The Perfect Girl

SS30:

"Twice Upon A Time—The Perfect Girl"

***

Well, after all the sequels I just got through with, it was time for an original story or two. So here's a romantic fantasy with a new lead character and a new storyline, but co-starring the same magical princess from my earlier fairy-tale, "Once Upon A Time Warp." And even though there's a bit of time travel going on here as well, its (this story's time travel's) significance pales in comparison to the other's (to the time travel in "Once Upon A Time Warp"). So that being said, this story's full title is "Twice Upon A Time: The Perfect Girl." Hope you enjoy it.

***

July 17th, 8:32 p.m.

"So you know, I grew up right here! My parents have had the same house for thirty years, and I got my own place around, uh...guess it would've been...what, 2009? Anyway, it's a great place. Just twenty-minutes or so away from my folks. How 'bout you?"

"Oh, well, I...was born in Texas, then my family and I moved up here when I was 17."

"Really? Wow! Nice. Y'know, I've always wanted to visit Texas. Then again, I've always wanted to visit a

lot

of places. 'Dya like it?"

"It was okay. Austin's nice."

"Oh, Austin. Is that the part of Texas you guys're from?"

"No."

"...Oh."

26-year-old Danny Kilmer was on a date with a girl close to his age named Natalie. Danny'd decided to take her to a fancy Irish restaurant called Madigan's, on the west side of town. He'd never been here before, which was precisely why he wanted to try it. He was having a good time, but Natalie, not so much. She'd also never been before, and that was exactly why she

didn't

want to try it. Natalie was normally a little more inclined to go with the already familiar, whereas Danny loved opportunities to try new, different things. Natalie was a pretty lady, but Danny seemed to be having a little trouble getting her to open up. Their conversation was a bit like the very first Wright brothers' airplane prototype: it couldn't seem to get off the ground.

Danny had a very patient Monte Christo on his plate with at least three quarters left to go. Natalie, on the other hand, was tearing with pretty decent speed through her half-size chef salad. Logical, as Danny was throwing out virtually everything he had in the way of conversation, and Natalie was a bit eager to just get the date over with.

Fast running out of topics and trying to find more to fill the silence, Danny began looking around the restaurant for inspiration. The place simply screamed Ireland. Everywhere one looked were to be found pieces of artwork, sculpture, and other folds in the architecture of shamrocks, leprechauns, rainbows, pots of gold, horseshoes, beer, and portraits of the homeland with calligraphically typeset words such as "Éire" or "Ádh mór ar na hÉireannaigh." Through the stereo speakers flowed John MacNally's sweet voice. Just about everything the eatery boasted was self-explanatorily green, green, green, and it went without saying that like any self-respecting Irish establishment, the 360° bar was astronomical and stocked to the rafters. Let it simply be known that the socially anxious individual did not wish to be in attendance at any point during the

entire

third week in March, let alone the big day itself.

Danny looked back to Natalie. "So, uh, what was your favorite subject in sc—"

Natalie put away the remainder of the salad. "Look, um..." she said, holding up a hand. "I'm really sorry about this, the last thing I wanna be's rude to you, Danny, thank you for taking me out, really, but, uh..." She stood, slinging her purse around her shoulder, taking a last swig from her mug and tossing some money on the table. "I think I'm gonna have to call it a night and grab a cab."

"Oh." Danny stood. "Well, I could pay for the cab for you...if you..."

Natalie knew this was a little awkward, and felt bad about cutting things short. "It's really not necessary. You hardly touched your sandwich, and I wouldn't want you to just let it sit there."

"They could always just box it up for me."

"No, no, seriously, I..." Natalie sighed. "I wouldn't want to make you curtail your own dinner on my account. Danny, you're a really sweet guy, and I really do appreciate this. Please don't take this personally; it's-it's not you, it's me. Honest. This just isn't a good night for me. Maybe we can do something like this again sometime. I'll see ya later, okay? Bye-bye, I hope you have a good evening."

She gave his hand a pat and headed off. Danny was a little disappointed and embarrassed, but he sat back down to continue eating. He liked the scenery of the restaurant, and he could try to find another use for the time until he was done.

