Rumpelstiltskin - re-version

I hear her. She’s begging for help. Help that I can give, for a price. My eyes are heavy lidded with anticipation.

Ah, there she is. In the library, her face ghostly in the glare of a laptop, head in hands. Hopeless. Perfect.

Her desperate thoughts sing in the air.

I’m fucked. I’ll never make this deadline. They’ll take back my advance. Shit. How am I going to pay my rent? How am I going to feed Jacob? Oh fuck, please, help!

Delightful. My mouth watered.

“My dear, why so sad?” I asked her. I grinned at her gasp of surprise. Like a virgin, predictably delectable.

“Uh, I’m fine, thanks.” She said.

“I heard you calling for help. What is the problem, hm?” I watched her eyes twitch as her little mind tried to process her situation. I waited. Desperation won over logic. Ah, almost there.

“It’s this stupid book. If I don’t send in my manuscript by tomorrow, my publisher will drop me. I’ll be so screwed; they’ll take back the advance they sent. I quit my job! I have a kid!”

“Oh my, that does sound grim.”

“I thought I had it all worked out, but now I’m at the end, and it’s a mess!”

“May I offer a suggestion?” I leaned in closer, careful not to startle her, and breathed in her youth and her fear, unable to resist. “Let me read what you’ve got and see if we can’t come up with a solution. What do you think?”

“Oh! Oh, no I couldn’t. It’s really long. It would take all night and, well, I can’t pay you or anything.”

“Payment? Ah, yes, I see. Too proud to accept help freely given, eh? I suppose there is some merit in that. How about this? I will help you tonight and someday, when your book is a runaway success, you will give me the movie rights.” I smiled; one must make the appearance of kindness for the best chance of success.

She scoffed, “That’s pretty unlikely.”

“Well then, no risk.” I waited again.

She smiled. “Ok.” Aahhh, Victory.

Three years later…

Well, look at her now. Dozens of people lined up at the table, waiting for her to autograph their copy of her bestseller. When does the movie come out?, they asked. She’s a woman whose dream came true.

My turn.

I waited until I was the last patron left in the book shop. I sauntered up to her, eager for her reaction. I knew she would recognize me, they always do.

“My goodness, I do believe we’ve met.” I said.

She looked up expectantly, assuming I was a fan. My spine tingled as her smile slowly faded.

“H-hi.” She was nervous, rightly so.

“Hello again, my dear. It appears you have found some success after all, despite your previous doubts. Well done.” I purred; I couldn’t help it.

“Ya, thanks. Uh, can I give you a copy of my book? Please, you helped me with it so much.” She held it out to me, pale arm outstretched.

I lifted a brow, “Oh no, now that won’t do.” I tsk-tsked. “Shall we sit?”

We sat, she, tiny and demure. Scared. I sat on the table and folded my hands over my knee, leaning forward, foot swinging. This is such fun. I cocked my head to the side and stared her down. Waiting. She licked her lips as her dread mounted and my nostrils flared.

“I never expected to land a movie deal.” She said. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”

“But I thought it was clear. Darling, you must declare that I own the rights to your story. The movie will still be made; it would be a shame if it wasn’t. But the story is mine, not yours, to sell.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why ever not?”

“I’d lose all credibility. I’d never get work again!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d find something. Come, come. You are young yet, there’s plenty of time to learn a new skill. Perhaps I can aid you in this.” I almost laughed aloud.

I let her weep. This is what I live for after all. I drank in her despair and it oxygenated my thinning blood.

“Please. There must be some other way for me to repay you.”

“Ah, my dear!” I clapped my hands once. “Another deal?”

“Yes. Ok. What do you want?”

“Well darling, you really haven’t much to offer me past your own misery. But let me think.” I tapped my finger on my chin. Showmanship is a habit. “I tell you what. I’ll give you until this time tomorrow night to guess my name.” Her eyes widened. Delicious. “If you guess it correctly, I will release you. If you do not, I will retain the rights to your story.” I paused. “And, you will continue to write, indefinitely, under my nom de plume.”

“Guess your name.” She is perhaps not my brightest victim.

“Indeed.”

“Ok.”

“Excellent! Fare well then, till tomorrow night.”

I left the book shop and wandered the street, aglow with satisfaction. I saw a crowded coffee shop, its clientele burdened with freshly autographed copies of my dear friend’s book.I decided I was parched. I ordered a cuppa and overwhelmed by triumph, said to the barista, “Shall I tell you an ancient and secret poem?

Today do I bake, tomorrow I brew,

The day after that the Queen’s child comes in;

And oh! I am glad that nobody knew

That the name I am called is Rumpelstiltskin!”

I laughed my way out of the shop.

I all but skipped back to the book shop the following night, anticipating a feast of anguish to replenish my lagging vigor.

“Well then, darling. Have you a guess?”

“To guess your name, with no hints, would be a miracle.”

“To be sure.”

“Is it Henry?” I shook my head. “Alistair?” I dropped my chin. My toes started tapping the laminate flooring. “Perhaps something more exotic.”

The barista from the coffee shop last night emerged from behind a bookshelf. What’s this?

“Is it…Rumpelstiltskin?”

NOOOOOOOOO!!! The two girls laughed and if I’d had the physical capability I’d have ripped their throats open. But I was so weak, emaciated, starved. GODDAMMIT!

Note to self: stop. gloating. aloud.

~~~~~~

Author's Note: The above poem is from Grimm's Complete Fairy Tales published by Nelson Doubleday, Inc.