful shoes she’d ever seen. A pair of sparkly crystal pumps sat atop a display in the center of the room. She walked up beside the display and sighed. Now those were the shoes of her dreams.
But what were they doing up so high where no one could reach them? Under a plexi-glass box? Standing on her tiptoes and then jumping, she knocked the box off and snatched them from their perch. She sat down on a bench to try them on. Wishful thinking, of course. What were the chances they’d fit? But still, she wanted to hold them and touch them and pretend for a moment she was getting ready for a magnificent charity ball that she’d planned, where she’d dance the night away in these shoes.
She looked for a price tag on them, but couldn’t find one. She set them on the floor and slid her foot inside. A perfect fit! Putting on the other shoe, she sashayed back and forth in front of the bench.
Please be in my price range, please be in my price range.
A large, unhappy man in a dark suit approached her. She smiled at him. “Excuse me, can you find out how much these shoes are?”
“Ma’am, please take off the display shoes.” He was quite gruff for a salesperson.
“But I’d like to buy these. Maybe I could get a discount since they’re display shoes? I don’t care how many people have worn them.” She’d gotten a saleswoman to knock thirty-percent off a winter coat on display. Maybe it would work here, too. But truly, they were in pristine condition.
The big man was not amused. “Didn’t you see the sign? These are one-of-a-kind shoes for display only.” He pointed to the front of the display table. Walking around to the front, she saw the sign explaining the shoes were not for sale.
She knew she was blushing. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see that. I’ve never been to a trunk sale before. I … I …” she stammered, too embarrassed and disappointed to find the right words.
“Take them off. Now.”
Mortified, she went back to the bench, memorizing how her feet looked in those shoes, when another man approached her. He crossed his arms. “I never imagined those would fit anyone. They look great on you.”
She smiled up at him and sucked in a breath. He was gorgeous. “Thanks,” she said in a voice sultrier than she’d intended.
“Enjoy them for a few more minutes.”
The big man stepped closer. “Boss, I’m not supposed to let anyone touch those. I stepped away for a minute because there was a tussle at the cash register and I come back to find this woman trying to take off with the shoes.”
“What? Wait, no. I just wanted to try them on,” Cindi protested. “I wasn’t taking them.”
“Why weren’t they locked up?” the tall blond asked.
The big man looked down, turning red. “My mother stopped by and wanted to see them. I guess I forgot to lock them back up.”
The other man jerked his thumb toward the room next door. “Bruno, go make sure no one’s fighting over the boots in the ballroom.”
The big man shook his head and walked away.
He sat down next to her. Mmm. He smells good, too.
“So, you’re a size five.” He whistled softly. “Don’t see that very often.”
“And you don’t see too many shoes in size five. I was surprised they fit.” She looked down at her feet and grinned.
“They’re made from fused crystals and diamonds, with an invisible mesh inside to keep them flexible. They took weeks to create. We made such a small size to save money. Even so, they cost two-hundred thousand dollars.”