Ella was very proud of her husband. Not only was he a wonderful golfer, but he associated with the top leaders in the community. Even retirement hadn’t slowed him down. All manner of deals he got involved with, just by doing what he did best, playing golf.
True, there was little room for her in all this, but she didn’t complain. At one time maybe, but not now. She had adjusted, more or less.
Glancing over at the fireplace she saw that it needed polishing. Ella got out the brass cleaner and, on her hands and knees, began scrubbing the frame around it. No one does it like me, she thought.
When Herb came in he found her there, busily polishing, her hair falling over her eyes, her blouse wet with perspiration.
“Why don’t you keep the damn air conditioner on a lower number?” he asked, adjusting the thermostat and going into the kitchen for a cold drink.
“By the way,” he said returning to the living room. “I’m just home for a shower and a change of clothes. I have to pick Charlie up. We’re going to the installation.”
“How does it look?” she asked.
“How does what look?’
“The fireplace. See how it shines?”
“Very nice. But why do you have to do it? You told me you were getting a cleaning service. No, don’t tell me. No one can do it like you: right?”
“But it’s true.”
“And don’t bother about dinner tonight either. They’re feeding us there.”
“Maybe I should go with you?” she suggested. “I haven’t been anywhere lately.”
“If you want to be the only woman there. I told you, honey, it’s all us guys. Okay? Tomorrow we can go out. I promise. Dinner. Maybe a movie. Now get off your knees; will you. You make me nervous.”
A few days later, when Ella brought in the mail, there was an invitation addressed to Mr. And Mrs. Herb Cohen. Eagerly she opened it.
A dinner dance at the country club in honor of the Mayor’s birthday. How exciting! Later, when she showed Herb the invitation he told her it was really a celebration of the Mayor’s divorce becoming final.
“I thought it was going to be just us guys, like a stag,” he said. “You want to go, Ella? Might as well. But I don’t want you looking dowdy. Jazz up a little. Wear something youthful.”
The next morning she called up her friend, Cairy Goddess and told her about the big occasion.
“I haven’t anything pretty enough to wear,” Ella complained.
“Naturally you don’t,” Cairy readily agreed. “I’ve looked in your closet. There’s nothing there. We’ll go shopping.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“I was going to bake. My two sister-in-laws are coming over this evening.”
“Those ugly broads!”
“Oh, don’t say that.”
“How would you describe them?”
“They’re not very attractive, it’s true.”
“And they’re mean to you, besides.”
“I know.”
“I’ll pick you up at two.”
On the evening of the event, as soon as Ella finished dressing she went into the living room where Herb was watching the early news. She was wearing the new dress, a tawny, iridescent satin that fit like a second skin.
“How do I look?” she asked.
He just stared.
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s very spectacular, but it is not you. Where did you find such a get-up? How much did it cost?”
“Cairy went shopping with me.”
“That woman is terribly extravagant.”
“It was on sale.”
“There’s too much showing. I thought you were a modest person.”
“I’ll wear something else, if you want.”
“We haven’t got time.”
“You wanted me to look youthful.”
“Ella, if you are comfortable in such an outfit, wear it. C’mon, let’s go.”
In the car Herb lectured her on what to say and not say.
“Don’t mention anything about your brother. Or any other member of your family. No one is interested. And keep in mind that I’m very well known in this community, so be on your best behavior.”
When they arrived at the country club Ella was dazzled by how beautiful the place looked since its renovation. Like a castle. The Mayor, who stood at the entrance, greeting everyone, was even more dazzled at the sight of Ella.
“Now I know why you’ve kept this lovely wife of yours hidden all this time, Herb,” he said, holding her hand warmly in his. People said he was a prince of a man. Now she knew why.
Herb steered her over toward the bar and after bringing her a small glass of wine, disappeared. She didn’t mind, since it took a while getting used to the new way people were looking at her. Men smiled, while women studied her intently. When drinks were being passed around, she took one. It was more delicious than the wine she had just finished.
During dinner Herb interrupted a conversation she was having with the man seated next to her, whispering through clenched teeth, that her dress was cut too low in front. She reached for her glass, which had just been refilled.
As soon as the orchestra started to play, and before Herb could make up his mind, the Mayor himself came over and swept her onto the dance floor. Ella surprised herself at how she hadn’t lost any of her dancing skills. She caught sight of Herb watching them, his face looking strange – half smile and half angry.
Herb insisted they leave early and on the way home he was very grumpy.
“How many times did you dance with the Mayor? Three? Six?”
“I don’t know. Who’s counting? He’s an excellent dancer,” she answered, dreamily.
“And how much liquor did you consume, may I ask? Can you recall that, at least?”
“Not really.”
Ella wouldn’t let anything spoil the magic of the evening and the mood she was in. While he continued talking, she began to hum one of the tunes she had danced to, which made him all the more riled.
He was ready to continue the tirade after they got home, but Ella kicked off her shoes, most of her clothes and fell instantly into a deep and contented sleep.
The next morning found her at her usual place – the sink.
Suddenly, she remembered the sale at Mundo’s, the Slipper King. One day only, and for bedroom slippers you could only imagine.
Flinging off her apron, Ella grabbed up her purse, determined to find those darling slippers, meant for her alone.
Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.
Cinderella Redux by Florence Liberfarb
Copyright © 2005-2007 All Rights reserved
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Poems, Stories, and Plays byFlorence Liberfarb
