Diamonds and Toads: A Modern Fairy Tale (14 page)

On her third try, she managed to gain her
footing. As she stood there swaying a minute, still struggling to
keep her balance, a mammoth black pick-up truck barreled past her,
did a U-turn, and pulled up beside her. For the first time, she
realized just how vulnerable she was, all alone—at night—even in
this neighborhood. She looked behind her at the lit front porch of
the mansion and turned and took a step. Or tried to. She landed
face-first in the flowers again.

She heard the passenger door swing open
behind her at the same time she heard a much-too familiar male
voice yell, “Izzy!”

She scraped the storm-ravaged hair from her
eyes, spit the earth-taste and flower petals off her lips, and
blinked through the raindrops and dark night up into the concerned
face of her long-ago fiancé.
Will you take me to my house?
“Will you take me to your house?”

* * *

Sam shot another glance at the bedraggled,
but beautiful, woman beside him before taking the exit onto the
Gulf Freeway. She hadn’t said another word since making her odd
request and then hauling herself up into the cab of his truck
twenty minutes ago.

Not the Izzy he remembered, nor the Isadora
Perrault he’d expected.

Even more disconcerting was the fact that he
was still driving toward his house instead of taking her to any one
of the hotels he’d passed. Truly a conundrum. And one he was afraid
to unravel. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to unravel
her
reasons for asking.

“Look, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what
happened between you and your mother after you left Chas’s, and—
”

A musical sound came from somewhere in the
vicinity of Isadora’s purse.

“What the hell? Is that—is that
‘
Bibbidee-bobbidi-boo?’
”

She acted as if she hadn’t heard him, tearing
and ripping at the metal clasp holding her ragged-looking purse
shut and then yanking out what looked like a child’s pink-glitter
cell phone with star-shaped rhinestones attached. “Hello? Hello?”
she said into the thing. The speaker must’ve been on because Sam
clearly heard what came through the phone: a crooner voice—
Perry
Como?
His grandma’s favorite singer?—saying something about a
mind in a dither and a heart in a haze.

This was followed by a distinctly feminine
voice, very much like Glinda the Good Witch.
“There you aahr,
Dora dear. And Saaam,”—
a chill shot up his spine—“
so good of
you to take my little project under your wing.”

“Proj—?” he said.

“You hexed me!” Isadora blinked several times
and gave him a goggle-eyed look. “I said exactly what I meant!” she
told him.

“Good for you.” This whole thing was getting
more bizarre by the moment.

She returned her attention to the phone,
punched the button to shut off the speaker, put her back to him and
spoke into the receiver in much more dulcet tones, “May I meet you
somewhere?” he heard her say as he pulled the truck onto the
shoulder and stopped.

The speaker was still on.
“Certainly. In
time.”

“But—the curse!”

“
You and you alone hold the power to lift
it. Just un-puzzle the puzzle, un-muddle the muddle, and you’ll be
free of it. Must be off—ta-ta.”

“No! Don’t hang up! Fairy—”

Sam’s ears perked up.
Fairy??

“—fairy lady, come back!” Isadora shook the
phone, then slapped it a few times, but no further sound came
through. After a moment, she collapsed back, resting her head on
the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut.

* * *

“What’s going on, Isadora?” she heard Sam ask
a second later.

Isadora rolled her head from side to side and
let out a faint whimper. Maybe he’d show a little pity and just
leave it be.

But no such luck. “Who was that woman you
were talking to? And what’s all the ‘curse’ business?”

She opened her eyes and took a good long look
at him. Assuming the fairy hadn’t reinstated the curse yet, she
might be able to give him enough of an explanation to enlist his
help. The fairy had said that she, herself, held the key to lifting
it, but Isadora had no idea what that key could possibly be. Maybe
Sam might know. After all—weren’t two heads better than one? Plus,
they’d been a good team there for a while back in college when
they’d helped organize the five-campus initiative to support relief
and charity efforts for the Red Cross.

A fairy hexed me.
“Have sex with me.”
Her hand slammed over her mouth with such force, her front tooth
loosened a little.

