Little Red Riding Witch

[Rosalynd]

“ROSALYND!!!!” Gary, the director of “Evenings with Enchantra,” bellows from across the room, like a flatulent walrus, his jowls flapping.

“Sir?” I respond meekly as I trip clumsily over my own feet, catching a vase full of artificial flowers. Not that I had to worry about it breaking. Everything is plastic: designed to look appealing but containing no substance.

“I don't care what you have to do,” he spat in my face, chunks of half-chewed donut landing on the lenses of my practical, yet stylish, glasses. “We cannot delay the filming any longer. Enchantra needs to be on set in 15 minutes or I'll find someone younger to replace her.”

I don't deserve this abuse, but as my mom's assistant, this kind of thing happens almost daily.

“We need to get this Halloween special filmed and edited by the end of this week!” Gary reminds me as I march down the hall.

“Yes, Sir!” I salute giving him a backward wave as I leave the room.

“If she isn't here and ready to go, tell her we're through!”

I have no idea how I am going to get her ready in time. She tends to be extra dramatic on filming day, Her natural tendency towards procrastination is enhanced by stress-induced anxiety, she is a nightmare to be around. Like a cyclone, she creates disaster as she moves through a room, causing havoc in her wake.

`The last time she was late it was because her latest “plaything” had dumped her. She was depressed and despondent, crying off her makeup, her face red and blotchy. We lost half a day of filming to her foul mood. This time, who knows what it could be? Maybe they put the wrong color M&Ms in her dressing room again. She threw a fit the last time she got a mixed-color bag instead of her preferred green.

“The green ones are an aphrodisiac,” my mother had explained. “Everyone knows that.”

Everything Enchantra did had to be either “dramatic” or “sexy.” She didn't do “boring” or “basic.”

Except for having me. A plain, boring, shy daughter with nothing remarkable about her.

My entire life, my mother has made sure to remind me that I am the most “basic” thing she has ever created.

As I walk down the hall, I pull my phone out of the leather satchel which I wear strapped across my chest. I flip through my text messages, hoping to see something from my sometimes boyfriend, Hunter. Lately, I’ve gotten the feeling that he might be trying to break up with me. I’m a bit hurt, but not entirely surprised. Boys never stayed interested in me for very long. They were often disappointed that the daughter of The Enchantra Grey was, well...me. Hunter, like all of the others before him, probably realized he could do so much better.

I have noticed that recently, everything has changed between us. No more cute “just because” text messages. No more surprise flowers. We’ve only gone on two dates in the last two months, and each time he’d drop me back off at my house, he would tell me he needed to rush off to rehearse with his band. I know that keeping a relationship alive when both parties seem to be overwhelmed can be difficult, but I have been willing to do whatever is needed to make it work. I even took time off from school to help his band with food runs, only to have him get mad one night when I stopped by with dinner for everyone. He told me that I was “embarrassing him” and being “smothering” and that as a couple we needed to spend some time apart because he “needed more space” to focus on his music.

I know what that means.

I close my phone, sighing as I reach the end of the hallway. An oversized gold star adorns the red door of my mother's dressing room, “Enchantra Grey” written across it in a bold, cursive font. As I lift my hand to knock, I stop. Coming from behind the door, I hear the rapid breathing and moaning of two people in the middle of a carnal act.

Not again.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I bang on the door. “Mother!! You need to be on set in 15 minutes!”