He had a bit of sandwich left before he was full, but it wasn't enough to be worth taking home in a box. He let out a sigh as he returned to his car and started home. He didn't know if Natalie had personal obligations to take care of later tonight or tomorrow, thereby explaining her early departure, or if she was just trying to spare his feelings. What he did know was that Natalie turned out to be the latest in a series of Danny Kilmer dates which were, well, not exactly D.O.A., but led to zero more, suffice it to say. He wasn't sure what, if anything, he was doing wrong—he supposed it was possible it wasn't him, like Natalie'd insisted, but after this many less than successful attempts, somehow he doubted it.

Danny was a fairly good-looking man with a decent bit to offer. He had light brown hair, blue eyes, a medium build and a 5'10" frame. He was self-employed, owning and operating a newsstand he'd acquired from a previous employer through an unusual set of circumstances. In his spare time he played pickup basketball, did a little artwork in the forms of drawing and painting, and cooked. His favorite TV channel was probably the Food Network. His goal was to learn at least one dish (preferably to serve himself and someone else) native to as many different countries as he could cover. Thus far, his total was seven. Tonight's date at Madigan's had given him an idea for something Irish at which to try his hand, something called colcannon, with cabbage and mashed potatoes.

But while this remained a mere goal of his, his

dream

was to actually travel all over the world. Should he find a window, he would be very willing to sell the newsstand and instead join a travel agency. Setting off on random adventures across the globe was quite high on his list of priorities. He really was a fan and advocate of trying all kinds of different, new things, and would jump at the chance to study exotic culture—but he would hasten to add that on these travels he'd insist on taking along a romantic partner. He didn't want to travel on his own. He wanted a woman with a similar thirst for foreign culture.

So first on his list was meeting a woman before putting any actual travel plans into effect. But there was no rush to do either; he was young, he was saving money, and could study geography in the meantime. Geography and women.

He viewed women as mysterious, elusive, beautiful and enigmatic creatures. He'd been "studying" them in secret since his late teen years, trying to determine their mutual characteristics and oddities. It wasn't until he entered his 20s when he discovered that despite the vast overlap he'd been led to believe existed, just like men, there was really only one single thing every last woman on the planet had in common...and it began with the letter 'v.'

Initially excited to get his dating life up and started, he would sooner than later realize that ironically, his dates would tend to go better—and result in a better chance of a repeat performance—in the early stages of his encounters, rather than the later. It seemed the more time went on, the less luck he had thrown his way. When he found this pattern, he tried to go back and remember what, if anything, he might have done—or not done—on his first dates that he wasn't—or

was

—doing now.

He had the remainder of his life laid out pretty well: career, hobbies, friends, social life, family, miscellaneous, other...the only thing missing was a lady companion. A lady companion who could stand at his side long-term, that was to say. He'd been on a lot of dates, and had a few flings, but the parallel path of romance somehow always managed to evade him. Finding his female soulmate was harder than he thought it would be. Not that he expected a cakewalk, but...

He wasn't getting any younger, but he was still in his mid-20s, so he told himself to just take it easy, enjoy life—keep saving his money in the meantime—and should a chance encounter take place, proceed accordingly. The string of not necessarily bad but unsucceeded dates didn't really sour him on the experience. There were literally a billion or three women on Earth; he saw no need to rush. As long as he was himself, he reasoned, if a woman wasn't interested in him, no problem, her loss, just move on. At the same time, he had to admit he was somewhat eager to have someone who could hold his hand through life, with whom to together celebrate the good times and comfort each other through the bad. Besides which, once he did find a woman who wanted to see the world with him, the rest of his dreams could be magically unlocked.

The more he thought about it, the more it appeared somehow...surreal. As if...he wasn't quite sure how to describe it. As if he could

almost

see it becoming a reality, but yet at the same time, the sight was blurry and hard to make out. It sure was nice to imagine it really

was

a reality, he admitted that. Taking things one at a time, meeting a sweet woman to begin with here at home in America, he could imagine embarking on a walk around the pond on a breezy summer day, feeding ducks and geese with bread. A comforting movie on a stormy night. Sharing a banana split at the ice cream parlor. A nap huggled in each other's embrace.

