| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by Barbara Davies / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
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| A Tinseltown Fairytale |
"I love you, Mommy." Even though this was the fifth take, Chrissie still managed to make her lower lip tremble
convincingly.
"I know. Now give me a hug."
Chrissie threw herself into the wide-open arms, making sure her best side was towards the camera.
"And... cut," yelled the Director.
She disentangled herself from 'Mommy's' embrace. "Next time," she said, "use a breath mint." The other actress flushed.
Chrissie shrugged and turned away.
"Okay, people. That's a wrap," called the Director. "Let's break for lunch."
Thank God! Chrissie headed for the huge trailer with the gold star and the words 'Ms. Chrissie LeBon' on it. The door shut
behind her with a satisfying click and she sank into the easy chair and with a sigh of relief kicked off the hideous shoes
Wardrobe had assigned to 'Pollyanna'.
Junk food was laid out on the coffee table. Jerry and DeeDee had specified crackers and salad, fresh fruit, and Perrier
water... but Chrissie had soon come to an arrangement with the set caterers. She stuffed some fries in her mouth and took
a bite of hamburger.
She was reaching for her Coke, when she became aware she was no longer alone. Leaning against the dresser, eyeing her,
was the strangest looking man she had ever seen. His skin was extremely pale, and his ears had points just like Mr.
Spock's.
She almost choked on the mouthful of burger. "Who the hell are you?"
He raised one elegantly arched eyebrow. "Such language from a little girl!"
Her very own stalker. Now she knew she'd made it. "And how the hell did you get in here?" She stood up and moved
towards the door. "Security!"
The man laughed, revealing sharp-looking teeth. "Oh no, Mistress." He wagged a slim finger at her. "You're coming with
me."
He threw something at her, something that sparkled and hung in the air between them like silver dust.
"The hell I am!" She took another step towards the exit, but her legs seemed to have been hamstrung and the next minute
she was falling.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the floor. Thank God! Jerry and DeeDee would be furious if I broke my nose.
"What -?" Her mouth wasn't working as it should, and her voice seemed to come from a great distance …
"Shhhhh," soothed the intruder. "Just relax, 'Pollyanna'."
Then everything faded to black.
#
"Ah, the mortal's coming round." The man's voice was deep, with just a trace of a foreign accent.
Chrissie opened her eyes and blinked at the blur of bright colors and indistinct shapes. She tried to speak, but all that
emerged was a croak.
"Drink this, Mistress," urged a female voice from nearby.
She raised a hand to fend off what turned out to be a wooden beaker full of something smelling of raspberries. On second
thought. She took a sip. Mmmm.
Chrissie's surroundings snapped into sharp focus. The fog shrouding her thoughts also cleared and she sat up with a start.
She was lying on a heap of cushions in front of a roaring log fire. This isn't my trailer.
A pretty young woman in blue chiffon was waiting to take back the cup. She curtsied and backed away, her gaze lowered.
"Are you more comfortable now, child?"
It was the man's voice she had heard a moment ago, and she twisted round, barely registering the room's high ceiling and
the silks and rich tapestries that hung from its paneled walls as she searched for the voice's owner.
He was lounging on one of two throne-like chairs, a tiny smile on his lips. He was good-looking, if you liked that type --
lean-limbed and slightly exotic. It was his hair that caught her attention -- it was a silvery green, as were the lashes that
fringed his almond-shaped eyes, lashes almost as long and thick as her own.
"Are you more comfortable now, child?" he repeated.
"Yes, thanks." Mustn't show him I’m scared, thought Chrissie, her heart pounding. "Nice outfit," she continued coolly.
Robin Hood meets Aladdin. Bet he didn't get those on Melrose Avenue!
He was about to reply when the door opened and a woman walked in. Like the man, she was slender; she also shared his
taste in hair dye and fashion. The woman took her place in the empty chair. The man smiled at her, reached for her hand
and kissed it. Her lips quirked at him, then her gaze turned to Chrissie.
"Welcome, child."
"You're in deep trouble, you know," said Chrissie. "Don't you know who I am?"
The woman clapped her hands together. "You are Chrissie LeBon," she said gleefully, as though answering a trivia quiz,
"star of Pollyanna, Pollyanna Goes West, Pollyanna and the Pirates..."
Chrissie winced. Pirates had not been one of her best.
"Pollyanna and the..."
She interrupted the filmography. "Okay, okay. So you do know who I am. What I meant was: if you think you can kidnap
me off the set and no one will notice, you're nuts!" In fact, right now, Jerry and DeeDee were probably raising hell about
the whereabouts of their meal ticket daughter.
