Workshop edit

Zara Qadir

There’s a place way down in Brooklyn, New York called Bay Ridge. There lives a

mysterious, fashionable woman named Naomi. French and German, she enchants with her accent

and lures lucky men into her pricey, gold-plated cave. She likes to sip tea and play the piano.

While she shows easy poise with her manicured fingers pressing the piano keys, she often

struggles to keep that facade.

Her classy front is just that: a front.

Behind closed doors, she no longer holds the title of Duchess of Bay Ridge. Instead, she

eats. She eats and eats. Pastries, cakes, pies, muffins, and cookies cover the large table in her

luxurious bedroom. She sits at the edge of her bed, grabs some cake with her hands, and begins

to devour it. Frosting covers her face as she cries, feeling miserable at how much she’s enjoying

and hating this cake. When she’s done with her daily routine of ruining the table, she falls back

on her fluffy cloud of a bed and drifts off to a dream where she’s surrounded by friends and she’s

got a drink her in her hand and that’s the only drink she’ll have.

In the morning, Naomi’s housekeeper knocks on her bedroom door. Naomi, covered in

dried frosting and crumbs, calls for her from her bed to let her in. The housekeeper, knowing

Naomi’s private life, silently begins to clear the table and then aligns it with new delicacies. Then

she goes over to Naomi, who’s starting her first crying session of the day, and helps her out of

bed, dries the first of her tears, and helps her change out of her ruined clothes. She cleans

Naomi’s face with a damp cloth and applies her makeup. Then she braids her hair. By then,

Naomi is back in her Duchess mode and ready to face the day.

After a full day of piano playing, brunches, flower shopping, and picking up a new pair

of shoes she got in the mail, Naomi is back home. She slips into her new shoes and goes over to

her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Naomi grabs her phone and goes over to her little desk that holds neat stacks of papers.

She flips through them until she finds the number she’s looking for. Naomi dials the phone and

waits.

“Yes, hello. I purchased a pair of shoes from your website and I received a notification saying

that they’ve been delivered, but I never received them, although my card has been charged. Yes, I

have the item number, it’s 65383934404664. Yes, those are the one. No, I haven’t moved. No, I’d

like a refund. A full refund, yes. Well, thank you for your honesty.”

Naomi hangs up and sighs. Another job well done. She looks down at her shoes, admiring

them. Then she falls apart. She sobs in her new shoes, stuffing her face with cream pies and

expensive caramel-filled chocolates. She’s just about to engulf another large piece of cherry pie

when there’s a knock on the door.

“Ms. Naomi, there’s a man at the door for you.”

Naomi’s in shock. Had she made an appointment with a man and forgotten about it?

“I’ll be right there!” Naomi manages to speak.

The Duchess cannot ruin her reputation by declining an appointment that she herself

made. Naomi sobs, dusting off crumbs from her dress and clumsily making her way to the

bathroom. She switches the light on, getting frosting on the wall. Then she sees herself in the

mirror. Whimpering, she turns on the water and scrubs at her face, the frosting managing to

spread all over. She finally shuts off the water and grabs a neatly folded towel, roughly drying

her face. Naomi sniffles, grabbing her lipstick off the counter and messily applying it. She stands

back and takes one last look at her facial presentation. She almost cries again but the thought of

her being the Duchess again makes her stop. She hurriedly makes her way out of her bedroom

and to the front door. Her shoes make a loud noise as she walks. Naomi reaches the door and the

man turns around, holding a purse. Naomi doesn’t notice it.

“Hello…” Naomi’s forgotten his name.

“Richard. Hi. You’re Naomi?”

“I am.”

“Well I found this purse and found an address inside. I assumed it was the owner’s so I just

wanted to return it. Is this yours?” Richard offers the purse to Naomi.

Naomi is dumbfounded. This isn’t an appointment? This man doesn’t even know her! But

that is her purse.

“Why, yes. That is mine. Thank you for bringing it.”

“No problem. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Naomi grins widely.

“You have blood on your dress.”

Naomi looks down. There’s cherry pie all over her dress.

“Oh! It’s just, it’s just cherry pie. I’m cooking. I’m a baker! Yes. Thank you for bringing my

purse!” Naomi shuts the door quickly.

Richard stands outside, astonished. Something about that woman doesn’t seem right.

Inside, Naomi tosses her purse aside and rushes to her bedroom. She lunges for the poor

cake and tears off a piece, desperately chewing it. How embarrassing was that encounter! First

she believed that the man was here for an appointment that was never made, then she didn’t

know his name, then she forgot she didn’t have her purse, then she somehow managed to stand in

front of him with cherry pie all over her dress. What a nightmare.

Naomi’s starting on a blueberry muffin when red and blue lights come into view through

her windows. They stop outside her house. Then there’s a heavy knock on the front door. Wide

eyed, Naomi goes over and opens the door slightly. Two police officers are standing on her steps.

“Naomi Lapaglia?” One police officer says.

“Yes?” Naomi looks around with wide eyes.

“We have a warrant for your arrest.”

“What?” Naomi opens the door wider and her state is revealed to the officers.

“You’re under arrest for fraud.”

The other officer takes out the handcuffs and puts them on Naomi and begins his legally

required spiel. Naomi is too shocked to say anything.

“Oh, look. She’s wearing them,” The first officer points to Naomi’s shoes.

They pull Naomi out of the house and to the car.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, I don’t know—I didn’t do anything! I’m innocent! What—,” Naomi sees

Richard. He’s got his hand over his mouth. So do many of the neighbors. Naomi finally notices

them…and remembers what she must look like.

She screams, “Wait! Wait! Wait!”

But it’s too late. Everyone has seen the Duchess’s true self. The officers open the car door

and Naomi gets inside, wailing. Then a thought strikes her.

There’s no cake in prison!