He often considered just what type of woman he'd like. Each time he thought about it, he came back around to the same "perfect girl," as it were. There was of course no real such thing, but if he were to make a choice, he knew what he would say: a renaissance girl. Just the kind of person fascinated by the unknown, well-rounded, intrigued by arts and other finer things in life, perhaps with a bit of exotic flavor herself. Who, he wished to know, would want to travel the world with someone who'd be bored the entire time?

Don't worry about it

, he told himself.

If it's meant to be, you'll meet her when the time's right

.

***

July 24th, 9:11 p.m.

It was Danny's birthday, so his family took him to one of their favorite restaurants, the Cheesecake Factory, to close his 27th year. They served anything and everything, and who didn't love cheesecake for dessert? It was Danny, his mother Violet, his father Simon, and his kid sister Josie. When they were about three-quarters of the way through the meal, Danny knew some of the staff would be coming out with a little treat, singing their semi-unique restaurant birthday song to him, and clapping rhythmically, so he got ready.

And they did. And the generous-sized piece of cheesecake the waiters brought him was glazed with raspberry sauce and a lit candle. So naturally, his family, along with the waiters and waitresses, ardently urged him to make a wish.

"Oh, geez, I don't know what to wish for..." he started to chuckle. But they seemed intent on not allowing him to blow out the candle until it at least looked like he'd made a wish. So he engaged in subterfuge, just so he could have his cake and eat it too, closing his eyes for a moment, rolling them in amusement beneath the lids, shrugging casually and rapidly mouthing the words—

"

Okay...I wish all my dreams would come true

." Whoosh!

Cheers and applause of course followed. "Yay!" they harmonized.

Finally getting to dig in, Danny thought,

MMMMM...well, damn;

one

of 'em just did. This cake's better than sex.

His only other thought of the night was,

Heh! What a silly wish.

***

July 25th, 8:00 a.m.

Danny normally opened the newsstand at 10:00 in the morning, so as long as his bedtime was reasonable, he didn't really need an alarm clock. But something different gently roused him out of slumber this particular day: a flat, almost in tune female voice.

"Happy Birthday to you...Happy Birthday to you...Happy Birthday, dear Daniel...Happy Birthday to you."

Danny blinked himself awake. When he heard the unfamiliar but comely voice singing, he crinkled his eyebrows, not erroneously thinking he was back at his apartment in his own bed. When he looked up to see just that, he noticed who it was serenading him.

He sat up to see a woman who looked to be in her early- or mid-30s sitting on his bed beside him. He looked at her curiously about the face and eyes for a moment before she unenthusiastically spoke again.

"'Mornin', kiddo."

Perplexed, he studied this inexplicably present person up and down. She looked kind of shabbily dressed, in frayed, faded clothes, and a worn, abused purse over her shoulder. She also had a bow and ribbon tied around her frizzy dark hair. Her hair and body were fresh and clean, despite her disheveled-looking clothing and accessories. And she was a pretty thing: she had a pleasing face, with bright eyes a color he couldn't identify, but for the moment he was a bit more concerned with precisely who she was and what she was doing here. She looked back down and returned to her immediate task at hand, filing her nails—pun most certainly intended.

"Um...'scuse me, ma'am," said Danny. "But, may I ask who exactly you are? And...how exactly you got into my apartment?"

...And...how you knew it was my birthday?

he parenthetically added.

"Whatever tickles your pickle," the woman replied with a smirk, impishly winking down at his nether-regions, before returning to her fingernails. "The name...is Lindsey, and the entrance, bro..."

Lindsey had determined at this point in time that flat-out demonstrations of her unusual identity proved more effective and wasted less time than verbal explanations, so she tapped herself with her nail file, grew pixie wings on her back, flapped them, drifted up into the air from his bed, and

stayed

there, defying gravity for about five seconds.

"...Is magic," she smiled, feigning genuine enchantment as she floated back down to the floor. She really loved what she did—or rather, who she was—for a living, but the vocation-slash-identity was a bit more rewarding once she and her "children" were on the same page (i.e., once they were convinced she was the real deal).

For a few moments, the only parts of Danny's body to move were his eyelids, blinking a few dozen times, naturally less than able to comprehend or believe the sight he had just processed. His brain told his eyes they must have gotten and transmitted some bad information, but the eyes informed the brain that they'd indeed slept sufficiently, and that this was

no

illusion.

