THE SWOON LIST
Malarky
ma·lar·key
Noun:meaningless talk; nonsense.
1
MAGGIE
Iclose my eyes and imagine a quaint town at the foot of a mountain landscape. The Alps? Aspen? Anywhere with snow.
When that doesn’t do the trick, I picture the Atlantic Ocean, the Arctic, one of those hydrotherapy cold plunge vats...anything to cool me off as I pose for literally the hundredth photo today.
“Your cheeks are so rosy,” says a woman wearing Minnie Mouse ears.
I don’t want to think about what my makeup looks like, but I hope I don’t resemble a wax figure. That would surely scare the kids away. “Apparently, not even a princess is exempt from the effects of the Florida humidity,” I mutter while plastering on a bright smile.
The camera’s shutter snaps and then I flit over to the next family waiting for their photo opportunity. I subtly try to coax people into the shade, but the cameraman keeps drawing me into the sun.
“You’re in the shadow,” he barks when I edge closer to an awning over a kiosk.
I step to the left.
“That made it worse,” he says, forcing me and the kids waiting in line to remain under the blazing sun.
“What’s it like being married to Prince Charming?” a little girl asks when it’s her turn.
My smile may very well melt off my face, but my job as Cinderella is to keep it firmly in place. “It’s more wonderful than I ever imagined,” I say in my best imitation of the soft and lilting voice of the legendary princess.
Thankfully, that answer seems to suffice. Either that or the girl’s mother doesn’t want her daughter to get any wild ideas about anyone riding in on a steed and sweeping her off her feet. My real answer is,It ain’t gonna happen, kid.Sad but true. The truth is, I’m not married to Prince Charming, or anyone for that matter. I don’t expect a handsome gentleman to swoop in and come to my rescue—not that I need saving, except from the heat.
Then again, I have a best friend in shining armor. Declan would march in here with a solution that involves shade and air conditioning. Then he’d tell the stupid camera guy tobug off—he’s originally from Ireland and that’s some strong slang over there.
I sigh, suddenly missing him something fierce. Declan was always there for me and not just to tell Bruce Paxton, who made it his mission to tease me in high school, to get lost. We also had our favorite ice cream cart that we’d follow around Boston—it was the original food truck, if you ask me. The library on Mass Ave was our own personal museum of history. So many nooks and crannies filled with memories. Now, I’m on the other end of the country and he’s—I’ve lost track. Probably wherever the Boston Bruisers go for off-season training.
A father who sweats through his T-shirt and two kids—a girl and a boy—are in line next. They both pepper me with questions about what it’s like behind the scenes, working at one of the most famous theme parks on earth. I’m not at liberty to say. After all,I’m in character. Instead, I improvise and turn the conversation around, asking them how they’re enjoying their visit.
The questions from the children don’t stop, though.
On second thought, I could use Prince Charming to bail me out right now. Hopefully, the kids will get bored and move on when something shinier catches their eye. Then again, the sweat on my face has formed a fine patina.
“The line for the rollercoaster is only twenty minutes. Let’s go,” the boy says, glancing at a notification on his phone.
The family hurries away.
“Yeah, let’s go,” says the cameraman tasked with taking photos.
Elmo Eliot is new, barely out of high school, and hates his job at the happiest place on earth. And yes, I can confirm that’s his real name because the scheduling app matches employees’ legal names and there’s no way to change it, which I discovered for myself because I prefer using my mother’s maiden name.
So, with a name like Elmo, you’d think he’d be cuddly, cute, and likable. I don’t use the wordhatelightly, but every chance Elmo gets, he sneaks off and ditches his shift. He breaks cast member rules all the time as well. And he’s straight-up mean.
Is he hateable? Very.
Ordinarily, I’d lock elbows with a coworker, but when he made me stand in the sun one too many times and got me in trouble for supposedly eating a Mickey’s head ice cream sandwich when he was the one who took it from the vendor, I reported him. Also, he didn’t give me a bite and it was sweltering out.
Can you blame me?
