Sandra Hill (27 page)

Little Princess Diana, wearing a twenty-five-year-old tarnished tiara that had belonged to another little girl in another ghetto long ago, was half-reclining now on a huge beanbag chair with Cynthia. The hard-as-tacks stock trader was reading Cinderella to her for the fifth time that day when the blare of trumpets resounded throughout the building. Everyone sat up
straight and glanced at each other with puzzlement—the three dozen children, the half dozen adults, including volunteers, even the janitor.

The director, Penny Wilkins, stepped up behind Cynthia and asked, “Did you plan this as a treat for the children, Cynthia?”

The trumpets blared again, sounding almost like the ones she’d heard outside Buckingham Palace one time on an A & E special, announcing the arrival of a royal party. In fact, she’d watched a rerun of it with her husband one night during their short honeymoon in her Dakota apartment. They’d been in bed at the time, and…

Every fine hair stood out on her body in sudden suspicion.

He wouldn’t.

Would he?

This time the blare of trumpets was accompanied by the stern-faced arrival of two lines of imperial guards, attired in what resembled uniforms that might have been worn by palace courtiers in days of old. The contingent stopped and raised swords to form an arch. The loud monotone voice of one of the men announced, “Prince Perico Tomas de la Ferrama.”

Penny twittered behind her, and Diana sighed.

Through the saber canopy strolled the most outrageous sight Cynthia had ever witnessed in all her days. The Frog Prince…the Prince of Trolls…the Prince of Broken Dreams. Her husband.

Diana let out a wistful “ooooh” of delight. People started to clap. And Cynthia put her face in her hands. When she looked up again, he was still there, and approaching her with the regal grace of a born-to-the-manor nobleman.

He was wearing some kind of velveteen suit with tight leggings tucked in low leather boots, a hip-length, long-sleeved tunic, belted at the waist and over it all a floor-length fur robe that trailed behind him. A huge gilt crown sat on his head, tilted slightly askew.

He looked ridiculous.

So, why is my heart thundering? Why are tears welling in my eyes? Why do I care that there are tears in his eyes?

Cynthia tried to sit up, but Penny put firm hands on her shoulders. “Don’t spoil this for the children,” she pleaded.

Cynthia swallowed hard over the lump in her throat and hissed at her husband, who had dropped to one knee before her. “You look like an idiot.”

“Yes, m’lady wife,” he agreed. Under his breath, he remarked, “Good thing I ditched the codpiece.”

“He’s your husband?” Penny whispered. “Holy cow!”

“
Holy Cow” just about sums it up
. “What kind of pathetic stunt is this, P.T.? Are there TV cameras outside? Will this boost your stock sales?”

P.T. raised his chin haughtily and pulled a scroll from his belt. “I have come to read you a
proclamation, oh shrewish lady.” He whipped open the scroll, undaunted when it failed to flourish the first time, “Cheap scroll makers,” he mumbled.

Cynthia put a palm to her mouth to hide a grin.
I am not going to be amused by him. I’m not
.

“Let it be known by one and all…Prince Perico Tomas de la Ferrama loves his wife, Princess Cynthia Kathleen Sullivan Ferrama, with all his heart and soul.”

Cynthia made a snickering sound.

He flashed her a dark look and continued. “Throughout time, men have been known to transgress, but women have forgiven them.”

“Not this woman!”

“This I do pledge…never for the rest of my days will I lie to my beloved wife.”

“How about anyone else?”

“Don’t push it, babe,” he muttered, and pushed up his unruly crown, which kept slipping down on his forehead. It must belong to someone with a really big head, though P.T.’s was plenty big enough. “This, too, do I pledge…to give up all my worldly assets into her hands.”

“So, you want me to handle your portfolio, huh? Too late, bozo. I handle only a select clientele.”

“And verily do I promise to take her to my royal principality, where she may view our hold
ings.” Under his breath, he added, “Volcanoes, snakes and all.”

Cynthia did giggle then. She couldn’t help herself.

His face relaxed like magic at what he must consider a sign of her softening. She tried to glare at him but failed.

“Let it be written in all the annals, whenever Princess Ferrama so deems it, she may order her husband to don absurd royal garb…though subjects from far and wide may laugh at him, though women no longer find him irresistible, though men smirk and TV comedians rule him fair game, though pigeons drop—”

“Enough ‘though’s’ already. I get the point.”

“Petitions have I here signed by myriad subjects, attesting to the pain one Prince Ferrama hath suffered these many weeks. Long is his sorrow and deep the hole left in his life by the absence of his soulmate.”