Lindsey told him precisely what she needed to—which had become something of a standard routine for her by this time. "Trust me, dude, I know how freaked y'are right now, and I'll hit the bricks if you want, but as your fairy godmother, I have got something of an obligation to make your dreams come true."

It went without saying that this was a new one on Danny. He wasn't exactly sure what to say to this.

She went back to filing her nails. "But, that don't gel with your 'genda, hey, just say the word."

Silent and motionless for a bit longer, Danny finally gestured with his hand to play for time, and said, "...No, no, it's just...I mean, you could see how someone could find themselves at a loss for words given this...introduction."

This was the point at which Lindsey always let a little compassion through. She took this opportunity to give him a little more conviction. She put her wings back to work and took to flight again.

"I know, babe," she nodded, giving her nail file wand a snap with her wrist. A single lilac materialized on his pillow, which occupied his attention for the moment. "Trust me, I've gotten every reaction in the book. Everything from, 'Ohhhhh-kayyyyy'..."

She waved the wand next in a circular motion and gave Danny's solid, ordinary ceiling a tap, where appeared a solitary dot, which branched out in all directions into a flat, miniature version of the Sistine Chapel.

"...To, 'Well, what loony bin did

you

escape from?'..."

She descended to the floor and tapped herself on the head. Her ratty clothes turned to a beautiful black and white peasant blouse.

"...To, 'All right, are you crazy or am I?'..."

She wrist-snapped the wand towards the floor, and from behind the bed, up sprang a brand-newborn Springer Spaniel puppy with a red ribbon around its neck. It hopped on the bed and barked at a naturally mindblown Danny.

"...To, 'What is this, a hidden camera show? C'mon, what am I, Timmy Turner here?'..."

At this, Lindsey produced from behind her back an authentic 1950 Disney's Cinderella poster, in mint condition, and placed it on one of Danny's bedroom walls, where it adhered without the aid of pushpins, glue or tape.

"...To, 'Right; please go away and leave me alone.'"

With that, she went into a flourish and bowed.

Danny was unsure whether to applaud, scream or pinch himself. He did none of the above. In fact, he did nothing at all. After a few moments, Lindsey lifted her head from her bowing stance to eyeball his reaction—or lack thereof.

She shrugged. "Fair enough. Well then, shall we get on with it here?"

Danny suddenly twitched and blinked several times, as if coming out of a trance.

"See, I'm...I'm still trying to figure out what you're actually

doing

here, though," he said to her.

"Do you not remember your birthday wish you made last night?"

"Uh..." He chuckled. "Yeah, I, uh...I believe it was, 'I wish all my dreams would come true.'"

"Brilliant recall," she praised him flatly. "Hence, my presence, kiddo."

"Yeah, but...wait, let's back up one step," requested Danny. "How'd you know about my wish? Or even that it was my birthday?"

Lindsey's face grew a bit exasperated. She dug into her purse and yanked out a bent-up periwinkle-colored folder. "Perhaps I lost you," she supposed in her flat voice. "Maybe this'll clear it up." She straightened out the dossier inside and read from it.

"Daniel Lucas Kilmer...born July 24th, 1987...so and so and so and so and so...here we go—heart set on world travel...with nice girl by side." She returned her gaze to Danny's indescribable countenance. "And then there's some room below for additional notes."

Danny stood from the bed in alarm. "A'right, how'd you know

that?

" he desired to know. "And where did that come from?"

Lindsey gave it to him. "Fairies' Union, kiddo; where else?" she replied as he studied the folder. "Ridic, I know, but honest to God, that's what it's called: the Fairies' Union. Trust me, you don't have to tell

me

how dumb it is. But, we know everything there."

Sure enough, there was all the info on him, as well as what looked like a photo of him, but he didn't remember having this taken.

"Yeah, but, eh..." Danny mumbled in bewilderment, "This is...real

life

, though. I mean, fairies and stuff...don't really exist."

Lindsey frowned. She suddenly looked very sad. For a few moments they just stared at each other, the Springer Spaniel puppy prancing between them, putting its paws on them and wagging its tail. Lindsey then turned back to the wall, pulling another flawless Disney poster out of thin air, 1953's Peter Pan, which she placed right beside Cinderella.