Sam’s eyes narrowed and then he hauled
himself back around and twisted the key in the ignition. “So, we’re
going to play that game, are we? Fine, keep it a mystery, I
seriously don’t care.” Once they were back up on the freeway, he
looked over at her again and said, “But I’ll pass on the sex.” He
turned his attention back to the road and after another minute
broke the silence again when he said, “Look, to tell you the truth,
I’d rather drop you off at a hotel—the Galvez okay?”

Isadora had no money—not even a credit
card—in her evening clutch. She grabbed hold of his arm and shook
her head. She hoped that would be sufficient to change his
mind.

His eyes swept her from head to foot. “I’ll
pay for it, if that’s the reason.”

She shook her head even more vigorously. No
way was she going to waltz into a hotel in the state she was in and
then let
him
plunk down his card for her. Like she was his
charity case pick-up or something. That’s what people would think,
she was sure of it. She’d be stared at and—oh, God—if they found
out who she was, it’d be another horrifying addition to what was
sure to be a humiliating recap in the society column tomorrow
morning. And she didn’t even want to think about what was already
flying around in cyberspace about her. How they loved to chronicle
every tidbit in the lives of the fallen-from-grace Perraults. Even
more reason for her mother to hate her.

No, much better to wash up at Sam’s house and
then try to get him to call her mother—she’d worry about how
later—so a driver could be sent to pick her up. Surely her mother
hadn’t been serious when she’d said Isadora was no longer her
daughter.

He gave her a hard look. “Okay. You can stay
with me on one condition. I’ve got too much going on right now to
keep my place in order and I sometimes forget to eat—but I like
food. I think you know where I’m going with this, right?”

Yes, she did. And if she wasn’t sure she’d be
out of his house by morning—afternoon the latest—she’d have nipped
that condition in the bud right then. Somehow. Instead, she just
smiled and shrugged and settled back more comfortably on the
leather seat.
A bath, a bath, my kingdom for a bath.

* * *

At exactly 5 a.m. the next morning, the fairy
phone sang out. This time, with the chirp-chirp-chirp of
high-pitched voices rhapsodizing about working and whistling.
Isadora shot up straight, got twisted in her sleeping bag, and
nearly rolled off the sofa before she managed to wrap her fingers
around the much-too-chipper sounding piece of modern technology.
Her air-dried and finger-combed still-gnarled hair covered her face
like a fur-lined burka as she jerked the phone up to her ear and
croaked, “Hello? Fairy?”

“
Dora dear, so good of you to pick
up.”

She blinked rapidly a few times and took a
deep breath in an effort to wake up her brain. “What do you want
from me? I’ll do anything you ask—just give me my life back.
Please.”

“
Ah, but that’s just it, dear. It’s not
what
I
want, it’s what
you
need.”

Isadora leapt to her feet. “What I
need
is to GO HOME. What I
need
is to have your
blasted CURSE LIFTED.”

“
We-e-e-ll, as to the former, I do have a
proposition for you—actually, it’s more of a choice, really. But,
as for the latter, well, my dear, it’s all up to you at this
point.”

“But that’s just it—I don’t know what it is
that I must do!”

“
I’m sure in time you will figure it
out.”
Isadora heard what sounded like fingernails tapping on
plastic and then the fairy said,
“Now, let us talk about the
choice I’m giving you. I’ve decided to return you to your mother’s
house, but the curse will be in full force, and you will still be
banished from her affections.”

“And the alternative?”

“
I make that drama with the video last
evening go away. Your mother’s reputation will no longer be
tarnished by it. But in order for this to take place you must stay
put and do the work that Sam has hired you to do.”

“But—but that’s not a choice at all!”

“
Why, yes dear, it is.”

Isadora stewed and steamed. But not for long.
“Fine. Twinkle your nose or something and get me back to my
house.”

“
Certainly—if you’re sure?
Ab-ra”—
Isadora ground her teeth and yanked on a big chunk of
her hair
—“ca—”

“NO! Wait! AHHH! ALL RIGHT! I’ll stay.”

