Chapter 2

Soon Solange entered the area of the enchanted forest where the trees began to look withered and leafless, overtaken by a profusion of vines. She shivered a bit, but kept walking at a measured and determined pace. Lingonberry’s safety was at stake, and nothing could dissuade her from seeking out the woman responsible, the evil step-auntie Luna.

“Ah, hello deary,” came the distinctive cackle of Luna’s voice, “I was beginning to think that maybe you would not be coming after all.”

“I am here woman.” Solange did not mask her contempt in the slightest. “Against my better judgment, but what choice do I have?”

“Well, since you asked — none!” Luna cackled. “It’s either you or her, I really don’t care which. Now come along deary, your room is waiting.”

Solange trudged along behind Luna, up the path, into the tower and up the narrow stone stairs to the top. She was slowly accepting the fact that she would be this woman’s prisoner until the day of her marriage to Princess Lingonberry. She did not relish the idea of living in this dingy lonely tower, but if it was the only way to spare her lover the same fate, it was a burden she would gladly bear.

“And this will be your room, deary,” Luna cackled and slammed the heavy wooden door, bolting it from outside. “Now get to work.”

Solange scanned the room, from the straw-covered floor to the tiny cot with threadbare blankets that she assumed was to serve as her bed, to the massive oaken desk and towering bookcase. “And what am I supposed to do, spin straw into gold for you? I’m not that kind of princess you know.”

“No, I suppose not.” Luna threw the bolt and opened the door a crack to poke her head in. “Well, if you have no other means of supporting young Lingonberry then I suggest you choose one of the books on investing, or perhaps money management, and start reading.”

“Sorry, what?” Solange was so taken aback by the woman’s statement that she dropped to the edge of the cot and sat staring at the door with her mouth agape. “I thought I was to be your prisoner.”

“Oh you are, deary.” Luna turned to Solange, her look somewhat softer and definitely less maniacal. “I assure you, you will not be leaving here until you have proved to me that you know how to keep your financial house in order. I will not sit idly by while the same fate befalls young Lingonberry that befell her spendthrift parents.”

Solange said nothing, she just blinked and wondered what sort of strange magic was at work to transform what she had always thought of as a decidedly wicked step-auntie into what might possibly be an actual, caring human being.

“Honestly, having to bail them out like a couple of newlyweds after they ran off and leveraged more castle than they could afford. And on an adjustable rate mortgage of all things.” Luna ran a hand through her crazed raven and silver hair, bringing some semblance of order to her unruly mane. “How could they be so naive not to realize those things usually only go up and rarely go down?”

Solange was dumbfounded. She stared at Luna as she stood there in the doorway smoothing her hair and looking less threatening with each passing moment. For a brief instant, Solange was almost ashamed at her own treatment of the woman last fall.

“Look, I …” Solange began.

Luna waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and leveled her gaze directly at Princess Solange. “You want a latte or something? I understand you’re not much of a morning person, and I’ve got this great little machine downstairs. Picked it up wholesale at a place in town.”

“Um — um, sure. That’d be great.” And before Luna shuffled off Solange added, “And maybe another blanket? I’ve gotten used to sleeping with Lingonberry beside me. She keeps me warm.”

“Sure.” Luna smiled. “And I suggest starting with the Suze Orman book. She’s kind of lighthearted and fun.”

Princess Solange willed herself to close her still gaping mouth, and stood up to make her way toward the bookshelf.

The castle gate, at dusk

Stedman stood casting his long shadow against the castle gate and hoping that someone would be by soon to let him in, as he did not feel at all in top form. While he waited, he began to contemplate names such as Stedman the queasy or Stedman the green, for he realized now that he had spent far too much time in the apple orchard before returning home with Princess Solange’s message.

“O There you are my sweet.” Princess Lingonberry gently stroked Stedman’s mane. “Darius and I were worried about you.”

Stedman whinnied and pawed the ground.

“O, I know all about Princess Solange. The finches told me just before you arrived,” Lingonberry said. “And no, we don’t have to tell your brother Darius that you spent your afternoon eating apples. We’ll tell him you were off somewhere being very brave. Does that sound OK?”

Stedman noticed that the princess wiped a tear from her eye as she led him back to the stables. He wanted to say something that would comfort her, for he had grown fond of Princess Lingonberry and loved her very much, but he just couldn’t find the words. And with a belly over-stuffed with apples, he was not in the best state for deep thoughts.

The Reality Playwright’s Theater conference room, at midday

In a small cottage on the outskirts of the village, a group of seven people sat around a rectangular trestle table, the top of which was littered with cheaply-constructed little wooden buckets of grilled chicken skewers and something called Szechuan Noodles from a new restaurant in town.

Six of the seven people were grumbling and thinking about all the places they’d rather be having lunch right now. The seventh was a woman seated at the head of the table and fuming, the producer.

“Last item on the agenda people, and we’re not leaving until we come up with something to fix it,” the woman stood up and threw and handful of papers down on the table. “Property Ladder is taking a beating in the ratings. Too many royal houses associate ladders with siege ladders and are quite understandably turned off by the implications.”

“Why don’t we just call it Property Steps?” someone suggested. “Or maybe Property Stairs?”

