The Godmother

One

ONCE UPON A time in a beautiful city by the edge of the sea there toiled a young woman who did not believe in fairy tales. Fairy tales, she said, had no relevance to her life and none to the lives of the children she knew. She and the children she knew inhabited another realm altogether. "More like a soap opera," she explained. "You know, boy meets girl, boy and girl have children, girl quits job to raise children, boy loses job, boy loses girl, girl meets second boy, second boy abuses girl's children by previous marriage, children abuse themselves and their children unhappily ever after."

"You don't believe in happy endings, then?" a friend asked.

"No, I believe in happy moments," she replied, for she was even wiser than she was beautiful. Much wiser, as a matter of fact. "Which is why I love to come in here." Her gesture took in the interior of the shop, a place filled with rhinestone tiaras, Himalayan silver rings and silk kimonos, Indian saris sewn with golden thread and brilliantly colored gauzy Arabian thwabs. Not to mention the Victorian and Edwardian antique paisley shawls and velvet smoking jackets, the bustled skirts and flounced nightdresses that were the import stock making Fortunate Finery the most intriguing shop in Pike Place Market and by far the best vintage clothing shop in all of Seattle. "That white ruffled skirt is absolutely gorgeous. I don't suppose it's a fourteen, is it?"

"I thought you didn't believe in fantasy," chided her friend, who was the proprietress of the fabulous establishment where the young woman liked to spend her lunch hours and much of what she laughingly described as her disposable income. "It's a three."

The young woman sighed and turned her attention to an ebony Chinese shawl embroidered with peacocks in emerald, cerulean, aquamarine and gilt threads. She draped it across her upper body and admired her reflection in the mirror. The greens in the shawl made her eyes look emerald instead of merely hazel, and the black brought out the reddish glints in her curly dark brown hair. By no stretch of the imagination did she look like a Chinese empress, but with her dimples and clean-scrubbed, open, heart-shaped face, she could have passed for a character in a Victorian novel. Not the tragic governess. The good-hearted cook maybe, or the nice, but slightly boring, well-off school chum of the heroine.

"Oh, no, I never said that," she replied, reluctantly replacing the shawl around the shoulders of the mannequin. "Fantasies are essential. Escape is essential, or life would be unbearable. It's when you start believing in your fantasies that you run into trouble."

"Did you learn that in school?" her friend asked.

"No. In school they taught us that we would be able to make a difference. They tried to inspire us with the notion that by helping a single junkie, prostitute or wino we would make Seattle a better city and the world a better place to live in. To the best of my knowledge, that's a fairy tale."

"Had a hard day, have we, Rosie?" the friend asked.

"I've had a hard day ever since the new governor took office, cleaned house in the administration and implemented her idiotic idea of a budget. So has everybody else working in the social sector. Our staff has been cut by half, our budget is down to zero and our new supervisor is a complete idiot. Of course, we're not suffering half as badly as the clients except that they're quite used to suffering and if we don't watch out, we're going to be competing with them for street turf and cardboard condos."

"Oh, my, you are down. Here, have a chocolate. They're Dilettante." She referred to Seattle's premier gourmet chocolatier. She always kept a dish handy for her customers and her other guests, among them the panhandlers who brought her their pets to board when they had to go to hospitals or treatment programs--or got itchy feet. The city of Seattle would allow stray people to wander the streets, but animals found doing the same would be taken to the pound where they, unlike the people, would be fed and housed for a few days before being euthanized, if not claimed. Rosalie Samson had first met Linden Hoff because of the street pet shelter, back when Fortunate Finery was between Pioneer Square and the International District. Linden treated customers, street people and pets pretty much the same, and everybody was welcome to a bit of chocolate.

"I know, Linden," Rosie said, taking a bite from a truffle. "They always are." She sighed, half with resignation, half with bliss, as the truffle touched her tongue. "I should be jogging or walking or weight training on my lunch hour," she added after demolishing the morsel. "It would be much healthier, and less expensive."

Linden Hoff, who had heard it all many times before, clucked at her and opened the door to the ugly-brown clad UPS lady, who hauled a dolly full of boxes into the tiny portion of the shop that wasn't covered in racks of frilly, colorful, exotic, or merely amusing vintage clothes. "From England, Linden," the UPS lady said. "Don't sell everything before I get back, will you? Sign right here."

"I'll save you something special to make up for having to wear that godawful uniform, Lenore," Rosie's friend promised. As soon as Lenore and the dolly left, Linden pulled a box cutter from her pocket and went to work.

Rose watched with bated breath. The things from England were what set Linden's shop a cut above the others.

"Surely," Linden said while slicing open a box that with very little encouragement frothed frills and spilled fringes from the cut. "Surely life doesn't always go as you say. Boy isn't always an abuser."

"No," Rose sighed. "Equality is actually gaining ground. We are seeing more mothers doing the abusing these days."

"Well, there then, you see. That proves my point. Things haven't changed so much. It used to be wicked stepmothers and witches all the time."

"You've cheered me immensely. Oh, this is lovely!" she said, holding up a delicate chain with a small crystal globe hanging from it. She peered closely at the globe. Within it was a single golden seed. "What is it?"

"Mustard seed," Linden said, shaking out a sixties-style white Nehru coat with gold braid and ribbon trim. "You know, from the Bible verse about there being hope for whoever has as much faith as can be contained in a mustard seed..."

"Nope, don't know that one."

"Me neither, not exactly. Maybe it's not the Bible after all. Could be from The Prophet. Something spiritual. But anyway, back in the fifties and sixties, they were a very popular gift, and you were supposed to be able to make wishes on them."

"Hmph," Rose said, trying it on in front of the mirror. It accented the gold in her eyes. Funny, because it was small and delicate and rolled across her ample bust like a wagon across the foothills. Still, it showed up very nicely though it was unpretentious enough not to clash with the teal and purple flowered knit top and purple knit pants and jacket outfit she was wearing that day. In the winter doldrums after Christmas when the weather was usually gray and the mountains hidden by clouds and rain, the flowers and the bright colors helped cheer her. "How much?" she asked, fingering the little globe.

"I dunno. Don't tell me you might like it to make a wish on?"

"I can use all the help I can get at this point."

"What would you wish for?"

Rose thought about the clients she had to turn away because they weren't battered enough, that is, not in immediate danger of being murdered for a couple of days, of the budget cuts which allowed families to be put out onto the street and the disabled to have their benefits withdrawn. She thought of the stupid policy the new governor had pushed through the legislature that from now on the goal of family services was to protect the integrity of the family--that is, whoever was the strongest and in some cases had the biggest fist was to be protected and served by the agency. She thought of her caseload and that of her coworkers--all three of them, what remained out of an office of fifteen. "Reinforcements," she said. "I'd wish for reinforcements."Ah, then you're wishing for a fairy godmother, is that it?" Linden asked with a fond smile at her favorite customer."For the whole damned city of Seattle? Sure, why not?" Rose asked, fiddling with the little ball holding the mustard seed. "Anybody, as long as she's more competent than Mrs. Melvin Hager. We need all the help we can get."In the face of such a selfless wish, I can hardly sell that to you. Go ahead, take it. It's on the house. Come back tomorrow and I'll have all this unpacked."That's well worth a ferry ride on my day off. Right now I'd better get back to work. See you later."