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elbows. I agreed to them thinking they would, at least, mask my bandaged hand. I also picked out a lovely pink beaded clutch bag to carry my bare necessities—some form of ID, lip-gloss, and house keys. Sadly, I no longer had Ari’s special “emergency” one-hundred dollar bill. It was now in the hands of some crazy stranger who had probably already spent it.
    Dawn led me over to the jewelry department. I was practically blinded by the bling, all of it breathtaking.
    “Mr. Golden would like you to pick out anything you want,” said Dawn.
    Anything? The word sent shockwaves through me. I mean, these pieces must cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and that was just for starters.
    My fluttering eyes searched the lit up display cases. What wasn’t there to love? But there was one piece that stood out. An elegant diamond tiara. It looked like an antique.
    “Can I please see the tiara?” I said meekly as I hovered over it.
    “Of course,” replied Dawn. “It’s a vintage piece that dates back to the nineteenth century. We believe it belonged to Princess Sophia of Bavaria.”
    Wow! A real princess once wore this, I thought as Dawn gently placed it on top of my head. I gawked at my reflection in a mirror. I was no longer Sarah Plain and Tall. I was officially Princess Sarah!
    “Perfection!” exclaimed Dawn.
    “I’ll bring it back tomorrow,” I said, knowing there was no way I could keep such an extravagant gift.
    “Please don’t,” smiled Dawn. “Mr. Golden will be insulted.”
    My breath hitched. This man was divinely out of his mind. I was still going to bring it back.
    The next stop was the hair salon on the ninth floor. Dawn brought along the tiara. My flamboyant hairdresser, Miguel, immediately knew how he wanted to style my long hair. With his magic hands, he whipped it into a regal, simple chignon. He placed the tiara on my head. I gazed at myself in the mirror and gaped. I was channeling Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday . I truly looked like a princess.
    Finally, makeup. Dawn brought me ironically to the Chanel counter, where a makeup artist, an attractive young woman named June, about my age, did my face while I sat on a high stool. “You have fabulous skin and don’t even need foundation” she remarked as she applied mascara to my eyelashes. Closing my eyes, I once again thought about my mother whose fabulous skin I had inherited. A mixture of guilt and sadness seeped through me as I thought about her fate.
    “Sarah, I thought you were visiting your sick mother. But obviously, beauty comes first.”
    The voice startled me. I blinked open my eyes and cranked my neck around. Catherine!
    She had a long Bergdorf’s garment bag folded over her arm and lowered herself to the stool behind me. She asked for her “regular.” Her voice was curt.
    Shunning her did not stop her from interrogating me. “So, Sarah, why exactly are you here at Bergdorf’s on a Friday afternoon having a makeover?” Her tone was menacing.
    I faltered for an excuse. “Well, when I came here to pick up your lipstick, I won a bonus—a free makeover. I really needed it today after visiting my mother.” That sounded believable—and was actually close to the truth.
    Catherine leaped off from her stool and headed around to face me. There was fire in her eyes. “If you continue to steal anything that belongs to me, you’ll be sorry. Very sorry.”
    Was the psycho bitch threatening me? Was she also referring to Ari? I quivered as she returned to her makeup application. Remember, Sarah. Warrior Princess.
    Silence between us prevailed for the remainder of our makeup apps. Mine, which was beautifully subtle, was over before hers. As I rose to my feet, she hissed, “Be sure to have a flushed out description of those Wombat Combats—or whatever those despicable creatures are called—on my desk first thing Monday morning.”
    I felt like firing back her words… “ if you continue to steal anything that belongs to me… ”