end of the line.
“Even if his methods are questionable, Rocky is a genius in his own right,” Franz says. “As I mentioned, he has reworked the entire text, setting the events in the modern day. So it only makes sense that some things have changed. For example, while Laura is still shy and romantic, she doesn’t collect glass animals.”
“She doesn’t? Not even the unicorn?”
“Nope. She collects Barbies.”
“Huh?”
“She has a collection of very rare, limited-edition Barbie dolls. That’s her little menagerie.”
For a few seconds, I’m appalled. Then a distant memory replaces the unicorn in my mind. I’m nine years old, and the mirror, like my mother, shows me no love. She’d spent the entire morning desperately trying to straighten my hair with brushes of all shapes and sizes, creams, sprays, and prayers to various patron saints. It was all in vain. My curls just wouldn’t listen to reason. I almost felt bad for her. While all her nieces had hair as soft as silk sheets, her daughter was bushy-headed and freckled and had an unhealthy tendency to beat up the boys who teased her.
Little did she know then about Erika, who would become her shining star. For the time being, she had to be content with her first, mediocre daughter. She left me in front of the mirror in a fit of exasperation, as if it were all my fault, as if I had conspired with my hair to misbehave out of spite. My father came in at that point. “You’re beautiful,” he said and asked me to go for a drive with him because the sun was out—and the sun clears bad thoughts. He took me to the shopping center, and we walked around, my hand clinging to his thumb.
A window display of a small army of Barbie dolls at a toy store caught my attention. Nose and hands glued to the display window, I watched them rotate for the world to see. They were so beautiful, all so elegant in their soft-colored dresses, with hair that my mother would have loved. And then my heart stopped—for there was a Barbie doll with brown curly hair. I was convinced that she was smiling at me. She maybe even winked. She was wearing a strawberry-red dress with gold accents, and she was gorgeous. I turned to my father, but I didn’t even need to speak. He already understood. That was my Barbie. That was me as a Barbie. Different and special. I kept her as a relic and never, ever tried to straighten her hair. She made me realize that everyone is special in their own way, and I’m grateful for it.
So I suppose the director’s idea isn’t completely terrible. It’s definitely a crude interpretation of the text, but it intrigues me all the same. Maybe I’m going a little crazy, but somehow I know that this job is for me.
“When you read the script, just do it calmly,” Franz says. “We go onstage in a little over two months. Think you can do it?”
“Of course I can!” I say with conviction.
We make an appointment for the following Monday, and I’m beaming by the time we hang up. Luca looks at me questioningly. Taking advantage of my justified euphoria, I run to embrace him and let myself savor pressing against his sensational abs and feeling the heat radiate from my nether regions at his touch.
“I can’t believe they picked me!” I say, leaping around the room. I run to wash my hands, then dash over to the table. Luca smiles, and I can tell that he’s truly happy for me. I forget all about my mom and my cousin Beatrice’s wedding. I don’t care about having children who call me grandma. I have a job! I can buy those incredible boots I’ve been lusting after in the shop window! I eat with gusto and drain my wineglass.
“What makes you happier?” Luca asks me, watching me with curiosity. “The prospect of finding these props or just having a job?”
“Hey!” I say, a little drunk. I pretend to be offended, then burst out laughing. “Both, I suppose.” Up until now, I really hadn’t thought about how nice Franz’s cheekbones are.
“How
“Even if his methods are questionable, Rocky is a genius in his own right,” Franz says. “As I mentioned, he has reworked the entire text, setting the events in the modern day. So it only makes sense that some things have changed. For example, while Laura is still shy and romantic, she doesn’t collect glass animals.”
“She doesn’t? Not even the unicorn?”
“Nope. She collects Barbies.”
“Huh?”
“She has a collection of very rare, limited-edition Barbie dolls. That’s her little menagerie.”
For a few seconds, I’m appalled. Then a distant memory replaces the unicorn in my mind. I’m nine years old, and the mirror, like my mother, shows me no love. She’d spent the entire morning desperately trying to straighten my hair with brushes of all shapes and sizes, creams, sprays, and prayers to various patron saints. It was all in vain. My curls just wouldn’t listen to reason. I almost felt bad for her. While all her nieces had hair as soft as silk sheets, her daughter was bushy-headed and freckled and had an unhealthy tendency to beat up the boys who teased her.
Little did she know then about Erika, who would become her shining star. For the time being, she had to be content with her first, mediocre daughter. She left me in front of the mirror in a fit of exasperation, as if it were all my fault, as if I had conspired with my hair to misbehave out of spite. My father came in at that point. “You’re beautiful,” he said and asked me to go for a drive with him because the sun was out—and the sun clears bad thoughts. He took me to the shopping center, and we walked around, my hand clinging to his thumb.
A window display of a small army of Barbie dolls at a toy store caught my attention. Nose and hands glued to the display window, I watched them rotate for the world to see. They were so beautiful, all so elegant in their soft-colored dresses, with hair that my mother would have loved. And then my heart stopped—for there was a Barbie doll with brown curly hair. I was convinced that she was smiling at me. She maybe even winked. She was wearing a strawberry-red dress with gold accents, and she was gorgeous. I turned to my father, but I didn’t even need to speak. He already understood. That was my Barbie. That was me as a Barbie. Different and special. I kept her as a relic and never, ever tried to straighten her hair. She made me realize that everyone is special in their own way, and I’m grateful for it.
So I suppose the director’s idea isn’t completely terrible. It’s definitely a crude interpretation of the text, but it intrigues me all the same. Maybe I’m going a little crazy, but somehow I know that this job is for me.
“When you read the script, just do it calmly,” Franz says. “We go onstage in a little over two months. Think you can do it?”
“Of course I can!” I say with conviction.
We make an appointment for the following Monday, and I’m beaming by the time we hang up. Luca looks at me questioningly. Taking advantage of my justified euphoria, I run to embrace him and let myself savor pressing against his sensational abs and feeling the heat radiate from my nether regions at his touch.
“I can’t believe they picked me!” I say, leaping around the room. I run to wash my hands, then dash over to the table. Luca smiles, and I can tell that he’s truly happy for me. I forget all about my mom and my cousin Beatrice’s wedding. I don’t care about having children who call me grandma. I have a job! I can buy those incredible boots I’ve been lusting after in the shop window! I eat with gusto and drain my wineglass.
“What makes you happier?” Luca asks me, watching me with curiosity. “The prospect of finding these props or just having a job?”
“Hey!” I say, a little drunk. I pretend to be offended, then burst out laughing. “Both, I suppose.” Up until now, I really hadn’t thought about how nice Franz’s cheekbones are.
“How
Similar Books
The Safest Place in London
Maggie Joel
People Who Eat Darkness
Richard Lloyd Parry
Refracted Crystal: Diamonds and Desire
M. J. Lawless
Ghosts of Winters Past
Christy Graham Parker
Blind Pursuit
Michael Prescott
The Apocalypse Codex
Charles Stross
The Breath of Peace
Penelope Wilcock
The Lily Brand
Sandra Schwab
Perfect Crime
Jack Parker