Page 89 of Jane Deyre
She scrunches her nose. “Utter rubbish.”
I hurry back inside the great room, hobbling because I’m only wearing one shoe, to get ready for my next scene. To my great surprise, Ms. Fairfax positions herself at the entryway. Narrowing her eyes.
The next scene up: Prince Charming goes on a massive search for the woman whose foot will fit into Cinderella’s forsaken glass slipper. I’m back in my Cinderella rags. On the sidelines with Pilote. He brushes against me as if urging me to reveal myself. Clutching the glass slipper, the prince enters the house I share with my evil stepmother and stepsisters. Lady Tremaine/Edwina insists he try the slipper on her eager daughters. First, Anastasia/Grace... whose wide, arthritic feet won’t squeeze into them no matter how hard she tries. And then, little Adele/Drizella, whose foot is so tiny, it slips off. Their convincing over-the-top performances make me giggle.
“What is it with you girls?” snaps Edwina, desperate for one of them to marry the prince and get them out of their abject poverty.
Mute Grace shrugs.
Adele: “Mother, I’m only five!”
I cover my mouth and suppress a laugh. The version of the story Mr. Rochester has adapted is hilarious. He’s such a gifted writer.
My turn. Accompanied by Pilote, I come through the curtain. The prince hears my footsteps and looks my way. Love is already in his starry eyes.
“And who might this fair maiden be?”
To my surprise, it’s not Edwina who answers. Rather, Ms. Fairfax. She stomps into the great room and hisses.
“She’s nothing but a poor Cinderella!”
Mr. Rochester, aka my prince, holds his own. He narrows his eyes at Ms. Fairfax.
“I don’t recall seeingyouat the ball. And you look nothing like the ravishing woman I’m seeking.” His eyes travel down her spindly legs to her long narrow feet. “The shoe won’t fit you. Stop wasting my time!”
Edwina gives her an imploring look. “Alice, please. No more rude interruptions.”
An incensed Ms. Fairfax silences, and Mr. Rochester the prince reverts his attention to me.
Upon his insistence, I sit down on a velvet ottoman. Squatting, he coddles my bare foot and I practically jump out of my skin. I never knew the soles of my feet were so sensitive. And that there was a string attached to my sex. The tingles that shoot to my core make me squirm. I want to jump him.
Ms. Fairfax’s gaze stays on me, looking pointedly at my slightly deformed foot as my prince slips on the glass slipper. It fits! Incredulous gasps sound all around, including one from Ms. Fairfax, as I stand up. And face the prince.
Feeling totally uncomfortable, I glance at my watch and say, “Um, I have to get Adele ready for dinner. Bathe her.”
“But, Jane,” protests Adele, “you have to kiss the prince. That’s what happens in the story. And besides, it’s not time for dinner.”
“Adele’s right,” says Mr. Rochester.
Before I can say another word, he takes me into his arms and dips me. He gives me the kiss of all kisses. So hot and passionate. All consuming. Like out of a movie. I see stars behind my eyes. My bones turn to liquid. When his lips finally leave mine, I’m so weak. So faint. I cling to him for support.
Play over.
Edwina: “Bravo, my dear!”
Grace: Loud enthusiastic claps.
Adele: “The prince married Cinderella and they lived happily ever after. The end!”
Pilote: A meow.
Ms. Fairfax: “Excuse me.”
She stalks off.
I shudder.
She knows.