The Fairy Godmother Part 68

“You are a Fairy Godmother?” the girl asked.

“And you are a homeless unemployed girl,” I replied. “By the way, what is your name?”

“Georgina,” she replied. “But my friends call me Georgie.”

“Could these friends put you up till I’ve sorted out alternative accommodation for you?” I asked.

“OK, so I don’t have any friends,” she snapped. “Not any that could put me up at any rate. Can’t you magic something up for me?”

“Hello,” said the girl from the bookshop. “Have you thought of any ways of getting back at that magazine yet?”

“Not yet,” I sighed. “But I’m working on it.”

“You’re also working on finding me somewhere to live,” Georgie reminded me. “I think that has to have priority.”

“I’m looking for someone to share my flat,” said bookshop girl.

“I don’t have any money and I’ve just lost my job,” said Georgie, not the most helpful of things to say.

“I work at a bookshop, the owner is having problems finding people to staff it, he thought it would work with one, but after the problems with the magazine,” she sighed. “He said that if he doesn’t get someone soon he’s going to have to close it.”

“I would love to work in a bookshop,” sighed Georgie.

“Sounds like we have some solutions,” I said.

“I don’t understand,” said Georgie and the girl from the bookshop together.

“You need a home,” I said to Georgie. “You need a flat mate,” I said to the girl from the book shop.

“But I don’t have any money to pay my way,” said Georgie.

“The book shop owner needs more staff and you’d love to work in a bookshop,” I explained.

“He’d take one look at me and escort me out of his shop before I made anything mucky,” Georgie sighed.

“The newsagents didn’t,” I replied. “Anyway, I’m sure we could get you washed up ready to meet him tomorrow.”

“We could do that,” said the girl from the book shop. “You look like you’re about my size, so you could borrow some of my clothes. It would be simple.”

“Do you think he would employ me?” asked Georgie.

“He’s desperate,” said the girl from the book shop.

“Let’s get started then,” I said “We can work on a plan to make sure that magazine thinks twice before it trashes a shop the way it did.”

“They do seem to think they can just take over and tell people what to do,” said Georgie.

“Have you had any run-ins with them?” asked the girl from the book shop.

“Oh yes,” said Georgie. “Or at least with that egotist of a photographer.”

“He seemed to be the nicest person amongst them,” sighed the girl from the bookshop.

“My names Georgie,” she said. “What’s your name?” she asked the girl from the bookshop.

“Juliet,” she replied. “And no jokes about Romeo please, I think I’ve heard them all.”

“The photographer’s name is Romeo,” Georgie replied. “Romeo Smith.”

“My name is Myrtle,” I said.

“Didn’t your Mother like you?” asked Georgie. “Sorry, that wasn’t nice.”

“Good question, she saddled me with that name and dumped me in an orphanage,” I sighed. “But that is a problem for another day. Romeo Smith is today’s problem and how to bring him and his magazine down a peg or ten.”

“We could go there and talk to them,” suggested Juliet.

“They wont be listening to anyone today,” said Georgie.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because today is the day that the readers figures come out,” Georgie explained.

“And that is important?” I asked.

“A large proportion of their income comes from advertising,” Georgie explained. “If the readers numbers drop then the advertisers will go elsewhere and if enough of them do that, it could sink the magazine.”

“So that is their weakness,” I said.

“But how do we attack it?” asked Juliet. “Their readership is loyal.”

“Is it?” I asked and both girls turned to face me. “This is a fashion magazine, their readers will be followers of fashion, we just have to move the fashion away from that magazine to something else.”.

“Easier said than done,” sighed Georgie.

“There has to be a way,” I said. “We need to study the magazine.”

“I have copies for the last two years,” Juliet admitted.

“We need to get started,” I replied. “How far is it to your flat?”

“We are here,” said Juliet, pressing some buttons to open the door into a tall, nineteenth century terraced house. “My flat is up in the attic,” she added starting up the stairs. Georgie’s luggage followed behind.

“These are the magazines,” said Juliet as soon as we walked into her home. “And these are some of their competitors.”

“How about I start looking at these whilst you get Georgie ready to see the bookshop owner tomorrow?” I suggested.

“I’ll probably need a hand with my hair,” Georgie admitted and the girls headed off to the bathroom, I sent the luggage to the spare room.

Nearly two hours later Juliet came back with a girl who must have been Georgie, but didn’t look anything like her.

“You needn’t worry about the newsagent recognising you,” I said.

“The bookshop owner likes girls with black hair,” said Juliet. “I think it helps them blend in with the background.”

“Does that mean your hair isn’t black?” I asked.

“No, I’m a natural blond,” Juliet replied.

“Why did you dye it?” Georgie asked.

“Because blonds are supposed to be dumb,” she said. “Not a good look for someone in a bookshop.”

“Well, black suites both of you,” I said. “You could almost be sisters.”

“Maybe that will impress the shop owner,” said Georgie.

Then the door bell rang.

“I’d better get that,” said Juliet, pressing a button.

“Pizza delivery,” the voice came over the intercom.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we would need to eat,” I said. “I’ll pay, of course.”

“Come on up,” said Juliet to the delivery person. “We are on the top floor.”

by Janice Nye © 2020