“No!” The woman pounded her fist on the table. “That’s just a rehash of the same old rubbish. I want new ideas. New, people! Somebody remind me again why it is I even pay you.”

“This Old Castle?” came another suggestion.

“No! How many times do I have to say it? Old is out. We want new. New, people!”

“This New Castle?” the same person, trying a new angle.

“No! You’re fired, now get out. Next!”

“Property Siblings?” came another voice.

“No! Too much potential for family strife.”

The producer’s tirade was interrupted by a timid knock on the door and the receptionist poking her head in. “There’s a Princess Lingonberry here to see you, ma’am.”

“Tell her we’re in an important meeting,” the producer snapped. “She’ll have to come back.”

“I tried that, but …” the receptionist said. Then suddenly, in a very unprincess-like manner, Lingonberry barged through the door and stood beside the producer.

“So this is where the magic happens,” Lingonberry said, stretching her arms out and twirling once around. From out of nowhere, a goldfinch flew in and perched on her shoulder. Lingonberry smiled. “I want you to know I’ve seen every single one of your reality plays. O They really are the future of entertainment. Simply magnificent.”

The producer stared at Lingonberry for a moment, slightly taken aback by her presence and her gushing complements. “OK?” she said. “And what is it we can do for you? Lingonberry is it?”

“Yes. Princess Lingonberry. And I have an idea for your next series.” Lingonberry looked around the room at slack faces. “O Don’t look so shocked. I know your ratings are falling and that you need something new. And I know exactly what that is. See, your problem is that you only do remodels on castles that are already grand and opulent to start with.”

A few people around the table were looking at each other and nodding.

“Where’s the challenge in that?” Lingonberry continued. “What you need is a more dramatic change. Imagine the transformation if you start with something old and run down — a dingy dump of a tower for example — and then turn it into a beautiful dream home. And if I may be so bold, I know just the place for your premier performance.”

To say that the mood of the room had lifted as Lingonberry pitched her idea would be an understatement. People were up and moving around, speaking in excited tones. Someone tacked a large sheet of paper to the wall and began taking notes. Written on the top in bold letters was ‘Extreme Makeover: Dark Tower Edition’.

High atop a dreary little tower, at sunrise

“So you see, if you track all of your incomes in this column here.” Luna leaned over and gestured to the paper that Solange had laid out on the desk. “And all of your expenditures here, then the two columns must … O Bother. What is that racket?”

Luna straightened up and walked over to the tiny window in the tiny room high atop the tower and looked down. “What is the meaning of this Lingonberry?” Luna shouted. “And what army hast thou brought with you?”

Solange took a long pull on her mug of latte, pausing a moment to enjoy the rich bold flavor that was produced by Luna’s marvelous machine, and walked to the window to join her. Solange wiped the foam from her mouth before speaking.

“Hi honey,” she said. “Thanks for coming by, and with an army and all — wow, I have to say that’s quite impressive — but I’m fine really. No need to rescue me. Things with your auntie are going just swimmingly and I’ll be home in time for the wedding, I promise.” Solange blew Lingonberry a kiss and turned from the window intending to resume her studies.

“Solange Alexis, you get your black ass down here right now!” Lingonberry shouted. “I did not come all this way to rescue you just so you could give me the brush off.”

“Um, technically honey I’m mulatto, and you know how I feel …”

“Save it! Get down here this instant!”

Solange and Luna looked at each other and shrugged before turning and heading down the winding staircase together. They stood side by side in front of a cross-armed and decidedly red-faced Princess Lingonberry with a rag-tag army arrayed behind her.

“Really baby, I’m fine. I …” Solange did not get a chance to finish. Lingonberry raised her hand in a halting gesture and Solange immediately stopped talking. “And I thought I was a beast in the morning,” Sloange thought, but wisely kept it to herself.

“Save it honey,” Lingonberry fumed. “I’m rescuing you from the clutches of my evil step-sister and that’s final.”

“Step-auntie,” Luna and Solange said in chorus. They turned to look at each other, nodding and grinning.

“Uggh! Whatever!” Lingonberry stomped her foot. “I’m rescuing you and that’s final.”

“OK, baby. Just calm down, alright?”

“Don’t you OK baby me! And tell me to calm down, will you? I swear,” Lingonberry said, her face turning an even deeper shade of crimson. Above her head, a quartet of finches fluttered, chirping away with admonishments that were lost on all of those present with the exception of the two princesses. Something about all that hair gel and now no song.

Just as it looked like the two princesses might come to blows, a woman with a clipboard stepped forward and thrust her hand toward Luna. “Gillian Rex, producer of Extreme Makeover: Dark Tower Edition.” She shook Luna’s hand and tilted her head toward the woman to her right. “And this is my general, Claudia Nero.”

Luna turned her attention to the woman standing before her in leather armor and a bronze helmet. She looked her over from head to toe and then back again. Luna smiled. “And is this your army, General Nero?”

Claudia Nero looked down at the ground and kicked at the dirt path. “Shoot, no ma’am.” Claudia raised her head and offered her hand to Luna. “I’m a general contractor. And this here army is my group of sub-contractors for the project. We’re renovating your tower, ma’am.”

“Oh, we are are we?”