A regal eyebrow rose. "Nevertheless, my child, Robin has done just that."
Who the hell is Robin? And are they after a ransom or me? She suppressed a shudder at the thought of a pedophile ring.
Her gaze flickered round the room, taking in the high quality furnishings. Their clothes too -- they must have cost a bit.
Ransom, she decided with relief.
"It's not too late." She put on a reasonable voice. "If you let me go now, we can say it was simply a misunderstanding.
How about it?"
"No," said the woman. She signaled, and the servant in the blue gown hurried at once to her side, proffering a silver
goblet. The woman drank, gave an appreciative sigh, and returned the cup. "Thank you, Peaseblossom."
"Look," said Chrissie, her shock turning to anger. "You've gone too far... even for Hollywood. There will be cops out
looking for me, and they're going to throw the book at you."
She heard the sound of a door opening, and turned just in time to see the man from the trailer coming in. He bowed to the
aristocratic pair, gave Chrissie a wink, which she ignored, and lounged against a wall.
She gathered her scrambled thoughts. "Even if you get a fortune in ransom, Jerry and DeeDee will track you down and
when they find you they'll file a kick-ass lawsuit against you. You won't have even two dimes to rub together."
The couple exchanged perturbed glances. "Not what I expected," mused the woman. "She is very... worldly for a nine-
year-old."
Chrissie rolled her eyes. "That's because I'm thirteen. Jeez! Didn't you even do your homework?"
"But Pollyanna is nine."
"So I look young for my age. Is that a crime?"
The man gave a huge sigh. "Perhaps we have erred. The last child we took…"
"The little Indian boy you cheated me out of."
"Let us not start that again!"
"Let me go," interjected Chrissie, before they could go off at a tangent. "I'm not what you expected. No problem. Send me
back where I came from. Case closed."
The woman stood up. "That will not be possible," she said. She looked at the man, who shrugged.
"Robin," he said.
The man with the pointed ears stood to attention. "My Lord?"
"Look after Pollyanna while we decide what to do with her." He joined his companion and the two of them swept towards
the door.
"Now wait a minute!" Chrissie tried to follow them, but a strong hand on her shoulder pinned her in place. She turned to
find that it belonged to the man they called Robin.
"As you will, Your Majesties," he said, bowing his head.
When Chrissie next looked round, the strange couple was gone.
#
Robin sat cross-legged on a cushion and gestured to Chrissie to do likewise. Reluctantly she complied.
I'm in deep doodoo, she thought. Royalty? Nah. Must be a cult of some kind. She didn't much like the way this 'Robin'
fellow was smirking at her, either. "What's so funny?"
"You are."
"Gee. So glad to provide entertainment."
He cocked his head to one side and considered her. "That's not a bad notion. It may well save your life."
Her heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"Their Majesties get bored easily. That's why they've come to Hollywood."
"I meant the bit about 'my life'."
He shrugged as though it didn't matter in the slightest. Then she remembered something and felt calmer. "The police'll be
looking for me already."
"That's where you're wrong." He gestured, and there was a copy of Daily Variety in his hand.
Where did that come from?
"Here." He handed her the newspaper then examined his smudged fingertips with distaste. "Magic is so much cleaner."
She barely heard him. Her attention was riveted on the newspaper's date -- the 17th? But surely... "Is this a mock-up of
next week's paper?"
"No. It's today's."
She frowned. "But…"
He blinked in understanding. "I let you sleep," he said. "Their Majesties were occupied with other things."
Chrissie was appalled. "You've kept me drugged and unconscious for a week?" Then why am I still here? What the hell are
Jerry and DeeDee playing at?
"As far as anyone else is concerned," continued Robin, "you aren't missing." He pointed to the newspaper. "Read."
His hands were long-fingered, she noticed, the nails more like talons than ordinary fingernails. She suppressed a shudder
and turned back to the Daily Variety.
A black-and-white picture of herself caught and held her attention immediately. In it she was shaking hands with that
creepy fat guy she'd met once, while in the background a beaming Jerry and DeeDee looked on.
'Child Star Chrissie LeBon signs 3-picture deal with Beautiful Pictures' read the caption. 'Studio head Louis G. Merrick
welcomes her.' The accompanying article said she had agreed to make three more Pollyanna pictures.
She exhaled with a hiss. So that's what this was all about. "Those scheming bastards!"
