He reached for my bag
Kissed the top of my forehead –
Doubtless drinking in
Sweat, hairspray, foundation;
“Richenda?”
Pronouncing it “Richendor”-
English accents are so cool.
“Recognized you immediately. You’re
Just like Mirabel. Maybe it’s
The dark glasses – always dodging
Paparazzi.”
I felt helpless rapture as if
He flattered me when all it meant
Was that Mirabel wanted to hide and yet
Remain superior in just the way I’d
Fantasized. I did some obscure
Need to argue –
I’m an arguer –
But taking “compliments”
Is the better part I know.
But usually people said how unalike we were
Snow White and Rose Red.
“Er, thanks,” sounds so ungracious and
“What happened to Mirabel?”
Downright rude.
I said it anyway.
He batted at it briskly.
“Unavoidably detained.”
Swept me and bag away from the escalator
Clogged with ordinaries –
Down the platform
“We’ll take the elevator to the car service.”
Actually, it was a limo.
The driver rushed to fondle my
Pathetic flowered bag. Couldn’t parse whether he
And this mystery man
Knew each other – casual hire? or
Permanent position? Hard to know.
“You’re the fiancé?” I stuttered out.
Worse and worse! Country cousin
Morphing into bumpkin sister.
He seemed surprised.
“So sorry,” he bundled me into the limo,
“My excuse is wedding nerves.
Meet the family!
Philip Valerian. Everyone calls me
Verne.” Now I was
Laughing and I couldn’t stop.
“Mom thought your name was Rupert Golden!”
Verne didn’t see the amusement.
“Must be some other swain,” he huffed.
Was I
Getting Mirabel in trouble?
Would she thank me?
What kind of fiancé
Hates to hear his glamor girl
Has been around?
“I guess we all have wedding nerves.”
He was jumpy,
Fingers drumming on one knee.
What a relief to turn away
Make what brain-meat I could of the street outside.
Writing my own story
In which he was smoother, easier,
Less knotty and complex.
New York City! Kubla Khan!
But everything was dark and dingy
Until Fifth Avenue; there a
Nonstop parade of glittery storefronts
And entitled shoppers
Promised trousseaux and makeovers and
Glamorous fun!
The limo stopped at the dress designer
Questrina,
And the driver stepped out of the car.
A woman rushed through the double doors offering
two glossy green dress bags in outstretched hands-
Driver swept them into the trunk and we were off again.
“Your dresses,” explained Verne.
My excitement dulled to confusion &
Disappointment –
Bait and switch:
I should have known.
“I thought Mirabel and I
Would choose our dresses -“
“Oh, there’ll be lots for you to do.”
I’m surprised he didn’t offer a
Lolly to distract me.
“Here we are,” said the would-be groom.
“At my place.”
A skyscraper on Fifth Avenue?
Shiny red doorman
Rushed the curb. “Your lordship.”
I thought my ears were ringing.
Was I hearing right?
Should have watched that damn Downtown Abbey
Or whatever it was called –
My oldsters begged me to
Watch with them
Instead of proudly sequestering my anime anger.
Could he really have a title?
Do they still give those out?
We were alone for a looooong 43 floor ride.
Under sallow yellow
Lighting he seemed
Depressed – was it me or
Or approaching Mirabel?
If only I could read minds! Then
Gold enameled door opened and
There stood my sister.
Alysse Aallyn 
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