“How much?”
“For this old thing? You can have it for five bucks. Nobody’s looked at it in years.” Which made Marjie frown, because it was quite a pretty painting. Must’ve been from a long time ago, judging by the old-fashioned, intricately designed red dress the woman was wearing. The collar and sleeves were puffed white, and the delicate gold-lined roses stitched onto every bit of the outfit were mesmerizing. The bottom part of the piece was huge, ruffled with white lace underneath the red skirt that matched the top, and Marjie found herself questioning how any human could move comfortably in a dress that big. The woman herself was gorgeous–soft blonde curls fell over her broad shoulders and a small smirk adorned her pale, doll-like face.
“Alright. Sold.” Marjie fished a five-dollar bill out of her green bomber jacket and handed it to the shopkeeper. He snatched it from her hands, and practically threw the painting at her. Marjie was just able to catch the edge of the gold frame before it smacked her in the face. Rude. She made a quick turn for the door and stepped out into the New York City breeze, five dollars shorter and one Renaissance painting richer.
Upon arriving home, Marjie realized what a big mistake she’d made. She’d just remembered that her landlord would maul her if he even found so much as a scratch on the hideous walls of her one-bedroom apartment and it didn’t have stable support to sit upright on a table. She sighed, holding the painting an arm’s length away and staring into the eyes of this long-dead lady in a now abhorrent painting. The painting stared back at her, and, for the first time, Marjie noticed its subject’s deep, autumn-colored eyes. She brought the portrait a bit closer to her face, squinting her eyes at the green flecks speckled in the woman’s irises, when suddenly she was on the ground in a heap of red and white.
“Oh, great heavens! Where on Earth am I?”
The first thing Marjie thought was what the hell? The second thing Marjie thought was what the HELL? Because she was pretty sure that the portrait of a woman had just sprung to life and tackled her to the kitchen floor. The same portrait that was now speaking in the most obnoxiously pompous British accent Marjie ever had the misfortune of hearing. After untangling herself from the sea of fabric, Marjie lay face up to the ceiling, keeping her eyes locked on the broken light and leaky concrete stain that she definitely should’ve checked out a while ago. But her inability to move her head and take in the reality of what just happened reminded her that there were more pressing matters at hand, such as the tall Renaissance real-life person, sitting up next to her, who appeared as confused as she was. Marjie, whose eyes are still glued to the ceiling, heard the ruffle of expensive fabric as the woman got up. Saw the outline of a tall figure standing over her. Felt warm hands on her forearms, lifting her to her feet. “Are you alright?” the lady spoke.
Marjie was face to face with the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her entire life. The sunlight from the late afternoon fell upon her face, framing her perfect features. “Are you alright?” It came out harsher than Marjie intended, and she blinked, hard.
“I’m perfectly fine. This gigantic thing broke my fall.” She took a step back, spreading her hands over her dress. “Father made me wear it for the painting. I begged him to pick something more comfortable, but he refused.” Marjie let out a chuckle. “What’s so funny?” the lady’s face crunched in on itself, and Marjie laughed a bit harder.
“Nothing. Nothing is funny.” Despite that, Marjie was almost back on the floor again, tears pricking her eyes. This wasn’t real. This was too stupid to be real. Marjie was dreaming and the painting was sitting in her kitchen in an awkward position like it had been when she’d taken it home. Except when she opened her eyes, the tall blonde princess was still there, her expression contorted in a sharp scowl.
“Why are you laughing like a maniac, then?” The woman had an accusatory tone.
“You came from a painting.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”
“No, I’m serious.” Marjie wiped her tears away and stood straight. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Come out of a painting.”
Ignoring the question, she stepped around Marjie, eyeing her stitched shirt and fraying jeans. “You are an absolute mess. What are you wearing, young lady?” She reached out to toy with the green jacket that Marjie had still not changed out of.
“Young lady? I’m twenty! And this is how everyone in New York dresses!” Marjie met the woman’s eyes, and for a second, forgot why she was upset in the first place.
“New York?”
Reality snapped itself back into place. “Oh. That’s right. You’re like, a thousand years old,” Marjie teased.
She was met with a scoff. “I’m twenty-four, thank you. And you are one mean girl.”
“You’re the one who’s insulting my fashion.”
“I’d hardly consider it fashion.” This time when the beauty in her apartment spoke, the accent had become less annoying and more fond, and the best idea Marjie’s ever had since purchasing that painting in the thrift store shoved its way into her mind.
“Fine, then. Let’s take a walk around the city, shall we?” Marjie was the one to take hold of the live portrait’s forearms and pull her closer. “See what everyone else outside is wearing.” If she was going to be burdened with taking care of old British royalty, she might as well make it entertaining.