Get her out of the way and forge her signature, would they? Make everything look authentic by sending a doctored photo
to the newspapers? Well she'd soon see how long that contract held up in court!
She thrust the paper back at Robin. "So, you're working for Jerry and DeeDee."
"You still do not understand."
He gestured again, and she became aware of a large TV and video unit against the wall. Were those there a minute ago?
He rose smoothly to his feet and crossed towards the unit, switching it on, then channel hopping until he found one of the
many 'entertainment' channels. "Watch."
Chrissie wrinkled her nose as the hatchet-faced features of celebrity gossiphound Courtney Pleshette appeared on the
screen.
"So much for the playboy and the hooker," finished Pleshette. She turned to a different camera and plastered on a sickly,
insincere smile. "And now, on a lighter note, it has been confirmed that child star Chrissie LeBon has agreed to make three
more Pollyanna pictures. Rumors that LeBon, now 13, felt she was growing too old for the part have been disproved this
morning. We have Chrissie herself live in the studio to give us her side of the story."
The picture changed, and Pleshette's too-handsome colleague, Preston Corliss, flashed his trademark smile. "Good
morning, Chrissie, and first let me say: welcome to Tinseltown Spotlight."
Chrissie found herself staring at her own features. "Who the hell's that?"
"Thank you, Preston. Glad to be here." The impostor fluttered her eyelashes.
"Now, what's all this we've heard about the Pollyanna pictures? Is it true?"
"Yes, Preston, it certainly is," said the fake Chrissie. "May I call you Preston?" He nodded. "Well, it's actually quite simple,
Preston. I decided I couldn't disappoint my fans."
The interview went on for a further five minutes, and by its end Chrissie was almost bursting with fury. The fake Chrissie
had looked like her, talked like her, even gestured like her convincingly -- disconcertingly so.
"I don't believe this! A look-alike?"
"No," said Robin. "A changeling. Standard practice."
"Whatever. Sooner or later, someone will know it's not me. That fake may be able to play me, but will she be able to play
me playing Pollyanna? I don't think so." Chrissie suddenly registered what Robin had said. "'Standard practice'? You mean
you've done this kind of thing before?"
He sighed. "Of course."
Schwarzenegger? Cruise? That would explain a lot. "I suppose I should be flattered, really. It must have cost Jerry and
DeeDee a bomb to hire the look-alike -- I mean changeling."
He gestured dismissively. "This Jerry and DeeDee you keep talking about. Who are they?"
She gaped at him. "My parents, of course!"
He was about to say something further when the door opened and the couple came back in.
"We have decided your fate, Pollyanna," said the woman.
Chrissie gritted her teeth. "My name is Ms. LeBon. And I hope that means you're going to release me."
The woman frowned. "Had you been as sweet and demure as your film counterpart, I would have cared for you as my
own…"
Chrissie raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"…but instead you will help Peaseblossom with her duties."
"In your dreams!" Chrissie folded her arms. "We have child labor laws in this country you know."
The look of outrage on the woman's face was almost comical.
"My lady," intervened Robin. "Forgive her; she still has no idea who you are. She believes…," he cast Chrissie a glance,
"…her parents have merely hired someone to take her place. She also believes she can still go home."
"I see." The outrage disappeared. "Alas, it is too late." The woman raised a wisp of hanky to her eyes and dabbed
affectedly.
"What do you mean 'too late'?" asked Chrissie, her pulse racing.
"The changeling has taken your place -- permanently." The woman sniffed and tucked the hankie in her bodice. "Now.
Your first duties as my servant..."
"I'm no one's…." An urgent hand on her arm stopped her.
"May I make a suggestion, Majesty?"
The woman smiled wearily.
"She has valuable knowledge of this place," continued Robin. "Why not make use of it?"
The man with the silvery-green hair, who had remained silent and looked rather bored up to this point, perked up. "A guide
to this strange metropolis?"
Robin nodded. "She has lived here for years, worked in the film industry; she knows it inside and out." He raised an
eyebrow in query at Chrissie who nodded numbly. The stakes were high, here, she had realized -- very high.
"The idea has merit," conceded the woman. She looked at Chrissie. "Your answer?"
Chrissie tried for a nonchalant shrug, but her hands were shaking and she felt sick. "Sure," she said. "I'll be your guide."
#
The first thing Chrissie organized for her new employers was a trip to Mann's Chinese Theater. She had hoped that, while
the mysterious couple (whom she had decided were obscure European royalty) were engrossed in an examination of the
dozens of famous footprints that studded the pavement outside, she would get a chance to run for it. No such luck. Robin
had been assigned to keep an eye on her, and he did -- an eagle eye.
