PRINCESS BEAST Read Free Page A

expert waiting in the wings, shows.  So deal with it, girl.  Was I ever that crazy? she says.  Beauty may not be able to remember her pre-teen puckers, but we do, don't we?"
     Croesus nods his head and is rewarded with a Beggin Strip.
    "Instead of stamping WELCOME on her forehead she should have been more like Rune.  That kid doesn't take any crap.  Just once, I'd have killed to see Beauty flatten her sisters, tell her old man to get bent, stand up to the girls who snubbed her and the boys who teased her.
    Croesus paws Elora's knee.  "Yeah, you're right.  I love them both more than my Testa Rosa, but if I exist longer than Methuselah, I still won't understand the attraction in motherhood.  Pah-lease. First, the woman's body swells up like a Macy's parade balloon.  Then there's labor--eighteen hours of trying to force seven pounds of flesh out of a three-inch opening.  Eee-uuu," Elora shudders.
    Croesus sticks out his tongue and sounds a raspberry.
    "And when Mom's labor is over, after no sleep for two days, and her uterus oozing and throbbing like a bad tooth, the baby clamps its ridged gums down on her nipple and sucks til the cows come home."
    Croesus drops to the floor and covers his ears.
    Elora wags her finger at the Pac Man table relegated to a corner alcove.  "Babies are like that game.  They come into your life and gobble up everything they need:  your food, your time, and your sleep, leaving baby squeezings behind them.  What does a mother get in return?  Sore breasts, fatigue, hair loss, stretch marks, constipation, and roids."
    Croesus belly crawls towards the door. 
    "Don't even try to sneak off while I'm talking."
    The dog freezes in mid-crawl.
    "So, a mother manages to keep the kid alive through childhood, and the little nipper is even sometimes entertaining.  Then just as Mom begins to relax, figures she's got the motherhood thing down, puberty hits and for the next four years, Sibyl's in the house.  If it was me . . ."  Elora swirls her index finger and Croesus dives under a pinball machine.  "I'd change the kid into a gecko at age twelve, keep it in a cage and feed it flies until it was old enough to leave.  Uh-oh.  What's this?"
    Elora leans in close to the crystal ball.  "Is she . . .?  Bricklebrit!"
    Croesus coughs; three gold coins fly and drop plink-plank- plunk into the game room's Lost Child of Brussels Fountain.
     
    * * *
     
    "I'm a failure as a mother," Beauty laments.  Her eyes burn, her nose prickles, her throat tightens, and she breaks into sobs.  Oh, hers are terrible, earth shaking sobs because she is a beast and because she has not cried for fourteen years.  Her wails are so deafening she doesn't hear the rapid patter of beastie feet.
    "I'm sorry, Mommy!" Rune bawls and throws herself across Beauty's knees.   She twitches her purple cauliflower nose and begins the glottal clicking she used to make whenever she was a scared little girl. 
    Beauty closes her eyes, rests her cheek on the top of Rune's head and rocks slowly.  She understands it's a self-indulgent satisfaction; the pleasure she feels from Rune's needy embrace.  What's a mother supposed to do when her crying, clinging child apologizes?   If any other creature had dared bite her, it would be missing a limb at the very least.  Is not forgiveness expected from mothers?  Do not selflessness and motherhood go hand and hand?  What are the alternatives?  Give hurt for hurt and bite her back with fangs or with accusations? 
    Beauty knows, from experience that words can injure more than blows when delivered by a loved one.  She opens her eyes and notices the bloodstained bundle near the hearth.  She slides a foot forward, slips her great toe talon under the knot and releases the cloth.  The rich, heavy satin unfolds on its own accord into a gown trimmed with seed pearls and lace; a gold crown and a spiny pelt lie at the bloody center.  Beauty's mouth turns dry as cotton and her head grows light with