* * *

Too angry and discouraged by the fairy’s
dirty rotten deal to slide back into that blissful oblivion she’d
managed to find only a few hours ago, but fuzz-brained and weary
just the same, Isadora decided that a good dose of her favorite
legal stimulant was the first order of business.

The galley kitchen of Sam’s not-so-new and
not-so-luxury houseboat had a coffee maker—also not-so-new and
not-so-luxury. But if it worked—and more importantly, if Isadora
could figure out how to use it—she’d kiss the avocado green hem of
its harvest gold embroidered cover every morning for the rest of
her curse-filled existence.

After fifteen frustration-filled minutes, she
located the can of coffee.
Store brand??
Egads.
And—
blech!
It probably tasted like turpentine mixed with
antiseptic mouthwash strained through a dirty diaper. She thrust it
back toward the shelf and then stopped short.
Caffeine. Must
have caffeine.

She walked it over to the vintage brown and
aged-yellow white maker.
Okay, now what?

* * *

Sam wasn’t looking forward to dealing with
the woman he’d left half-dressed in his living room the night
before. Once she’d showered and put on one of his work shirts to
sleep in, she’d settled on the couch next to the chair he occupied
and silently finger combed her flame-colored tangles into
submission—a thing he then began to imagine doing to her. Finger
combing her. All over. It had taken every bit of willpower he could
muster not to give her the nine inches she’d stipulated. And then
some.

But somehow he’d managed it.

His own shower—the one he’d taken after
fleeing to his bedroom—had been cold, painful and brief.

Nothing like the dreams that had
followed.

Okay, guy, get a grip. Be cool.
He
swung the door to his bedroom wide and walked toward the kitchen
with purpose. He’d have to pass the couch where she slept, but he’d
keep his eyes directed straight ahead. It was the only option.
Otherwise—well, there was a high probability that things would go a
different way. A way that might just let on how much she still
mattered to him. How much she still affected him. How much he still
wanted her. A power over him he had no intention of giving her
again. Ever.

No matter how satisfying it would be in the
short run.

* * *

Isadora sat at the wrought iron table on the
deck of the houseboat avidly perusing the
“Advance Uncorrected
Proof”
of a book she’d found lying on top of the desk in the
living room entitled,
Harvard Gigolo, A Memoir
by
Anonymous
and drinking her coffee.

The bitter brew went down smoother now that
she’d added several spoonfuls of sugar and some milk. The grounds
stuck in her throat each time, but she was getting used to it.
Actually, she was pretty proud of herself. She’d made her very
first pot of coffee—all by herself! Yes, it was a menial task that
she was pleased to have a servant perform—or Delilah—whichever was
most conveniently positioned at the time of her need.

But still. The fact that she’d managed to
figure it out—even if it was with the help of her BlackBerry and
YouTube
—was still an accomplishment. Wasn’t it?

In any case, she supposed it behooved her to
learn all such tedious tasks now that she was on her own—for the
time being at least—and working for her room and board.

She shook her head and read the title of the
next chapter:
“The Frigid Oilman’s Wife.”

“
WHAT IN THE
HELL!
”

Isadora jumped so high, the coffee spilled
all over the page she was reading. The mug clattered on the table
as she dumped it down and then she waved the book in the air in a
guilty attempt to fling the coffee off the sopping paper.

The sliding glass door behind her swished
open. “What did you do in there—wage war? There’s a river of coffee
on the floor, an open container of milk in the sink and coffee
grounds and sugar granules stuck to everything.”

Isadora shrugged.

“You didn’t re-seal the loaf of bread,
either. And there are globs of grape jam on the counter next to
it.”

Isadora altered her shrug a fraction this
time by first lifting a brow and then tilting her head to the
side.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Well, clean it up.” He
turned and strode off then, leaving her to stare at his receding
backside.

Jerk! He could do it himself if he was so
worried about the mess. Except. Cleaning was part of the deal.
Besides, who knew what else the fairy would do to her if she
reneged?