They wandered east up Hollywood Boulevard, the couple exclaiming in delight at the star-studded sidewalk dedications on
the Walk of Fame. At The Entertainment Museum, the Star Trek exhibit seemed to fascinate them too. All Chrissie could
think of as she waited was that her feet hurt.
After a while, she noticed that some visitors seemed more impressed by her employers than the museum exhibits
themselves. Hardly surprising. Act like a movie star and people will treat you like one. Which made her suddenly aware
of something disturbing. Normally, she was mobbed constantly for her autograph. So far today no one had given her a
second glance.
"They have expressed a wish to sample mortal food," Robin's voice whispered in her ear. "Do you know somewhere?"
Mortal? They kept using that word -- perhaps it had a different meaning in Europe. Chrissie sighed. They weren't far from
Gower Street. Wasn't there a popular fried chicken and waffle house there? "Sure," she said. "Follow me."
The next thing Chrissie organized for her new employers were tickets to a movie premiere. 'Grand Conspiracy', starring
Winona Walker and Tom Speed, was, so the grapevine said, a colossal turkey of a picture, but it was also an A-List event
and tickets were not easy to come by. She managed to get some eventually, though, with the help of some inspired name-
dropping.
Everyone would be at the premiere -- including the fake Chrissie LeBon and her own double-crossing parents. She
intended to slip away while the lights were down and Robin was engrossed in the movie, confront her look-alike and offer
her a huge bribe, then take her place. With a little luck, no one would be any the wiser. And if Robin realized the impostor
was now the real one and tried to get her back, Jerry and DeeDee would step in. Foolproof.
Except that when she tried to implement her plan she discovered two problems.
First, whoever the look-alike was, she was a superb actress. That pleased look when Chrissie asked for her autograph,
followed by the bewilderment and growing terror when she accused her of being an impostor. And that scream; God, her
ears were still ringing!
The second problem was more disturbing still.
"I look exactly like her, yet no one seems able to see it," she told Robin, as he rescued her from the burly cinema guard
who had intervened when the fake Chrissie called for help. "I don't understand."
Robin sighed and pulled Chrissie to a halt in front of a mirror. "What do you see?"
She gazed at herself. A little disheveled, cheeks flushed, but otherwise the same as always. "Me."
He gestured. "What do you see now?"
She blinked. Now a complete stranger stared back at her. A teenage girl without the slightest spark of star quality. She
was -- Chrissie drew in a breath -- nondescript. And her eyelashes were short.
"I…" She cleared her throat and tried again. "Is that me?"
He nodded. "My Lord and Lady thought it best to put a glamour on you. That's how other people see you."
'Glamour'? She stored the word for later consideration, her mind focusing on the more important thing. "It's permanent?"
"I'm afraid so."
"But I'm -- plain." She felt a sob rising in her throat.
"To others, maybe," he said. "But not to me." He smiled almost tenderly.
Plain. The ultimate sin in Hollywood. Chrissie burst into tears.
#
"Tell us about 'making movies'," the fairy queen ordered the next morning.
A long and restless night of intense thinking meant Chrissie now knew who her employers must be. It had taken some
swallowing, but how else to explain the odd things that had been happening to her? Either she was totally insane -- or they
were fairies, and famous ones at that.
"From whose point of view?" she asked warily.
"The actor's, of course," said Titania.
The reason for the royal couple's interest, Chrissie soon discovered, was that they fancied themselves as film stars. They
certainly had charisma -- whether naturally or magically inspired -- and their appearance at yesterday's premiere had
sparked a rush of enquiries from agents. But could they act? And if this was merely a passing fad, as she suspected,
would they be willing to put in the effort?
She tried her best to dissuade the pair. But when she mentioned Tinseltown's lavish reliance on cocaine, their expressions
grew even more interested.
"There are other drugs beside this 'cocaine'?" Titania asked.
Chrissie nodded. "Uppers and downers, dope, crack, Es, GHB, heroin, acid, mushrooms, poppers, Quaaludes, angel
dust..."
"You mean fairy dust?" Oberon asked.
"No. Angel dust. Another name for PCP."
"These mortals have no experience of fairy dust?" The Queen looked surprised.
The King grinned. "Shall we change that? It could prove -- amusing."
"Amusement would certainly be welcome." Titania stifled a yawn.
"Gentle Robin," Oberon said, and Chrissie suddenly wondered about the exact nature of Robin's relationship with the fairy
king. "Have some made and distributed to these mortals."
