ONCE UPON A TIME
I’m charming but poor, and three girls in the house, one of whom thinks that I’m a witch. That’s Cindy, my step-daughter. She doesn’t contemplate her good fortune, considering that her father didn’t leave her a cent. I managed to send my daughters Hope and Grace to Rodean, hugely expensive. Cindy claims to be a victim. Being the youngest, it‘s natural that she helps around the house. Now I hear her muttering that she has a fairy godmother. That’s worrying … If you don’t understand what I mean, sorry, I can’t help you.
My life here is one gross unfairness. Never sufficient money for my needs. All the tedious tasks.
“Cindy, what about tea? Cindy, wash the dishes, Cindy, iron my dress.”
Never a thanks or word of love. An unpaid maid. Still, I dare to dream.
Tonight we are girls on the verge. Grace and I are hitting high society. Jonathan Oppenheimer’s birthday bash at their estate. How did we come to be invited? Someone we met at Wits before we dropped out (no talent there), who knows someone who knows Jonathan. Any anyway, who needs academia now we have the chat line? Tonight we’ll dazzle the heir to the Oppenheimer empire.
Nails were pointed and polished; assisted auburn hair expensively ruffled, and dresses that made a statement. Off they drove in a cloud of perfume. Step-mama went to bed and Cindy was able to sit down with a self-help book.
Chimes, her fairy godmother looking a little travel weary. A pair of Manolos in her hand a Marion Fassler dress over her arm.
“Cindy, hurry, you’re off to the Oppenheimer party.”
“Not invited.”
“You should know that all doors are open to me; one stipulation. You have to be out of there at midnight, complications with godfather – it’s very involved and, oh yes, I had no time to convert the pumpkin, so it’s the Alfa Romeo, six cylinders instead of horses.”
It was very splendid, all very exquisite and in the blink of an eye it struck twelve. Cindy ran, losing one of the Manolos on the stairs, but her promise was kept.
Jonathan was intrigued, a single shoe on the stairs. With electronic magic he had an address. The Mercedes glided out of the world-renowned Brenthurst gardens in Parktown to the overgrown garden in Parktown North.
The door was opened by an artfully made-up girl who looked like a footballer in drag.
“Would this shoe be yours?”
Being a gentleman he hid his dismay. If only she could have shrunk her foot. She gave what she thought was a winning smile.
“I’m sure it belongs to my sister Grace.”
That was a moment that suggests that the lord sometimes smiles on the disadvantaged, Cindy walked in pushing a Hoover. Jonathan saw a vision, near super-natural beauty, long-limbed, silken-haired. He held out the shoe.
I don’t know if they lived happily ever after, but they sure became an item!