Sinner Ella

WC 1567

SINNER ELLA

By Jack Rawlins

The morning after thirty-five-year-old Prince Charmless of Swahootza hosted a lavish ball to celebrate getting his high school equivalency diploma, a pissed Ella Triscut met with her parole officer in her family’s condo on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

“Ella, you can’t sue the Prince of Swahootza,” said parole officer Ms Ursa Dykette.

“Why not? Does he have diplomatic impunity? The horny little bastard stole my shoe.”

“Ella, it’s immunity, not impunity. And that’s not the issue. His attorney would cut you
up—make you look like a strumpet.”

“What’s that, something you have with tea?”

“No, that’s a crumpet. A strumpet is a prostitute.”

“Come on, Ursa; you’re my parole office, not a lawyer. What do you know about suing people? Anyway, I
was never a hooker . . . nobody ever proved I got paid to get laid. I just happened to be dressed like a hooker, walking a street where hookers walk.

“And you know what else? When I asked that phony cop who busted me if he’d like to have a good time, I was thinking like maybe pizza and a movie.”

“Ella, you’re an incorrigible liar, but I believe in you. My job is to help you go straight.”

“By example?”

“By acting as your friend and mentor—and checking on you.

“Ella, the Triscuts are trying to help, too. But they say you have an attitude problem.
Don’t you feel like a Triscut . . . like one of the family? Do you hate your stepmother and stepsisters?”

“Oh, bullshit. I love them to pieces. Ma Triscut has a touch of creeping senility, guzzles gin like ginger ale and stays bagged most of the time; but she’s a dear. And my Bible-thumping prune sisters—even though they don’t smile a lot—are regular ladies. They think I’m a sinner and they want to save my soul.

“But you know what’s so weird, Ursa? The Triscuts think I’m the one with an attitude. Actually, my gay godfather is the one with attitude. He thinks the whole world revolves around him and his Park Avenue beauty salon.

“You know, I didn’t want to go to that stupid-ass ball in the first place. He’s the one who insisted . . . said I would be a good show-piece for his talent. When I told him I hated to be referred to as a show-piece, he said that’s just a frigger of speech.”

“Ella, I’m sure he meant figure of speech. Nevertheless, why didn’t you want to go?”

“Ever since I was incinerated, I’ve been content to be a couch petunia: stay home, finish my house work early, curl up with a good six-pack and watch my TV soaps.”

“Ella, you weren’t incinerated. You were incarcerated.”

“Whatever. I got burned on a bum rap. Besides, I knew I wouldn’t know anybody there
. . . all those big shots from that United Nations bunch.”

“So what made you change your mind?”

“My gay godfather. He got the invitation; rented me a gown you would kill for; gave me a pair of Pradas; and a free trim, tint, and super new do. And then, he sweetened the pot with a pink limo and driver.

“How could I say no to such monstrosity?”

“Ella, you mean generosity. And yes, it would have been mean of you to say no.”

“Whatever. It’s like I had to go just to make everybody happy and get them off my case.”

“All right, Ella. Now tell me about the ball.”
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“Well, I was trying to be nice to the prince. And right away, he starts with the busy hands. Now, I don’t mind fondling—after all I was a fondling myself, you know—but I didn’t know where his hands had been, or if he washed them.

“Ella, you were a foundling, not a fondling.”

“Whatever. Anyway, a little squeeze, a little caress—okay. But groping I will not tolerate. So, I gave him a soccer knee in the royal jewels. It was a power shot—so hard, I knocked off my shoe.

“I’ll say one thing, though; he’s a gutsy little grabber. When he stopped groaning and writhing on the floor, he picked up my shoe, filled it with Champaign and toasted me—just as the clock struck twelve.

“But that wasn’t enough for him. He still wanted to grab me. So I ran. We made three laps around the ball room, knocked over two tables, six chairs and two diplomats—and even though he was hobbling—he was gaining on me. He had my shoe in one hand and a bottle of Dom Perignon in the other and kept begging, ‘Please, please-- Let’s have a nightcap.’ Believe me; it was like a car chase without wheels.