"Free?" Robin had apparently grasped Hollywood's fundamental principle.
"May I?" asked Chrissie. Receiving a nod, she continued, "Mortals don't value anything unless they pay for it."
Titania pursed her lips. "How prosaic," she said. "A small charge, then."
#
As Chrissie watched the unloading of the plants Robin had ordered from a local nursery, she wondered aloud why he
hadn't just 'magicked' the fairy dust into existence.
"Wherever possible we use Nature's bounty, though mortal meddling often pollutes and corrupts it." He eyed the cultivated
pansies. "Your kind have made 'Love in Idleness' gaudy and less potent." He shrugged. "But this first batch must not be
too strong anyway -- it might deter our customers."
When the deliverymen had departed, Robin gathered Peaseblossom and the other servants together and instructed them to
strip the petals from the pansies, sorting them by color. Chrissie watched in fascination as piles of white-and-purple, red-
and-golden-yellow, lemon-and-sky-blue petals rose, and the servants' fingers became stained with pollen and sap. When
they had finished, Robin directed them to stand back, then gestured.
Where before there had been piles of petals, now were heaps of pastel-colored powder that sparkled faintly.
Chrissie regarded them doubtfully. "That's it?"
Robin nodded. "Would you like to try some?"
She bit her lip. "I don't know. Is it addictive?"
He pondered for a moment. "Some can become its slave, but most do not." He crossed to one of the piles and took a grain
of lemon yellow powder between his thumb and forefinger. "Come here and close your eyes."
Reluctantly she complied, and felt him smearing something over her eyelids.
"Now open them."
She did so, and blinked. Her surroundings seemed brighter, more intense, and much more colorful than before. And Robin
-- why Robin was the most handsome man she had ever seen -- he seemed to glow with health and vigor. He grinned at
her, a devastating smile that made her go weak at the knees.
"Regard yourself, Chrissie." He pointed to the mirror in the corner.
She let him tug her towards it, then stopped and gaped at her own reflection. God, she was beautiful! She examined her
profile from every angle, striking poses that showed off her burgeoning figure.
The reflection blurred, and Chrissie blinked to clear her vision. When she could see clearly again, she was gazing at her
normal self.
She sighed. "That didn't last long."
"A single grain."
A thought struck her. "If you start selling this downtown, people aren't going to be very happy."
"Of course they are. To see the world with such eyes..." He frowned.
"I meant the dealers, Robin, not the customers."
"Ah."
"There are some mean bastards out there who aren't going to take kindly to having their livelihoods threatened."
He smiled, and this time it was a baring of the teeth. "Do not fear, Chrissie. Their Majesties are more than able to look after
themselves."
#
Two days later, when a black stretch limo cruised up the driveway to the house on Sycamore and disgorged an Italian-
looking businessman and a gaggle of bodyguards, Chrissie found out how true Robin's reassurances were.
The fairy dust had already made the newspapers. Muggings and violence had dropped, but offences against public
decency had skyrocketed as people's thoughts turned to more amorous pursuits.
Eager to see how the royal couple dealt with their unexpected visitor, Chrissie hurried to the throne room.
"Mr. Faggini and associates," announced Peaseblossom, curtsying and backing away, as the mobster and his retinue
entered.
"Gentlemen." Titania was all smiles. "Won't you be seated?"
The fat man ignored the civilities. "You know why we're here. You're on our turf. We won't allow that."
The Queen's smile disappeared. "We do not require your permission."
The man's cheeks flushed and his eyes glittered. "You're new in town, lady, so I'll let that pass. This is your final
warning," he growled. "Stop messing with our business interests now -- or face the consequences."
He gestured, and the bodyguards pulled guns from shoulder holsters and clicked off the safeties. Chrissie looked around
for somewhere to take cover.
"Little man," said Titania. "I don't think you realize who you are speaking to. This is your final warning."
Faggini gestured again, and the bodyguards fired. Chrissie ducked and rolled behind a chair, then peeked out when the
gunfire stopped. The pattering sound, she discovered, was plaster dust raining from the ceiling. The guards had fired
warning shots only.
Robin was still lounging by the wall, his expression calm. He glanced at her and smiled.
"These mortals are boring me," Oberon said. Up until now, he had let the Queen do all the talking. He pointed a long finger
at Faggini and muttered something.
The mobster gaped at his surroundings as though seeing them for the first time. A look of terror flashed across his face,
and his bodyguards stared at him then at one another in consternation. "Let me out!" he screamed, his arms flailing wildly.