Cynthia’s mouth dropped open. “I’m impressed. Who wrote this drivel? Elmer?” She didn’t really consider it drivel, but if she acknowledged how deeply touched she was, he’d take advantage; she knew he would.

He tossed back his head, affronted…and almost lost his crown. “I did, and many a nub did I break on my quill seeking the perfect words.”

“Well, then, I suppose they’re satisfactory.”

He flashed her a smoldering glance. “This final pledge do I make to my lady wife. Let all hear it said…I, Prince Perico Tomas de la Ferrama,
do love thee, Princess Cynthia Katherine Ferrama, with all my heart and soul. If thou wouldst give this cur another chance, I wouldst make thee the happiest woman in all the kingdoms of the world. And I wouldst make a home for thee…thou…whatever…in the Dakota or the Poconos or the suburbs or Camelot, whate’er be thy whim. And we wouldst drive pickup trucks or BMW’s or limos or horses if thou choose. We will dance Irish jigs, or
flamingoes
”—he grinned at that misspeak—“or line dances. Yea, we may listen to Elvis music till the cows come home, or the record player breaks. Just know”—his voice cracked—“just know that I cannot live without my fairy princess.”

Cynthia couldn’t speak.

He stared at her, silence resounding in the air like cymbals, fear and vulnerability apparent in his dark eyes, despite his absurd, touching words. When she didn’t react, he jerked his head for one of his guards to approach. “Bring forth the coup de grâce.” Under his breath, he added, “I hope.”

He handed her a silk-wrapped gift. “For you, my lady love, the latest creation of Ferrama.”

Tentatively, Cynthia unfolded the scarlet fabric and saw inside two glass slippers…well, they were some synthetic material designed to replicate glass. She raised her eyes in question.

“’Tis called Cindy’s Dream. I thought about calling it Cinderella, but this name seemed more appropriate.” He took one of the pumps from
her hand, removed a loafer from her foot and slipped the shoe on with ease. It was probably a size nine, as the lout had once pronounced her size to be, not her real size, seven and a half. Whatever.

With one hand around her ankle and the other clapped over his heart, he pleaded, “Will you be my Cinderella?”

“Yes,” she whispered. How could she say anything else? How could she not forgive a man who would risk making a perfect fool of himself to win back his love? How could she face the rest of her life without this rogue in it? “Yes,” she repeated, louder now.

“Yes? Did you say ‘yes’?” He closed his eyes, as if saying a silent prayer. “Thank God!” he whooped, rising creakily. “My knee is killing me.” He pulled her into his arms with a jubilant laugh, his crown falling to the floor with a clunk.

His face turned somber as he regarded her. “You will never regret…” he started to say, but had trouble continuing as tears filled his beautiful eyes. He pressed a palm to his mouth and closed his eyes, fighting for control. When he opened his eyes, he told her in a raw voice, “I am so sorry for hurting you.”

“I know that,” she whispered. And she did.

Realizing that they had a huge audience witnessing this touching scene, she pulled him into a storage room.

“If I could be a real prince for you, Cynthia, I
would,” he swore between soul-searing kisses and breath-stopping hugs.

“You are such a fool, Ferrama,” she said. “Don’t you know you are my prince? For always.”

Prince and Princess Perico Tomas de la Ferrama lived a happy life amid their various kingdoms in the Upper West Side and the Poconos.

The prince learned to fish, and his princess wore an apron on certain occasions.

Their creative shoe designs ended up in museum collections. And they amassed great wealth from a pumice stone industry located on their island homeland, where volcanoes flourished, to their great fortune.

They had two children. Tom took over the shoe company and added a line of millinery, for which he was credited with single-handedly bringing back into fashion upscale women’s hats. Siobhan gained fame as an Irish folk dancer.

Enrique Alvarez and Naomi Friedman were married on Valentine’s Day 1999. He gave up lawyering and together they restored and operated the Castle Bed ’n’ Breakfast. The waiting list for reservations ran two years’ long. Their five children grew up to help with the vastly popular establishment. Everyone who met the couple swore they were made for each other…a match made in heaven.

Elmer Presley and Ruth Friedman headed off to Memphis, where Elmer gave up his singing career for a highly lucrative Elvis memorabilia store. Ruth did glow-in-the-dark manicures in the back.

Some say that Elvis died on August 16, 1977, but his fans know there was an everlasting magic in the King. Some even say they catch a glimpse of Elvis here and there.

For those who believe, the legend lives on.

And for those who believe, fairy tales surely can come true.

About the Author

SANDRA HILL
is a graduate of Penn State and worked for more than 10 years as a features writer and education editor for publications in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Writing about serious issues taught her the merits of seeking the lighter side of even the darkest stories. She is the wife of a stockbroker and the mother of four sons.

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