“And, it’s so hard to run on one heel. On the fourth lap the ballet training I had when I was ten saved me. It was nine years since my last lesson so I was a little rusty; but I surprised everyone when I stopped, pumped out a few fouettés, spun a triple pirouette, and did a grand jeté out the door and into my limo. The prince and all the guests gave me a standing ovation as we burned rubber and roared away.

“So now I relax a little as we’re zooming home and suddenly the driver screeches to a whiplash stop, dumps me in Brooklyn and says, 'Your gay godfather just booked me and my limo ‘til midnight. I already gave you ten extra minutes. Have a nice evening.’

“Ursa, can you imagine? No cab fare and I’m bopping along on one heel when a wino mistook me for a yo-yo and tried to reel me in. He offered to share the contents of his brown bag with me in the comfort of his empty refrigerator carton.

“I was tired and shivering like a dog crapping chicken bones and seriously considered his proposal. And then I got a better offer when two nice ladies of the evening came to my rescue. They gave me a ride and tried to recruit me for their line of work, but I told them I had a good job with my own family.

“And it’s true. The Triscuts have been good to me. It works out well: they’re all slobs and I’m a cleaning freak. Dr. Probenoodle—the parole board’s designated shrink—says I have an obsessive-repulsive disorder about cleanliness.”

“Ella, I think he said obsessive-compulsive, not repulsive.”

“Whatever. What does he know? He’s a pervert. All he wants to do is talk about sex, sex, sex! I make up crazy stuff about things that never happened just to get a retraction. I told him scrubbing hoppers makes me hot. “

“Ella, I think you mean to get a reaction, or possibly an erection.”

“Whatever. But being clean ain’t a sickness, is it?”

“Of course not. So would you say you are treated well here and you’re content with your lot?”

“What lot? Am I supposed to get a lot?”

“No. Never mind. Are you content with your role as a stepchild?

“Yes, I love it here.”

“Truthfully, Ella, I see no evidence that you have an attitude problem; but you do have a litigious nature.”

“What the hell is litigious?”

“That means prone to sue.”

“Ursa, when I’m prone, it ain’t to sue, honey. It’s to—“

“Never mind. I already called the prince before I came. He’s coming to apologize.”

“He better have my shoe.”

“What is it with you and that shoe? Why is it so important?”

“That shoe is half a pair of $650 Prada Pumps. Ursa, it’s a major matter that matters to me. I can’t hock half a pair of expensive shoes; and right now I need cash for some new lounge wear, slippers and a year’s supply of imported beer.”

Later that Morning

“Ah, my fair lady, I’m here to apologize for my rude behavior last evening and to return your shoe. Can you forgive me?”

“Oh course. But how come the lining is as wet as a baby’s behind?”

“Madam, I confess; I toasted you far into the night and both your shoe and I got a tad soggy. I’ll be happy to have it blow dried for you.”

“Please, I’ll blow it myself.”

‘As you say . . . Now, Miss Triscut, I understand from Ms Dykette that you enjoy domestic work. Would you consider joining my staff?

“How did you break it?”

“My dear, I mean domestic staff. My palace in Swahootza has fifty rooms and they all need dusting. While you dust we could get to know one another better.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Your Highness, that’s the most original pick-up line I’ve ever heard; but no thanks. I like it here. And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s vacuum time”

“And time for me to bid you adieu, my dear. I’m outta here.”

Parole officer, Dykette, sighed as she watched the short, fat, bald, lecherous, rich-as-hell prince, limp off to his waiting, illegally-parked Hummer, tear up the ticket on the windshield with impunity, and drive away.

“Well, there he goes, Ella. You just blew a chance to live happily ever after.”

“Ursa, I’m already happy. What’s more, I could never work for a royal pain in the ass like that. And I’ve got my shoe back.”

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