His men tried to calm him, but he seemed unaware of their presence.
"Some mortals call it the Fairy Terror," Robin, who in the commotion had come up beside Chrissie, explained. "He believes
he is in the place he most fears, and there is no way out."
The Queen grinned at her consort. "My turn." She pointed at the bodyguards, whose faces became masks of fear too.
They began to scream and wail.
Chrissie shuddered. "Will it wear off?"
"In time," said Robin.
She realized how lucky she had been in her dealings with the fairies so far.
As if divining her thoughts, he glanced at her. "They like you," he said gravely. "Be grateful."
One of the bodyguards lost control of his bowels.
"I am," said Chrissie fervently. "Very!"
#
Chrissie could have told the royal couple they would soon tire of the film business, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Acting might look glamorous, but when you got right down to it, it was just a job, a grueling, repetitive, and often tedious
job. Consequently, she wasn't surprised when, a week after the mobster's visit, instead of setting off eagerly to the film
studio as they had each of the previous three days, Titania and Oberon slept late then summoned her to the throne room.
"We're leaving," said the Queen without preamble.
"Back to Athens?" Chrissie had found out from Peaseblossom where they came from originally.
Oberon snorted. "The smog killed our wood long ago. Mortals!"
Robin shot Chrissie a warning glance. "Switzerland is nice," she said hastily.
The King raised an eyebrow at his wife.
"Too cold," she said. "The South of France next, I think."
He nodded. "As you wish, my dear." He turned back to Chrissie. "Which brings me to your fate."
She swallowed.
"You have entertained us well, sweet Chrissie." He smiled a genuine smile at her. "Your reward is to choose: Will you
come with us or stay?"
She gaped at him. "You mean I can return to my own family?" Gleefully she imagined Jerry and DeeDee's reactions.
Titania suppressed a yawn. "Robin will find you another family."
"Another..." Chrissie's voice seemed to have turned into a croak.
"Your answer?"
A chance like this wouldn't come again. She could work out the details later. "Stay, please."
"Very well." The Queen stood up and settled her gown around her hips. "It is time." Her husband joined her and reached
for her hand.
Oberon turned to Robin. "Take care of things here." He regarded Chrissie fondly. "Farewell."
"Fare…" Before she could complete the word there was a flash of blue light. Chrissie blinked away the orange afterimages
to find herself and Robin standing in the middle of an undeveloped building plot. The house on Sycamore had completely
disappeared.
"So," said Robin. "What kind of family would you like?"
She stared at him. "You're serious?"
He nodded.
Chrissie thought for a moment. "Well. No brothers or sisters, that goes without saying. Plus, I need a room to myself. And
I have certain minimum requirements regarding location, weekly allowance, standard of meals provided..." She trailed off
as a frowning Robin held up his hand. "What?"
"I think you'd better leave it up to me."
#
Robin did the best he could for her, or so he said, and found her a mother still grieving for her dead thirteen-year-old
daughter, and tweaked the glamour that controlled Chrissie's appearance. Too late, she realized he could have made her
look like herself again.
The grey-faced woman in a drab skirt and cardigan nearly had a heart attack when she opened the front door and beheld
her recently dead girl, but a spell from Robin meant she was soon welcoming Chrissie with open arms.
This would be the most difficult acting role of her life, realized Chrissie. But being on the receiving end of such obvious
love and affection would go some way to making up for it -- such behavior had been alien to Jerry or DeeDee; she could
get to like it.
While her new mother made lunch, Robin took his farewell of her in the back garden.
"So, you're off to the South of France?"
He nodded. "What will you do?"
Chrissie shrugged. "Act, I suppose. I don't know how to do anything else."
He frowned.
"But not in the movies," she reassured him hastily. "My new face…" she gestured at herself wryly, "…doesn't have
Hollywood 'star quality'." She eyed him askance. "You knew that when you chose it, didn't you?"
Robin tried for innocence but the glint in his eyes gave him away.
"And you think we mortals are the ones always meddling!" She considered her situation further. It had its good points. "At
least I won't have to do any more Pollyannas." She chewed her lip. "I could try theatre, I suppose. More craft, less close-
ups."
"You have a second chance, Chrissie." He patted her hand. "Make good use of it." He smiled and gestured. "Farewell."
Then there was a flash of blue light and he was gone.
"I will," she whispered to the deserted garden.
"Gillian." A voice called from the kitchen window. "Gillian, where are you?"
"Here, Mommy. Coming." She turned and skipped towards the kitchen.
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